WHEN THE NIGHT FALLS. 233 



past and the present. History repeats itself. A 

 dark mound on the hill we have left behind, with 

 its lake sleeping at the foot of it, is a chapel still 

 used for the worship of God. As I raise myself 

 on my elbow, not two stones' -throw away, looms 

 up another large building, all around it quiet as 

 the grave. It has been built of late years for God's 

 worship, and to His glory, by those of the same 

 faith as the men who centuries ago built that chapel 

 on the hill-top. As I ponder, the short darkness 

 of a midsummer's night falls over all. 



This silence of the fields when night falls is pe- 

 culiar to wooded southern counties, — for this reason, 

 the fields and grazing-grounds have been won from 

 the woods and moors in past times. The fields 

 are surrounded by them now; pathways run over 

 the moors, heaths, and through the woodlands, 

 all of them leading to large areas of cultivation. 

 From there they go branching off in all directions 

 to wild tracts and more cultivated grounds. I 

 can assure my readers that I could take them 

 from one county into another without having to 

 cross main roads very often. This is the reason 

 why we are able to see so much without going far 



