Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 2

"How many did the constable pocket that last

beat?" (Shouts of laughter.) Thus shall your reputation as a humorist be
established amongst the beating fraternity--("that 'ere Muster
JACKSON, 'e do make a chap laugh, that 'e do," is the formula)--and if
you revisit the same shooting next year, a beater is sure to take an
opportunity of saying to you, with a grin on his face, "Policeman's a
comin' out to-day, Sir; I'm a goin' to hev my eye tight on 'im, so as 'e
don't pocket no rabbits," to which you will reply, "That's right,
GEORGE, you stick to it, and you'll be a policeman yourself some
day," at which impossible anticipation there will be fresh explosions of
mirth. So easily pleased is the rustic mind, so tenacious is the rustic
memory.
But the head-keeper recks not of these things. All the anxiety of the day
is his. If, for one reason or another, he fails to show as good a head of
game as had been expected, he knows his master will be displeased. If
the beaters prove intractable, the birds go wrong, but the burden of the
host's disappointment falls on the keeper's shoulders. His are all the
petty worries, the little failures of the day. The keeper is, therefore, not
given to conversation. How should he be, with all these responsibilities
weighing upon him? Few of those who shoot realise what the keeper
has gone through to provide the sport. Inclement nights spent in the
open, untiring vigilance by day and by night, a constant and patient
care of his birds during the worst seasons, short hours of sleep, and
long hours of tramping, such is the keeper's life. And, after all, what a
fine fellow is a good keeper. In what other race of men can you find in
a higher degree the best and manliest qualities, unswerving fidelity,
dauntless courage, unflinching endurance of hardship and fatigue, and
an upright honesty of conduct and demeanour? I protest that if ever the
sport of game-shooting is attacked, one powerful argument in its favour
may be found in the fact that it produces such men as these, and fosters
their staunch virtues. Think well of all this, my young friend, and do
not vex the harassed keeper with idle and frivolous remarks. But you
may permit yourself to say to him, during the day, "That's a nice dog of
yours; works capitally."
"Yes, Sir," the keeper will say, "he's not a bad 'un for a young 'un.
Plenty of good blood in him. His mother's old Dido. I've had to leave

her at home to-day, because she's got a sore foot; but her nose is
something wonderful."
"Did you have much trouble breaking him?"
"Lor' bless you, Sir, no. He took to it like a duck to the water. Nothing
comes amiss to him. You stand there, Sir, and you'll get some nice
birds over you. They mostly breaks this way."
That kind of conversation establishes good relations, always an
important thing. Or you may hint to him that he knows his business
better than the host, as thus:--
"I must have been in the wrong place that last beat. Not a single bird
came near me."
"Of course you were, Sir. I knew how it would be. I wanted you fifty
yards higher up, but Mr. CHALMERS, he would have you here. Lor,
I've never known birds break here. Now then, you boys, stop that
chattering, or I sends you all home. Seem to think they're out here to
enjoy theirselves, instead of doing as I tells 'em. Come, rattle your
sticks!"
Thus are the little beaters and the stops admonished.
* * * * *
FROM A MODERN ENGLISH EXAMINATION-PAPER
Which young Mr. D. Brown went in to floor, but which floored him.
Question. What is the meaning of "to deodorise." Give the derivation.
Answer. "To deodorise" is to gild the statue of a heathen deity. Literally
"to gild a god." This compound verb is derived from "Deus," dative
"Deo," and the Greek verb "[Greek: dôrixô], i.e. to gild."
Q. What is a "Manicure"? Give its derivation.

A. It is another term for a Mad Doctor. Its derivation is
obvious--"Maniac Cure." The last syllable of the first word being
omitted for the sake of convenience in pronunciation.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE COMING OF THE BOGEYS.
(Mr. Punch's Dreadful New Year's Dream after a Surfeit of Mince Pies
and "Times" Correspondence.)]
* * * * *
THE COMING OF THE BOGEYS.
I had a Dream, which was not all a Dream. (By Somnus and old Nox I
fear 'twas not!) Common-sense was extinguished, and Good Taste Did
wonder darkling on the verge of doom. I saw a Monster, a malign,
marine, Mysterious, many-whorled, mug-lumbering Bogey, Stretched