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CHAPTER XV. 



" Oil ! sin it was, grave Mentors say, 



The village to despoil ; 

 To turn the cottager away, 



And devastate the soil. 

 'Tis fair to scoff and blame the deed ; 



But apter site for glade 

 Ne'er spread the turf to greyhound's speed, 



Nor shunn'd the plough and spade. 

 The fine white sand, tlie stunted heath, 



The oak-top withered bough, 

 The dark red swamp that lies beneath, 



The gorse that scarce will grow." 



The Last of the New Forest Deer.—G. F, B. 



My remarks on this splendid forest are all from per- 

 sonal observation; for when I had no sport in hand I 

 loved to ride and walk in its wilds to look at the 

 deer, and to enjoy its perfect retirement. There was 

 no one, no master man to laud a good and vigilant 

 keeper, nor to discharge or reprove a bad one. The 

 man that went to bed at nine o'clock at night, and 

 rose at eight, leaving timber, deer, and game to be 

 stolen by bad characters, characters made bad by the 

 impunity of wrong, received as good wages and as much 

 praise as the keeper who got perhaps a broken head 

 and the certain loss of his night's rest in protecting 

 the Crown property. Joseph Hall, the young man I 

 have before mentioned, offers a very fair illustration 

 of this. He was out one night protecting the forest 

 in company with another young keeper named Toomer, 

 Avhen they came on two notorious deer-stealers and 

 bad characters in possession of a deer. Joseph Hall 



