WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY. 67 



the finches are probably searching for the ripe seeds 

 of the weeds that spring up among the corn ; they 

 find also a feast of insects. 



Leaving now the gnarled hawthorn and the cushion 

 of thyme, I pass a deserted sheep-pen, where in the 

 early year the tender lambs were sheltered from the 

 snow and wind. Mile after mile, and still no sign of 

 human life everywhere silence, solitude. Hill after 

 hill and plain after plain. Presently the turf is suc- 

 ceeded by a hard road flints ground down into dust 

 by broad wagon-wheels bearing huge towering loads 

 of wool or heavy wheat. Just here the old track 

 happens to answer the purposes of modern civilization. 

 Past this, and again it reverts to turf, leaving now the 

 hills for a mile or two to cross a plain lying between 

 a semicircle of downs ; and here at last are hedges of 

 hawthorn and hazel and stunted crab tree. 



Round black marks upon the turf, with gray ashes 

 scattered about and half-consumed sticks, show where 

 the gipsies have recently bivouacked, sheltered some- 

 what at night by the hedges. Near by is an ancient 

 tumulus, on which grows a small yet obviously aged 

 sycamore tree, stunted by wind and storm, and under 

 it the holes of rabbits drilling their habitations into 

 the tomb of the unknown warrior. In his day, per- 

 haps, the green track wound through a pathless wood 

 long since cleared. Soon the hedges all but disappear, 

 the ground rises once more, nearing the hills ; and 

 here the way widens out first fifty, then a hundred 

 yards across green sward dotted with furze and some 



