312 



CHAPTER XVII. 



" The doe then said, ' The very dream you tell, 



Proves that my vision verges on the truth : 

 • The curse ' upon thy early love that fell, 



The frown that thus hath blended with thy youth, 

 May still in hidden mystery be plann'd, 



And death — my death — be pendant on thy hand. 

 Then would it grieve thee if thy favourite's eyes, 



So deeply full of Avild and lustrous love. 

 Should still turn to thee as their mistress dies, 



Denied the hope of op'ning them above : 

 Or hast thou lov'd a love so dear and rare 

 That pity for her only could'st thou spare ? " 



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



When not more than three or four good bucks were 

 left on Whitley Ridge, I had a warrant for one ; and 

 Joseph Hall informed me that a very fine stranger 

 had joined three browse bucks of his which were left, 

 and that he hoped I would kill him in preference to 

 the others, because, if scared by killing one in his com- 

 pany, the stranger would be sure to go back whence 

 he came. It was a beautiful still September day, that 

 on which I was after this buck, when summer seems 

 to cling to the world around, as if loath to leave her 

 woods and fields ; warm as the dog-days used to be 

 when I was a boy, and without a breath of air to stir 

 the long gossamer webs that stretched along the 

 grass. We had searched every shady dell and well- 

 known haunt of these deer, and had peered over every 

 heath and lawn, but without finding them ; we there- 

 fore set it down that they were in New Copse, an 

 enclosure lately thrown back into the forest. Thick 

 as that wood was, and wary as the deer had be- 



