a hint.  The stones stand in two concentric circles, those of the inner ring being about half the height of the outer ones.  Some of the stones are more than twenty feet high and extend several feet into the ground.  There are certain signs which seem to indicate that Stonehenge was the temple of some early sun-worshiping race, and Sir Norman Lockyer, who has made a special study of the subject, places the date of construction about 1680 B.C.  No similar stone is found in the vicinity; hence it is proof positive that the builders of Stonehenge must have transported the enormous monoliths for many miles.  The place lies about eight miles north of Salisbury.  We went over a rather lonely and uninteresting road by the way of Amesbury, which is two miles from Stonehenge.  We returned by a more picturesque route, following the River Avon to Salisbury and passing through Millston, a quaint little village where Joseph Addison was born in 1672.

A few miles south of Salisbury we entered New Forest, an ancient royal hunting domain covering nearly three hundred square miles and containing much of the most pleasing woodland scenery in England.  This is extremely diversified but always beautiful.  Glades and reaches of gentle park and meadow and open, heathlike stretches contrast wonderfully with the dark masses of huge oaks and beeches, under some of which daylight never penetrates.  We stopped for the night at Lyndhurst, directly in the center of the forest and sometimes called the capital of New Forest.  It looks strangely new for an English town, and the large church, built of red brick and white stone, shows its recent origin.  In this church is a remarkable altar fresco which was executed by the late Lord Leighton.  The fine roads and splendid scenery might occupy at least a day if time permitted; but if, like us, one must hasten onward, a run over the main roads of New Forest will give opportunity to see much of its sylvan beauty.

[Illustration:  A Glade in new forest.]

Our route next day through the narrow byways of Dorsetshire was a meandering one.  From Lyndhurst we passed through Christchurch, Blandford and Dorchester and came for the night to Yeovil.  We passed through no place of especial note, but no day of our tour afforded us a better idea of the more retired rural sections of England.  By the roadside everywhere were the thatched roof cottages with their flower gardens, and here and there was an ancient village which to all appearances might have been standing quite the same when the Conqueror landed in Britain.  Oftentimes the byways were wide enough for only one vehicle, but were slightly broadened in places to afford opportunity for passing.  Many of the crossings lacked the familiar sign-boards, and the winding byways, with nothing but the map for a guide, were often confusing, and sharp turns between high hedges made careful driving necessary.  At times we passed between avenues