THE COVERTS 279 



We have left the grand battue to the last, because it 

 would tax the ingenuity of a sporting Macaulay to say 

 anything fresh about it. Yet we may cast a passing 

 glance at its picturesque and humorous aspects. There 

 is no more genuinely English sight than the cheery 

 muster before the doors of some great mansion on a 

 day that is expected to make a record bag. There is 

 the host, who, if he understands his duties, is the 

 strategical organiser of it all, and he should be set upon 

 making things pleasant for his guests, and seeing that 

 each man has his fair share of the shooting. He ought 

 to keep the whip hand of the important head keeper, 

 whose looks are anxiously watched by his obsequious 

 satellites in velveteen. Then there is the array of 

 long-gaitered beaters in fustian an irregular levy, who 

 have been eagerly expecting the great outing in the 

 woods. On the whole they are a well-fed and rosy- 

 faced lot, with sturdy calves and athletic forms. Some 

 of the elders may have warnings of rheumatism in the 

 near distance, and tramp about with a perceptible 

 string-halt ; but they compare favourably with the 

 pallid artisans of the towns, and you can see that their 

 lines have fallen in sanitary places. There are the 

 guns with their carriers and loaders, for the most part 

 as fine specimens of manhood as England can boast, 

 and with eyesight as sharp as their nerves are steady. 

 For at the biggest shoots they are generally picked men, 

 who will make death as pleasant as is possible under any 

 circumstances. Sentimental humanitarians mourn over 

 the butchery of hand-fed pheasants. Why, the hand- 



