54 SPRING RAMBLES 



fishes, that I didn't catch them. The wind was 

 blowing cold from the north ; keeper said east was 

 the wind for him he could always kill fish in an 

 east wind. 



I gave it up. I had only another day, and that 

 I devoted to long walks across green fields, through 

 rugged lanes with high banks sparkling with 

 primroses. I strolled through the park, lovely and 

 picturesque as could be found even in this pictur- 

 esque country of ours in the springtime of the year, 

 when all nature is alive with the singing of birds 

 and the springing up of buds and flowers. The 

 park lies on a hill, here and there clad with clumps 

 of pine and firs, and dotted with small enclosures 

 for game, and bosky dells inlaid with ferns just 

 throwing out their curly fronds above the brown 

 dead leaves of other days. There were small 

 herds of fallow deer scattered in different parts, 

 and browsing in the open glades. Climbing over 

 the top of the hill, under a spreading oak and 

 hard by a clump of firs, I came upon a singular 

 sight. Many of my readers, I am sure, have never 

 seen a dead donkey for it is well-known tradition 

 that they never die within the range of mortal ken. 

 I have never seen one, but here in the midst of the 

 forest I came upon what seemed to me to be a still 

 more singular sight, for there, under the oak, lay 

 the dead body of "a poor sequestered stag." It 

 must have lain there for some days, for the green 

 grass was springing up around the carcase. How 

 came he to lie there ? How was it that keepers and 



