he was big physically and grotesque-looking in his
motorist get-up, he was greeted with a tremendous shout. In most cases
he would start back and stand still, astonished at such an outburst, and
then, concluding that the only way to save his dignity was to face the
music, he would step hurriedly across the green space to hide himself
behind the crowd.

The most amusing case was that of a very tall person adorned with an
exceedingly long, bright red beard, who had on a Glengarry cap and
a great shawl over his overcoat. The instant this unfortunate person
stepped into the arena a general wild cry of "Scotland for ever!" was
raised, followed by such cheers and yells that the poor man actually
staggered back as if he had received a blow, then seeing there was no
other way out of it, he too rushed across the open space to lose himself
among the others.

All this proved very entertaining, and I was glad to laugh with the
crowd, thinking that after all we were taking a very mild revenge on our
hated enemies, the tyrants of the roads.

The fun over, I went soberly back to my village, and finding it
impossible to get to sleep I went to Sunday-morning service at Shrewton
Church. It was strangely restful there after that noisy morning crowd
at Stonehenge. The church is white stone with Norman pillars and old oak
beams laid over the roof painted or distempered blue--a quiet, peaceful
blue. There was also a good deal of pleasing blue colour in the glass
of the east window. The service was, as I almost invariably find it in
a village church, beautiful and impressive. Listening to the music
of prayer and praise, with some natural outdoor sound to fill up the
pauses--the distant crow of a cock or the song of some bird close by--a
corn-bunting or wren or hedge-sparrow--and the bright sunlight filling
the interior, I felt as much refreshed as if kind nature's sweet
restorer, balmy sleep, had visited me that morning. The sermon was
nothing to me; I scarcely heard it, but understood that it was about
the Incarnation and the perfection of the plan of salvation and the
unreasonableness of the Higher Criticism and of all who doubt because
they do not understand. I remembered vaguely that on three successive
Sundays in three village churches in the wilds of Wiltshire I had heard
sermons preached on and against the Higher Criticism. I thought it would
have been better in this case if the priest had chosen to preach on
Stonehenge and had sai