Everywhere Silence, Solitude 47 



has beat down and levelled the tall corn flat is the favourite 

 spot for these birds ; they rise from it in hundreds at a 

 time. But some of the finches are probably searching for 

 the ripe seeds of the weeds that spring up among the corn ; 

 they find also a feast of insects. 



Leaving now the gnarled hawthorn and the cushion of 

 thyme, I pass a deserted sheep-pen, where in the early 

 year the tender lambs were sheltered from the snow and 

 wind. Mile after mile, and still no sign of human life — 

 everywhere silence, solitude. Hill after hill and plain 

 after plain. Presently the turf is succeeded by a hard 

 road — -flints ground down into dust by broad waggon- 

 wheels bearing huge towering loads of wool or heavy 

 wheat. Just here the old track happens to answer the 

 purposes of modern civilisation. Past this, and again it 

 reverts to turf, leaving now the hills for a mile or two to 

 cross a plain lying between a semicircle of downs; and 

 here at last are hedges of hawthorn and hazel and stunted 

 crab tree. 



Round black marks upon the turf, with grey ashes 

 scattered about and half-consumed sticks, show where the 

 gipsies have recently bivouacked, sheltered somewhat at 

 night by the hedges. Near by is an ancient tumulus, on 

 which grows a small yet obviously aged sycamore tree, 

 stunted by wind and storm, and under it the holes of 

 rabbits — drilling their habitations into the tomb of the 

 unknown warrior. In his day, perhaps, the green track 

 wound through a pathless wood long since cleared. Soon 

 the hedges all but disappear, the ground rises once more, 

 nearing the hills ; and here the way widens out — first 

 fifty, then a hundred yards across — green sward dotted 

 with furze and some brake fern, and bunches of tough dry 

 grass. Above on the summit is another ancient camp, 



