It seems reasonable to imagine that in some way that strip of country acts differently for the time being upon the atmosphere immediately above it. So singularly local are these conditions, sometimes, that one farmer will show you a flourishing crop of roots which was refreshed by a heavy shower just in the nick of time, while his neighbour is loudly complaining that he has had no rain. When the sky is overcast--large masses of cloud, with occasional breaks, passing slowly across it at a considerable elevation without rain--sometimes through these narrow slits long beams of light fall aslant upon the distant fields of the vale. They resemble, only on a greatly lengthened scales the beams that may be seen in churches of a sunny afternoon, falling from the upper windows on the tiled floor of the chancel, and made visible by motes in the air. So through such slits in the cloudy roof of the sky the rays of the sun shoot downwards, made visible on their passage by the moisture or the motes floating in the atmosphere. They seem to linger in their place as the clouds drift with scarcely perceptible motion; and the labourers say that the sun is sucking up water there. In the evening of a fine day the mists may be seen from hence as they rise in the meadows far beneath: beginning first over the brooks, a long white winding vapour marking their course, next extending over the moist places and hollows. Higher in the air darker bars of mist, separate and distinct from the white sheet beneath them, perhaps a hundred feet above it, gradually come into sight as they grow thicker and blacker, one here one yonder--long and narrow in shape. These seem to approach more nearly in character to the true cloud than the mist which hardly rises higher than the hedges. The latter will sometimes move or draw across the meadows when there is no apparent wind, not sufficient to sway a leaf, as if in obedience to light and partial currents created by a variation of temperature in different parts of the same field. Once now and then, looking at this range of hills from a distance of two or three miles on moonless nights, when it has been sufficiently clear to distinguish them, I have noticed that the particular down on which the earthwork is situate shows more distinctly than the others. By day no difference is apparent; but sometimes by night it seems slightly lighter in hue, and stands out more plainly. This may perhaps be due to some unobserved characteristic of the herbage on its slope, or possibly to the chalky subsoil coming there nearer to the surface. The power of reflecting light possessed by the earth, and varied by different soils or by vegetation, is worth observation. CHAPTER THREE. THE HILLSIDE HEDGE: ITS BIRDS AND FLOWERS--A GREEN TRACK--THE SPRING-HEAD.