"great hills" of Pepys, and to
the man of Wilts that word "Plain" will ever summon up a vision of
rolling downs, a short, crisp, elastic turf dotted with flocks, and broken
here and there by some crested earthwork or barrow, which rears itself
from the undulating Down, and breaks the skyline with its sharp outline.
It has been estimated that fully one-half of Wiltshire consists of these
high bare chalk downs which rise in bold rounded bluffs from the
valleys which thread their way through the county. It is impossible to
escape them. The Cotswold shepherd looks downward on their folds,
and marks the gleaming white of the occasional chalk pit which breaks
the surface of their scarp.
The huntsman in the Vale of the White Horse, and the farmer on the
fringe of the shady depths of the New Forest alike live in the presence
of the Wiltshire Downs. There is something of grandeur in the
immensity of their broad unbroken line stretching as they do, or did, for
mile upon mile, limited only by the horizon, a rolling sea of green
pasture.
And the very heart of the Downs is the Plain of Salisbury, that broad
stretch which is bounded on the west by the wandering valley of the
river Nadder, and on the east by the trickle of the Bourne, between
which the "Hampshire" Avon divides the area with almost
mathematical accuracy in two equal triangles; and Salisbury lies at the
apex of each.
The pasturage of the Downs, and the rich woodland of these valleys
must have been important factors in those old days, when the builders
of Stonehenge pushed inland from the coast, seeking a spot wherein
they might settle. As a general rule, it may be held with considerable
certainty, not only in Wiltshire, but also in other parts of England, that
our early settlers from the Continent elected to live on the downland
rather than in the valleys. Go where you may over the Plain, its turfy
surface is scored by terraces or "lynchets," telling the tale of the ancient
ploughman's furrows on the slopes, and side by side with them lie the
scars of what were once cattle enclosures, farms, and stockaded
villages. Nor is the explanation far to seek, for the valleys afforded
shelter to the wolves, and were in places obstructed by undrained
marshes, unhealthy and unfitted for the herdsman and his flocks, and
impenetrable as regards roads.
Midway between the valleys of the Nadder and the Avon lies
"Stonehenge," a Megalithic Monument without an equal in this country,
about which the legend of the peasant, as well as the speculation of the
savant have gathered in an ever-increasing volume.
The bibliography of Stonehenge alone comprises nearly a thousand
volumes, and it is hard to pick up an old magazine or periodical which
does not contain some notice of it. County historians, astronomers,
Egyptologists, and antiquaries have argued, as old Omar would say,
"about it and about" until the man of ordinary tastes who chances to
visit the spot and to study the stones, finds himself confronted with
such a mass of evidence, of theory, and of fantastic speculation, that he
sadly turns aside befogged, or maybe fired by the example of others
evolves from his inner consciousness yet another theory of his own to
add to the already plethoric accumulation on the subject. The object of
the following pages is not to propound any new theories, but rather to
reduce the existing knowledge of Stonehenge to a compact compass,
and to make it readily accessible to that vast body of individuals who
take an intelligent interest in the stones, without having the leisure or
opportunity of following up the elaborate stages by which certain
conclusions have been arrived at. In short, it is a plain statement of the
facts about Stonehenge which may serve either as a guide to the visitor,
or as a useful remembrance of his visit.
STONEHENGE
"Salisbury Cathedral and its neighbour Stonehenge are two eminent
monuments of art and rudeness, and may show the first essay and the
last perfection in architecture."--Dr. Johnson, letter to Mrs. Thrale,
1783.
Stonehenge is one of those historical monuments which possesses the
disadvantage of a reputation. The first impression is always one of
disappointment, the circle appears so much smaller than it really is by
reason of its isolated situation. Its proportions are dwarfed by the wide
expanse of downland which surrounds it. This feeling of
disappointment, however, gradually gives place to one of wonder, as
the stones are approached more closely, and their bulk is seen in true
proportion. The diameter of the outer circle of stones is 108 feet, or
almost exactly that of the internal diameter of the Dome of St. Paul's. A
casual glance even
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