Some of us can still remember the old Church and the old Sunday habits prevailing before 1830. The Churchyard was large and very pretty, though ill kept, surrounded with a very open railing, and with the banks sloping towards the water meadows clothed with fine elm trees—one with a large and curious excrescence on the bark. There was a deep porch on the south side of the Church, with seats on each side. Then, on red tiles, one entered between two blocks of pews of old brown unpainted oak (their doors are panels to the roof of the boys’ school). In the space between them were two or three low benches for the children. There were three arches leading to the chancel, but that on the south side was closed by the pulpit and reading desk, and that on the north by a square pew belonging to Cranbury. Within the chancel on the north side was a large pew lined with red, belonging to Cranbury, and on the south, first the clerk’s desk, then a narrow seat of the clergyman’s, and then a large square pew. Boys in the morning and men in the afternoon used to sit on the benches placed outside these, and beyond was the rail shutting in the Altar, which was covered with red cloth, and stood below a large window, on each side of which were the Commandments in yellow letters on a blue ground, and on the wall were painted the two texts, “The Cup of Blessing, is it not the Communion of the Blood of Christ?” and “The Bread which we break, is it not the Communion of the Body of Christ?” The vestry was built out to the north, and was entered from the sanctuary.

Further space was provided by two galleries, one on the north side, supported on iron poles, and entered from the outside by a step ladder studded with large square-headed nails to prevent it from being slippery. The other went across the west end, and was entered by a dark staircase leading up behind the pews, which further led to the little square weather-boarded tower containing two beautifully toned bells. These were rung from the outer gallery where the men sat. There was a part boarded off for the singers. The Font was nearly under the gallery. It was of white marble, and still lines our present Font. Tradition says it was given by a former clerk, perhaps Mr. Fidler, but there is no record of it. An older and much ruder Font was hidden away under the gallery stairs close to an old chest, where women sometimes found a seat, against the west wall.

In those days, now more than half a century ago, when Archdeacon Heathcote was Vicar, he or his Curate used to ride over from Hursley on Sunday for the service at Otterbourne. There was only one service, alternately in the morning and afternoon, at half-past ten or at three, or in the winter at half-past two. The time was not much fixed, for on a new comer asking when the service would take place, the answer was “at half-past two, sir, or at three, or else no time at all,” by which was meant no exact hour or half-hour. This uncertainty led to the bells never being rung till the minister was seen turning the corner of Kiln-lane, just where the large boulder stone used to be. The congregation was, however, collecting, almost all the men in white smocks with beautifully worked breasts and backs, the more well-to-do in velveteen; the women in huge bonnets. The elder ones wore black silk or satin bonnets, with high crowns and big fronts, the younger ones, straw with ribbon crossed over, always with a bonnet cap under. A red cloak was the regular old women’s dress, or a black or blue one, and sometimes a square shawl, folded so as to make a triangle, over a gown of stuff in winter, print in summer. A blue printed cotton with white or yellow sprays was the regular week day dress, and the poorest wore it on Sundays. The little girls in the aisle had the like big coarse straw bonnets, with a strip of glazed calico hemmed and crossed over for strings, round tippets, and straight print frocks down to their feet. The boys were in small smocks, of either white or green canvas, with fustian or corduroy jackets or trowsers below, never cloth. Gloves and pocket handkerchiefs were hardly known among the children, hardly an umbrella, far less parasols or muffs. Ladies had pelisses for out-of-door wear, fitting close like ulsters, but made of dark green or purple silk or merino, and white worked dresses under them in summer.

Well, the congregation got into Church—three families by the step ladder to one gallery, and the men into another, where the front row squeezed their knees through the rails and leant on the top bar, the rest of the world in the pews, and the children on benches. The clerk was in his desk behind the reading desk—good George Oxford, with his calm, good, gentle face, and tall figure, sadly lame from rheumatism caught when working in the brick kilns. His voice was always heard above the others in the responses, but our congregation never had dropped the habit of responding, and, though there was no chanting, the Amens and some of the Versicles used to have a grand full musical sound peculiar to that Church. People also all turned to the east for the Creed, few knelt, but some of the elder men stood during the prayers, and, though there was far too much sitting down during the singing, every body got up and stood, if “Hallelujah” occurred, as it often did in anthems.

