Chapter 36

WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN.

"I saw Eternity the other night Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright:-- And round beneath it, time in hours, days, years, Driven by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world And all her train were hurl'd."

HENRY VAUGHAN.

It is the end of May; a bright, rainless, and at times bitterly cold month it has been. But now the chill east wind has almost died away. Summer has come at last. Once more I am making for the Downs. Very seldom am I there at this period of the year; but before going away for several months, I bethought me that I would go and inspect the improvements at the fox-covert, stopping on my way at the "Jubilee" gorse covert we lately planted, to see if there is a litter of cubs there this year. Across the fields we go, ankle deep in buttercups and clover at one moment, then up the hedge to avoid treading the half-grown barley. We are so accustomed to take a bee-line across these shooting grounds of ours that we quite forget that the farmer would not thank us for trampling down his crops at the end of May. But soon we are on the Downs, well out of harm's way and far removed from highroads and footpaths. What a glorious panorama lies all around! Why do we not come here oftener in summer?--the country is ten times more lovely then than it is in the shooting season. A field of sainfoin in June, with its glorious blossoms of pink, is one of the prettiest sights in all creation. Seen in the distance, amid a setting of green wheatfields and verdant pastures, it ripples in the garish light of the summer sun like a lake of rubies.

"Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity; And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday."

Ah! there will be lots of foxes when the hounds come to the fox-covert next October. The unpleasant smell at the mouth of the earth tells us that there are cubs there; and as we stand over it we can hear them playing down below in the bowels of mother earth. Very distinct, too, are the tracks--_traffic_, the keeper calls them--leading by sundry well-trodden paths to the dell below--a nice sunny dell, facing south-west, where in spring the violets and primroses grow among the spreading elder. These cubs were not born here. Their mother brought them from an old hollow stump of a tree by the river, half a mile away. When she found her lair discovered by an angler who happened to pass that way, she brought them across the river by the narrow footbridge right up here on to the hill. The cubs from the tree have disappeared, so no doubt these are the ones. Well, there are lots of rabbits for them; the little fellows are popping about all over the place.

How tame all wild animals become in the summer!--all except the ones we want to circumvent--magpies, jays, stoats, and such small deer. Lapwings fly round us, crying restlessly, "Go away, go away!" Their shrill treble accents remind one of a baby's squall. Pigeons and ringdoves, partridges and hares seem to be plentiful "as blackberries in September." A gorgeous cock pheasant crows and jumps up close to us, followed by his mate. This is a pleasing sight up here, for they are wild birds. There has been no rearing done in these copses on the hills within the memory of man.

Tom Peregrine suddenly appears out of a hedge, where he has been watching the antics of the cubs at the mouth of the fox-earth. He has grown very serious of late, and tells you repeatedly that there is going to be another big European war shortly. Let us hope his gloomy forebodings are doomed to disappointment. Surely, surely at the end of this marvellous nineteenth century, when there are so many men in the world who have learnt the difficult lessons of life in a way that they have never been learnt before, nations are no longer obliged to behave like children, or worse still, with their petty jealousies and bickerings and growlings, "like dogs that delight to bark and bite."

Tom Peregrine, having done but little work for many months, is now making himself really useful, for a change, by copying out parts of this great work; and, to do him justice, he writes a capital, clear hand. He is very anxious to become secretary to "some great gentleman," he says. If any of my readers require a sporting secretary, I can confidently recommend him as a man of "plain sense rather than of much learning, of a sociable temper, and one that understands a little of backgammon." There is no fear of his "insulting you with Latin and Greek at your own table." He would have suited Sir Roger capitally for a chaplain, I often tell him; and though he hasn't a notion who Sir Roger may be, he thoroughly enjoys the joke.

The fox-covert presents a strange appearance. It is full of young spruce trees, and the lower branches have been lopped down, but not cut through or killed. Under each tree there is now a grand hiding-place for foxes and rabbits--a sort of big umbrella turned topsy-turvy. The rabbits appreciate the pains we have been at; but I fear the foxes, for whom it was intended, at present look on the shelter with suspicion. They dislike the gum which oozes continually from the gashes in the bark; it sticks to their coats, and gives an unpleasant sensation when they roll. They cannot keep their beautiful coats sleek and glossy, as is their invariable rule, as long as their is any gum sticking to them.

