Punch, or the London Charivari

Punch, or the London Charivari,
Volume 104,
by Various

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Volume 104,
January 21, 1893, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone
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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 104, January 21, 1893
Author: Various
Editor: Francis Burnand
Release Date: February 27, 2007 [EBook #20704]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 104.

January 21, 1893.

CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
THE KEEPER.
(With an Excursus on Beaters.)
Of the many varieties of keeper, I propose, at present, to consider only
the average sort of keeper, who looks after a shooting, comprising
partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits, in an English county. Now it
is to be observed that your ordinary keeper is not a conversational
animal. He has, as a rule, too much to do to waste time in unnecessary
talk. To begin with, he has to control his staff, the men and boys who
walk in line with you through the root-fields, or beat the coverts for
pheasants. That might seem at first sight to be an easy business, but it is
actually one of the most difficult in the world. For thorough perverse
stupidity, you will not easily match the autochthonous beater. Watch
him as he trudges along, slow, expressionless, clod-resembling,
lethargic, and say how you would like to be the chief of such an army.
He is always getting out of line, pressing forward unduly, or hanging
back too much, and the loud voice of the keeper makes the woods
resound with remonstrance, entreaty, and blame, hurled at his bovine
head. After lunch, it is true, the beater wakes up for a little. Then shall
you hear WILLIAM exchanging confidences from one end of the line
to the other with JARGE, while the startled pheasant rises too soon and
goes back, to the despair of the keeper and the guns. Then, too, are
heard the shouts of laughter which greet the appearance of a rabbit, and
the air is thick with the sticks that the joyous, beery beaters fling at the

scurrying form of their hereditary foe. It is marvellous to note with
what a venomous hatred the beater regards the bunny. Pheasant or
partridge he is careless of; even the hare is, in comparison, a thing of
nought, but let him once set eyes on a rabbit, and his whole being
seems to change. His eye absolutely flashes, his chest heaves with
excitement beneath the ancient piece of sacking that protects his form
from thorns. If the rabbit falls to the shot, he yells with exultation; if it
be missed, an expression of morose and gloomy disappointment settles
on his face, as who should say, "Things are played out; the world is
worthless!"
[Illustration: On their Beat.]
All these characteristics are the keeper's despair; though, to be sure, he
has staunch lieutenants in his under-keepers; and towards the end of the
day he can always count on two sympathising allies in the postman and
the policeman. These two never fail to come out in the afternoon to join
the beaters. It is amusing to watch the demeanour of the beaters in the
policeman's presence. Some of them, it is possible, have been
immeshed by the law, and have made the constable's acquaintance in
his professional capacity. Others are conscious of undiscovered
peccadilloes, or they feel that on some future day they may be led to
transgress rules, of which the policeman is the sturdy embodiment.
None of them is, therefore, quite at his best in the policeman's presence.
Their attitude may be described as one of uneasy familiarity, bursting
here and there into jocular nervousness, but never quite attaining the
rollicking point. You may sometimes take advantage of this feeling to
let off a joke on a beater. Select a stout, plethoric one, and say to him,
"Mind you keep your eye on the policeman, or he'll poach a rabbit
before you can say knife." This simple inversion of probabilities and
positions is quite certain to "go." A hesitating smile will first creep into
the corners of the beater's eye. After an interval spent in grappling with
the jest, he will become purple, and finally he will explode.
During the rest of the day you will hear him repeating your little
pleasantry either to himself or to his companions. You can keep it up
by saying now and then,