in mind of his native moors, without seeing which once a year, he so pathetically said, he felt as if he should die. Its wild beauty, however, is in a great measure spoilt by the railroad, and the large trees which grew in Scott's time have all been felled.
Burley itself, which now lies just before us, is one of the most primitive of Forest hamlets, the village suddenly losing itself amongst the holms and hollies, and then reforming itself again in some open space. So thoroughly a Forest village, it is proverbially said to be dependent upon the yearly crop of acorns and mast, or "akermast," as they are collectively called. To the south-west stands Burley Beacon, where some entrenchments are still visible, and the fields lying round it are still called "Greater" and "Lesser Castle Fields," and "Barrows," and "Coffins," showing that the whole district has once been one vast battle-field.
Close to the village are the Burley quarries, where the so-called Burley rock, a mere conglomerate of gravel, the "ferrels," or "verrels," of North Hampshire, is dug, formerly used for the foundations of the old Forest churches, as at Brockenhurst, and Minestead, and Sopley in the Vale of the Avon. The great woods round Burley have all been cut, except a few beech-woods, but here and there "merry orchards" mingle themselves with the holms and hollies, wandering, half-wild, amongst the Forest.[1]
Turning away from the village, and going north-east, before us rise great woods—Old Burley, with its yews and oaks, where the raven used to build; Vinney Ridge, with its heronry
- ↑ The word is from the French merise. At Wood Green, in the northern part of the Forest, a "merry fair" of these half-wild cherries is held once a week during the season, probably similar to that of which Gower sung.