How clearly we can see the Swindon Hills in the bright evening atmosphere! They must be more than twenty miles away. The grand old White Horse, making the spot where long, long ago the Danes were vanquished in fight, is not visible; but he is scarcely to be seen at all now, as the lazy Berkshire people have neglected their duty. He really must be scoured again this summer; he is a national institution. Londoners take a much greater interest in him than do the honest folk who live bang under his nose.

We must continue our excavations at Ladbarrow copse yonder. Men say it is the largest barrow in the county, full of "golden coffins" and all sorts of priceless antiquities! At present all we have discovered are some bones, with which we stuffed our pockets. When we arrived home, however, they were found to have belonged to a poor old sheep-dog that was buried there. But see! the setting sun is tinging the tops of the slender, shapely ash trees in yonder emerald copse. The whole plain is changing from a vast arena of golden splendour to a mysterious shadowy land of dreams. A fierce light still reveals every object on the hill towards the east; but westwards beneath yon purple ridge all is wrapped in dim, ambiguous shade.

It is sad to think that I alone of mortal men should be here to see this glorious panorama. It seems such a waste of nature's bounteous store that night after night this wondrous spectacle should be solemnly displayed, with no better gallery than a stray shepherd, who, as he "homeward plods his weary way," cares little for the grand drama that is being performed entirely for his benefit. Nature is indeed prodigal of her charms in out-of-the-way country places.

Sometimes whilst walking over these remote fields on summer evenings, I have stopped to ask myself this question: Is it possible that these exquisite wild flowers, these groves and dells of verdant tracery, these birds with their priceless music, and these wondrous, ineffable effects of light and shade which form part of the everyday pageant of English rural scenery are doomed "to waste their sweetness on the desert air"? Is it possible (to go further afield) that those lovely scenes in Wales--the fairy glens near Bettws-y-Coed, or the luxuriant valleys of Carmarthen, further south, where silvery Towey flows below the stately ruins of Dynevor Castle; those romantic reaches on the Wye, from Chepstow to the frowning hills of Brecon; those solitary, but unspeakably grand, mountains and passes of the Highlands, such as Glencoe, Ben Nevis, or those of the scarcely explored Hebrides; those smiling waters of the lovely Trossachs; those countless spots in the "Emerald Isle" that the tourist has never seen, whether in fertile Wicklow or among the whispering woods and weird waters of the west; those gorgeous forests of Ceylon; those interminable jungles of the beautiful East, with their unknown depths of tropical splendour;--is it possible that these scenes of wondrous beauty are inhabited and enjoyed by nothing more than is visible to our limited mortal gaze?

I believed, as a boy, and with a romance still unsubdued by time I would yet fain believe, that when the soul of man escapes from the poor tenement of clay in which it has been pent up for some threescore years and ten, it has not far to go. I would fain believe that heaven is not only above us, but, in some form or other entirely beyond our mortal ken, all around us, in every beautiful thing we see; that these hills and vales, these woods of delicately wrought fan-tracery groining, these mazes of golden light when the sun goes down, are peopled not alone by human flesh and blood. "There are also terrestrial bodies, and bodies celestial. But the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another."

Who can imagine the shape or form of the immortal soul? As I walked over those golden fields to-night it seemed as if there were spirits all around me--glorious, bright spirits of the dead--invisible, intangible, like rays of pure light, in the clear atmosphere of those Elysian fields. I cannot but believe that there arise from the secret parts of this beautiful earth, at dawn of day and at eventide, other voices besides the ineffable songs of birds, the rustling murmurs that whisper in the woods, and the plaintive babbling of the brooks--hymns of unknown depths of harmony, impossible to describe, because impossible to imagine--crying night and day: "Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb for ever and ever."

Yes, dear reader,

"Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither."

When the sun goes down, if you will turn for a little while from the noise and clamour of the busy world, you shall list to those voices ringing, ringing in your ears. Words of comfort shall you hear at eventide, "and sorrow and sadness shall be no more,"--even though, as the years roll on, perforce you cry, with Wordsworth:

"What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower, We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind."

THE END.

APPENDIX.

GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN.

