Lurcher-Land. 99 



The months pass, and in his trap with the famous 

 trotter in the shafts we roll up the village street. Apple- 

 bloom and golden fruit too are gone, and the houses 

 show more now among the bare trees ; but as the 

 rim of the ruddy November sun conies forth from the 

 edge of a cloud there appears a buff tint everywhere 

 in the background. When elm and ash are bare the 

 oaks retain their leaves, and these are illumined by 

 the autumn beams. Overtopped by tall elms and 

 hidden by the orchards, the oaks were hardly seen in 

 summer ; now they are found to be numerous and 

 give the prevailing hue to the place. 



Dickon taps the dashboard as the mare at last 

 tops the hill, and away she speeds along the level 

 plateau for the Downs. Two greyhounds are with 

 us ; two more have gone on under charge of a boy. 

 Skirting the hills a mile or two, we presently leave 

 the road and drive over the turf: there is no track, 

 but Dickon knows his way. The rendezvous is a 

 small fir plantation, the young trees in which are but 

 shoulder-high. Below is a plain entirely surrounded 

 by the hills, and partly green with root crops : more 

 than one flock of sheep is down there, and two teams 

 ploughing the stubble. Neither the ploughmen nor 

 the shepherds take the least heed of us, except to 

 watch for the sport. The spare couple are fastened 



