WALK IN RURAL ENGLAND. 19 



upon a stretch of billowy downs. Here, a sea 

 of grass under wide skies lies open to the eyes. 

 Each long throw of the Downs is crested by 

 a sinuous wood, flung over the escarpment like 

 a curl of sea - foam left high and dry and 

 crystallised through the seons into a coil of mas- 

 sive foliage. This is a country apparently 

 given over to the flock-master with the 1000- 

 acre sheep-run. The Downs are bleak — so 

 bleak that an old man described Over Wallop 

 to me as a place where " you can see the wind." 

 The subsoil of chalk lies under a few inches of 

 poor soil. Surely, one would say, there could 

 have been no change amid these immutable 

 Downs since the days of Cobbett. And yet 

 here amidst them, a new village has been 

 recently created, simply by giving the labourer 

 access to the land. 



You will not see this change if you simply 

 motor along the dusty highroad between An- 

 dover and Salisbury. You will have to turn 

 off at Hazlitt's Hut, ascend the ridge, and dive 

 down into Winterslow. One wonders whether 

 Hazlitt ever met Cobbett riding over the 

 Downs. That they did meet we know, for 

 Hazlitt mentions that he found him "a very 

 pleasant man, easy of access, affable, clear- 



