k. The present bridge is higher up the
stream, but the railway-station is on the actual site of the ancient
road between Winchester and Old Sarum and the "horse bridge" was then
lower down stream and almost immediately due west of the station.
Somborne gets its prefix from the fact that an old mansion usually
called "King John's Palace" formerly stood here, it may be that it
belonged to John of Gaunt. Certain mounds and small sections of wall
are pointed out as the remains of this house; they will be found to
the south-west of the church; a much restored, but still interesting,
thirteenth-century building. The font, of Purbeck marble, is very
fine; of interest also are the late Jacobean chancel rails and certain
crosses and monograms on the north doorway.

A road runs for six miles north-westwards up into the chalk hills by
the side of the Wallop brook to the euphoniously named villages of
Nether, Middle, and Over Wallop. The first and last have interesting
churches, but the excursion, if taken, should be as an introduction to
perhaps the most remote and unspoilt region of the chalk country.
Although the Wallop valley is fairly well populated, the older people
are as unsophisticated as any in southern England. The scenery is
quietly pleasant, the hills away to the southwest exceeding, here and
there, the 500 feet contour line. One of them, near the head of the
valley, is named "Isle of Wight Hill." It is only upon the clearest of
days that the distant Island is seen over the shoulder of the
neighbouring Horseshoe Hill and across the long glittering expanse of
Southampton Water.

Proceeding up the fertile valley of the Test, Stockbridge is reached
in another three miles. This sleepy old country town and one-time
parliamentary borough occasionally wakes up when sheep fairs and other
rural gatherings take place in its spacious High Street, but on other
days it is the very ideal of a somnolent agricultural centre; it is,
therefore, a pleasant headquarters from which to explore the
north-western part of the county. The long line of picturesque roofs
and broken house-fronts, in all the mellow tints that age alone can
give, makes as goodly a picture as any in Hampshire. On the right-hand
side, going down the street, is the Grosvenor Inn with its projecting
porch. Next door is the old Market House and across the way stands the
turreted Town Hall.

Alone in a quiet graveyard at the upper end of the town is the chancel
of old