However, it is time for us to get from the general to the particular;
so, leaving the great army of Browns, who are scattered over the whole
empire on which the sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I take
to be the chief cause of that empire's stability; let us at once fix our
attention upon the small nest of Browns in which our hero was hatched,
and which dwelt in that portion of the royal county of Berks which is
called the Vale of White Horse.
Most of you have probably travelled down the Great Western Railway as
far as Swindon. Those of you who did so with their eyes open have been
aware, soon after leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk
hills running parallel with the railway on the left-hand side as you go
down, and distant some two or three miles, more or less, from the line.
The highest point in the range is the White Horse Hill, which you come
in front of just before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If you love
English scenery, and have a few hours to spare, you can't do better,
the next time you pass, than stop at the Farringdon Road or Shrivenham
station, and make your way to that highest point. And those who care for
the vague old stories that haunt country-sides all about England, will
not, if they are wise, be content with only a few hours' stay; for,
glorious as the view is, the neighbourhood is yet more interesting
for its relics of bygone times.
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