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 FROM THE COLLECTION OF 
 
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 LOWTHORPE SCHOOL 
 
 FIELD PATHS AND 
 GREEN LANES.
 
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 FIELD PATHS 
 
 GEEEN LANES. 
 
 BEING 
 
 COUNTRY WALKS, CHIEFLY IN SUEP^Y 
 AND SUSSEX. 
 
 By LOUIS J. JENNINGS. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH SKETCHES BY J W. WHYMPER. 
 
 NEW YOFvK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 549 AND 551 BROADWAY. 
 
 1878.
 
 PA 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I AM not without hope that this little book 
 will prove interesting, and in some degree 
 useful, to those who find an unfailina: source of 
 pleasure in wandering over England, deeming 
 nothing unworthy of notice, whether it be an 
 ancient church or homestead, a grand old tree, a 
 wild flower under a hedge, or a stray rustic by 
 the road side. To anyone who has eyes, there 
 is much to see in this small but infinitely varied 
 England, so much that, as Emerson says, to 
 see it well, ''needs a hundred years." If a 
 man cannot walk, it is perhaps better to ride or 
 drive through the country than not to see it at 
 all ; but walking is the best of all known means 
 of getting from one place to another ; and take 
 care to go with no other companions than the 
 Handbook and a pocket-compass, for then you 
 
 8708'?
 
 vl Preface. 
 
 can cry halt wherever you please, and have 
 no one's whims or oddities to perplex and 
 harass you. It is not j)ossible to feel solitary 
 amid Nature's works, any more than to be 
 lonely with all your books about you. More- 
 over, if you are trudging along unfettered 
 by a companion, you may, by proper manage- 
 ment, get the country folks wdiom you meet 
 to talk to you, and from them pick up many a 
 quaint saying or odd scrap of information ; but 
 they are as shy of the tourists w^ho hunt in 
 couples as they are of the wild man who flies 
 past them on a bicycle. 
 
 In these little expeditions of mine, I seldom 
 lost an opportunity of having a few minutes' chat 
 with the wayfarers on the road, and what they 
 said to me, or I to them, I have ftiithfully set 
 down. No attempt has been made to exhaust 
 the attractions of any particular district, unless 
 it be the tract of country for a dozen miles or 
 so round Dorking, to which a tolerably thorough 
 guide will be found in some of the Surrey 
 chapters. All the w^alks described have been
 
 Preface. vii 
 
 taken during the past year, during every month 
 of which, in spite of all that is said adverse to 
 the English climate, I found it not only pos- 
 sible, but extremely pleasant, to go forth upon 
 my rambles whenever an opportunity offered 
 itself. 
 
 I have invariably followed a green lane or 
 a field path, wherever one could be found, and 
 have endeavoured to give directions which will 
 enable others to follow it also, for very seldom 
 is it marked upon the maps. All that can be 
 done is to ascertain the general direction, and 
 jog along without further thought of the matter. 
 Most of my walks were through secluded dis- 
 tricts, abounding often with the wildest scenery; 
 yet it would be possible, by an early start and 
 the skilful use of the railroad, for a Londoner to 
 take the best of them, and return to his home 
 to sleep. I trust that the hints to this effect 
 which I have thrown out in the course of 
 these pages, will induce many a jaded towns- 
 man to betake himself to the fields and hills, 
 and be of some help, too, to my American
 
 viii Preface. 
 
 friends, who are willing- to see far more of this 
 country than they generally do, if they only 
 knew how to set about it. There are few 
 thing's in life better *worth livino- for than the 
 pleasure of starting out on foot, in fair health, 
 and with no particular anxiety pressing upon 
 the mind, for a long day amid all the beauties 
 which Nature spreads before her true lovers by 
 every hedgerow and brook and hill-side in 
 England.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WINCHELSEA AND RYE. 
 
 Old "Spithead and Portsmouth." — A wondrous "Sea Change.' 
 St. Thomas's Church. — Old and New. — The Friars. — History 
 of Winchelsea by a Native. — The Road to Camber Castle and 
 Rye. — Sheep Farming. — A City of the Past.— Rye Church. — 
 The Reflections of a Sexton. — The Butcher and the Lamb. — 
 The "Mermaid."— Peacock's.— The Plague.— Where is the 
 " i\Iermaid ? "— The Dutch Tiles and Lone Widow.— A Field 
 Walk to Hastings. — The Hermit of the Beaoh ... 1 
 
 CHAPTEPt II. 
 
 ROUND ABOUT HASTINGS. 
 
 Sunshine and Storms. — A Dark New Year's Day. — The Fishermen of 
 Hastings. — Getting under Weigh. — To Fairlight by the Beach. 
 —The Churchyard. — The Sexton's Story.— Bexhill. —Modern 
 Protestantism. — The Two Bricklayers. — Hove and Catsfield . 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO OLD CHURCHES. 
 
 Crowhurst and Etchingham. — The Road to Crowhurst.— The Wild 
 Flowers of Winter. — Modern Houses and Old Ruins. — The 
 famous Yew Tree. — Californian Trees. — Yews in Churchyards. 
 — Etchingham and its Church. — The Village Graves. — Spring 
 Time in Sussex. — A Specimen of "Old Sussex." — "Ameri- 
 canisms." — Burwash, or " Burghersh." — The Parish Clerk and 
 his Ancestors. — The Iron Slab. — A Request for Information. — 
 The Use of a Wife.— A Walk to Robertsbridge . . .36
 
 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THREE CARTI.ES-PEVENSEY, HURSTMONCEUX, AND 
 
 BODIAM. 
 
 PAOE 
 
 "Anderida." — Old Churches made New.— The Road across the 
 Marsh. — " Naun about Flowers."— The Castle and Church at 
 Hurstmonceux. — Extinct Yeomanry Families. — Two Barns, one 
 Old and one New. — Gardner Street. — Tipsy England.— Hail- 
 sham. — A Relic of the Van-Cortlandts.— The Road to Bodiam. 
 — Salehurst and its Church. — A Morning Bouquet. — The Fair 
 Warden of Bodiam . . . . .... 51 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAYFIELD. 
 
 Ancient Sussex. —The Home of Legend and Fahle. — St. Dunstan's 
 Fight with the Evil One. —The Sacred Tongs.— A Field Path 
 to Mayfield. — The Blacksmith's Forge.— An Old-Fas.hioned 
 Inn.— Mayfield Church.— Iron Slabs of Sussex Work.— The 
 Restorer again.— The Protestant Martyrs. — The Roman Catholic 
 "Revival."— Mayfield Palace.— The Chapel and Relics.- The 
 Old Houses of Mayfield.— Rotherfield and the AVay Back . 64 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALFRTSTON AND WILMINGTON. 
 
 Echoes of War.— The Nightingale.—" Happy England."— The South 
 Downs. — Alfriston and the "Star" Inn. — Another "Resto- 
 ration." — An Ancient Vicarage. ^Content in a Cottage. — 
 Wanted, a Minister. — The Lone Man of Wilmington. — The 
 Prioi7 and Church. — An Old Grave and a New Tenant. — A line 
 from the "Short and Simple Annals of the Poor."— The South 
 Downs beyond Wilmington. — Where to find Cowsliiis . . 73 
 
 CHAPTER VU. 
 
 IN THE SOUTH DOW^NS. 
 
 From Pulborough to Storrington, — The Mysterious Stranger. — 
 Parham Park.— A Country Inn.— The " Workus."— From
 
 Contents. xi 
 
 Storrington to the Devil's Dyke. — The Phantoms of the 
 DowBS. — Washington. — Chanctonburj' Ring. — Wiston House. — 
 Steyningand Bramber. — The Bird-stuffcr. — Sickle versus Steam. 
 — South Down Sheep and Grass ...... SG 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HAYWARD'S HEATH TO EAST GUINSTEAD. 
 
 Another "Country Inn." — An Uncomfortable Night.— The Rich 
 Man from London. — Cuckfield. — A Vision at the King's Head. 
 — The Haunted House. — Lindfield and its Church. — Pax Hill. 
 — Horsted Keynes. — Arcadian Shepherds Carousing. — Broad- 
 hurst.— East Grinstead.— The " Players. "—The "Last Per- 
 formance ".......... 101 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FROM PETWORTH TO MIDHURST. 
 
 The House at Petworth. — Some Faces to be remembered. — The 
 Park of the Percies. — Cottages in the "Weald." — Lodsworth 
 Church, Past and Present.- — An important Citizen of Lods- 
 worth. — An old Farm. — The Chestnut Gatherers. — Cowdray 
 Park and Ruins. — A Page of Family Romance. — Midhurst . 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FROM MIDHURST TO HASLEMERE AND GODALMING. 
 
 The Road to Haslemere. — A Town half-spoiled. — "Mine Ease in 
 Mine Inn."— Blackdown.— A Poet's Home.— The " Old Gentle- 
 jjian." — Over Hindhead. — Gibbet Hill and the Murdered 
 Sailor. — The Devil's Punch Bow].— Only a "Turnpike Road." 
 — The "Green Lanes" of England. — Thursley Church and 
 Common. — Last Stage to Godalming 126 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DORKING AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 
 
 A Good Old Surrey Town. — The "Marquis of Granby" and old 
 Weller.— The Dorking of To-day and a Hundred Years Ago. —
 
 xli Contents. 
 
