162 WINTER SUNSHINE 



the right time. To get out of London was delight 

 enough, and then to find myself quite unexpectedly 

 on these soft rolling hills, of a mild October day, 

 in full sight of the sea, with the larks pouring out 

 their gladness overhead, was to me good fortune 



indeed. 



The South Downs form a very remarkable feature 

 of this part of England, and are totally unlike any 

 other landscape I ever saw. I believe it is Huxley 

 who applies to them the epithet of muttony, which 

 they certainly deserve, for they are like the backs of 

 immense sheep, smooth, and round, and fat, — so 

 smooth, indeed, that the eye can hardly find a place 

 to take hold of, not a tree, or bush, or fence, or 

 house, or rock, or stone, or other object, for miles 

 and miles, save here and there a group of straw- 

 capped stacks, or a flock of sheep crawling slowly 

 over them, attended by a shepherd and dog, and 

 the only lines visible those which bound the squares 

 where different crops had been gathered. The soil 

 was rich and mellow, like a garden, — hills of chalk 

 with a pellicle of black loam. 



These hills stretch a great distance along the 

 coast, and are cut squarely off* by the sea, presenting 

 on this side a chain of white chalk cliffs suggesting 

 the old Latin name of this land, Albion. 



Before I had got fifty yards from the station I 

 began to hear the larks, and being unprepared for 

 them I was a little puzzled at first, but was not long 

 in discovering what luck I was in. The song disap- 

 pointed me at first, being less sweet and melodious 