(_Note from the papers of the Gloucestershire Society_)

It is now generally understood that the words of this song have a hidden meaning which was only known to the members of the Gloucestershire Society, whose foundation dates from the year 1657. This was three years before the restoration of Charles II. and when the people were growing weary of the rule of Oliver Cromwell. The Society consisted of Loyalists, whose object in combining was to be prepared to aid in the restoration of the ancient constitution of the kingdom whenever a favourable opportunity should present itself. The Cavalier or Royalist party were supported by the Roman Catholics of the old and influential families of the kingdom; and some of the Dissenters, who were disgusted with the treatment they received from Cromwell, occasionally lent them a kind of passive aid. Taking these considerations as the keynote to the song, attempts have been made to discover the meaning which was originally attached to its leading words. It is difficult at the present time to give a clear explanation of all its points. The following, however, is consistent throughout, and is, we believe, correct:--

"The stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler's oven, And thauy qeum from the Bleakeney's Quaar; And Gaarge he wur a jolly ould mon, And his yead it graw'd above his yare."

By "George Ridler" was meant King Charles I. The "oven" was the Cavalier party. The "stwuns" which built the oven, and which "came out of the Blakeney Quaar," were the immediate followers of the Marquis of Worcester, who held out to the last steadfastly for the royal cause at Raglan Castle, which was not surrendered till 1646, and was, in fact, the last stronghold retained for the king. "His head did grow above his hair" was an allusion to the crown, the head of the State, and which the king wore "above his hair."

"One thing of Gaarge Ridler's I must commend, And that wur vor a notable theng; He mead his braags avoore he died, Wi' any dree brothers his zons zshou'd zeng."

This meant that the king, "before he died," boasted that notwithstanding his present adversity, the ancient constitution of the kingdom was so good and its vitality so great that it would surpass and outlive any other form of government, whether republican, despotic, or protective.

"There's Dick the treble and John the mean (Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace); And Gaarge he wur the elder brother, And therevoore he would zing the beass."

"Dick the treble, Jack the mean, and George the bass" meant the three parts of the British constitution--King, Lords, and Commons. The injunction to "let every man sing in his own place" was intended as a warning to each of the three estates of the realm to preserve its proper position and not to attempt to encroach on each other's prerogative.

"Mine hostess's moid (and her neaum 'twur Nell), A pretty wench, and I lov'd her well; I lov'd her well--good reauzon why, Because zshe lov'd my dog and I."

"Mine hostess's moid" was an allusion to the queen, who was a Roman Catholic; and her maid, the Church. The singer, we must suppose, was one of the leaders of the party, and his "dog" a companion or faithful official of the Society; and the song was sung on occasions when the members met together socially: and thus, as the Roman Catholics were Royalists, the allusion to the mutual attachment between the "maid" and "my dog and I" is plain and consistent.

"My dog has gotten zitch a trick To visit moids when thauy be zick; When thauy be zick and like to die, Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I."

The "dog"--that is, the official or devoted member of the Society--had "a trick of visiting maids when they were sick." The meaning here was that when any of the members were in distress, or desponding, or likely to give up the royal cause in despair, the officials or active members visited, consoled, and assisted them.

"My dog is good to catch a hen,-- A duck and goose is vood vor men; And where good company I spy, Oh, thether gwoes my dog and I."

The "dog," the official or agent of the Society, was "good to catch a hen," a "duck," or a "goose"--that is, any who were well affected to the royal cause of whatever party; wherever "good company I spy, Oh, thither go my dog and I"--to enlist members into the Society.

"My mwother told I when I wur young, If I did vollow the strong beer pwoot, That drenk would pruv my auverdrow, And meauk me wear a thzreadbare cwoat."

"The good ale-tap" was an allusion, under cover of a similarity in the sound of the words "ale" and "aisle," to the Church, of which it was dangerous at that time to be an avowed follower, and so the members were cautioned that indiscretion would lead to their discovery and "overthrow."

"When I hev dree zixpences under my thumb, Oh, then I be welcome wherever I qeum But when I have none, oh, then I pass by,-- 'Tis poverty pearts good company."

The allusion here is to those unfaithful supporters of the royal cause who "welcomed" the members of the Society when it appeared to be prospering, but "parted" from them in adversity, probably referring ironically to those lukewarm and changeable Dissenters who veered about, for and against, as Cromwell favoured or contemned them. Such could always be had wherever there were "three sixpence-under the thumb"; but "poverty" easily parted such "good company."

