continuous row of letter v's laid sideways, thus . It is called "The Zigzag," and White

refers to its cutting in his third letter to Mr. Thomas Pennant. The path, which had become dangerous, was remade by Mr. Parkin, and at the same time a careful measurement showed

"G. W., 1761," still clearly legible on a small tablet embedded among the bricks. Then there is his "favourite walk," a long, narrow pathway of bricks, leading from the house for several hundred feet in the direction of the wooded hill known as "The Hanger." For several years the house has been in the possession of Mr. Parkin, a gentleman who, with rare self-denial, is ever willing to open his doors to the reasonable pilgrim. And this not without having suffered experiences which would have justified him in keeping them tightly shut. While the house was being put into order for the family's incoming, a parson had the ill-grace to lead a party of twenty-five equally boorish companions on a wild romp through the private rooms, and one day a cyclist of fine intelligence rang the bell to ask, "Would you mind my riding my bicycle along Gilbert White's path?" "Yes, I should," promptly replied Mr. Parkin; and the sooner

you ride it off the better pleased I shall be."

One of the principal curiosities of the village owes its existence to Gilbert White. Towards the eastern end of "The Hanger" there is a wide gap in the dense beechen foliage with which the hill is clothed, and here a pathway has been cut up to the summit in the form of a

house and inspect it from the grounds in the These grounds are kept with fine taste and skill, and in much the same contour as in

White's time. On the farthest verge of the lawn still stands the naturalist's sun-dial; over in the meadow is the shivering aspen he planted; and here on the right is a wall he built, with