SHOOTING TENANTS 203 



venison, and you consequently don't enjoy your 

 dinner. When you go to shoot with him you are 

 not at ease, for my pheasants are so much plumper 

 and glossier in plumage than any one else's, and my 

 keeper is such an " ama-azing clever fellow," that 

 you think it a pity to shoot them, and you let a 

 good few go by for the subsequent benefit of the 

 " ama-azing clever fellow" aforesaid. 



As I have said, he poses as a fox-preserver, and 

 in the summer-time he talks largely of the breeds 

 that he has on his estate. " My foxes are all that 

 foxes should be," and to listen to him and his 

 keeper, foxes are as plentiful as leaves in Vallom- 

 brosa. To do him justice, there always is a breed 

 of foxes in his coverts, and on occasion I have 

 known even a couple of breeds. What comes of 

 them, though, is quite another matter, and is one 

 which is known only to his head keeper — to whom, 

 by the way, he is an abject slave. What takes 

 place is something like this : — As soon as the cubs 

 have got nicely on their legs the old vixen goes 

 away on a hunting expedition some night, and 

 never returns. The cubs are either taken up for 

 a short time or their earth wired, and they are fed 

 regularly till the young pheasants are well on the 

 wing. Then they are given their liberty, but 

 they are still fed, and they lead an easy life till 

 hounds come cub-hunting. Then there is a fine 

 show of cubs ; Mr. Keeper and his servant, Mr. 

 Shooting Tenant No. 2, see not fewer than fourteen 

 or fifteen ; hounds catch a brace, and everything 

 seems couleur de rose. This is what happens as 

 hounds are going home. "Jim," says our old 

 friend the huntsman, calling his first whipper-in 

 up to him, " how many foxes did you see ? " 



