BLACK WATER loi 



There is a orreat deal more of Cambrido-e Town, 

 Camberley, and York Town now than when Cobbett 

 last journeyed along the road ; there are more ' chil- 

 dren breeding up to be military commanders,' more 

 Tommies, more drinking-shops, and an almost con- 

 tinuous line of ugly, and for the most part out-at- 

 elbows, houses for a space of two miles. It is with 

 relief that the traveller leaves behind the last of these 

 wretched blots upon the country and descends into 

 Blackwater, where the river of that name, so called 

 from the sullen hue it obtains on runnino- through 

 the peaty w^astes of this wild, heathy country, flows 

 beneath a bridge at the entrance to the pretty village. 

 Over this bridge we enter Hampshire, that county 

 of hogs and chalky downs, but no sign of the chalk 

 is reached yet, until coming upon the little stream 

 in the level between Hartley Row and Hook, called 

 the Whitewater from the milky tinge it has gained 

 on coming down from the chalky heights of Alton 

 and Odiham. This tinge is, however, more imaginary 

 than real, and the characteristically chalky scenery 

 of Hampshire is not seen by the traveller along the 

 Great Western Road until Basingstoke and its chalk 

 downs are reached. 



Blackwater until recently possessed a picturesque 

 old coaching inn, the ' AVhite Hart,' which has un- 

 happily been rebuilt. But it remains, as ever, a 

 village of old inns. Climbino- out of its one street 

 we come to a wild and peculiarly unprepossessing- 

 tableland known as Hartford Bridge Flats. 



To the lover of scenery this is a quite detestable 

 piece of road, but the old coachmen simply revelled 



