Of the origin of the White Horse nothing certain and positive is known; it is, without question, of very great antiquity. The following is, I believe, about the most

authentic account: u In the reign of Ethelred I., the brother and immediate predecessor of Alfred, the Danes invaded Berkshire, and possessed themselves of Reading. There they were attacked by the W^st Saxons; in the first engagement the Danes were defeated, but in the second they repulsed their assailants. Four days afterwards, at iEscesdum, u e., Ash Tree Hill, a more important battle was fought, in which the Danes were defeated with great slaughter. The white horse is probably a monument of this victory.”

It is always with regret and a sigh that I consult books on matters of this kind; how much better is it to gain, first-hand, the local traditions and stories which are sure to abound in the neighbourhood! I was therefore most pleased, in the course of the morning, to meet in the village a poor old woman with a bundle of sticks if there is one thing more than anotheron her back—for which is a real treat to me it is to have a chat with a venerable old man or woman, rich or poor, a Peer or a Pauper. “ Good morning, Mrs.——; good luck with the sticks, I trust.” “ Ah! sir, times is ’ard, sir; and the farmers terrible cruel, sir; they won’t let a poor auld doman (Berkshire for woman) pick up a few bits of stick just to bile my kettle and cook me a bit of victuals like, sir; and I am this next lambinga poor old body—seventy-three come time; but, thank God, I be pretty hearty for my years”

“war on THE HILL.' 189

“ Did you ever go up to the white horse, granny? ”

said I. “I ain’t a-been up there for this five and sixty year, sir; not since I was a young girl, and used to dance along wi’ the chaps a-scouring time. Fine goings-on there was then, sir, I can assure you; there ain’t times like them now-a-days.” “ But who made the white horse, granny? ” “ Well, I have ’eard tell in the village, as King Allred the Great cut en out a time ago on the downs with his sword, when he had a fight agin some foreigners; but I never minds the name on ’em. There’s been a deal of battles up by the white horse, sir, and there’s a terrible sight of bones about; old pots, great knives, bits of money, and all manners, as they ploughs up in is the things as wasthe turmut (turnip) fields—they left when there was war up on the hill. I recollects, sir, my father a-taking me, when I was a little girl, up on the hill when war was there, and the soldiers was beautiful, and such ’andsome young men, sir; but I don’t mind much on it now. It was only t’other day as there was war again up the hill, and the guns was a-going off all day, and they telled me in the village as how they was shooting deserters. Besides which I s’pose you see the Dragon’s Hill, sir. That’s wheie a dragon was killed, sir, a long time ago; his blood ran out on the hill, and no grass would grow on it

;

190 the dragon’s blood.

afterwards. I don’t know what to make on it, sir; but anyhow there ain’t a-been no grass on the hill not in my time—but I am a poor old body, sir, and my memory ain’t so good as it used to be. Thank ye, sir I Now I’ll go and buy myself a bit of tea and sugar, sir, and bless you for your kindness to a poor old doman. I am well one day and bad the next. I ebbs and I flows, sir, that I does; I ebbs and I flows.”

I have taken some little trouble to find out what “ the deal of war” was that my ancient friend recollected as going on on White-Horse Hill. The first occasion, when she was taken up to see the “ beautiful soldiers,” must have been the assembly of the Volunteers in 1803, when Buonaparte was expected to land in England the second “ war” must have been the encampment of the Berkshire Volunteers, which took place a short time since, when rifle practice was incessantly going on in “ the manger ” under the white horse. So, after all, there is some foundation for her “ terrible sight of battles ” having taken place on White-Horse Hill.

The battle with the Danes, I think, must have been fought about a.d. 890 (I write under correction), and I fancy that Ashdown Park, the seat of the Earl of Craven, where the well-known coursing meetings are held, must have taken its name from the site of this ancient victory.

How times are changed! Formerly the Danes were I fear whenenemies—the invaders of our land—and

conquered they were cruelly treated by the victors; noWy a fair Danish lady sets her foot upon the soil; the whole of England rises as one man to welcome her arrival to our shores; what a whole army of Danes could not do, namely, conquer England, years ago, one

England’s brave sons would never bow to an invading host, but they will with one accord render due submission and homage to the beauteous Royal Princess, the wife of her Majesty’s eldest son, and the mother, we trust, of kings who will rule this land when we are all laid low in the dust. Who, then, can look at this grand White Horse, unaltered by time, by wind, by frost, or by storm, rejoicing in his strength and stern immortality, on the bleak Berkshire downs, without thinking of the present and the past? Far, far away in the valley below I see another white horse, speeding his way with lightning wings; this is the steam horse of the present day—the Great Western locomotive the “Duke of Wellington”—vomiting clouds of steam, and rushing comet-like through space with the morning up-express to London.

