NATURE NOTES 
1 86 
autumn dress, which I expected to find lovely and just at its 
best, an expectation in which I was not disappointed. 
On entering Selborne village I was much struck with a 
most brilliantly coloured plant of the small-leaved Virginian 
creeper ( Ampclopsis tricuspidata) : I had noticed many on my way, 
but none I think so intense as this. It covered the gable end 
of an old cottage belonging to the Wakes. This charming 
climber is replacing to a great extent the larger-leaved Virginian 
creeper ( Ampelopsis liederacea). It retains its foliage longer and 
clings without help. At the time of my visit it was at the 
height of its beauty and promised to last into November, while 
the larger-leaved species was in most cases quite over. 
I had now reached the Plestor, where much of the interest 
of Selborne is centred. On one side is seen the Wakes, Gilbert 
White’s old home, which has been so often described that I need 
only mention it ; and opposite is the vicarage, the church and 
the churchyard, with its grand old yew. On the rustic wooden 
seat, encircling its rugged and fissured old stem of twenty-five 
feet circumference, many a visitor has sat in reverie. More 
interesting still, in a quiet and secluded part of the churchyard 
is found the time-stained, unobtrusive Tittle head and foot stone 
of the great naturalist and good man who has made this village 
so famous. I was pleased to see some young plants of the 
small-leaved Virginian creeper planted on the heavy grey walls 
of the old church, suggested, perhaps, by the fine plant I have 
mentioned. Not far from the old yew stands a magnificent 
horse-chestnut, forming a striking contrast to its sombre neigh- 
bour. The foliage had tinted most beautifully to the fine, 
bright, crinkled, yellowish bronze that this handsome tree can 
take when at its best. The place, in the middle of the Plestor, 
formerly occupied by the venerable but unfortunate old oak, is 
now occupied by a sycamore, which is not in robust, or even in 
promising condition and will probably never make a really good 
specimen. To my mind, the sycamore is not the best tree to 
have planted in so memorable a place. 
I am now full face with the Hanger in a fine October sun. 
The beautiful neighbourhood of my own home, where the 
Thames valley runs between the chalky beech-covered hills that 
flank its sides, is celebrated for its autumn colouring, so that 
the tints of Selborne were no novelty to me. Yet I was anxious 
to see if they varied in intensity or otherwise. They were 
equally beautiful, and it is no surprise to me that Gilbert White 
considered the beech “ the most lovely of all forest trees, 
whether we consider its smooth rind or bark, its glossy foliage 
or graceful pendulous boughs.” In another place he says : 
“ Young beeches never cast their leaves till spring, till the 
new leaves sprout and push them off ; in the autumn, beechen 
leaves turn of a deep chestnut colour. Tall beeches cast their 
leaves about the end of October.” The peculiarity of the beech 
under certain conditions — which is shared by the hornbeam and 
