When the sportsman reaches the climax and tells how--
We slung her on our shoulders,
And went across the down;
We took her to a neighbour's house,
And sold her for a crown.
We sold her for a crown, my boys,
But I 'on't tell ye wheer,
For 'tis my delight of a shiny night
In the season of the year
--then the gentlemen who have sold many a hare in their time exchange
rapturous winks, and even a head-keeper might be softened by the
prevailing enthusiasm. Hodge is a hunter by nature, and you can no more
restrain him from poaching than you can restrain a fox. The most popular
man in the whole company is the much-incarcerated poacher, and no
disguise whatever is made of the fact. A theft of a twopenny cabbage
from a neighbour would set a mark against a man for life; a mean action
performed when the hob-nailed company gather in the tap-room would be
remembered for years; but a sportsman who blackens his face and creeps
out at night to net the squire's birds is considered to be a hero, and
an honest man to boot. He mentions his convictions gaily, criticises the
officials of each gaol that he has visited in the capacity of prisoner,
and rouses roars of sympathetic laughter as he tells of his sufferings
on the tread-mill.
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