CHAPTER XV 



" Oh ! sill 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 shuun'd the plough and spade. 

 The fine white sand, the 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 personal ob- 

 servation ; 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, when they came on two notorious deer- 

 stealers and bad characters in possession of a deer. Joseph Hall 



