AT LYNDHURST. 119 
in its greatest perfection the calm of a country 
ramble, there is no time so exquisitely enjoyable 
as the early summer Sunday. 
Where shall we first bend our steps, as we leave 
our quarters at the ‘Crown’ Inn, in this charm- 
ing woodland village ? We care to have no other 
guide than our own fancy. Our bedroom window 
faces south, fronting the simple village church, 
placed, with its rustic burying-ground, on the 
acclivity of a tiny knoll. From the churchyard 
level we can see a little of the surrounding wood- 
land, but only enough to make us jong for further 
exploration. So we leave the churchyard, and at 
its western end pass along the winding road, 
fringed by Beech and Oak, Birch and Elm, which 
intermingle their varying foliage; and, by taking 
an upland turn where a sign-post points ‘To 
Minstead,’ we soon find ourselves—by diverging 
from our road to the left, at a point a few yards 
from the turning where an Oak flings its branches 
across nearly the whole width of the carriage way— 
on the wooded hillside. We pass, under shelter 
of Oak and Beech, through glades of brake, with 
growth of Hawthorn, blackberry, and dogrose— 