 Dorking Fowls. — The Scenery in the vicinity. — " Mag's Well." 
 — A Quiet Road up Bo.x Hill. — Brockhara and Betch worth. — 
 The Ilolinwood. — Walton Heath. — The Mickleham Downs. — 
 Pixholm and Milton Lanes. — Ranniore Common and Church. — 
 Over the Common by Moonlight. — Pickett's Hole. — Wotton 
 Church.—" Land Hunger."— Bury Hill and the " Nower " . 1U7 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 TO LEITH HILL BY WOTTON. 
 
 Two Hundred Miles of Old England.— The Road to take.— A Colony 
 of Sand ]\Iartin.s.— The " Rookery. "—Wotton and John Evelyn. 
 — The Healing Virtues of Trees. — How to "Corroborate" tlie 
 Stomach and make " Hair spring on Bald Heads. " — A Carefully 
 Guarded House. — Friday Street. — The Old Sawyer. — " Age is 
 Unnecessary." — Through the Pines to Lcith Hill. — An Excur- 
 sion for a Londoner. — Abinger Hatch. — The "British Grum- 
 bler." — Farming in Colorado . . . . . .157 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM DORKING TO LEATIIERHEAD. 
 
 A Roundaboiit Journey. — Over the Hills to Ranmore. — The Twin 
 Trees. — Lost in the Woods. — Polesden. — Box Hill in a New 
 Aspect. — High Barn. — Sentenced to Death. — The "Grand 
 Emporium " of Effingham. — A Much Restored Church. — Little 
 Bookham.— The Church and the old Yew. — Across the Fields to 
 Great Bookham. — The Crown Inn. — Great Bookham Church 
 and its Monuments. — On the Old Portsmouth Road. — Leather- 
 head 171 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TO GUILDFORD OVER THE HILLS. 
 
 The Merits and Defects of this Walk. — A Long Green Lane. — The 
 Beech Wood. — A Hard Road to lind. — Misleading Finger Posts. 
 — A Lonely Path. — Due West through a Wood. — Newland'a 
 Corner. — St. Martha's Chapel. — The Last Difficulty. — Guildford. 
 — Queer Guests at the Angel . . . . . .184
 
 Contents. xiii 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FROM CATERHAM TO GODSTONE. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 A Country of Hill and Vale.— More "Land-Grabbers."— A Cluster of 
 Villages. —WarlingLam and Tatsfield.— Cross Country to Titsey. 
 —The Poor Church and its Rich Brother. —The ' ' Bull " at Limps- 
 field. — A Native Critic of ILanners and Customs. —Emigration. 
 — "Everybody well off Abroad." — A Little Adventure in a 
 Church. — TandriJge Church. — The Old Yew. — A Station Two 
 Miles from Anywhere.— A Dull End to a Day's Join-ney . . 196 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NORBURY PARK, ALBURY, AND THE DEEPDENE. 
 
 Three Ancient Estates.— The Park at Norbury.- A Bargain in 1719. 
 — Tlie Druids' Grove, and how to find it. — A Plague of Rabbits. 
 —The Yew Grove. — A Giant Beech. — Butterflies at Midnight. 
 — A Desolate Region. —Albury Park.— The " Catholic Apostolic 
 Church."— Mr. Drummond's " Cathedi-al. "—Apostolic "Pre- 
 cepts."— The Gardens at Albury. — The finest Yew Hedge in 
 England. — Through Shere to Gomshall.— The Deepdene and its 
 Glories. — The House and its Art Treasures. — A Retreat for a 
 Scholar. — The Dene and the Beech Avenue. — Chart Park and 
 its Trees ' 209 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 REIGATE, GATTON PARK, AND THE PILGRIM'S AVAl^ 
 
 Some Points of Difference between Reigate and Dorking. — Drainage 
 and Comfort. — Reigate Park. — Gatton and the "Marble Hall." 
 — The Two Members of Parliament. — Merstham. — On the 
 Track of the Canterbury Pilgrims. — A Scramble among the Yew 
 Trees. — Walton Heath.— The Yews near Box Hill . . . 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 REDHILL TO CROWHURST. 
 
 A Tangle of Railroads. — Nutfield and its old Posting Inn. — An 
 awfulWarning to Bachelors. — Bletchingley. — A Queer Story of 
 a Brass. —The "Vile Rotten Borough."— Godstone and its 
 Green.— Deep in the Clay. — The Yew Tree of Surrey. — Tlie 
 " floated Grange." — The Road to Godstone Station . , 236
 
 xiv Contents. 
 
 CPIAPTER XIX. 
 
 EWHUKST, ALBURY, AND CHILWORTII. 
 
 PAOE 
 
 The Wild Commons and Heaths of Surrey. — A Word of Warning. — 
 Sutton, Felday, Joldwyns. — The " Lucky " Lcveson-Gowers. — 
 Ilolmbury Hill. — The Water Carrier. — A Stonebreaker's Recol- 
 lections. — How Mr. Hull was Buried. — Old Roads and New. — 
 Ewhurst Cliurch and its Critic. — An English Sleepy-HoUoiv. — 
 Moorland and Solitary Roads. — Ali)ury and Chilworth. — Cob- 
 bett's Curse 248 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FROM EDENBRIDGE TO TENSHURST. 
 
 A Preliminary Caution. — Edenbridge and Hever. — The Castle and 
 Chui-ch. — Chiddingstone and its Timlter Cottages. — The Road 
 to Penshurst. — A Bid for Cottage Furniture.— Penshurst Church. 
 — The Harvest Thanksgiving. — Parson Darkenoll. — Penshurst 
 Place. — Lord de L'Isle's Work of Restoration. — The Baron's 
 Hall. — Family Portraits.— The Broken Mandolin. — The Library. 
 — A Stroll in the Great Park. — Sidney's Oak. — The Old Beeches 
 and Yew 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE WYE FROM ROSS TO CHEPSTO^. 
 
 The "Lion" of Ross.— The Wye.— Goodrich Castle.— Gilpin's 
 " Analysis " of the Wye. — From Goodrich to Monmouth. — The 
 " Kymin " and Buckstone. — The Bachelor of Stanton, — A Re- 
 turned Indian. — The Railroad. — F'rom Monmouth to Chepstow. 
 — Encroachments on Tintern. — The Wyndclitl'e. — What is Good 
 for Rheumatism ? — Our Beautiful Inns .... 277
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. 
 
 FROM SKETCHES BY J. W. WHYMPER, AND PHOTOGRAPHS. 
 
 AMONG THE CHALK DOWNS — ST. MAKTHA's CHAPEL, FKOJl 
 
 NEWLAND's CORNER . . . {see page 191) FrontUpiecn 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AN OLD ENGLISH FEUDAL CASTLE— HUKSTMONCEUX . . . 55 
 
 A TUDOR ENGLISH MANSION — RUINS OF COWDRAY — MIDHURST . 122 
 
 THE OLD rORTSMOUTH ROAD — HINDHEAD, BORDERS OF HANTS 
 
 AND SURREY 133 
 
 ENGLISH TARK SCENE — BETCHAVORTH, SURREY .... 144 
 
 AN ENGLISH COUNTRY INX — "THE ■\VIHTE lIOr.SE," DORKING . 140 
 
 AN ENGLISH COUNTRY CHURCH — WOTTON, SURREY . . , 155 
 
 ENGLISH KIVER SCENE — THE RIVER WYE, FROM SYMOND's YAT 278
 
 FIELD PATHS AND GEEEN LANES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WmCHELSEA AND EYE. 
 
 Old "Spithead and Portsmouth."— A Wondrous "Sea Change."— 
 St. Thomas's Church. — Old and New. — The Friars.— History 
 of Winchelsea, by a Native.— The Eoad to Camber Castle and 
 Eye.— Sheej) Farming.— A City of the Past.— Eye Church.— 
 The Eeflections of a Sexton. — The Butcher and the Lamb. — 
 The "Mermaid."— Peacock's.— The Plague.— "Where is the 
 " Mermaid ? "—The Dutch Tiles and Lone Widow.— A Field 
 Walk to Hastings. — The Hermit of the Beach. 
 
 There are two hills facing each other iu the south- 
 eastern corner of Sussex, with three miles of marsh 
 land between them. On the one stands Winchelsea, 
 on the other, Rye. Both have been maritime towns 
 of great importance, the " Spithead and Portsmouth 
 of their day," as someone has said ; but when the sea 
 deserts a maritime town, and sulkily withdraws to a 
 distance of two or three miles, what is to become of 
 it ? Six hundred years ago Winchelsea could boast 
 of a very large commerce, but at that time it stood 
 three miles away from the present town, which is 
 comparatively modern, although it was founded in the
 
 Field Pat J IS and Crccn Lanes. ch. i. 
 
 time of Edward the First. Doubly fatal has old ocean 
 been to AVinchelsea, completely destroying the first 
 town by its untimely encroachments, and then ruin- 
 ing the new one by its equally untimely retreat. But 
 besides the raging of the sea, the inhabitants of these 
 parts were constantly harried by the French, who came 
 upon them at all sorts of unexpected times, slaughter- 
 ing their men, plundering them of their provisions, 
 and, what was much worse than all, carrying off their 
 " beautiful women." So quiet and deserted is the 
 place now that it is difficult to imagine it the scene 
 of wild excitement and daring deeds. The old church 
 and the court-hall, the gates, the ruins of the Lady 
 Chapel in the " Friars," a few old houses here and 
 there, are all that remain to remind the visitor of the 
 glories of Winchelsea. The great John Wesley well 
 called it a "poor skeleton." One feels, indeed, on 
 entering it almost as if one were wandering about in 
 another age amid the ruins of another world. 
 