"When I gwoes dead, as it may hap, My greauve shall be under the good yeal tap; In vouled earmes there wool us lie, Cheek by jowl, my dog and I."

"If I should die," etc.--an expression of the singer's wish that if he should die he may be buried with his faithful companion (as representing the principles of the Society) under the good aisles of the church, thus evincing his loyalty and attachment to the good old constitution and to Church and king even in death.

INDEX

Abbey, Edwin Ablington Manor Acman Street Aethelhum, the Saxon Agriculture Alder tree Aldsworth and Oliver Cromwell Alfred, King Amphitheatre, Roman Ampney Park Angelus, the Antiquity, charm of _Arbor Diana_ Architecture, Elizabethan Aristotle Arlington Row Artificial fox-earths Austin, Alfred

Badgers Bampton-in-the-Bush Barnby, Joseph Barns, tithe Barometer Barrows, ancient Bathurst family Bathurst, Lord Battues Bazley, Sir Thomas Bettws-y-Coed Bibury Races Bibury village Bigotphones Blowing-stone, the Bourton-on-the-Water Bowly, Mrs. Christopher Brassey, Albert, M.F.H. Braydon Forest Bromley-Davenport, W. Buckland, Frank Bull-ring, Roman Burford Burton on the Cotswolds

Cadge for hawks Caesar, Julius Camps, ancient British Carlyle, Thomas Cassey-Compton Manor House Caves, prehistoric Characters, village Charles I. Charles II. Charlock Chaucer Chavenage Chedworth Chepstow, the Wye at Chiltern Hills Chivalry, ancient Choirs, village "Christmas Carol," Austin's Christmas festivities Church ales Churchwardens Cirencester Civil Wars Clarendon on Falkland Climate of the Cotswolds Coats-of-arms Coffins, old stone Coln, River Coln-St.-Aldwyns Coln-St.-Dennis Conyger wood Corinium Museum Corncrakes, disappearance of Coulson, Colonel, his trap County cricket Coursing on the Cotswolds Cray-fish Creswell family Cricket pitch, how to improve Cricket, prehistoric Cricket, the game of Cripps, Wilfred, C.B. Crosses, wayside Cub-hunting Cubs, fox Cudgel-playing, old-fashioned Curlews Cushats

Deadman's Acre Deerhounds, Scotch De Quincey Derby Day on the Coln De Vere, Aubrey Dew Dew-point Dialect, Cotswold Dickens, Charles, on cricket Dogs Downs, the mystery of the Dream, Shakespeare's Dress, simplicity in Drayton, Michael Dry-fly fishing Ducks, wild Duleep Singh at Hatherop Dun, olive Dürer, Albert

Earthquake of 1895 Earths for foxes _Écrevisse_ Eel, curious capture of Elder tree Eldon, Lord "Elegy," Gray's Elizabeth, Queen, at Burford Elms "England, Merrie" Escutcheons Evening fishing Excursion, Roger Plowman's

Fairwood Falconry, the art of Falkland, Lord, at Burford Farmers, Cotswold Feasts, ancient Ferns growing on ash tree Fieldfare, return of the Field names Firr, Tom Flails, old-fashioned Flanders mares Flies, artificial Flocks of lapwings Flowers, wild Fly-catcher, the "Flying Dutchman" Forest, Braydon Forest, Savernake Fossbridge Fosseway Fox-earths Foxes Fozbrooke Free Foresters' Cricket Club

Galway nags Gamekeeper, the Gannet Garden, an old Garne of Aldsworth Geese, wild "George Ridler's Oven" Gilbert White Gilpin, John Gipsies Gloucestershire dialect Glow-worms Goethe (quoted) Golf greens, treatment of Gothic architecture Grace, W.G. Grasshoppers, Burke on Gray's "Elegy" Green-drake Greyhound fox Grounds, treatment of cricket Gwynne, Nell, at Bibury Races

Hall, King Alfred's Hallam, Arthur Halo, solar Hamilton, Sir William Rowan Hangman's Stone, origin of Hard riders Hares Harvest home Hawking described Hawks Hedgehogs Henry VIII. Heraldry Herbs Herons Hicks-Beach, Right Hon. Sir Michael Hic-wall or heckle Hill, White Horse Hills, Jem Hobbs of Maiseyhampton Horse, description of Horse for the Cotswolds Hounds, Badminton Hounds, Bombay Hounds, Heythrop Hounds, Lord Bathurst's Hounds, Mr. T.B. Miller's Hounds, Shakespeare on Hunting, fox- Hunting poem Hunting, stag-, in olden times Huntsman, a good Hygrometer Hymns Hypocaust, Roman