There were eight or ten singers, and they had a bassoon, a flute, and a clarionet. They used to sing before the Communion Service in the morning, after the Second Lesson in the afternoon, and before each Sermon. Master Oxford had a good voice, and was wanted in the choir, so as soon as the General Thanksgiving began, he started off from his seat, and might be heard going the length of the nave, climbing the stairs, and crossing the outer gallery. Sometimes he took his long stick with him, and gave a good stripe across the straw bonnet of any particularly naughty child. In the gallery he proclaimed—“Let us sing to the praise and glory of God in the Psalm,” then giving the first line.

The Psalms were always from the New or Old Versions. A slate with the number in chalk was also hung out—23 O.V., 112 N.V., as the case might be. About four verses of each were sung, the last lines over and over again, some very oddly divided. For instance—

“Shall fix the place where we must dwell,
The pride of Jacob, His delight,”

was sung thus:—

“The pride of Ja—the pride of Ja—the pride of Ja—” (at least three times before the line was ended).

But rough as these were, some of these Psalms were very dear to us all, specially the old twenty-third:—

“My Shepherd is the living Lord,
Nothing, therefore, I need,
In pastures fair, by pleasant streams
He setteth me to feed.

He shall convert and glad my soul,
And bring my soul in frame
To walk in paths of holiness,
For His most Holy Name.

I pass the gloomy vale of death,
From fear and danger free;
For there His guiding rod and staff
Defend and comfort me.”

Another much-loved one was the 121st:—

“To Zion’s hill I lift my eyes,
From thence expecting aid,
From Zion’s hill and Zion’s God,
Who heaven and earth hath made.

Sheltered beneath the Almighty’s wings,
Thou shall securely rest,
Where neither sun nor moon shall thee
By day nor night molest.

Then thou, my soul, in safety rest,
Thy Guardian will not sleep,
His watchful care, that Israel guards,
Shall Israel’s monarch keep.

At home, abroad, in peace or war,
Thy God shall thee defend,
Conduct thee through life’s pilgrimage,
Safe to thy journey’s end.”

Will the sight of these lines bring back to any one the old tune, the old sounds, the old sights of the whitewashed Church, and old John Green in the gallery, singing with his bass voice, with all his might, his eyebrows moving as he sung? And then the Commandments and Ante-Communion read not from the Altar, but the desk; the surplice taken off in the desk instead of the Vestry; Master Oxford’s announcements shouted out from his place, generally after the Second Lesson—“I hereby give notice that a Vestry Meeting will be held on Tuesday, at twelve o’clock, to make a new rate for the relief of the poo-oor.” “I hereby give notice that Evening Service will be at half-past two as long as the winter days are short.” Well, we should think these things odd now, and we have much to be thankful for in the changes; but there were holy and faithful ones then, and Master Oxford was one of them.

In the days here described, from 1820 to 1827, few small villages had anything but dame schools, and Otterbourne children, such as had any schooling at all, were sent to Mrs. Yates’s school on the hill, where she sat, the very picture of the old-fashioned mistress, in her black silk bonnet, with the children on benches before her, and her rod at hand.

Several families, however, did not send the children to school at all, and there were many who could not read, many more who could not write, and there was very little religious teaching, except that in the Sunday afternoons in Lent, the catechism was said in Church by the best instructed children, but without any explanation.

About the year 1819 Mrs. Bargus and her daughter came to live at Otterbourne, and in 1822 Miss Bargus married William Crawley Yonge, who had retired from the army, after serving in the Peninsula and at Waterloo. Both Mr. and Mrs. Yonge had clergymen for their fathers, and were used to think much of the welfare of their neighbours. It was not, however, till 1823 that Mrs. Yonge saw her way to beginning a little Sunday School for girls, teaching it all by herself, in a room by what is now Mr. J. Misselbrook’s house. While there was still only one Service on Sundays, she kept the school on the vacant half of the day, reading the Psalms and Lessons to the children, who were mostly biggish girls. This was when Archdeacon Heathcote was the Vicar of Hursley and Otterbourne, and the Rev. Robert Shuckburgh was his Curate. Archdeacon and Mrs. Heathcote, who were most kind and liberal, gave every help and assisted in setting up the Clothing Club.

