to Mr. Fulford—­a gentleman of great position, with a deer-park and all that sort of thing.”  “A deer-park!  You surprise me.  I understood that Mr. Fulford’s circumstances were extremely reduced.  This alters the matter.”  Unfortunately, the, minister committed himself too far to draw back before making inquiries, when he learned that a deer-park having existed at Fulford for some four or five centuries, its owner had kept as a memento of grand old days a little remnant of the herd in a paddock, as before mentioned.  He never recovered the blow of this disappointment.  The heir to the property is, we believe, a son of the late bishop of Montreal.  The family motto is “Bear up”—­one eminently suited to its present condition, and we may hope that it will be followed so successfully that this ancient stock, which has held for so long a high place among the worthies of Devon, may once more win the smiles of Fortune.

Many of the most picturesque parks are but little known, lying as they do remote from railway stations.  Mr. Nesfield, the great landscape-gardener, considers that Longleat, the marquis of Bath’s, near Warminster, has greater natural advantages than any park in England, and that these have been made the most of.

Lord Stamford’s park of Bradgate, in Leicestershire, is in the highest degree interesting.  It is mostly covered with the common fern or brakes, and the projecting bare and abrupt rocks rising here and there, with a few gnarled and shivered oaks in the last stage of decay, present a scene of wildness and desolation in striking contrast to some of the beautiful adjoining valleys and fertile country.

Another gem of its kind is Ugbrook.  This is situated a few miles from the Newton-Abbot station of the South Devon Railway, and lies in a rocky nook on the confines of Dartmoor.  Macaulay, whose brother was vicar of the neighboring parish of Bovey-Tracey, knew it well, and tells us in his History that Clifford (a member of the Cabal ministry) retired to the woods of Ugbrook.  He was a lucky man to have such paternal acres to retire to, but probably the visitor to-day sees this park in a condition which Charles’s minister would indeed have enjoyed.  There is no place in England where a man may feel more grateful to those who have gone before him for their taste and forethought in creating a sylvan paradise.  Although not very large, this park contains almost every variety of scenery.  There is a grove gloomy from the heavy shadows of the magnificent trees which compose it, glorious avenues of lime and beech, and monarch-like trees, which, standing alone amid an expanse of sward, show to the fullest advantage their superb proportions.  Entering the park on one side, the road winds beside a river, to which the bank gently slopes on the one hand, whilst on the other it rises precipitately, clad with the greenest foliage.  An especial feature of this place is what is known as “the riding park,” a stretch of smooth turf extending some