 All that is now to be seen of the old church of St. 
 Thomas is the chancel, but that is spacious and beau- 
 tiful, far finer even as a fragment than many a com- 
 plete church which is run up at contract price in the 
 present days. Some of the monuments are magnifi- 
 cent, and contrast strangely with the modern slabs, 
 mere dabs of mai'ble, which have been stuck upon the 
 walls. The old Alards under the exquisitely carved 
 canopies must wonder what race of men have now got 
 hold of England, and why they commemorate each 
 other with flat pieces of stone carved into uncouth
 
 CH. I. Wmchelsea and Rye. 3 
 
 shapes ? The ivy grows through the roof here and there, 
 and time has levelled nave and aisles to the dust. Yet 
 enough still stands to shew what a grand old church 
 it must have been when the mothers and daus^hters of 
 the toAvn went to bed in fear and trembling lest their 
 enemies, the French, should be at the gates. 
 
 The " Friars " stands a little way back from the 
 roadside, and the ruins (which the stranger maj? see 
 any Monday) are in the garden — a very pretty garden, 
 with fine large ash-trees in it, and good sycamores, and 
 a Portugal laurel which must be thirty feet in height. 
 A monastery once stood here, and the shell of the 
 choir of the chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary 
 still lies embosomed among the trees. On my way 
 from this pleasant spot to the Strand gate, I learned 
 the history of Winchelsea from an old man with whom 
 I had a long talk. " When this town was in its 
 prosperity," he said, "the sea used to wash right up 
 to this 'ere precipice, and there was once a town over 
 theer (pointing to the eastward), but the sea came 
 and took it away. History do tell as a high tide 
 came up upon the hehinoh (equinox), and what could 
 stand against that ? Now sir, supposin' as another 
 high tide came in upon the hekinok, the sea might 
 take its own land again, and mebbe our harbour 
 could be used. Fairlight cliff acts as a breakwater 
 to us, but the sea is washing it away very fast. It 
 costes a good sight of money to keep the sea off these 
 lands now, and I have heern say that the House of 
 Commons wants to let the sea take back its lands
 
 4 Field Paths and Grcai Lanes. ch. i. 
 
 I'athev than pay so much to keep her out." Doubtless 
 this old man is still standing by the roadside, waiting 
 patiently for the sea to come back to Winchelsea. 
 
 You pass beneath the Strand gate, near which 
 Edward the First nearly lost his life through his horse 
 shying at a windmill, and pursue the road to the right, 
 from which presently a fine view is to be had of 
 the old town, and of Fairlight downs and church 
 far beyond. This road to the right, not crossing 
 the bridge, is the only way to get to Camber Castle — 
 one of the castles which Henry the Eighth built to 
 defend the coast. " There is but little of interest now," 
 sa3^s a local historian, " in these crumbling remains," 
 and yet, being here, one is reluctant to pass them by 
 unvisited. It is necessary to keep mucli to the right, 
 and pass an old farm before striking off towards the 
 grey and frowning old mass of masonry, for the 
 " waterings " are wide and numerous, and it is very 
 easy to lose a good deal of time and trouble on these 
 marshes. The old men in 1C24 remembered the time 
 when " 400 tall ships of all nations " had been seen 
 anchored in the Camber, " where now sheep and 
 cattle feed." Countless sheep were grazing when I 
 was there, and it was the lambing season, and some 
 of the new-comers into the world looked miserable 
 enough, shivering under a bleak east wind. A hundred 
 or more had crept under the lee of the old castle, 
 and a dead sheep lay not far off. Sometimes as many 
 as ten dead a day are found by the "lookers" on 
 these wide marshes.
 
 CH. I. Winchelsea and Rye. 5 
 
 All in ruins as the castle is, I found it far from 
 uniuterestinfr — the massive windows, the strong^ central 
 tower, a keep inside, the dark passages leading under- 
 ground, even the wallflowers growing out of the crevices, 
 all had a certain charm in my eyes. Many of the lower 
 blocks of stone on the sea side are quite fresh and good, 
 and the stones Avhich are partly gone look as if they 
 had been violently wrenched out. The pickaxe and 
 the crowbar have done more to dismantle the castle 
 than time and weather, although during the winter 
 tremendous gales must sweep from the sea across these 
 marshes, and strike full upon the old walls. 
 
 From the castle we go towards Kye, with its red- 
 tiled roofs running down the hill, and its noble old 
 church standing guard over them. The marsh is much 
 intersected with water-courses, so that it is difficult to 
 find one's way across them. Strike off from the castle 
 in a north-easterly direction, and you will see a little 
 fence or gate, by the side of a ditcli. Get over that, 
 and keep on the embankment beyond, and this will 
 lead to the swing bridge at the entrance to Rye. The 
 stranger is at first rather surprised to see some signs of 
 activity in this town, a town of weird aspect, like to 
 that of the "bound of Lyonesse: — " 
 
 " A land of old upheaven from the abyss 
 By fire, to sink into the abyss again ; 
 Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt, ' 
 And the long mountains ended in a coast 
 Of ever shifting sand, and far away 
 The phantom circle of a moaning sea. " 
 
 One walks the streets almost in a dream — mediaeval
 
 6 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. i. 
 
 streets, round whicli Arthurian or other legends might 
 cluster, but with difficulty to be thought of as an abode 
 of the men of 1877. But the ancient harbour is still 
 of use, and boat-building goes on, and fishermen ply 
 their calling, and the tempest-tossed mariner is occa- 
 sionally driven here for shelter. Plague, fire, famine, 
 foreign foes, all have ravaged this wonderful relic of 
 ancient England, and it is exactly five hundred years 
 ago (in 1377) that the French came upon it, and put 
 many of its inhabitants to the sword. We breathe the 
 very air of the past in these antique streets. They 
 ramble deviously up and down, hither and thither, 
 roughly paved, with many an old gabled house here and 
 there, and strange ruins, and mouldering gates and 
 towers. The people about the streets seem to be an 
 anachronism in their modern dress. Nothing more 
 recent than the cavalier's cloak and hat and ruffles 
 should be seen at Rye. 
 
 Wliile wandering about the churchyard, I saw an old 
 man digging round a few shrubs and plants. His face 
 was in harmony with the scene, so covered with wrinkles 
 that it was quite a masterpiece of Time's handiwork. 
 T asked him where I should find the keys of the church, 
 and he said in his pocket. There could not be a more 
 convenient place. 
 
 "That is an old house," said I, pointing to the 
 T-emains of the Carmelite chapel on the south of the 
 churchyard. 
 
 "It was built five hundred years ago," replied the 
 sexton, "and that was before I was built."
 
 CH. I. Wiiichdsca and Rye. 7 
 
 "Yes," I said, "you must not try to persuade me that 
 you are much more than a hundred and fifty or so. I 
 see your graveyard is nearly full — you will not be able 
 to find room for many more." 
 
 "Oh, they've a-done here sometime; we ha' a 
 cemetery up yonder — a tip-top place." "Tip-top" was 
 decidedly a modern phrase, and I tried to imagine 
 what a tip-top cemetery could be like. ''Ay, there be 
 a many changes in Rye," continued the sexton, "since I 
 first knew it. The more I thinks on it, whether I be 
 a-lying in bed or a-walking about, the more I be sure 
 as everything is going upside down." 
 
 The last thing that occun-ed to me on looking round 
 about us was that the town had suffered much from 
 the hand of the innovator. Scarcely a tile can have 
 been put upon a roof for a himdred years. 
 
 "Can you tell me," I asked, "where is the Mermaid 
 inn of which I read in my book ?" 
 
 "I never heerd of it," said he, as he opened the door. 
 "But here's a church for you — what do you think of 
 that?" 
 
 I thought it was the largest church in a small place 
 I had ever seen — a church, moreover, full of beauties in 
 arches, and mouldings, and windows, though much 
 mutilated by time and rough usage. The woodwork 
 in various places is evidently of great antiquity, and 
 one fine screen particularly may be of almost any age, 
 and seems to be fast mouldering away. 
 
 "The church is eight hundred years old," quoth the 
 sexton, "and tliat was before I was built." He chuckled
 
 8 Field Palhs and Green Lanes. en. i. 
 
 and laughed at liis joke till he shook all over. Pre.sently 
 we stood over a slab to the memory of a Mr. Lamb who 
 was slain by a "sanguinary butcher." 
 
 "That was a queer thing, sir, — have you catched 
 that in your book yet ? A good many comes here to 
 be a eye-witness to this, because they see it in the book 
 and don't believe it. When the butcher was tried, he 
 said he didn't mean tu do it — howsomever, they didn't 
 give him a chance to stab any more. They gibbeted 
 him ! When the French reigned here, they took up all 
 the brasses out of this church, and in the wall you can 
 see where their cannon shot did hit. The French have 
 reigned here several times, but not since I was built." 
 
 "It is a pity you were not built before, for then you 
 could have told us all about it ; but now I want you to 
 tell me what are the changes in Rye whicli make you 
 so sad." 
 
 " Why, it's all changed — all topsy-turvy. They 
 Avant to make this church Roman Catholic." 
 