Mrs. Yonge’s first list of Easter prizes contains twenty names of girls, and the years that have passed have left but few of them here. A large Bible bound in plain brown leather was the highest prize; Prayer Books, equally unornamented, New Testaments, and Psalters, being books containing only the Psalms and Matins and Evensong, were also given, and were then, perhaps, more highly valued than the dainty little coloured books every one now likes to have for Sunday. Then there were frocks, coarse straw bonnets, and sometimes pocket handkerchiefs, for these were not by any means such universal possessions as could be wished, and only came out on Sunday. As to gloves, silk handkerchiefs, parasols, muffs, or even umbrellas, the children thought them as much out of their reach as a set of pearls or diamonds, but what was worse, their outer clothing was very insufficent, seldom more than a thin cotton frock and tippet, and the grey duffle cloaks, which were thought a great possession, were both slight and scanty.

About 1826, Mrs. Yonge was looking at the bit of waste land that had once served as a roadway to the field at the back of Otterbourne House, when she said, “How I wish I had money enough to build a school here.” “Well,” said Mrs. Bargus, “You shall have what I can give.” The amount was small, but with it Mr. Yonge contrived to put up one room with two new small ones at the back, built of mud rough cast, and with a brick floor, except for the little bedroom being raised a step, and boarded.

The schoolroom was intended to hold all the children who did not go to Mrs. Yates, both boys and girls, and it was sufficient, for, in the first place, nobody from Fryern-hill came. Mrs. Green had a separate little school there. Then the age for going to school was supposed to be six. If anyone sent a child younger, the fee was threepence instead of a penny. The fee for learning writing and arithmetic was threepence, for there was a general opinion that they were of little real use, and that writing letters would waste time (as it sometimes certainly does). Besides this, the eldest daughter of a family was always minding the baby, and never went to school; and boys were put to do what their mothers called “keeping a few birds” when very small indeed, while other families were too rough to care about education so that the numbers were seldom over thirty.

There were no such people as trained mistresses then. The National Society had a school for masters, but they were expensive and could only be employed in large towns; so all that could be looked for was a kind, motherly, good person who could read and do needlework well. And the first mistress was Mrs. Creswick, a pleasant-looking person with a pale face and dark eyes, who had been a servant at Archdeacon Heathcote’s, and had since had great troubles. She did teach the Catechism, reading, and work when the children were tolerably good and obeyed her, but boys were a great deal too much for her, and she had frail health, and such a bad leg that she never could walk down the lane to the old Church. So, after Sunday School, the children used to straggle down to Church without anyone to look after them, and sit on the benches in the aisle and do pretty much what they pleased, except when admonished by Master Oxford’s stick.

Mr. Shuckburgh had by this time come to reside in the parish, in the house which is now the post-office, and there was at last a double Service on the Sunday.

The next thing was to consider what was to be done about the boys, who could not be made to mind Mrs. Creswick. A row of the biggest sat at the back of the school, with their heels to the wall, and by constant kicking had almost knocked a hole through the mud wall; so the Vicar, who was now the Archdeacon’s son, the Rev. Gilbert Wall Heathcote, gave permission for the putting up another mud and rough cast school house near the old Church, for the boys, in an empty part of the Churchyard to the north-east, where no one had ever been buried.