This is science, this is progress, this is the work of the present generation. Yet the white horse notices it not; as he was years ago so is he now, grand, mysterious, and awful in his hoar antiquity and silent watchings for time and events to come.

192

LIONS AT THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.

It is strange how that, amidst the high state of civilization to which we, the present inhabitants of the earth, flatter ourselves we have attained, there still lurk here and there relics of the customs of the ancient men, the first pioneers of civilization. One of the most marked customs of our rude, warlike, but yet highly respected forefathers, was the choosing of emblems, whereby not only individuals (witness the helmets and banners of the Knights Templars), but even whole nations, might be distinguished and characterised one from the other. In sacred as well as profane times, we find that animals have been chosen as fit tokens and signs to be emblazoned on the standards of armies when they went forth to war. Thus, when the Tribes of Israel were first separately designated, the Lion was chosen as the standard of Judah.* * We read, Numbers x. 14:— In the first place went the standard of the camp of the children of Judah, according to their armies.” The other standards of the various tribes, as represented by animals, were Issachar by “a strong Ass, couching between two burthens; ” Dan by “ a Serpent,” Naphtali by “a Hind,” Benjamin by “ a Wolf.”

We have but to look around us even at the present time to find the same idea still prevalent. The Kussian double-headed eagle extends its power over vast tracts of the old-world continent; the Austrian eagle has frequent times and often met face to face in deadly combat with the Gallic cock; the eagle of the warlike Romans spread its conquering wings over the downcast walls of the sacred city; but what animal out of the whole creation has England, the favoured country to which we belong, chosen as its representative? Need I mention that the king of beasts, the lord of the forest forth in all his natural beauty and—the Lion—stands graceful magnificence as the type of the Englishman and of the English nation?

We have heard of late much of the Ron’s habits when at home, and travellers do not give him so good a character for courage or for such noble attributes as he is supposed to possess. No man, however, is a hero in his nightcap; and it is not altogether fair to tell stories

out of school. Anyhow, I would venture to observe that, whatever

In December, 1866, a friend of mine, one of the professors at Glasgow, sent me the following interesting note: “ The Inspector of the Zoological Gardens at Dresden came to me at the time of the Prussian entry, and asked me to beg the English Ambassador’s permission to hoist the English flag over the lions in the gardens, to prevent the Prussians shooting them.”

SER. III. 0

the Lion may be said in books to want in daring and bravery, be evidently possesses some great and formidable qualities; for were it not so, bow is it that travellers are always in such a desperate burry to get out of bis way, and keep sucb a respectful distance from bis majesty’s person when be is offended? Then, again, wbat in nature can be grander than tbe voice of tbis “ Desert King?” How do hearts, both of man and beast quail, when, camped in tbe solitude of tbe wilderness, far away from human aid, tbe terrific roar of tbe lion falls upon their affrighted ears amidst tbe howling of the wind, the crash of the storm, and the peals of heaven’s artillery l The Lion is awake, he is hungry; we know not how near he is; we know not who is to be his

victim!*

There is no animal which exhibits greater cunning than the lion in all its doings; generally found in troops, varying in number from three to eight or nine, they exercise great ingenuity in circumventing their prey and in avoiding man-—the only enemy they dread. During the night they travel long distances in search of food, generally returning to their lair by sunrise. They sleep and bask in the sun during the day, resuming their peregrinations at nightfall. Should they have young ones, they are carefully concealed during their absence.

On the large, sandy, and arid plains of South Africa they often experience considerable difficulty in securing their prey. The large herds of game all round are so watchful and wary that they often retire to their dens supperless. They then have recourse to stratagem. One favourite and generally-successful

Such a scene as this has been admirably realized by my friend, T. C. Carpendale, Esq., in the drawing I present to my reader. (See Frontispiece, Yol. II.)

The sun is just sinking down at the edge of the wilderness, and a long dark stormy night is at hand; the clouds are rolling up heavy and dark from the horizon. The elands and the antelopes are on the distant plain cropping their evening meal in peace, and lo, from behind the rocks stalks forth a huge dark cat-like figure; silently and lightly as a shadow he moves his foot-fall is unheardgiant and ponderous frame—his even by his victims proverbially swift of ear.

At his side are the jackals; the one gazing eagerly at the beasts which he is well aware his friend the lion will soon lay bleeding at his feet; the other thin and famishing, is cracking up a bone long since dried up by

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