imprison
poachers, would very much rather not. The steward took the hint, and
instead increased his watchers. But by this time the novelty of
pheasants roaming about like fowls had begun to wear off, and their
services were hardly needed. Men went by pheasants with as much
indifference as they would pass a tame duck by the roadside.

Such poachers as visited the woods came from a distance. Two determined
raids were carried out by strangers, who escaped. Every now and then
wires were found that had been abandoned, but the poaching ceased to be
more than is usual on most properties. So far as the inhabitants of the
parish were concerned it almost ceased altogether; but every now and
then the strollers, gipsies, and similar characters carried off a
pheasant or a hare, or half a dozen rabbits. These offenders when
detected were usually charged before the Bench at a market town not many
miles distant. Let us follow one there.

The little town of L----, which has not even a branch railway, mainly
consists of a long street. In one part this street widens out, so that
the houses are some forty yards or more apart, and it then again
contracts. This irregularly shaped opening is the market-place, and here
in the centre stands a rude-looking building. It is supported upon thick
short pillars, and was perhaps preceded by a wooden structure. Under
these pillars there is usually a shabby chaise or two run in for cover,
and the spot is the general rendezvous of all the dogs in the town.

This morning there are a few loafers hanging round the place; and the
tame town pigeons have fluttered down, and walk with nodding heads
almost up to them. These pigeons always come to the edge of a group of
people, mindful of the stray grain and peas that fall from the hands of
farmers and dealers examining samples on market days. Presently, two
constables come across carrying a heavy, clumsy box between them. They
unlock a door, and take the box upstairs into the hall over the pillars.
After them saunters a seedy man, evidently a clerk, with a rusty black
bag; and after him again--for the magistrates' Clerk's clerk must have
_his_ clerk--a boy with some leather-bound books.

Some of the loafers touch their hats as a gentleman--a magistrate--rides
up the street. But although the church clock is striking the hour fixed
for the sessions to begin he does not come over to the hall upon
dismounting in the inn-yard, but quietly strolls away to transact