However, there Master Oxford was installed as schoolmaster, coming all the way down from his house on the hill (a pretty-timbered cottage, now pulled down). He and his boys had a long way to walk to their school, but he taught them all he knew and set them a good example. The boys were all supposed to go to him at six years old, and most were proud of the promotion. One little fellow was known to go to bed an hour or two earlier that he might be six years old the sooner! But some dreaded the good order enforced by the stick. There was one boy in particular, who had outgrown the girls’ school, and was very troublesome there. He would not go to the boys’, and his mother would not make him, saying she feared he would fall into the water. “Well,” said Mrs. Bargus, who was a most bright, kindly old lady of eighty, “I’ll make him go.” So she took a large piece of yellow glazed calico intended for furniture lining, walked up to school, and held it up to the little boy. She said she heard that he would only go to the girls’ school, and, since everybody went there in petticoats, she had brought some stuff to make him a petticoat too! The young man got up and walked straight off to the boys’ school.

Here are some verses, written by Mrs. Yonge in 1838, on one of the sights that met her eye in the old Churchyard:—

While on the ear the solemn note
Of prayer and praises heavenward float,
A butterfly with brilliant wings
A lesson full of meaning brings,
A sermon to the eye.

There on an infant’s grave it stands,
For it hath burst the shroud’s dull bands,
Its vile worm’s body there is left,
Of gross earth’s habits now bereft
It soars into the sky.

Thus when the grave her dead shall give
The little form below shall live,
Clothed in a robe of dazzling white
Shall spring aloft on wings of light,
To realms above shall fly!

Changes were setting in all this time. The rick-burnings, in which so many foolish persons indulged, was going on in 1831 in many parts of Hampshire. They were caused partly by dislike to the threshing machines that were beginning to be used, and partly by the notion that such disturbances would lead to the passing of the Reform Bill, which ignorant men believed would give every poor man a fat pig in his stye. There was no rick-burning here, though some of the villagers joined the bands of men who wandered about the country demanding money and arms at the large houses. But, happily, none of them were actually engaged in any violence, and none of them swelled the calendar of the Special Assize that took place at Winchester for the trial of the rioters.

One poor maid-servant in the parish, from the North of Hampshire, had, however, two brothers, who were intelligent men of some education, and who, having been ringleaders, were both sentenced to death. The sentence was, however, commuted to transportation for life. At Sydney, being of a very different class from the ordinary convict, they prospered greatly, and their letters were very interesting. They were wonderful feats of penmanship, for postage from Australia was ruinously expensive, and they filled sheets of paper with writing that could hardly be read without a microscope. If we had those letters now they would be curious records of the early days of the Colony, but all now recollected is the account of a little kangaroo jumping into a hunter’s open shirt, thinking it was his mother’s pouch.

The Reform Bill, after all, when passed made no present difference in Otterbourne life—nothing like the difference that a measure a few years after effected, namely, the Poor-law Amendment Bill. Not many people here remember the days of the old Poor-law, when whatever a pauper family wanted was supplied from the rates, and thus an idle man often lived more at his ease on other people’s money than an industrious man on his own earnings. It was held that if wages were small they might be helped out of the rates, and thus the ratepayers were often ruined. In the midst of the street stood the old Poorhouse. It had no governor nor anyone to see that order was kept or work done there, and everybody that was homeless, or lazy, or disreputable, drifted in there. They went in and out as they pleased, and had a weekly allowance of money. Now and then there was a great row among them. One room was inhabited by an old man named Strong, who was considered a wonder because he ate adders cut up like eels and stewed with a bit of bacon. Every now and then a message would come in that old Strong had got a couple of nice adders and wanted a bit of bacon to cook with them. Then there was a large family whose father never worked for any one long together, and lived in the Workhouse, with a wife and six or seven children, supported by the parish. These people were pursuaded to go to Manchester, where there was sure to be work in the factories for all their many girls. The men in receipt of parish pay were supposed to have work found for them on the roads, but there was not much of this to employ them, and as they were paid all the same whether they worked or not, some were said to hammer the stones as if they were afraid of hurting them, or to make the wheeling a couple of barrows of chalk their whole day’s work.

A good deal depended on the vestry management of each parish, and there was less of flagrant idleness supported by the rates here than at many places. There was also a well-built and arranged Workhouse at Hursley, and the Poor law Commissioners consented to make one small Union of Hursley, Otterbourne, Farley, and Baddesley, instead of throwing them into a large one.

