58 THE SOUTH COUNTRY 



when that is gone the rain and leaf under a spongy grey 

 sky have a myriad voices of contentedness. Below, 

 invisible in the dark rain but not unfelt, is the deep hollow 

 land of the Weald. The owls whimper and mew and 

 croon and hoot and shriek their triumphs. 



SURREY. 



In the morning a storm comes up on bellying blue 

 clouds above the pale levels of young corn and round- 

 topped trees black as night but gold at their crests. 

 The solid rain does away with all the hills, and shows 

 only the solitary thorns at the edge of an oak wood, or a 

 row of beeches above a hazel hedgerow and, beneath that, 

 stars of stitchwort in the drenched grass. But a little 

 while and the sky is emptied and in its infant blue there 

 are white clouds with silver gloom in their folds; and 

 the light falls upon round hills, yew and beech thick 

 upon their humps, the coombes scalloped in their sides 

 tenanted by oaks beneath. By a grassy chalk pit and 

 clustering black yew, white beam and rampant clematis, 

 is the Pilgrims' Way. Once more the sky empties heavy 

 and dark rain upon the bright trees so that they pant and 

 quiver while they take it joyfully into their deep hearts. 

 Before the eye has done with watching the dance and 

 glitter of rain and the sway of branches, the blue is again 

 clear and like a meadow sprinkled over with blossoming 

 cherry trees. 



The decent vale consists of square green fields and 

 park-like slopes, dark pine and light beech : but beyond 

 that the trees gather together in low ridge after ridge so 