 " Who does ? " 
 
 " Them as has got the money," said the old man 
 mysteriously. " I never see the rector to speak to 
 him ; or I would tell him, ' why not make half the 
 church Protestant, and half Roman Catliolic for them 
 as likes it ? ' It's big enough for all.'^ 
 
 " Well," said I, as he lot me out, after I had 
 sufficiently admired the grand old church, and the big 
 pendulum swinging inside, and the heavy weights of 
 the clock, " it is a wonderful church, and I hope you 
 will be showing it for fifty years to come."
 
 CH. I. 
 
 Winchelsea and Rye. 
 
 A woman who was passing by laughed ; at this 
 levity the worthy sexton's youthful vanity was fired. 
 
 " You may laugh," he cried to her, " but I shall be 
 worth as much as you are then at any rate." 
 
 " How old are you," I asked. 
 
 "Nigh upon eighty." 
 
 "A mere boy," said I "you will see many more 
 wonderful changes in Rye yet." 
 
 " My Master takes care of me," said the old man, 
 touching his hat. 
 
 The George hotel stands opposite Peacock's school, 
 which was founded in 1636, and to which Mr. Thackeray 
 sent his "Denis Duval." At the George I slept that 
 night, and dreamt that the plague had again broken 
 out, and that the mark of a cross had been chalked 
 upon the door, and that men were going with a dead 
 cart about the streets, crying "bring out your dead." 
 I had been reading in the evening how that in 1563, 
 no fewer than 562 men and women were smitten down 
 with this dire disease in the then ancient town. But 
 the next morning all was bright and fresh, and a com- 
 mercial traveller's big parcels in the passage reminded 
 me that I was living in an improved and enlightened 
 age. Little boys soon made their appearance at the 
 door of " Peacock's," and the enterprising tradesmen 
 of Rye began to take down their shutters. The busy 
 day had begun. 
 
 " I hear there is to be a war, sir," said the old 
 landlord. 
 
 " Indeed — between whom ? " 
 2
 
 ro Field Paths a7id Greeti Lanes. ch. i. 
 
 y 
 
 " I can't rightly say, sir ; I think it was the French." 
 Perhaps even now a true Rye man thinks this little 
 
 world is peopled by only two nations, the English and 
 
 the French. 
 
 The Mermaid — still I looked about for the Mermaid 
 
 inn. I roamed up and down Mermaid Street, over the 
 
 rough cobble stones, loth to give up the search. 
 
 " at the lielm 
 
 A seeming mermaid steers." 
 
 ^o 
 
 At last I met with an ancient man, who looked as 
 if with a little effort of memory he might recall the 
 Mermaid, or perhaps be the Merman who married her. 
 
 " Ah, sir," said he, with a sigh, " the inn has long 
 been closed. How curious you should ask for it. Gone 
 ever so long ago, sir." 
 
 More chanfjes ! — the sexton was in the rifyht of it 
 after all. 
 
 " But," said he, " I will show you the house which 
 was the inn ; a labouring man lives in it now. It 
 goes up three or four steps — there it is, sir." 
 
 I knocked at the door, and a woman opened it — not 
 old for a wonder. 
 
 "Can you tell me," I asked, "if this was the Mermaid 
 inn f 
 
 " Yes, but now we lives in, it." And she, so far as I 
 could judge, was not a mermaid. Presently, she offered 
 to show me the old carvings, for which the house had 
 a certain sort of celebrity, and I followed her without 
 fear or trembling down a long and dark passage, and
 
 CH. r. Winchelsea and Rye. 1 1 
 
 into a large room, where the broad fireplace was 
 enclosed in a framework of fine carved oak, black 
 with age. There were carved oak panellings near it, 
 and probably they had once gone round the entire 
 room, but the hand of the spoiler has been there. 
 
 " Would you like to see the tiles in the old lady's 
 room," asked the young woman. 
 
 " I should like it much," said I, " if the old lady 
 would not object." 
 
 So I went upstairs, and was shown into a room large 
 enough to hold a hundred people. There was only 
 one old woman in it. 
 
 " I am a poor lone widow, sir," said she, " and have 
 only one room." 
 
 " But see what a big one it is," said I, by way of 
 keeping up her spirits, " you couldn't very well have 
 two of this size." 
 
 " Many gentlefolks come here to see these tiles," 
 said she, pointing to her fireplace ; and indeed they 
 were well worth seeing — fine old Dutch tiles, blue and 
 white, going all round the chimney and hearth. Each 
 tile was the subject of a different picture, and most of 
 the pictures represented seafaring scenes, such as must 
 have been constantly before the eyes of the dwellers in 
 Rye, when this old house was new. I stood a long 
 time studying them, and meanwhile the occupant of 
 the apartment impressed upon me that she was old 
 and a widow. 
 
 Then they took me up into the attics — large, roomy 
 apartments, with huge oaken timbers running across
 
 1 2 Field Paths and Grceii Lanes. ch. i. 
 
 them ; and from thence into so many rooms and closets 
 and queer old places that I got lost, and should never 
 have found my way out without a guide. The old house 
 had been built to last for ever. How can a modern 
 builder go into such a house as this without being 
 crushed by the sense that he is a wretched impostor ? 
 Fit to build ? "No, not fit to live." 
 
 As I came out, the father of the girl appeared, with 
 a woman standing behind him, and immediately the 
 latter befjan to make sis;ns to me. At this I was much 
 concerned, not being used to such attentions. 
 
 " Do you ever see any ghosts here," said I. 
 
 " No," said the man, " but they told us the place 
 was haunted when we came into it. The only ghosts 
 we has now are the gentlemen of the Archa3ological 
 Society, and some of 'em weigh eighteen stone. But 
 lor, sir, they can walk over our attics without falling 
 through — they never seem a bit nervous. They know 
 how people built in those days." 
 
 Meanwhile, the mysterious person in the background 
 became more extravagant in her signs and gestures, 
 and I was more and more bewildered at her addresses. 
 
 The father cast his eye over his shoulder and saw 
 what was going on. " Don't mind Iter, sir," said he, 
 " she was took so at two years old, and now she is 
 thirty-five, and cannot dress herself She is what we 
 calls a hinihecile" 
 
 Poor woman, and poor father ! I gave them each a 
 trifle, not forgetting the lone widow, and left the 
 Mermaid with good wishes all round.
 
 CH. 1. Winchelsca and Rye. 1 3 
 
 And now where was the Ypres tower ? How was one 
 to ask for it ? I did ask repeatedly, but no one knew 
 what I meant. It is at the " S.E. angle of the town," 
 said Murray, and thither I wended my way. I found a 
 very old tower, with a very ugly brick building wedged 
 into one side of it, and an inscription over it setting 
 forth that it was a soup-kitchen. Never was a greater 
 barbarism inflicted upon a town in the name of charity. 
 
 " What do you call that tower," I asked of a fisher- 
 man who stood near, smoking a pipe. 
 
 " It used to be called the High Press tower," he 
 replied, " but now we generally calls it the jail." 
 
 " You ought not to want a jail in Rye with that 
 beautiful old church there." 
 
 The fisherman showed that he knew a great deal 
 about the church, and took an honest pride in it, and 
 in his famous old town of Rye. " It has been much 
 neglected," said he, " but it's improving a little now. 
 We have thirty fishing-boats go out from here now, 
 and catch a sight of fish." 
 
 " That is the reason they told me at the George 
 Hotel that I could not have any for dinner last night." 
 
 " Yes, sir, we take it to Hastings, and it goes to 
 Loudon." 
 
 Even this old town, in a deserted region, cannot be 
 allowed to consume the few fish that are caught off 
 it. The great monster of London swallows all. 
 
 To Pleyden church, half a mile beyond Rye, is a 
 pleasant walk, and far and wide the views extend. 
 But soon it became time to jog along on the main journey
 
 14 Field Paths and Green Lanes. cu. i. 
 
 of the day, which was to walk from Rye to Hastings, 
 about twelve miles. 
 
 For the turnpike road between Rye and Winchel- 
 sea little can be said except that it is useful — pretty 
 it is not. I got over it, and past the Friars at Win- 
 chelsoa, and far on towards an old gate at a distance 
 from the town towards the sea, in less than an hour. 
 My object was to Avalk across the marsh till I came to 
 the cliffs, and then mount the cliffs and so to Hastings. 
 It was a fine breezy day ; not yet ten o'clock ; the sea 
 and sky blue as a sapphire ; the air full of the songs of 
 birds ; the whole earth and ocean covered with divinest 
 beauty. They sing of " Jerusalem the Golden " — will 
 it, then, be fairer than this eartli which we know 
 already, and which seems to grow more beautiful as 
 the time draws nearer for taking leave of it ? 
 
 Through that old gate standing far away from the 
 city in the midst of green fields, the road winds round, 
 but we must leave it, and climb over a gate into the 
 marsh-lands. An embankment is visible a quarter of 
 a mile distant, and upon that I had been told it was 
 possible to work one's way to " Cliff's End." The 
 embankment runs by the side of a canal, half over- 
 grown with rush and grass. Not far beyond is the 
 sea, which has been all over the marsh during the 
 past winter, especially on the 1st of January, when it 
 seemed very much disposed to claim its own again. 
 A mile or more along the embankment, I saw that it 
 was necessary to cross the canal by a wooden plank, put 
 there by way of a bridge ; and still keeping by the
 
 CH. I. Winchclsea and Rye. 1 5 
 
 water, I came out at last still closer to the sea, and to 
 the right a fragment of an old mouldering cliff, and 
 beyond a coastguard station. A few hundred yards 
 further I saw a thatched hut, and a man standing at 
 the door of it with a black duck in his hand, and upon 
 his head a cap of skins, such as I had seen on a trapper 
 of the West, and upon that famous hunter. Kit Carson, 
 whom in 1865 I met in the wilds of Virginia. 
 
