Awkward Stiles. 121 
broken up, and the axletree becomes the top bar of a 
stile. 
Each field has its characteristic stile—or rather 
two, one each side (at the entrance and exit of the 
footpath), and these are never alike. Walking across 
the fields for a couple of miles or more, of all the 
stiles that must of necessity be surmounted no two 
are similar. Here is one well put together—not too. 
high, the rail not too large, and apparently an ideal 
piece of workmanship; but on approaching, the 
ground on the opposite side drops suddenly three or 
four feet—at the bottom is a marshy spot crossed by 
a narrow bridge of a single stone, on which you have 
-to be careful to alight, or else plunge ankle-deep in 
water. If clever enough to drop on the stone, it 
immediately tilts up slightly, for, like the rocking- 
stones of Wales, it is balanced somewhere, and has a 
see-saw motion well calculated to land the timid in 
the ditch. 
The next is approached by a line of stepping- 
stones—to avoid the mud and water—whose surfaces. 
are so irregular as barely to afford a footing. The 
stile itself is nothing—very low and easy to pass: but. 
just beyond it a stiff, stout pole has been placed 
across to prevent horses straying, and below that a 
couple of hurdles are pitched to confine the sheep. 
This is almost too much; however, by patience and 
exertion, it is managed. 
Then comes a double mound with two stiles—one 
