42 Wild Life in a Southern County. 
dition of comparatively small areas, corresponding 
perhaps with the difference of soil—one becoming 
more heated than another. Showers are certainly 
often of a remarkably local character: a walk of half 
a mile along a road dark from recent rain will fre- 
quently bring you to a place where the dust is white 
and thick as ever, the line of demarcation sharply 
marked across the highway. In winter rain takes a 
wider sweep. 
From the elevation of the earthwork on the 
downs—with a view of mile after mile of plain and 
vale below—it is easy on a showery summer day to 
observe the narrow limits of the rain. Dusky 
streamers, like the train of a vast dark robe, slope 
downwards from the blacker water-carrying cloud 
above—downwards and backwards, the upper cloud 
travelling faster than the falling drops. Between 
the hill and the rain yonder intervenes a broad space 
of several miles, and beyond it again stretches a clear 
opening to the horizon. The streamers sweep along 
a narrow strip of country which is drenched with 
rain, while on either side the sun is shining. 
It seems reasonable to imagine that in some way 
that strip of country acts differently for the time 
being upon the atmosphere immediately above it. So 
singularly local are these conditions, sometimes, that. 
one farmer will show you a flourishing crop of roots 
which was refreshed by a heavy shower just in the 
nick of time, while his neighbour is loudly complain- 
