90 FIELD AND HEDGEROW. 



road ; a gentleman's house was within stone's throw ; 

 the spot, like the man, was altogether the reverse of 

 what we read in ancient story. Yet such is the force of 

 association that I could not even now divest myself of 

 those dim memories and living dreams of old ; there 

 seemed as it were the clank of armour, a rustle of 

 pennons in the leaves ; it would have been quite natural 

 to hold bow and arrow in the hand. The man was 

 modern, but his office was ancient. The descent was un- 

 broken. The charcoal-burner traced back to the Norman 

 Conquest. That very spot where we stood, now sur- 

 rounded with meadows and near dwellings, scarcely 

 thirty years since had formed part of one of the largest 

 of the old forests. It was forest land. Woods away 

 on the slope still remained to witness to traditions. As 

 the charcoal-burner worked beside the modern highway, 

 so his trade had come down and was still practised in 

 the midst of modern trades, in these times of sea-coal 

 and steam. He told me that he and his brothers were 

 maintained by charcoal-burning the year through, and, 

 it appeared, in a very comfortable position. They only 

 burned a small quantity here ; they moved about from 

 place to place in the woods, according as the timber 

 was thrown. They often stopped for weeks in the woods, 

 watching the fires all night. A great part of the work 

 was done in the winter, beginning in October after the 

 hop-picking. Now resting in his lonely hut, now walk- 

 ing round and tending the smoking heap, the charcoal- 

 burner watched out the long winter nights while the 

 stars drifted over the leafless trees, till the grey dawn 

 came with hoar-frost. He liked his office, but owned 

 that the winter nights were very long. Starlight and 

 frost and slow time are the same now as when the red 

 deer and the wild boar dwelt in the forest. Much of 



