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.