82 STAG HUNTING WITH THE 



sometimes on these shelterless plains a thousand 

 feet and more above sea level. In great and 

 protracted frosts the streams are wont to freeze 

 and then overflow their frozen surfaces, freezing 

 again and again in tier upon tier of fairy-like 

 ice filagree that delights the eye with its endless 

 fantastic combinations of crystal and sheet ice 

 and stalactite. The wet ground is very perilous 

 riding then, and one's favourite hunter is better 

 off at home in his loose box than scrambling 

 over the precarious footholds of these wild 

 forest bv-ways. Then there is yet another terror 

 with which Nature vetoes the chase. Ever and 

 again, as the winter months come round, she 

 spreads her white mantle all round her shoulders, 

 drifting the roads and paths bank high, and 

 sending great swirling sheets of whiteness all 

 across the open, with heavv wind-swept banks 

 beside the hedges and through the gaps and 

 gateways where the whistling north wind brings 

 its flakv load. Bright and hot is the sunshine 

 next day on the fallen masses, and then by 

 night the stars glitter with brightness in the still 

 blue heaven, and the frost grips all the world 

 and turns it to cast iron. When Exmoor is in 

 its wildest moods it is seen bv but few, and 

 those who for the most part by long acquaint- 

 ance turn a dull eye upon its wonderful colourings 

 and its fantastic skies and quaint lights and 

 shades. 



