64 TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING 
Having bent the barrel of his gun over his 
knee—in itself no mean feat—he half-filled it with 
shot, and let drive—and, he said, killed every 
partridge. Of course, I did not witness this per- 
formance. But the farmer lived to tell me of it. 
The driving of partridges is the most difficult 
part of a keeper’s work. But it gives a keeper 
scope. There is a fascination about driving—a 
something which gives a never-failing freshness 
to the same old fields and fences. It was my 
delight. Partridges are to be driven by a know- 
ledge of their habits—by using one’s brains as well 
as legs—not by luck; flags and beaters are merely 
organized accessories. This is the mistake made by 
most people who do not understand the partridge- 
play—to imagine that, given some ground and 
some partridges, the birds can be driven when 
and where it seemeth desirable. No man can 
drive partridges except where they are willing to 
go. Partridge-driving compared to the driving of 
pheasants is as chess compared to draughts. There 
are endless combinations and alternatives to be 
thought out and organized, to meet various direc- 
tions and strengths of wind—not merely for a 
drive or two, but for a whole day’s driving. On 
each drive depends, to a great extent, the success 
of the next, and thus of the whole day. However 
others might appreciate them, I never could enjoy 
happy-go-lucky driving. Since the best-planned 
