THROUGH THE YEAR 195 



and I doubt somewhat whether, distinct as the 

 sounds are, they are used for distinct purposes at 

 this season. They may be synonyms, little more. 

 There seems to be little or no method in these 

 titmice, goldcrest, and tree-creeper flocks. They 

 wander leaderless, going hither, thither, through 

 the woods just as chance will have it. 



THE WINTER HEATH 



In the bitter, punishing cold of a frosty winter 

 afternoon I know scarcely any spot finer in its stark 

 way than Lymington or Beaulieu Heath. The sun, 

 free of all cloud form, goes down a globe of most 

 fiery orange to an horizon of bluish vapour ; and a 

 few minutes before it touches the dark earth line the 

 scene on the heath is primaeval and splendid. All 

 the little bogs or oozy places amid the heather are 

 fire and ice for a while. If by chance on such an 

 afternoon Hatchet Pond lies between us and the 

 sun, we may get the finest New Forest landscape of 

 the year. Part of the pond is now covered with 

 ice, and, reflecting the sun, it makes the orange fire 

 dance and glitter with wondrous glory. The path 

 of the sun across ice burns brighter even than the 

 path of the sun across the sea. And how the swart 

 humps of Beaulieu, " barrows of the happy dead," 

 show up at such a frosty, fiery time ! 



