COVERT.SHOOTING. 89 



being that there are no stubbles to range over which 

 would shelter a lark. 



Happy the man, no doubt, who lived in those days 

 when the hand-reaped stubble was knee-deep, and the 

 pointer beat the field for him with mathematical 

 precision. He could go out any fine afternoon, ac- 

 companied only by a keeper with a bag, and return 

 in a couple of hours with eight or ten brace of 

 partridges and an appetite ; or he could with the 

 same personal attendance, and in the same space of 

 time, substituting only a steady spaniel for the pointer, 

 bring home three or four brace of wild pheasants, and 

 perhaps a rabbit or two flushed and driven from 

 shaggy hedgerows as broad as lanes. But for us no 

 such joy remains. The stubbles are close shaven as 

 a monk's pate. The pointer's occupation is gone, and 

 to the spaniel, the straight, narrow, knife-like ridges 

 of economical modern fences afford no opportunities 

 for research or discovery. We must make a business 

 of our sport, and systematically organise the day's 

 proceedings. We can do no good alone. We must 



