portions, or wherever else they chose, the
neighbouring farmers considered themselves
perfectly entitled to encroach. Some had
actually enclosed for themselves portions of
the royal property, and built cottages thereon,
into which no constable ever walked to inquire
by what right this unauthorised squatting
took place. Acres, by the hundred, of forest
land, having been thus appropriated, the
district swarmed with population. Any
cottager possessing pigs or sheep, cattle or
donkies, turned his dumb dependents out into
the forest, where they found free commons in
its grassy nooks, as freely and unhesitatingly
as if their owners' rights were enrolled on
parchment, and had been bought with lawful
money.

The Government decided that a check
should be put on these proceedings, and
determined to enclose the forest. Discontent
accordingly prevailed among the foresters. At
the Speech House—in the centre of the forest,
and from time immemorial the forum of the
district—meetings were held. While foresters
denounced the Government proceeding, Government
proceeded with its work. Trespassing
sheep and cattle were impounded; if any rash
adventurer commenced the building of a
cottage within the royal ground, its walls
were "tumbled." The enclosures were
completed, while the foresters bewailed, or
threatened, in the Speech House, with about
as much chance of what the speakers were
pleased to call "redress," as a vagrant has,
when he threatens appeal against the decision
of the magistrate.

Mrs. Winifred Kear was among those who
were affected by the Government proceedings.
By profession she was an ash-burner—in other
words, a humble manufacturer of alkali; a
term, however, which she had never heard in
her life. She cut down fern, burned it, and from
the ashes, with the aid of water, kneaded a
substance into little round balls, which she sold to
the surrounding housewives, for the purpose of
softening the water in their tubs on washing-
days. Out of the ashes of a vast number of
ferns, with frugality to aid her in her alchemy,
she had extracted a few pieces of gold, and
with those she had built a little cottage,
enclosing round it a quite liberal allowance of
the royal ground, which she had made into a
garden. She had also bred some sheep of a
small hardy breed, producing very fine wool—
a breed, I believe, peculiar to our forest. She
had also a cow, who was a member, in fact, of
Winny's family, and was accustomed to come
"but and ben," as inclination led her. Winny's
cottage was built in accordance with the
architectural design to which our forest cottages in
general conform. It had four rooms, two on
the ground-floor and two above for the main
work, with a back-kitchen as appendix.
There was no lack of gay flowers in the
garden, and Winny had not omitted to lay the
foundations of an orchard. A vine grew over
the cottage wall, and there was a jessamine
that climbed over the green wooden porch,
but it was not Winny who planted that. At
any rate, I do not think it was, for all the
neighbours said that Winny was a witch.
When I was a young and lusty man she was
an old, tottering creature—not the woman,
I think, to plant jessamine about her door.
Jack Prosser, her factotum, never planted it,
I'm sure. He was a wild Orson of a fellow.
Went about with his hairy chest exposed, and
no hat on his shaggy penthouse; which could
be distinguished only by its anatomical position
as a head of hair. No storm ever wetted
Jack Prosser to the scalp; and his thick dirty
hands, I am quite sure, never could have
planted jessamine. Mary Llewellyn planted
it when she was an orphan child. Now she is
the mother of a fine young man who attends
medical lectures at University College, and
comes home to the forest in vacation time, to
turn his nose up at the ignorance of me, his
father.

Mary lived in the time I tell you of, with
Winny Kear, who was her mother's mother.
Winny petted her preposterously. I did not
think so then, but I do now. I frequently
remark to Mrs. Wyville, that a little rougher
usage from her grandmother in early life
would have been a great blessing to both of
us. As a damsel, Mary was extremely
pastoral. In the morning she arose, milked her
cow, Truelove, and placed the milk in bright
tin pannikins to cream. Then she had
breakfast, went to pay attentions to the sheep,
returned home again, and then went to the
well for water. At the well it was a daily
accident that I should chance to meet her.
Having quarrelled with me there, she would
go home, tuck up her sleeves, and play at cook
till dinner-time. After dinner she would
decorate herself and go to the next village,
shopping, if she could find anything to want,
and had any money left to buy it with. Then
she came home, and spent the evening in
sewing and knitting; or in dancing, when it
was a gala time and dances were afoot. I
suppose that is how forest-maidens usually
live.

Now, in the opinion of the foresters, Jack
Prosser was an able man. These good people
are exclusively known to one another by
some nickname, and Jack Prosser's nickname
was the "Counsellor." Winny Kear being a
witch, it was fair to suppose her man a gifted
person; therefore Jack Prosser was the
forest counsellor, the village Hampden, and so
on. The result of forest meetings came at
length in the shape of a decision that the
banks of the enclosures should be levelled,
and the forest once again thrown open. Of
this movement Mr. Prosser was appointed
leader.

On the 10th of May, 18—, Mr. Prosser
attempted to wash his face and hands, to the
intense astonishment of Miss Llewellyn, before
whom he appeared in a mottled condition, as
she sat knitting under an apple-tree. There