DEVON AND SOMERSET. 65 



his cottage doorway Jim Wensley need never 

 pass a day of all the year without seeing deer 

 on the slopes of Hartford Cleave, that lie within 

 a few hundred yards of his trim flower garden. 

 A walk through Haddon Wood with him is 

 instructive indeed ; whether it be upon the tell- 

 tale snow carpet of mid-winter, the dry dust of 

 July, or the moistened soil of September, endless 

 signs and tokens convey a meaning to his 

 experienced eye, that notes at every few yards 

 through the woodland paths some hint of the 

 presence of deer or fox, badger or pheasant, 

 blackgame or woodcock, the baneful presence of 

 some feathered vermin or some bloodthirsty 

 stoat, while at each pool of the tumbling Haddeo 

 he may point out some sign that marks the 

 whereabouts of that arch-hsherman the otter. 



Herons and brown buzzards, kingfishers and 

 water ouzels, all come within his ken in turn, 

 but one of the chief pleasures of this old shikari 

 lies in the recounting of tales of bygone days. 

 If these narratives could be preserved in all their 

 native raciness, and in the rich West Country 

 dialect in which they are told, while the speaker's 

 eye and countenance convey unmistakably how 

 all-absorbing is the naturalist's passion burning 

 within, that were indeed a legacy to hand down 

 to coming generations of sportsmen ! 



All the nature that surrounds Jim Wensley 

 is to him an open book, and of him it is not 



F 