The discontinuance of out-door relief to help out the wages was a great shock at first, but, when the ratepayers were no longer weighed down, they could give more work and better wages, and the labourers thus profited in the end, and likewise began to learn more independence. Still the times were hard then. Few families could get on unless the mother as well as the father did field work, and thus she had no time to attend thoroughly to making home comfortable, mending the clothes, or taking care of the little ones. The eldest girl was kept at home dragging about with the baby, and often grew rough as well as ignorant, and the cottage was often very little cared for. The notion of what was comfortable and suitable was very different then.

The country began to be intersected by railways, and the South-Western line was marked out to Southampton. The course was dug out from Shawford and Compton downs, and the embankment made along our valley. It was curious to see the white line creeping on, as carts filled with chalk ran from the diggings to the end, tipped over their contents, and returned again. When the foundations were dug for the arch spanning the lane the holes filled with water as fast as they were made, and nothing could be done till the two long ditches had been dug to carry off the water to Allbrook. In the course of making them in the light peaty earth, some bones of animals and (I believe) stags’ horns were found, but unluckily, were thrown away, instead of being shown to anyone who would have made out from them much of the history of the formation of the boggy earth that forms the water meadows.

The Old Church, Otterbourne

It is amusing to remember the kind of dread that was felt at first of railway travelling. It was thought that the engines would blow up, and, as an old coachman is reported to have said, “When a coach is overturned, there you are; but when an engine blows up, where are you?” He certainly was so far right that a coach accident was fatal to fewer persons than a railway accident generally is.

The railway passed so near the old Church that the noise of the trains would be inconvenient on Sundays. At least, so thought those with inexperienced ears, though many a Church has since been built much nearer to the line. However, this fixed the purpose that had already been forming, of endeavouring to build a new Church. The first idea had been of trying to raise £300 to enlarge the old Church, but the distance from the greater part of the parish was so inconvenient, and the railroad so near, that the building of a new Church was finally decided on. There really was not room for the men and boys at the same time on the backless forms they occupied between the pews in the chancel. Moreover, if a person was found sitting in a place to which another held that he or she had a right, the owner never thought of looking for another place elsewhere, and the one who was turned out went away displeased, and declared that it was impossible to come to church for fear of “being upset.” It is strange and sad that people are so prone to forget what our Master told us about “taking the highest room,” even in His own House.

But besides the want of accommodation, the old Church was at an inconvenient distance from the parish. No doubt there had once been more houses near, but when the cottage inhabited by old Aaron Chalk was pulled down, nothing remained near but Otterbourne Farm and the Moat House. Every one living elsewhere had to walk half a mile, some much more, and though Kiln Lane was then much better shaded with fine trees than it is now, it was hard work on a hot or wet Sunday to go twice. Some of us may recollect one constant churchgoer, John Rogers, who was so lame as to require two sticks to walk with, and had to set out an hour beforehand, yet who seldom missed.

Just at this time the Reverend John Keble became Vicar of Hursley, and Otterbourne, and forwarded the plan of church building with all his might.

Few new churches had been built at that time, so that there was everything to be learnt, while subscriptions were being collected from every quarter. Magdalen College, at Oxford, gave the site as well as a handsome subscription, and every endeavour was made to render the new building truly church like. It was during the building that Dr. Rowth, the President of Magdalen College, coming to hold his court at the Moat House, had the model of the church brought out to him and took great interest in it. He is worth remembering, for he was one of the wisest and most learned men in Oxford, and he lived to be nearly a hundred years old. Church building was a much more difficult thing then than it is now, when there are many architects trained in the principles of church building, and materials of all kinds are readily provided.

The cross form was at once fixed on as most suitable; and the little bell turret was copied from one at a place called Corston. Mr. Owen Carter, an architect at Winchester, drew the plans, with the constant watching and direction of Mr. Yonge, who attended to every detail. The white stone, so fit for carving decorations, which had been used in the Cathedral, is imported from Caen, in Normandy. None had been brought over for many years, till a correspondence was opened with the people at the quarries, and blocks bought for the reredos and font. Now it is constantly used.