 I gazed upon this old man with great curiosity ; his 
 hut was a little way up on the shingle, but close to 
 the sea ; and there he stood with his black duck and 
 skin cap. 
 
 " Is your name Carson," said I, " Kit Carson 1 " 
 
 " It is not, sir," replied he ; " it is Collins, Thomas 
 Collins." 
 
 " I thought you were a mighty hunter of America — 
 but he's dead." 
 
 " Ameriky ? No, sir, I have never been there. But 
 I have heard our preachers talk of it." 
 
 "Do you live here alone ? " 
 
 " Quite alone, sir." 
 
 " And may I ask you how that came about ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I lived at Hastings, and was out of work, 
 and so one day I took down a shrimping net which I 
 happened to have, and I says to my wife, I may as 
 well go a-shrimping, says I, as do nothing. So I walked 
 along the beach, and got very tired, and at last I came 
 to the ruins of a hut. I found out that it belonged 
 to Mr. Shadwell, and he let me put a roof on it, and 
 just as I begun my poor wife died. But I came to
 
 1 6 Field Pai/is and Green Lanes. on. i. 
 
 live here all the same, and have lived here ever since. 
 I hope, sir, to go, when the time comes, where my wife 
 has gone." 
 
 I said nothing, but walked in with the old man, and 
 sat down. The walls were of bare brick, except that 
 here and there a faded photograph, or a text of 
 Scripture, was hung against them. The shrimping net 
 and another net or two hung near the ceiling, which 
 was merely the thatch of the roof. There was a large 
 chest near the door ; a cottage mahogany bedstead ; 
 an iron saucepan ; a table and two or three chairs ; 
 finally, a few books. 
 
 " You are a perfect Robinson Crusoe," said I ; "no 
 doubt you have read all about him." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, by Daniel De Foe. I read a good deal 
 here. Ever since last November I have never been 
 able to go out a-shrimping, for I was seized in the 
 water with a terrible pain in my head, and it comes 
 back now, and besides I have sciaticy very bad." 
 
 " And how do you live ? " 
 
 " My daughters help me a little, and I grow a few 
 potatoes, and get bread at the coast-guard station ; but 
 I never fear. If we try to do what is right, sir, there 
 is One above that has promised never to desert us. 
 And he has not deserted me yet — I shall not starve." 
 
 " There are plenty of men," said I, " who think 
 themselves very wise, and believe they know every- 
 thing, who would call you an ignorant old man for 
 talking like this. But I think you are wiser than 
 they are, and you look to me a good deal happier."
 
 CH. I. Winchelsca and Rye. 1 7 
 
 "Yes, sir; the nights are very long in winter, and 
 the storms are very violent, but I am happy here. 
 In that chest that you are sitting on, sir, I have good 
 clothes, and under my bed there is a box of linen, 
 and I have a comfortable bed to sleep on, and owe no 
 man a penny." 
 
 "Many a great man who lives in a mansion and 
 rides in a carriage would be glad to change with you," 
 said I. 
 
 " Perhaps you have heard of Mus'er Gladstone," he 
 said. 
 
 " I have, often." 
 
 " One of my wife's darters lives with a son of Mus'er 
 Gladstone, as nurse. They think a good deal of me, my 
 darters do, although I am not their father, for my poor 
 wife was a widow, I wish that I could lead as good 
 a life as she did, and be as ready to go when the time 
 comes. I hope that I shall go to meet her, sir." 
 
 I promised to lend Thomas Collins some books, and 
 I hope that if any reader happens to be passing that 
 way he will take him an ounce of tobacco, for he likes 
 to smoke a little. He is sixty-eight years of age, and 
 lives directly under the very last of the cliffs, just 
 where they descend into the marsh. 
 
 It is a steep climb up the cliff from Collins's hut — 
 an ugly path, especially in wet and slippery weather. 
 My head fairly reeled before I reached the top, but 
 Collins is used to it, and is even obliged to carry all the 
 water he needs up and down it ; for there is none to be 
 had nearer than a mile or more from his hut. At the
 
 1 8 Field Paths and Gi'cen Lanes. ch. i. 
 
 top of the cliff tliere is another coastguard station, 
 and from thence I could plainly make out the French 
 coast — the vessels in Calais roads were as distinct as 
 the fishing smacks off Hastings. To the left I saw 
 Dover cliffs, and far to the right Beachy Head, with 
 France to the south-eastward. Could any one desire 
 a grander sea-view ? Then the path wanders a little 
 from the edge of the cliff, and passes through acres of 
 gorse in full bloom, dazzling the eye with its beautiful 
 shade of yellow, and scenting the air with its faint 
 smell, like that of the cocoa-nut. Soon we come 
 abreast of Fairlight Church, and see its white tomb- 
 stones shining in the sun ; on the one hand, the 
 "resounding" sea, flecked with vessels bound to many 
 a port ; on the other, the common port to which all 
 our barks are hastening ; and looking at both, and 
 thinking how soon this voyage of ovirs is over after all, 
 one cannot help hoping and believing that poor 
 Thomas Collins down below there on the beach is right 
 in his simple faith, and the wise men of the present 
 day, and the scientific men, and the philosophers, all 
 wrong.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ROUND ABOUT HASTINGS. 
 
 Sunshine and Storms. — A Dark New Year's Day. — The Fishermen of 
 Hastings.— Getting under "Weigh. — To Faii-light by the Beach. 
 — The Churchyard. — The Sexton's Story. —Bexhill. —Modern 
 Protestantism. — The Two Bricklayers. — Hove and Catsfield. 
 
 On an afternoon in December or January to look 
 out of one's window upon a blue vsea and sky, two or 
 three dozen fishing smacks flitting about hither and 
 thither, and large steamers making towards home after 
 long voyages — all this is a great contrast to the smoke 
 and fog of London, or to the damp and chilly atmos- 
 phere which hangs over many of our inland towns, 
 especially after rainy weather. During the winter of 
 1876-77 the fall of rain was unusually heavy, yet it 
 was seldom wet underfoot at St. Leonard's or Hastings 
 — the esplanade in front of the beach was always dry 
 enough, as soon as the rain ceased, for children to go 
 there without fear of catching cold. There was as 
 much rain, I suppose, as at other places — but never 
 any fog, seldom even a little mist at early morning. 
 Even in the most cheerless evenings of winter the 
 scene is not without its charms — when dark masses of 
 clouds are rolHng in from seaward, and the sombre
 
 20 Field Pat lis and Green Lanes. ch. n. 
 
 outline of Beachy Head is still faintly visible, and the 
 " Sovereign " light Hashes out three times from the 
 gathering gloom, and a few phantom-like vessels are 
 sailing away into the darkness. 
 
 It must be admitted, however, that scenes of a very 
 different kind are occasionally presented at Hastings, 
 as in November 1875, and again on the 1st of January 
 1877. No one who has seen the place in summer only 
 can imagine in what a formidable shape the sea of even 
 this comparatively sheltered line of coast can present 
 itself. The green waves break upon the esplanade, the 
 houses at each end of the town are flooded, the sea-wall 
 is broken up as if it were made of paper. On New Year's 
 Day last the storm began about seven in the morning 
 — I noticed on looking out of the window that some 
 men just setting to work in the road could scarcely 
 stand upright before the furious wind. Before twelve 
 o'clock, the esplanade all along the town was cut to 
 pieces by the waves, the large slabs at the edge were 
 flung about like pebbles, beach houses were swept off, 
 and the pier-head carried away. In Robertson Street 
 a river had formed, along which boats were rowed to 
 the rescue of persons imprisoned in their houses. The 
 row of dwellings known as "Beach Cottages" had all 
 their windows and doors beaten in, and the furniture 
 in the rooms was knocked into shapeless masses and 
 flung into corners. The kitchens and basements were 
 comi^letely filled up with water and shingle, and all 
 traces of the ordinary road were effaced. Similar havoc 
 was made at the west end of the Marina — the contents
 
 CH. n. Round about Hastings. 2 1 
 
 of the rooms were literally swept into the back yards, 
 where I saw the furniture floating about, mixed up 
 with books, trinkets, and the toys of the poor little 
 children, who were weeping over the loss of their 
 Christmas presents. 
 
 The sea has frequently made dashes of this kind at 
 Hastings, and never failed to leave some trace of its 
 awful power. In 1236, according to the county history, 
 the old church of St. Clement was destroyed ; and in 
 1597, while the pier was being rebuilt, " behold, when 
 men were most secure, and thought the work to be 
 perpetual, appeared the mighty force of God, who, with 
 the finger of his hand, at one great and exceeding high 
 spring-tide, with a south-east wind, overthrew this 
 large work in less than an hour, to the great terror 
 and amazement of all beholders." So runs the account 
 in the books of the Corporation, and it is to be feared 
 that in future years similar records of disaster will have 
 to be chronicled in these volumes. For St. Leonard's, 
 especially at the west end, is built much too near the 
 sea — had its front been on a line with the present 
 assembly rooms, the additional elevation gained would 
 have rendered the town secure even from the highest 
 tides. 
 
