Of a different kind are the memories which linger round the immediate neighbourhood--the villages of Twyford, Otterbourne, Hursley. At Twyford the poet Pope was sent to school, and in a house close by the great Dr. Benjamin Franklin composed his autobiography; Otterbourne was the birthplace and lifelong home of Charlotte Yonge, the high-minded and accomplished, whose books will always be a standard for what is highest and most womanly in fiction--who loved to weave the details of local association with the stories she told so skilfully and well; and on a higher level still we have at Hursley the memories of Keble and the _Christian Year_,--not that Keble wrote the _Christian Year_ at Hursley, though his connection with the place as curate commenced before it was completed, but his life-work was in reality here. Hursley Church, practically rebuilt by him from the profits of the sale of his _Christian Year_, is his truest memorial, and the beautiful church and peaceful churchyard, where he sleeps his last earthly sleep, will be ever a spot of hallowed association and pilgrimage. Winchester may be proud of its hymn-writers: Ken and Keble were two, and a third less well known, but certainly deserving to be honoured, was William Whiting, master of the College Choir School some two generations or so back, whose beautiful hymn, “Eternal Father, strong to save,” will ever hold a high place in the affections of church-going people. Following on these memories we have a host of references in modern fiction which centre more or less definitely round the neighbourhood. Trollope’s _Barchester_ has been conjecturally identified with Winchester, and there is a wonderfully minute and circumstantial correspondence in _The Warden_ between the details of _Hiram’s Hospital_ and St. Cross. Miss Braddon takes us to Winchester indeed, but gives us little, if any, actual picture of the city. The immortal Sherlock Holmes honoured it also with a visit in the _Adventure of the Copper Beeches_, keeping an appointment at the ‘Black Swan,’ “an inn of repute in the High Street,” and the Cathedral and Close seem to be suggested in the _Silence of Dean Maitland_. Allusions direct, and what seem allusions barely veiled, are frequent, but none can vie in tragic interest and solemn faithfulness with the last awful scene in Hardy’s _Tess of the D’Urbervilles_--when Angel Clare and Liza, her husband and sister, are awaiting the moment of poor Tess’s execution:-- When they had reached the top of the West Hill the clocks in the town struck eight. Each gave a start at the notes, and walking onwards yet a few steps they reached the first milestone ... and waited in paralysed suspense beside the stone.