CHAPTER XVII 



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



Proves that my vision verges ou the truth 

 ' The curse ' upon thy early love that fell, 



The frown that thus hath blended with thy youth. 

 May still iu hidden mystery be plaun'd. 



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

 Then would it grieve thee if thy fa\'ourite's eyes. 



So deeply full of wild 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 moi-e than three oi- four good bucks were left on 

 Whitley Ridge, I had a waiTant 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 company, the stranger would be sui"e 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 loth 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 therefore set it down that they were in New 

 Copse, an enclosure lately thrown back into the forest. Thick 



