The Chequers stands in a very nasty place, yet we are within easy
distance of a park which swarms with game. This game is preserved for
the amusement of a royal duke, who is kind enough to draw about twelve
thousand a year from the admiring taxpayer. He has not rendered any very
brilliant service to his adopted country, unless we reckon his nearly
causing the loss of the battle of Alma as a national benefit. He wept
piteously during the battle of Inkerman when the Guards got into a warm
corner, but, although he is pleasingly merciful towards Russians, he is
most courageous in his assaults on pheasants and rabbits, and the
country provides him with the finest sporting ground in England. I
should not like to say how many men make money by poaching in the park,
but we have a regular school of them at The Chequers, and they seem to
pick up a fair amount of drink money. The temptation is great. Every one
of these poaching fellows has the hunter's instinct strongly developed,
and neither fines nor gaol can frighten them.
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