Icknield Street Implements, old stone Inscribed stones (Roman) Inscription on porch of manor house Irmin Way Irving, Washington (quoted) Isaac Walton

Jansen, Cornelius, painter Jefferies, Richard Johnson, Dr. Joyce on Fairford windows

Keble, John, at Fairford Kelmscott Kemble Kestrel Kingfishers Kingmaker, the Kipling, Rudyard Kite, artificial Knights Templar

Labourers, Cotswold Lapwings Larder, vixen's Leland Lenthall, Speaker Leslie, G. Limestone quarries, Llewelyn, W. Dillwyn Loam, use of clay or

Macomber Falls Macpherson and Ossian Madden, Right Hon. D.H. Magpies Mallard, a pugnacious Manor parchments Manuscript, an ancient Marsh-harrier Marsh-marigold Master, Chester, family of Maxwell, Sir Herbert May flies May-fly season "Merrie England" Meteor, a large Miller, T.B., M.F.H. Miller, the village Monk, W.J., on Burford Moorhens, habits of Mop, Cirencester Moreton-in-the-Marsh Morris, William Mounds, ancient burial Mummers' play Museums, Roman Musicians, old village

Natal, scenery of Nest, kingfisher's Netting trout Newton, Isaac Nightjar or goatsucker Night on the hills Nimrod on Bibury Races _Noblesse oblige_ Northleach

Oak, old Oliver Cromwell Oman's discovery Ossian "Oven, George Ridler's" Owls Oxen, ploughing with

Partridges "Parvise," the Pavements, Roman Penance at Burford Peregrine falcons Peregrine, Thomas, keeper Pheasants Pigeon-shooting Playing-fields, Eton Pliny "Plestor," the Ploughing with oxen Plover, common Plover, golden Plowman, Roger, goes to London Poachers, scarcity of Poges, Stoke Political meetings Politicians, village Pope at Cirencester Pottery, Roman Prehistoric cricket Prehistoric relics Prescription, an excellent Proverbs, Gloucestershire Puffin

Quack, the village Quails Quarries, limestone Quenington Querns, the

Races, Bibury Ramparts, ancient Ready Token Retrievers Riders, good Riding, hard Roads, limestone Roger de Coverley, Sir Roman remains Rookery, the Rupert, Prince Ruskin, John

Sainfoin Sargent, J. Savernake Scent of foxes Scotch deerhound Scott, Lady Margaret Scouring the White Horse Shakespeare on the Cotswolds Sheep, Cotswold Sheep-washing Sherborne House Sherborne, Lord Shooting, covert- Sly, Isaac Snake eaten by trout Snipe Solan goose Solar halo Songs, Gloucestershire South Africa, wolds of Sparrow-club Spawn-beds of trout _Spectator_, the Sportsman, definition of a good Spring flowers Springs, Cotswold Squirrels Stag-hunting, wild Stage-coach Stoats Stone age, relics of Stowell Stow-on-the-Wold Sunsets described Swans

Tame, John Tanfield family Teal Tennyson Terrier, fox- Tesselated pavements Thames Thrashing Thrush, song of Tiercel-gentle Tithe Tithe barns "Tolsey," the Traps, vermin Travess, Charles Trees, beauty of ash Trossachs, the Trout eating snake Trout, habits of "Tuer," a Turnip hower, the

Umpires, village Uncertainty, charm of Urns, sepulchral

Vale, Berkshire Vale of White Horse Hounds Valley, Coln Valley, Thames Victorian Era Voles, water

Waller's pictures Walnut tree in spring Warwick, the kingmaker Wasps, a plague of Watercress Wayside crosses Weasels Westbury White Horse Wharfe, River White Horse Hill Whitsun ale Whitsuntide sports Whyte-Melville Wildfowl Williamstrip Wimbrels, Windrush, River Wines, home-made Winson village Woodpeckers Wood-pigeons Wordsworth Wren, Christopher

Yaffel Yuletide

Zingari Cricket Club Zodiacal light