28 HOLLYCOMBE. 



I cannot refrain from recording the im- 

 pression made on my mind by the beauty 

 of this delightful scenery. I have since 

 often enjoyed it, and many others must 

 have admired it, but it is now for ever 

 closed to the traveller by rail. 



Proceeding at a more rapid pace down 

 the descent over what would appear, from 

 the rich yellow flowering of the furze, then 

 in the fulness of its bloom, to be the his- 

 torical field of the cloth of gold, we 

 reached the little hamlet of Liphook, and 

 stopped at the "Anchor" a well-known 

 posting-house half-an-hour to dine. Start- 

 ing from thence, we trotted briskly on an un- 

 dulating road, leaving the seat called Holly- 

 combe, the property of Mr., now Sir C. 

 Taylor, on the left, with sight of Wool- 

 mer Forest, the scene of White's natural 

 history of Selborne, on the right, and a 

 most lovely romantic valley, bounded by 

 lofty hills in the distance, to the town of 

 Petersfield, a locality I have already men- 