 St. Leonard's may be the fashionable neighbourhood, 
 but Hastings far surpasses it in picturesqueness. Its 
 ruined castle, and the fine cliff on which it is placed, 
 form a noble background to Hobertson Street. Beyond 
 the fish-market, there is a quarter inhabited exclu- 
 sively by the sailors, and few visitors ever explore it.
 
 2 2 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. n. 
 
 Tliis is where the little old-fashioned public-houses are 
 to be found, in which the fishermen spend all the time 
 and money they have to spare, and further on still 
 towards the sea are their cottages, and the sheds where 
 their nets are stored. The fishing boats here, as else- 
 where on our coasts, are of the most clumsy, awkward, 
 and dangerous design that the mind of man could have 
 conceived. They are built to take in water easily, to 
 hold it long, to roll heavily in a light sea, and to be as 
 nearly as possible unmanageable. No improvement can 
 have been made for two hundred years. To see one of 
 these big, hulking, unwieldy craft, and then think of 
 the American fishing boat, with its graceful lines and 
 its white sails, easily managed and capable of great 
 speed, excites one's astonishment afresh at the obstinacy 
 with which our countrymen cling to whatever they may 
 have been in the habit of using, no matter at what loss 
 or inconvenience. It takes nearly half-an-hour to launch 
 one of these Hastings boats, and such pulling and haul- 
 ing as then go on, such shouting, cursing, and swearing, 
 such work with rollers, chains, and ropes ! You would 
 think the whole Royal Navy was being launched. When 
 the lumbering craft is afloat, it takes at least a quarter 
 of an hour more to get any sail set — more tugging at 
 ropes, more wild rushing to and fro, more strong lan- 
 guage flying about in the air. The sails are as filthy as 
 if they had been stowed away in a coal-hole, and patched 
 all over, and are not Avorkcd on rings, but hauled np 
 bodily inch by inch. While they are being set, the 
 ugly old tub rolls about at the mercy of the waves, so
 
 CH. n. Ro2ind about Hastings, 23 
 
 that unless wind and tide are both very favourable it is 
 difficult to get it o£f at all. At last it waddles away, 
 with its dirty rags helping it along at the rate of a knot 
 or two an hour, and the fishermen who are left behind 
 stare after it as if loth to part with it, and then go and 
 refresh themselves after their exhausting;' labours at 
 the " Fishermen's Home." Can anybody wonder that 
 when a great storm suddenly beats on our coasts, so 
 many of these poor fellows go down in their wretched 
 boats — boats which an American fisherman would 
 scarcely condescend to load with mussels or clams for 
 manure on a Long Island farm ? 
 
 " There is a little silk weaving; carried on at Hastinsrs 
 by one man, but no other manufacture." So says an 
 account of Hastings, published in 1786. The silk- 
 weaving trade appears to have declined since the death 
 of the only person who practised it, and now the town 
 has simply its fishing trade to boast of, but that is very 
 consitlerable, and must be a source of great profit. 
 There are a few old houses and shops here and there 
 in the neighbourhood of High Street, and the churches 
 of St. Clement's and All Saints are worth a visit. The 
 visitor may find sufficient to amuse him in this part of 
 the town, when the weather is too bad to allow of a 
 longer excursion. 
 
 When, however, he is ready for a ramble, he cannot 
 do better than begin by going past the fishmarket, and 
 the houses where the nets are stored, and make his 
 way to Fairlight by the beach. The road is rough, 
 and should not be attempted by anyone who has reason
 
 24 Field PatJis and G^^ccn Lanes. cii. n. 
 
 to say, with Jack Falstaff, " eiglit yards of uneven ground 
 is three score and ten miles afoot with me." The rocks 
 stretch out far into the sea, so that there is no getting 
 round them, even at the lowest tide, and between them 
 and the cliffs there is a tough stretch of shingly beach 
 covered with large stones and huge boulders. Still, to 
 one who does not mind such trifles as these, the walk 
 will be found worth taking, for the cliffs are in many 
 places lofty and grand, and the look-out seaward is 
 perpetually changing. " The roaring ocean and the 
 beetling crags," says the author of Eotiien, "owe some- 
 thing of their sublimity to this, — that if they be tempted, 
 they can take the warm life of a man." It is necessary 
 to bear in mind the warning contained in these words, 
 and watch well the tide. 
 
 The first glen you come to, with a few cottages above, 
 is Ecclesbourne, and you have to round the point beyond 
 that before reaching Fairlight. The bank comes down 
 tolerably low towards the beach, with tlie grass to the 
 very edge of it, and when you see this green place, then 
 and there it will be well to turn in to the glen. There 
 is another path further ujj the beach, but this is the 
 best, for it winds through a beautiful ravine, bedecked 
 with wild flowers in the spring, and beautifully wooded 
 from beginninfj to end. Nowhere will a search for the 
 first primrose be more surely rewarded than here, and 
 I have seen daisies on the grass all through the winter 
 months. After the path has wound up and down for some 
 little distance, you come to a brook with a plank thrown 
 across it by way of a bridge, and on the other side
 
 CH. II. Round about Hastings. 25 
 
 there is a tree. If you now follow the ravine straight 
 through, it will lead to a road by which you may 
 return to Hastings, but if you want to see Lovers' Seat, 
 and gain some magnificent marine views, the proper 
 way is to turn to the right by a little thatched hut, 
 and climb up the hill. It is a steep climb, especially 
 as you approach the top, but at every step you are 
 rewarded by wide and bold views of the rugged cliffs, 
 and far away over the sea. The Lovers' Seat is a well- 
 known spot — a ledge of rock under the brow of the 
 cliff, much sought after by young men and women out 
 for a holiday, and therefore not to be recommended to 
 the true pedestrian. From the green sward at the 
 top of the cliff just as fine a view is to be obtained, 
 and there you do not meet so many enthusiastic 
 persons with their arms round each other's waists. 
 
 There is now a path through and across the fields in 
 a northerly direction to Fairlight Church, which can be 
 distinctly seen from the cliff. This path (keeping on the 
 edge of the fields, past a cottage) will bring you to a gate 
 leading into the main road, not far from the church. 
 After a spell of rain, this will be found a wet and 
 slippery walk, for there is no regular path, and the 
 fields are ploughed close up to the hedges, and every 
 step you take is followed by that " suck, suck," which 
 is so unpleasant a sound to hear, especially if your boots 
 are not water-tight. After gaining the road, we lose 
 sight of the sea for a time, and a scene of another kind 
 opens up northward — a long stretch of undulating 
 meadows and woodland, bounded by the Southdowns,
 
 26 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. ii. 
 
 a welcome change from the sea views which the walk 
 has thus far affodred. There is a large house just 
 below, and many farms and homesteads are pleasantly 
 scattered between us and yonder deep line of hills. 
 Wlien we reach the churchyard there is the sea again, 
 with the marshes stretching far into the distance, until 
 they seem to melt away in the cliffs of Dover. It is 
 easy to pick out Winchelsea and Rye from this wide 
 level, and even to discern the lighthouse at Dungeness, 
 near which the poor souls on board the Kortlcfleet were 
 suddenly sent to their last account. 
 
 A beautifully situated churchyard is this of Fair- 
 light, and people have come from far and near, looking 
 forward from " this bank and shoal of time " to choose a 
 spot therein for their long home. Although a somewhat 
 out-of-the-waycountry churchyard, there are many costly 
 monuments in it, and several of them can boast of true 
 beauty in their design. I found the old sexton at the 
 second cottage beyond the church — a very old man 
 wearing one of those frocks with much needlework at 
 the top, back and front^ which are now suggestive of 
 bye-gone days. He was of a singularly mild and gentle 
 aspect, and although his face was much wrinkled, it was 
 almost good-looking by reason of his clear grey eye and 
 honest smile. If tliis is not a good and worthy man, one 
 thinks in looking at hi-m, then for once has Nature hung 
 out the wrong sign upon her work, which she rarely 
 does. 
 
 "You have some grand monuments here," said I, 
 when we had got into the churchyard.
 
 CH. II. Round abo2it Hastings. 27 
 
 " Yes, sir, there are many ricli folks have been brought 
 here, and we were obliged to take that piece into the 
 churchyard " (pointing to the east side of the ground). 
 " Our church was rebuilt some years ago, but there be 
 a many old graves in it. There is a stone here which 
 they do say is two hundred years old." 
 
 " And so strangers come to you as well as your own 
 people?" . 
 
 " Oh, yes. You see that white marble cross ? Well, 
 that, and the two graves next to it, were chosen by a 
 gentleman from India, as you see his name writ up, and 
 he had his brother brought here after he had been 
 buried a many years in London. Then he had some 
 others of his family brought here too. And now you 
 see, sir, how things go in this world. This gentleman 
 was dressing himself one morning, quite well as you 
 mi'-j-ht be, and five minutes after he was dead. And 
 there he is. 
 
 " Oh, yes, we've had a sight of people buried here, 
 and money spent on the graves. Thousands of bricks 
 have been put in the vaults. Some people like to do 
 that, and it makes work, that's all. You see that grave 
 over yonder, sir % The lady as is there was buried 
 fourteen year, and when we opened it to 'pui the gentle- 
 man in, the lid and handles of the coffin were as bright 
 as they were on the day they were made. It was a 
 brick grave, and better nor any vault, for we are very 
 dry up here. It's the wet as breaks folks up, sir. 
 
