280 WITHIN AN HOUR OF LONDON TOWN. 



My time is my own just now, there is nothing 

 to trouble about beyond clearing these cotton-grass 

 bogs before the gloaming comes; and I feel confident 

 that we shall strike on a main road leading to a 

 village or hamlet somewhere. The buds on the 

 trees in the distance, where they cover the hills 

 no leaves are out yet give a tone of purple grey 

 which is in fine contrast to the green turf on the 

 hills. We have left nearly all the oaks and beeches 

 behind us. Now and again one shows, but only 

 as a straggler here and there, where a patch of 

 soil is suitable for their growth. Although we 

 have entered the hollows of the hills, mile after 

 mile of broken ground extends in all directions. 

 Huge hillocks, conical in shape and well wooded 

 from base to crown, stand up and out from the 

 heather, or, as they term it here, the " heth." 

 Away in the distance two huge mounds face each 

 other, with a vast gap between them. This is 

 the " Devil's Jump," and the hollow between the 

 mighty mounds or hills is the " Devil's Punch- 

 bowl." Some very strange traditions linger about 

 the hills and hollows yet, and they will do for 

 centuries unless some extraordinary circumstances 



