AMONG THE HILLS. 69 



the top of the hills, abound in flints ; in fact, the 

 farmers will tell you they grow flints, they are con- 

 tinually picking them off the ground and carrying 

 them away by waggon and cart loads. When the 

 thick-knee makes his home here, you may as well 

 try to find that oft-quoted needle in a haystack as 

 to find him ; he is an inveterate skulker. When 

 danger has threatened him, I have watched him 

 through a glass, with his head stretched out, and 

 his body squatted on the ground as closely as a 

 toad's. 



On a large estate at the foot of one of our hills is 

 a deserted heronry. It has been forsaken for many 

 years. When the owners took possession, the grand 

 birds forsook it. I met one of the old squire's retain- 

 ers near the spot lately, and questioned him about 

 them. " Ah," said he, shaking his head mournfully, 

 " 'pears to me the good uns is all gone : things is all 

 changed, topsy-turvy like, an' the young uns don't 

 take after the old uns not a bit." 



I like to wander there as the sun sinks, and to 

 look at the fine old firs where the herons once built 

 their nests. Some of the trees are far decayed, but 

 they still stand like sentinels. The road that once 



