BATTLE-FIELD IN THE PARK. 65 



thorn trees in spring may perhaps claim the pre-eminence, 

 fining the soft breeze with exquisite odour. These here 

 are trees, not bushes, standing separate, with thick gnarled 

 stems so polished by the constant rubbing of cattle as 

 almost to shine like varnish. The may-bloom, pure white 

 in its full splendour, takes a dull reddish tinge as it fades, 

 when a sudden shake will bring it down in showers. A 

 flowering tree, I fancy, looks best when apart and not one 

 of a row. In the latter case you can only see two sides 

 and not all round it. Here tall horse-chestnut trees stand 

 single — one great silvery candelabrum of blossom. Wood- 

 pigeons appear to have a liking for this tree. Nor must 

 the humble crab-tree be forgotten ; a crab-tree in bloom 

 is a lovely sight. 



The idea of a park is associated with peace and 

 pleasure, yet even here there is one spot where the passions 

 of men have left their mark. As previously hinted, the 

 gamekeeper, like most persons with little book-learning 

 and who take their impressions from nature, is somewhat 

 superstitious, and regards this place as ' unkid ' — i.e. weird, 

 uncanny. One particular green * drive ' into the wood 

 opening on the park had always been believed to be a 

 part of a military track used many ages ago, but long 

 since ploughed up for the greater part of its length, and 

 only preserved here by the accident of passing through a 

 wood. At last some labourers grubbing trees near the 

 mouth of the drive came upon a number of human 



