10 



MEMOIR OF 



specimens of a past fashion, which White must have often 

 examined, may be even have placed there. 



The deepest well in Selborne is at the hotel ; it never fails, and 

 is said to be sixty-six feet deep. The visitor should not fail to 

 visit the Zigzag. This is a rough pathway up the side of a very 

 steep hill, which forms part of the hanger or copse which faces 

 the back of Mr. Bell's house. The term hanger is old Saxon for 

 a wood. Holt is also an old Saxon term for wood ; we find it in 

 Aldershott, which was formerly Alders-holt, and also in the 

 word Hainhault. The soil of the Zigzag is chalk, easy enough to 

 ascend when dry, but with dew or rain it becomes almost dan- 

 geroiis. At the top there is a splendid view for miles around. 

 At the bottom of the hanger I was fortunate in meeting with 

 Mr. Wells, farmer, of Selborne. He pointed out to me close 

 to the gate which, by the way, requires mending a shiver-leaf 

 aspen, which is said to have been planted by Gilbert White. 

 It is eight feet six round and about a hundred feet high. In 

 the field close by are two large stones, excessively hard and 

 of a peculiar formation, like pudding stone. Mr. Wells informed 

 ine that when they were making the new road to Alton they 

 found an enormous stone ; they " blew him into three, and these 

 were two of the pieces." 



While we were examining these stones, as it was just get- 

 ting dark, a remarkable-looking figure passed us. Mr. Wells 

 informed me that this was an idiot boy who lived in the village. 

 I immediately thought of the idiot boy mentioned by White at 

 p. 197. The letter in which the boy is mentioned is dated 1775. 

 It seems a very strange coincidence that the second villager I 

 met at Selborne should be a successor of White's idiot boy, 

 of exactly a hundred years ago. The present idiot has not yet 

 taken a fancy to bees as did White's lad ; he gets his living by 

 needlework with his mother. Towards nightfall he is in the 

 habit of prowling about the place and catching hedgehogs. I 

 subsequently met him, and tried to converse with him, asking 

 him to catch me a hedgehog, but I found he could not speak a 

 word, and took no notice. The poor fellow is quite deaf. 



The soil at and about the village of Selborne seems very 

 productive. The visitor should take a walk down the garden 

 of the hotel from which a very pretty view can be obtained 

 looking to the north. 



At and about this place the vegetation is very luxurious. 

 It may be called a " Primaeval English forest." One can easily 

 see from the plants that there is a constant struggle going 

 on between nature and man; witness how nature is trying 

 to get rid of the outhouse near the hotel at Selborne. An 



