DEER IN SUMMER. 45 



under the sunshine. Dunkery towers over 

 as if the green Ball were a molehill. I can 

 see now that a deep trench — a natural fosse 

 — surrounds me on every side, except where 

 a neck of land like a drawbridge gives access 

 to the mount. Go in what direction you will, 

 you are met by this immense circular trench, 

 and beyond that by a steep and high ascent. 

 The heather and the woods of the opposite 

 slopes wind round you, so that by merely 

 crossing the summit of the mount you change 

 one view over miles of heather for another 

 over miles of wood. 



It is a great natural stage erected in the 

 centre of a circular theatre of moor and forest, 

 and the spectator has only to face in different 

 directions to watch the hunt travel round him. 

 While the hunt has to go miles he has but 

 to stroll a few hundred yards ; presently the 

 deer, breaking cover, comes up over the sum- 

 mit of the Ball by one of its scarcely visible 

 paths, and crosses it in front of him within 

 a stone's throw. If an army had cast up 