 " A year and a half ago I buried my poor missis over 
 there " (pointing to the south-west corner of the church-
 
 28 Field PatJis and Great Lanes. 
 
 CH. II. 
 
 yard). "I have felt lonesome like ever since, althouo-h 
 my daughter came to me after her mother died." 
 
 We were standing within the porch of the church, the 
 old man bareheaded, and there was that in his face and 
 words which made one silent. 
 
 " One day a big boy was trying to prevent some little 
 children going home, just by that gate, and she inter- 
 fered to protect them. The boy up with his fist and 
 struck her on the breast. She was very ill afterwards, 
 and got very thin, and we took her to the doctors, but 
 it was all no use, sir." 
 
 "A cancer, I fear ? " 
 
 " I think that was the name of it, sir. Poor thine ! 
 it was only fourteen months afore site came to the 
 ground." 
 
 " How old are you ?" I asked presently. 
 
 " If I live till next month, sir, I shall be seventy-five 
 years, and twenty-four years I have lived here. Yes, 
 sir, it is a lonely place in winter, bein' out of the way 
 like, but I have neighbours, and my daughter lives 
 with me since her mother died." 
 
 The old man came and opened the gate for me, and 
 as I walked home there lingered the recollection of his 
 old-fashioned ways, his quaint speech, and the simple 
 pathos of the phrase in which he told of his wife's death : 
 " She came to the ground." With how sharp a stroke 
 it lays bare to the mind the end of this poor little drama 
 in which most of us are playing our parts so ill. 
 
 The pleasantest way back to Hastings is to the left 
 of the church, down to the coast-guard station, and
 
 CH. 11. Round about Hastings. 29 
 
 then to the right over the Downs and cliffs, and 
 through the fields. The sea is once more in sight 
 nearly all the way, and after passing a good old farm to 
 the left, we touch the road again, and may either follow 
 that into the town, or get on to the grass through a 
 little gate also on the left of the road. This latter 
 course takes us far above the town on the East Cliif, 
 and from thence you look down upon Hastings, with its 
 queer jumble of churches and old-fashioned houses, 
 and the boats drawn up upon the beach — the most 
 striking picture of the town which can anywhere be 
 gained. 
 
 Another of the easy walks about here is to Bexhill. 
 Follow the esplanade to the end of the Marina, then 
 the road past the railroad station, and under the arch, 
 and so onward until the roadside inn called the " Bull " 
 is reached. Near this inn may be noticed a few ruins 
 in a field. They are all that remain of the parish church 
 of Bulverhythe (St. Mary), built by the Earls of Eu, or 
 Ango, and mentioned in a local return of 1372. In the 
 " Gentleman's Magazine " of October, 1786, 1 chanced to 
 find the following interesting reference to this part of the 
 road : — " Crossing the end of this valley, the road rises 
 gently to a public-house called N unhide Haven, near 
 which are ruins of a chapel. This is a small distance 
 from the sea, and is said here to have been the place of 
 the debarkation of William I. A stone under the rocks 
 between this and Hastings is shown as the table on 
 which he ate his dinner." This stone is now to be 
 seen in the subscription gardens at St. Leonard's ;
 
 Field Pat/is and Grcai Lanes. en. n. 
 
 whether William ever ate his dinner off it is another 
 matter. 
 
 A few yards below the "Bull " Inn— formerly, I sup- 
 pose, the " Nunhide Heven " — a gate opens into a field, 
 and from this point there is a path into the very village 
 of Bexhill. The distance from Dorman's Library by this 
 course is about three-and-a-half miles. Even in winter 
 this is an interesting little expedition to take. I made 
 it in the middle of December last, and although in the 
 bottoms the ground was wet and slippery, and the trees 
 were of course quite bare, yet the redbreast and the 
 wren Avere singing memly in the barren hedgerows. 
 The leafless oaks seemed twisted into a hundred stransfe 
 and distorted shapes in the naked fields. " It is a 
 great advantage," says Mr. Hamerton, "of the wintei 
 season for the study of sylvan nature, that it enables us 
 to see the structure of trunks and branches so much 
 better than we ever can do when they are laden with 
 summer foliage."* The stunted and crooked oaks in 
 the fields and hedges on this road will well reward 
 patient study. Indeed, it is not necessary to go from 
 London to put Mr. Hamerton's stateinent to the test. 
 In the short and dreary days of winter, many a Lon- 
 doner would find a new world opened to him if he 
 wandered among the fine old trees in Kensington 
 Gardens, and marked their wonderful outlines, even as 
 presented against the leaden sky of the great city. 
 Not that the sky of London is always of a sombre 
 colour — only the man who has been up and out very 
 * "Tlie Sylvan Year," p. 48.
 
 CH. II. Round about Hastings. 31 
 
 early in the morning, has seen the metropolis at its 
 best. There are certain wondrous studies of clouds in 
 some of Turner's paintings which may occasionally be 
 seen in London, and nowhere else. Let anyone who 
 has ever chanced to see a stormy sunset from one of the 
 bridges, when it has not been raining for an hour or 
 two previously, and the clouds are not too low, recall 
 that wondrous spectacle, and he will own that there 
 are no " effects " in Turner's skies more strange or 
 fascinating. 
 
 Bexhill stands high above the surrounding country, 
 in a situation where it enjoys the freshest of land and 
 sea breezes. " People live here as long as they've a 
 mind to," said a native of the place, and the local 
 records go far to warrant the assertion. When George 
 the Third reached his 81st year, a party met at the 
 Bell Inn, Bexhill, to drink the monarch's health, and 
 although there were forty-six persons present, the 
 youngest was over 75. Their ages ranged between 
 that and 87, and several of the festive party lived to 
 be over 92. Only three of the whole number died 
 under the age of 80. In the churchyard there are 
 several gravestones on which are recorded the deaths 
 of persons over 90, and the majority of the population 
 seem to live to be at least 70. Let us hope they find 
 it worth their while. 
 
 The church is rude and primitive in appearance, and 
 has been defaced within by heavy and clumsy galleries, 
 but it still remains a picturesque edifice, not utterly 
 ruined by time, spoliation, or bad taste. All these
 
 32 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. n. 
 
 destructive influences have been at work upon it. 
 Formerly, there was a stained gUiss window in the 
 church, representing Queen Eleanor and Henry the 
 Third, a drawing of which forms the frontispiece to the 
 first volume of Horace Walpole's AnecdoteB of Painting, 
 This window was taken away from the church by Lord 
 Ashburnham, and given to Walpole, who put it up in 
 his chapel at Strawberry Hill. When the famous sale 
 took place, after Walpole's death, the stolen property 
 was described as "a very fine ancient stained glass 
 window in seventeen compartments," " brought from 
 the church of Bexhill, in Sussex." It was bought by a 
 Mr. Whitaker for £30 9s. 6d, and what was its fate 
 afterwards, no one has ever been able to find out. 
 
 Service was being held in the church on the December 
 day of which I have spoken, and a dozen or two candles 
 were scattered about the old building, serving only to 
 make darkness visible. It was a week-day service, and 
 there were exactly four persons present, three women 
 and a man. Under such circumstances, the attempt 
 made by the clergyman and the congregation to intone 
 the service, in cathedral fashion, seemed slightly out of 
 place. All this district however, is intensely "High 
 Church." There is a church at St. Leonard's, nominally 
 Protestant, but where the service is conducted in a 
 manner which renders it impossible for a stranger to 
 distinguish it from a Roman Catholic service. All the 
 congregation make a low genuflexion, and cross them- 
 selves as they enter the building. They say they are 
 Protestants— I wonder, then, what they call the martyrs
 
 CH. II. Round about Hastings. 33 
 
 of old, who were burnt alive because they would not 
 comply with the forms and ceremonies which are 
 practised here ? 
 
 The road between St. Leonard's and Bexhill is 
 always a favourite hunting gi-ound for beggars. I had 
 not got far on my way back when two men overtook 
 me, and informed me that they had a "long walk," 
 and were " dead beat." " And pray how far have you 
 walked," said I. 
 
 " From Eastbourne. A long road, sir, and a bad 
 'un. Have you got such a thing as the price of a 
 night's lodging about you." 
 
 " That depends on what hotel you lodge at," said I. 
 " Pray what are you two men ? " 
 
 " I'm a laborer," said the first, who looked a respect- 
 able sort of person, " and my mate here, he's a brick- 
 layer. We've been to work at Eastbourne and now 
 are going to Hastings." 
 
 " Just got your money for the job at Eastbourne, 
 and now begging. Paid on Saturday, I suppose, and 
 this is Monday, and you are already obliged to beg for 
 a night's lodging ? " 
 
 " We've had nothing to do for a week," said the 
 bricklayer. " Bricks is scarce, you can't get 'em any- 
 where, and so work dries up. We have to wait for the 
 brickmakers." 
 
 " Then if I were you I would give up bricklaying, and 
 turn to brickmakiug." 
 
 " TlieiT work only lasts four months in a year, and 
 then they has to be idle."
 
 34 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. li. 
 
 " Then I would be a brickmaker those four months 
 and a bricklayer the rest of the year. That would be 
 better than beofoing." 
 
 "Come on mate, the gent ain't a goin' to give us 
 nothing." And, in truth, if the visitor hereabouts in- 
 tends to give to all the beggars vvlio accost him, and to 
 buy all the shells and flowers that are presented to his 
 notice, he had better go out with a very long purse. 
 
