This immense table-land, from which all the chalk hills of
England take their eastward way, covers over three-fifths of Wiltshire
if we include that northern section usually called the Marlborough
Downs.
We now approach the mysterious Stones that have caused more conjecture
and wonder than any work of man in these islands or in Europe and of
which more would-be descriptive rubbish has been written in a
highfalutin strain than of any other memorial of the past. Such
phrases as "majestic temple of our far-off ancestors," "stupendous
conception of a dead civilization" and the like, can only bring about
a feeling of profound disappointment when Stonehenge is actually seen.
To all who experience such disappointment the writer would strongly
urge a second or third pilgrimage. Come to the Stones on a gloomy day
in late October or early March when the surface of the great expanse
of the Plain reflects, as water would, the leaden lowering skies. Then
perhaps the tragic mystery of the place will fire the imagination as
no other scene the wide world over could. Stonehenge is unique
whichever way one looks at it.
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