The panels of the pulpit, with the carvings of the Blessed Virgin, and the four Latin fathers, SS. Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory the Great, were found in a shop for antiquities in London. The shape was adapted to a sounding board, which had been made for the Cathedral, but was rejected there. The altar-rail also was found in a shop. It must previously have been in a church, as it has the sacramental corn and grapes. It is thought to be old Flemish work, and represents a prince on one side with a crown laid down, as he kneels in devotion, and some ladies on the opposite side. The crown is an Emperor’s, and there is the collar of the Golden Fleece round his neck, so that it is probably meant for either the Emperor Maximilian or his grandson, Charles V. One of the gentlemen kneeling behind the Emperor has a beautiful face of adoration.

The building of the Church took about two years, the first stone being laid at the north-east corner. It was begun on the 16th of May, 1837, and it was ready for consecration on the 30th of July, 1839. The building had been prosperous, the only accident being the crushing of a thumb when the pulpit was set in its place.

The new boys’ school was built at the same time, the archway of the south door of the old Church being used for the doorway, so as to preserve the beautiful and peculiar decoration, and the roof was lined with the doors and backs of the old oak-pewing. In the flints collected for the building of this and of the wall round the churchyard there was a water wagtail’s nest in which a young cuckoo was reared, having, of course, turned out the rightful nestling. Probably it flew safely, for the last time it was seen its foster parents were luring it out with green caterpillars held a little way from the nest.

The expense of the building of the boys’ school and of a new room for the girls was defrayed chiefly by a bazaar held at Winchester. There were at that time no Education Acts nor Government requirements, and the buildings would be deemed entirely unfit at this time even for the numbers who then used them, and who did not amount to more than between thirty and forty boys and fifty or sixty girls and infants, together about a third of the present numbers at school in Otterbourne and Allbrook. Miss Tucker was then the mistress; Master Oxford still the master.

The Church was consecrated on the 30th of July, 1839, by Bishop Sumner, who preached a sermon on the text, “No man careth for my soul,” warning us that we could not plead such an excuse for ourselves, if we neglected to walk in the right way.

One of the earliest funerals in the churchyard was that of good old Oxford, old, as he was called, because he was crippled by rheumatism, but he was only fifty-two. He lies buried near the south gate of the churchyard under a large slate recording his name.

He was followed in his office by Mr. William Stainer, who had hitherto been known as a baker, living in the house which is now Mr. James Godwin’s. His bread was excellent, and he was also noted for what were called Otterbourne buns, the art of making which seems to have gone with him. They were small fair-complexioned buns, which stuck together in parties of three, and when soaked, expanded to twice or three times their former size. He used to send them once or twice a week to Winchester. But though baking was his profession, he did much besides. He was a real old-fashioned herbalist, and had a curious book on the virtues of plants, and he made decoctions of many kinds, which he administered to those in want of medicine. Before the Poor Law provided Union doctors, medical advice, except at the hospital, was almost out of reach of the poor. Mr. and Mrs. Yonge, like almost all other beneficent gentlefolks in villages, kept a medicine chest and book, and doctored such cases as they could venture on, and Mr. Stainer was in great favour as practitioner, as many of our elder people can remember. He was exceedingly charitable and kind, and ready to give his help so far as he could. He was a great lover of flowers, and had contrived a sort of little greenhouse over the great oven at the back of his house, and there he used to bring up lovely geraniums and other flowers, which he sometimes sold. He was a deeply religious and devout man, and during Master Oxford’s illness took his place in Church, which was more important when there was no choir and the singers sat in the gallery. He was very happy in this office, moving about on felt shoes that he might make no noise, and most reverently keeping the Church clean and watching over it in every way. He also continued in the post of schoolmaster, which at first he had only taken temporarily, giving up part of his business to his nephew. But he still sat up at night baking, and he also had other troubles: there was insanity in his family, and he was much harassed.

