THE COUNTRY LIFE. 239 



their colour and smooth away their ungainli- 

 ness. Snorting as they work with very eager- 

 ness of appetite, they are almost wild, 

 approaching in a measure to their ancestors, 

 the savage boars. Under the trees the 

 imagination plays unchecked, and calls up the 

 past as if yew bow and broad arrow were still 

 in the hunter's hands. So little is changed 

 since then. The deer are here still. Sit down 

 on the root of this oak (thinly covered with 

 moss), and on that very spot it is quite possible 

 a knight fresh home from the Crusades may 

 have rested and feasted his eyes on the lovely 

 green glades of his own unsurpassed England. 

 The oak was there then, young and strong ; 

 it is here now, ancient, but sturdy. Earely 

 do you see an oak fall of itself. It decays to 

 the last stump ; it does not fall. The sounds 

 are the same the tap as a ripe acorn drops, 

 the rustle of a leaf which comes down slowly, 

 the quick rushes of mice playing in the fern. 

 A movement at one side attracts the glance, 

 and there is a squirrel darting about. There 

 is another at the very top of the beech yonder, 

 out on the boughs, nibbling the nuts. A 



