From this point I regained the Southampton Road, and in about a mile turned up to the left to visit Compton, which consists of a few picturesque tiled cottages. The tiny church stood in a bed of luxuriant grass. The fine old oak porch was taken down by some Vandals fifty years ago, and the present unsightly one substituted. Lately some of the parishioners wanted the rector to have a new door, a request he happily withstood, saying he was proud of the existing one, which is of great age and of massive oak. On the lock can be seen the marks of the axe with which it was rudely shaped. The entrance arch is Norman, adorned with half-a-dozen lines of zigzag carving. There is, as at St. Bartholomew’s, a kind of reflected arch behind it. This church is an anomaly, inasmuch as it has no foundation; it merely stands on the chalk, of which the dressings of the window are also made. Towards the altar there is on the wall a fresco representing a bishop with a crozier standing beside the gable of a church, perhaps intended for the Cathedral. A stone coffin, containing the skeleton of a giant measuring six feet to his shoulders, was found here in front of the altar. This church stands only a few hundred yards from the Southampton Road, by which I returned (2 miles) to Winchester. Now for a round of fourteen miles. Passing through the Westgate, I turned to the left by the barracks and crossed the railway cutting, proceeding on the road which leads toward the magnificent Norman church of Romsey, which is twelve miles distant. On the left I soon came to the Catholic Cemetery, with its high wall, built in 1829. It contains many tombstones whose inscriptions are worn away by age; one preserved by lying flat under the turf is to a member of the Tichborne family, dated 1637. Farther on, upon the right, behind a beautiful belt of trees and some bright flowers stands concealed the grim arch of the County Gaol. Nearly opposite is the Infirmary. Farther on, I passed a large school and waterworks; these buildings are handsome, and of red brick. [Sidenote: Oliver’s Battery.] I continued on up the long ascent known as “Sleeper’s Hill.” The country people tell you that here seven men fell asleep in a field when the Cathedral was commenced, awoke when it was finished, and, after going to inspect it, came back to their cold bed and crumbled into dust. In about a mile I saw a clump of dark fir-trees on the left, standing on a spot called “Oliver’s Battery.” (Any one wishing to visit it should take the first turning to the downs, for you cannot cross the fields farther on.)