His kindness and simplicity were sometimes abused. He never had the heart to refuse to lend money, or to deny bread on credit to hopeless debtors; and altogether debts, distress, baking all night, and school keeping all day, were too much for him. The first hint of an examination of his school completed the mischief, and he died insane. It is a sad story, but many of us will remember with affectionate regard the good, kind, quaint, and most excellent little man. By that time our schoolmistress was Mrs. Durndell, the policeman’s wife, a severe woman, but she certainly made the girls do thoroughly whatever she taught, especially repetition and needlework.

The examiner on religious subjects, Mr. Allen, afterwards an Archdeacon, reported that the girls had an unusual knowledge of the text of Scripture, but that he did not think them equally intelligent as to the meaning.

Daily Service had been commenced when the new Church was opened, and the children of the schools attended it. There was also a much larger congregation of old men than have ever come in later years. At one time there were nine constantly there. One of these, named Passingham, who used to ring the bell for matins and evensong, was said to have been the strongest man in the parish, and to have carried two sacks of corn over the common on the top of the hill in his youth. He was still a hearty old man at eighty-six, when after ringing the bell one morning as usual, he dropped down on the hill in a fit and died in a few seconds.

There was not much change for a good many years. In 1846, the Parsonage House was built and given to the living by Mr. Keble. The stained glass of the south window of the Church was given by the Reverend John Yonge, of Puslinch, Rector of Newton Ferrers, in Devonshire, in memory of his youngest son, Edmund Charles, who died at Otterbourne House in 1847. Thirteen years previously, in 1834, the eldest son, James Yonge, had likewise died at Otterbourne House. Both the brothers lie buried here, one in the old churchyard, one in the new. They are commemorated in their own church at Newton by a tablet with the inscription—“What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shall know hereafter.”

In 1834 their father gave what made, as it were the second foundation of the Lending Library, for there were about four-and-twenty very serious books, given in Archdeacon Heathcote’s time, kept in the vestry at the old Church. They looked as if they had been read but only by the elder people who liked a grave book, and there was nothing there meant for the young people. So there were a good many new books bought, and weekly given out at the Penny Club, with more or less vigour, for the next thirty years or so.

The next public matter that greatly affected this place was the Crimean War. It was a large proportion of our young men who were more or less concerned in it. Captain Denzill Chamberlayne in the Cavalry, Lieut. Julian B. Yonge, John Hawkins, Joseph Knight, James and William Mason, and it was in the midst of the hurry and confusion of the departure that the death of Mr. W. C. Yonge took place, February 26th, 1854. Three of those above mentioned lived to return home. Captain Chamberlayne shared in the famous charge of the Light Brigade, at Balaclava, when

Into the jaws of death
Rode the six hundred:
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Volleyed and thundered.

His horse, Pimento, was killed under him, but he escaped without a wound, and on his return home was drawn up to the house by the people, and had a reception which made such an impression on the children that when one was asked in school what a hero was, she answered, “Captain Chamberlayne.”

John Hawkins, Joseph Knight, and William Mason died in the Crimea. A tablet to commemorate them was built into the wall of the churchyard, with the text—“It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth,” for the discipline of the army had been very good for these youths, and, therefore, this verse was chosen for them by Mr. Keble.

The next event that concerned the parish much was the death of the great and holy man who had been our rector for thirty years. Mr. Keble died at Bournemouth on the 29th of March, 1866. His manners and language were always so simple, and his humility so great, that many of those who came in contact with him never realized how great a man he was, not being able to perceive that the very deepest thoughts might be clothed in the plainest language. Some felt, in the words of the poem,—

“I came and saw, and having seen,
Weak heart! I drew offence
From thy prompt smile, thy humble mien,
Thy lowly diligence.”

But none who really knew him could fail to be impressed with the sense of his power, his wisdom, his love, and, above all, his holiness; and his Christian Year will always be a fund of consolation, full of suggestions of good and devotional thoughts and deeds. Mrs. Keble, who was already very ill, followed him to her rest on the 11th of May. It may be worth remembering that the last time she wrote her name was a signature to a petition against licensing marriage with a deceased wife’s sister.

