One can tell the most ancient, apart from the scientifically made Roman roads, by the way they were worn down from the original level, especially on hillsides, by the constant and heavy traffic.  Every passing wheel abraded a portion of the surface, and the next rain carried the debris down the hill, forming in time a deep depression, between banks at the sides, often many feet deep, and giving the impression of the track having been purposely dug out to lessen the gradient.  In places where the road became impassable from long use and wet, deviations on either side were made, so that ten or a dozen disused tracks can be seen side by side, often extending laterally quite a long distance from the existing road in unenclosed surroundings.

A great charm of the bicycle is its noiselessness which, with its speed, affords peeps of wild creatures under natural conditions.  Cycling on the Cotswolds I came upon two hares at a boxing match; they were so absorbed that I was able to get quite close, and it was amusing to watch them standing upright on their hind legs, and sparring with their little fists like professionals.  I have often seen the pursuit of a rabbit by a persistent stoat; the rabbit has little chance of escape, as the stoat can follow it underground as well as over; finally the rabbit appears to be paralyzed with fright, lies down and makes no further effort.  Weasels, which probably make up for depredations of game by their destruction of rats, often cross the road, and sometimes whole families may be seen playing by the roadside.  I was shooting in Surrey when I once had an excellent view of an ermine—­the stoat in its winter dress.  I did not recognize it until it was out of sight, but I should not have shot it in any case, for the ermine is a very rare occurrence in the south of England.  I believe that further north it is not unusual, as is natural where the light colour would protect it from observation in snow, but as far south as Surrey this would be a danger, and I should scarcely have noticed it in the thick undergrowth had it been normal in colour.

We had a squirrel’s nest, or “drey,” as it is called, near my house last year, and the squirrels have been about my lawn and the Forest trees ever since.  It was charming, in the summer, to watch them nibbling the fleshy galls produced on the young oaks by a gall-fly (Cynips).  They chattered to each other all the time, holding the galls between their fore feet, fragments dropping to the ground beneath the trees.  Squirrels are fond of animal food, and I wondered, as there was so much apparent waste, whether they were not really searching for the grubs in the galls.  Of late years squirrels have been scarce here; they were formerly abundant, but their numbers were much reduced by an epidemic.  They seem to be increasing again, possibly the felling of so many Scots-firs has driven them from their former haunts into adjoining oak and beech woods, such as those which almost surround my land.