48 PARTRIDGE DAY 



early. It is the same old field in which I so well 

 remember Jack making his debiXt and missing the 

 rabbit; but I miss the eager faces of those days 

 sadly ; it doesn't seem the same thing to me ; half 

 the pleasure of a thing, after all, is in enjoying it 

 in company ; but that half is sadly marred if the 

 said company are cool in their enjoyment. The dogs, 

 too, are disgustingly wild now. Old Eake breaks 

 fence and flushes our first covey long out of gun- 

 shot, my disgust at which is further augmented by 

 one of the keepers, as wild as the dog, breaking line 

 and starting a hare, as remote as the partridges, by 

 his loud imprecations after the miscreant, who is 

 utterly deaf alike to whistle, threats, and entreaties. 

 There is fault enough here ; but it doesn't lie en- 

 tirely with the keeper ; it is too evident there is an 

 absence of the eye of the master. If the Squire 

 grows indifferent to their proceedings, he can scarcely 

 expect his dogs and keepers to be what they were ; 

 the keeper gets lazy or dishonest, the dogs' training 

 is neglected, and by-and-by they become useless or 

 worse than useless, and their services are discarded. 

 Now if there is one thing more than another which 

 enhances the pleasure of a day's partridge-shooting, 

 it is to watch a brace of well-trained pointers work 

 a field. Why is it then — for obviously it is so — 

 that the use of dogs, and especially of setters 