Sir William Heathcote then appointed the Reverend James G. Young as Vicar of Hursley and Otterbourne. A fresh tide of change began to set in. As times altered and population increased, and as old things and people passed away, there were various changes in the face of the village. The Government requirements made it necessary to erect a new Girl’s School, and land was permanently secured for the purpose, and this was done chiefly by subscription among the inhabitants, affording a room large enough for parish meetings and lectures, as well as for its direct purpose. The subscription was as a testimonial to the Rev. William Bigg-Wither, who had been thirty years curate of the parish, and under whom many of the changes for the better were worked out. The building was provided with a tower, in case there should ever be a clock given to the parish.

The clock was given in a manner worthy of remembrance. Mr. William Pink, as a thatcher, and his two sisters in service, had saved enough to provide for their old age, and to leave a considerable overplus, out of which the last survivor, Mrs. Elizabeth Pink, when passing away at a good old age, bequeathed enough to provide the parish with the clock whose voice has already become one of our most familiar sounds.

Allbrook was by this time growing into a large hamlet, and a school chapel was then built, chiefly by Mr. Wheeler. We must not forget that we had for five years the great and excellent Samuel Wilberforce for our Bishop, and that he twice held confirmations in our parish. No one can forget the shock of his sudden call. One moment he was calling his companion’s attention to the notes of a late singing nightingale; the next, his horse had stumbled and he was gone. It was remarkable that shortly before he had, after going over the hospital, spoken with dread of what he called the “humiliation of a lingering illness”—exactly what he was spared.

Bishop Harold Browne came from Ely to take the See of Winchester. He reconsecrated our church when the chancel was enlarged and the new aisle added. He carried on vigorously work only begun under Bishop Wilberforce. Under him Diocesan Synods, the Girls’ Friendly Society, and the Examination of Senior Scholars in Religious Knowledge have all shown his diligent oversight as Shepherd of the flock.

In the year 1875 Sir William Heathcote succeeded in bringing about an arrangement by which Otterbourne could be separated from Hursley and have a Vicar of its own, the difference of income being made up to the Vicar of Hursley. This was done by the aid of a munificent lady, Mrs. Gibbs, the widow of one of the great merchant princes, whose wealth was always treated as a trust from God. She became the patron of the living, and the advowson remains in her family.

The first Vicar was the Reverend Walter Francis Elgie, who had already been six years curate, and had won the love and honour of all his flock. Deeply did they all mourn him when it was God’s will to take him from them on the 25th of February, 1881, in the 43rd year of his age, after ten years of zealous work.

It was felt as remarkable that a young pupil teacher in consumption, whom he had sent to the Home at Bournemouth, was taken on the same day, and buried here the day after, and that the schoolmaster, Walter Fisher, a man of gentle and saintly nature, followed him six weeks after.

We left them in the Church’s shade,
Our standard-bearer true,
And near at hand the gentle maid
Who well his guidance knew.

He fainted in the noon of life,
Nor knew his victory won;
She was fresh girded for the strife,
Her battle scarce begun.

Long had we known Death’s angel hand
The maiden’s brow had seal’d;
He fell, like chief of warrior band,
Struck down on battle-field.

So in God’s acre here they meet
As they have met above,
Tasting beneath their Saviour’s feet
The treasures of His love.

For what they learnt and taught of here
Is present with them there;
May we speed on in faith and fear,
Then heavenly rest to share.

With the coming of our present Vicar, the Rev. H. W. Brock, our Otterbourne story ends, as the times are no longer old times. The water works for the supply of Southampton are our last novelty, by which such of us benefit, as either themselves or their landlords pay a small contribution. They have given us some red buildings at one end and on the Hill a queer little round tower containing the staircase leading to the underground reservoir, a wonderful construction of circles of brick pillars and arches, as those remember who visited it before the water was let in. And, verily, we may be thankful that our record has so few events in it, no terrible disasters, but that there has been peace and health and comfort, more than falls to the lot of many a parish. Truly we may thankfully say, “The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground, yea, I have a goodly heritage.”

Birds on fence