Thy bounty then would all supply
To fill, and drink, and leave thee dry,
To-morrow sunk as in a well,
Content unseen with Truth to dwell.
But high or low, or wet or dry,
No rotten stave could malice spy.
Then rise, immortal Bucket, rise
And claim thy station in the skies;
'Twixt Amphora and Pisces shine:
Still guarding Stockbridge with thy sign.

The main street crosses the Test by two old stone bridges and from
these, glancing up and down the street, one has a charming view of the
surrounding hills which fill the vista at each end. The road out of
the town to the east runs over the shoulder of Stockbridge Down on
which is a fine prehistoric entrenchment called Woolbury Ring. Thence
to Winchester is a long undulating stretch of rough and flinty track
with but few cottages and no villages on the way until tiny Wyke,
close to the city, is reached. One welcome roadside inn, the "Rack and
Manger," stands at the cross roads about half way, and occasional
ancient milestones tell us we are on the way to "Winton."

Our itinerary through west-central Hampshire has not included that
little known fragment of the county that lies to the west of Romsey
and is a district of commons and woods, part of the great forest-land
that we shall hurriedly explore in the next chapter. The chief
interest here, apart from the natural attractions of the secluded
countryside, is a simple grave in the churchyard of East Wellow, a
small by-way hamlet about four miles from Romsey. Here is the last
resting place of Florence Nightingale who lies beside her father and