A VISIT TO SELBORNIi. 
105 
Sussex join and commingle. The twilight gathered about me 
as I was on the hill, and it was already dark among the beeches 
as I hastened down the steep path. 
Gilbert White says that “ the village lies one stage or step 
from the uplands in the hill country at the spring heads.” It 
is just below the level of the springs which here issue at the 
foot of the chalk and form the head waters of the river Wey. 
A stream is thrown out at each end of the Hanger, and so on 
either side of Selborne, and the two flow round it, so as to half 
encircle it, until they join their waters a field’s length below the 
church. These rivulets by the fret of ages have hollowed their 
channels and formed little valleys ; thus the village, having set 
its back against the Down, is enclosed by them in front as by 
a moat, and so lies entrenched. 
“ High on a mound th’ exalted gardens stand. 
Beneath, deep valleys, scooped by Nature’s hand. 
A Cobham here, exulting in his art 
Might blend the general’s with the gardener’s part. 
Might fortify with all the martial trade 
Of rampart, bastion, fosse, and palisade. 
Might plant the mortar with wide threat’ning bore. 
Or bid the mimic cannon seem to roar.” 
This picturesque situation is especially observed near the 
church, which stands on a green knoll just above the waters’ 
meeting. The combined stream continues its way for more than 
a mile through a narrow vale with steep well-wooded sides, 
flowing through hillocky pastures, until at the site of the ancient 
Priory, now occupied by a farmhouse, it reaches more open 
country. 
It was down this valley that I took my next walk. The 
way is through the churchyard. Here lies with his fathers the 
scholarly, unambitious gentleman who has made the name of an 
obscure village immortal by his love of its simple sights and 
scenes. “ G. W., June 26th, 1793 ” is all the inscription of that 
little head-stone. 
The path-way descends the green knoll to the point where 
the waters meet. This is the Short Lith ; the Long Lith is the 
field on the other side of the stream to the north, the cottage at 
the foot of the hill is Dorton. I went through a lovely wood of 
oak and beech in which jays and wood-pigeons abounded, feasting 
on the ripening mast ; but it is the variety of underwood which 
most attracts attention, the nut-trees, briars and brambles, all 
full of ripe fruit, the dogwood with its black berries, the spindle- 
tree opening pink pods to show seeds enclosed in mace of 
brightest orange, the guelder rose with bronzing leaves and 
luscious over-ripe berries, transparent as drops of rosy syrup, 
the elder, its large cymes once so erect in flower now hanging 
heavy with purple fruit. What treasures do we find here ! 
At the Priory I crossed the stream and turned up through 
the woods which clothe its other bank. This is a place in 
