OLD MICHAELMAS DAY 293 



and peaceful, opens between the rising 

 downs, a long line of grey willows and a 

 glimmer of diamond-clear water bespeak 

 the presence of the historic Test, true 

 Mecca of the dry -fly fisherman. 



Beyond again rise the ridges and heaths 

 of the Forest, where Saxon Thanes hunted 

 the wolf and the bear or ever Norman 

 William came to England, now glorious 

 in their autumn livery of russet brown 

 and tawny gold. 



The old-fashioned hedge, under which 

 our keeper is standing a tangled jumble 

 of hazel and sloe, elder and hawthorn 

 bends over a winding green lane, where 

 bracken and briar encroach on the dis- 

 used roadway, which leads with many 

 a devious turning down the hill to the 

 hollow below, where the old-world houses 

 of the little hamlet, with chalk-built walls, 

 timber frames, and quaint overhanging 

 upper stories, cluster each askew to its 

 neighbour round the brick and flint 

 tower of the ancient church. 



Time's hand falls light on this quiet 



