Our driver said that they were
lunatics from a neighboring asylum, out for a walk.
Seven miles from Salisbury, we turned aside from the turnpike, and drove
two miles across Salisbury Plain, which is an apparently boundless extent
of unenclosed land, treeless and houseless. It is not exactly a plain,
but a green sea of long and gentle swells and subsidences, affording
views of miles upon miles to a very far horizon. We passed large flocks
of sheep, with the shepherds watching them; but the dogs seemed to take
most of the care of the flocks upon their own shoulders, and would
scamper to turn the sheep when they inclined to stray whither they should
not; and then arose a thousand-fold bleating, not unpleasant to the ear;
for it did not apparently indicate any fear or discomfort on the part of
the flock. The sheep and lambs are all black-faced, and have a very
funny expression. As we drove over the plain (my seat was beside the
driver), I saw at a distance a cluster of large gray stones, mostly
standing upright, and some of them slightly inclined towards each other,
--very irregular, and so far off forming no very picturesque or
noteworthy spectacle. Of course I knew at once that this was
STONEHENGE,
and also knew that the reality was going to dwindle wofully within my
ideal, as almost everything else does. When we reached the spot, we
found a picnic-party just finishing their dinner, on one of the
overthrown stones of the druidical temple; and within the sacred circle
an artist was painting a wretched daub of the scene, and an old shepherd
--the very Shepherd of Salisbury Plain sat erect in the centre of the
ruin.
Pages:
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536