192 DICK ROOK. 



could fancy the annual appearance of the surly 

 trufle hunter with his cur dog, Old Thomas, scat- 

 tering beech-mast about " Baker's Hill/' for the 

 good of posterity, and a bird flying over a chalk- 

 bank, reminded me of the martins, which Mr. White 

 tells us were in the habit of playing over it. Here 

 was the little torrent, hurrying along, and winding 

 its way down the declivity, to form a more tranquil 

 and sparkling brook in the valley below. Here, 

 also, were the strawberry slidders, the chalk pits, 

 with the white tower of the village church of Sel- 

 borne in the distance. 



I ascended the hanger, and got upon the down 

 or sheep-walk above it ; "a pleasing park-like 

 spot, commanding a very engaging view/' From 

 this eminence, I eagerly looked for the great pond 

 in Woolmer Forest, and for the house of the Na- 

 turalist; and indulged myself in fancying that I 

 could see many of the localities he has noticed. 

 The hoarse croak of a pair of ravens, which were 

 towering above the hanger, disturbed my pleasing 

 visions, and while I watched their evolutions, I 

 could not but fancy that they were the offspring 

 of those, which, for so many years, had frequented 

 the " raven-tree" of Selborne. 



I could not quit the spot without mentally pay- 

 ing my little tribute to the memory of Gilbert 

 White. Happy man, thought I, in this seques- 

 tered spot, undisturbed by ambition or the tumults 



