158 ROUND THE GREAT WHITE HORSE 



and sheepfolds. Even in summer few strangers pene- 

 trate this tract ; yet, apart from the charm of space and 

 solitude, it is not without beauty and interest. Much 

 even of the highest land has been brought into cultiva- 

 tion ; but great part has undergone no change. Here 

 for miles lies the natural turf, elastic yet compact, 

 studded at intervals with ancient thorns. Nor does the 

 landscape want colour or the more subtle charm of 

 scent. The turf is gay with unusual flowers, recalling 

 the hill-tops of more distant lands. A tiny gentian 

 dyes broad patches a brilliant cobalt. Harebells and 

 blue campanulas fleck the green in contrast to the 

 yellow crowsfoot and ranunculus. Blue butterflies 

 match the harebells, yellow snail- shells lie among the 

 crowsfoot. The scent of wild thyme rises heavy in the 

 tremulous heat ; and over all comes the sound of many 

 sheep-bells. Nestling in the rounded hollows are rare 

 farms, many of which are now occupied as training- 

 stables. Not the least celebrated is that of the Seven 

 Barrows, surrounded by the graves of heroes " whose 

 souls went down to Hades" in the great fight of 

 Ashdown, when Saxon and Dane contended for the 

 mastery. Here the horse is still the genius loci, even 

 as he was to his ancient worshippers, who cut his image 

 on the great chalk hill hard by. 



But snow and winter banish whatever of beautiful 

 the land once owned. Nature's harmony is broken ; 

 nothing but a dull monotony of white remains. 

 Colour is gone, and scent and even sound, except 

 that of the icy wind that blows over the back of 