 At St. Leonard's there will be found an excellent 
 library and many good shops. The subscription gardens 
 are pleasant in summer, and at the back of them, nearly 
 at the top of the hill, there is a house whose grounds 
 are a favourite resort of starlings. They may be seen 
 there in great flocks all through the winter, and towards 
 night their behaviour is exactly that which Charles St. 
 John describes : " As the dusk of evening comes on 
 they wheel to and fro, sometimes settling on, and again 
 rising from the reeds, till at last having arranged 
 themselves to their satisfaction they remain quiet for 
 the niffht."'^ There must often have been at least five 
 hundred birds in some of the flocks I have seen in 
 these gardens. Further on the road, past St. Leonard's 
 Green, the visitor will soon find that he is in a country 
 much loved by birds. The robin's welcome and cheer- 
 ful note may be heard all through the winter, and the 
 skylark and the thrush begin to sing early in February. 
 The missel-bird is also common at that time, and the 
 hedges begin to bud, and wild flowers peep out from 
 under the grass on the bank, and the old folks and 
 * " Natural Ifi-story fuid Si.ort in Moray," p. 2J7.
 
 en. ir. Round about Hastings. 35 
 
 invalids begin to brighten up and persuade themselves 
 that the winter is over — whereas the east wind comes 
 anon, and makes sore all their bones, and fills them 
 with misery. 
 
 • From Bexhill there is a very pleasant walk to 
 Hove, about four miles. The road through the village 
 leads by a rather steep hill to Little Common, passing 
 along a ridge which commands very striking views of 
 Beachy Head and the South Downs, and landward far 
 over the weald of Sussex. The "Wheatsheaf" at 
 Little Common is a comfortable old inn, with a fine 
 tree on the village green before the door. From hence 
 the visitor may turn to the right, and make his way 
 back to St. Leonard's through the picturesque High 
 Woods and Sidley Green — a long round, but one 
 which will lead the traveller, whether on horse or foot, 
 through some of the loveliest country in this part of 
 Sussex. From the " Wheatsheaf," the road to Hove 
 goes straight forward, the beginning of the parish being 
 about two miles from the inn. The village is ten miles 
 from Hastings, and the best plan is to take the train to 
 Bexhill and walk from there. Tlie ancient church 
 contains a curious stained glass window, with figures, as 
 some say, of Edward IIL and Queen Philippe. The 
 window is said to be of much the same kind as the 
 one stolen from Bexhill. There is also a long but 
 lovely walk to Catsfield, where, at a corner of the 
 churchyard, an old pollarded oak may still be seen, 
 which was in its gay green youth before the days of the 
 Conquest.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO OLD CHUKCHES. 
 
 Crowhurst and Etchingham.— The Road to Crowhurst.— The Wild 
 Flowers of Winter. — Modern Houses and Old Euins. — The 
 Famous Yew Tree. — Californian Trees. — Yews in Churchyards. 
 — Etchingham and its Church. — The Village Graves. — Spring 
 Time in Sussex. — A Specimen of "Old Sussex." — "Ameri- 
 canisms." — Burwa.sh, or "Burghersh." — The Parish Clerk and 
 his Ancestors. — The Iron Slab. — A Eequest for Information. — 
 The Use of a Wife.— A Walk to Eobertsbridge. 
 
 Crowhurst and Etdiinix^iain churches are amonsj 
 the oldest in Sussex, and certainly among the best 
 worth visitins:, as well for the associations connected 
 with tliem as for the scenery which surrounds them. 
 They are far apart, but anyone who can give a day to 
 each will not call his time misspent. 
 
 From either the London road at St. Leonard's, or that 
 which runs up by the side of the Assembly rooms, the 
 way to Crowhurst is very simple. A little beyond St. 
 Leonard's Green, there are some pleasant residences on 
 the left. This is called Hollington Park, and a short 
 distance doAvn, a path will be seen running across fields 
 to the left. Take this, and it will bring you on to the 
 main road, near an oak tree, by which a road runs to the 
 left again. If you follow the latter road, it will bring
 
 cu. III. Two Old Chirches. 37 
 
 you by a pleasant walk out upon the Bexliill road, or 
 by fields back to St. Leonard's. The Crovvhurst road 
 goes straightforward, and will be found to consist chiefly 
 of hills — not at all a road to be tackled by poor pedes- 
 trians. The distance from St. Leonard's is fully six 
 miles. This road is strewn thickly on both sides with 
 wild flowers — by the first week in March, I found the 
 daisy, herb-whort, and wild strawberry in abundance, 
 primroses were so thick as almost to hide the grass, 
 and the lesser celandine shone out brilliantly from its 
 bed of leaves. The views range far over the fields and 
 hills, or seaward over the headlands, and miles away 
 towards Beachy Head and the Channel. 
 
 The village of Crovvhurst makes a fair appearance 
 from the hill, but when you get down you wonder what 
 has become of it, for it has almost entirely disappeared. 
 It lies, however, to the left of the point where the road 
 forks, while the road to the right takes you to the 
 church — a delightful old church, neat and pleasant 
 within, and rendered a true pilgrim's shrine without 
 by its grand old tower, its amazing yew tree, and the 
 ruins just below it of an old manor house, said to have 
 been built in 1230. The effect of these ancient remains 
 is much marred by an unsightly red and yellow brick 
 building, a farmhouse, which has been stuck there 
 without the slightest regard for common decency. For 
 surely this old church and its surroundings deserved 
 better treatment than to have these hideous flaring 
 monstrosities pushed up close against it. A little way 
 above, at a point to which the visitor naturally goes for
 
 38 Field Paths and Gi'ccii Lanes. en. m. 
 
 a good view of tlie clmrcli, tliere are three or four 
 abominable cottages, the models of everything that is 
 unsightly and detestable in " architecture." How can 
 the man who built these have the coolness to look his 
 fellow-creatures in the face again ? 
 
 If the church tower and tlic old manor-house could 
 not have kept back the hand of the spoiler, that 
 venerable yew tree in the churchyard ought to have 
 scared him off. Mr. M. A. Lower relates that it "is 
 said to be three thousand years old." I will believe 
 almost anything of a yew tree, but not quite that. Mr. 
 Lower gives thirty-three feet as the circumference of 
 the tree, Murray speaks of it as twenty-seven feet at 
 four feet from the ground. I have measured it more 
 than once at five feet from the ground, and find it 
 twenty- six and a half feet to a fraction. But there is 
 a split or cleft in the trunk, causing rather a wide 
 opening, and that, of course, increases the measure- 
 ment. In the Hev C. A. Johns's work on Forest Trees, 
 there is a view of a "yew tree at Crowhurst," which, 
 doubtless, was intended for this tree. But it never can 
 have been a correct view, for the path is placed on the 
 wrong side of the tree, and neither at Crowhurst in 
 Surrey or Sussex does the great yew stand in any such 
 position as that represented in the engraving, nor is 
 there any resemblance to the tree itself. The top 
 alone is now green, and even that is much broken off 
 and battered by the winds, while below all is a melan- 
 choly wreck — the trunk shattered and hollow, and 
 crumbling to pieces with age. A part of the trunk is
 
 CH. III. Two Old CJiurches. 39 
 
 held to the main body of the tree by an iron band, 
 which looks as if that also needed to be renewed. Mr. 
 Selby in his Forest Trees says that this yew "still 
 carries a noble and flourishing head." That description 
 of it could not be given now. There are still green 
 leaves, but there is scarcely a branch or twig which does 
 not look as if it had been snapped off in the middle, 
 and the heavy gales of last winter did it grievous hurt. 
 I stood by it one windy day in January when the 
 groaning and creaking of its branches, as they ground 
 against each other, was a distressing sound to hear. 
 
 We often hear much of the " big trees " of California, 
 but are many of them larger in girth than this ancient 
 tree? The South Park Grove is said to boast of a tree, 
 the home of a trapper named Smith, which is thirty 
 feet in diameter. But some of the largest which have 
 been properly measured are no more than eighteen feet 
 round. When we come to height, it is another matter, 
 for, according to the old story, the trees in California 
 are so high that it takes two men and a boy to look to 
 the top of one of them. 
 
 Now supposing that this yew is 1200 years old, it 
 will be a very difficult thing to make any one believe 
 that it was planted there as "an emblem of immor- 
 tality." This is the explanation given by Mr. Johns 
 and many other writers of the yew being found so 
 frequently in churchyards. "Generation after genera- 
 tion," he says, " might be gathered to their fathers, the 
 yew tree proclaiming to those who remained, that all, 
 like the ever-green unchanging yew, were yet living, in
 
 40 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. ui. 
 
 another world, tlio life wliicli had been the object of 
 their desire." The idea is, no doubt, an attractive one, 
 but it is far more probable that pagan superstition led 
 to these ancient trees being planted in the spots where 
 we now find them than a belief in the Christian doctrine 
 of immortality. Mr. Bowman supposes that its branches 
 were employed by our " pagan ancestors, on their first 
 arrival here, as the best substitute for the cypress, to 
 deck the graves of the dead and for other sacred 
 purj)oses." The theory that the yew was planted in 
 churchyards in order that it might pi^otect the sacred 
 edifice, or provide the neighbourhood with wood for 
 bows, seems to me to be exploded in a few words by a 
 writer whose article I happened to come across in the 
 "Gentleman's Magazine" for 178G (Vol. oG, p. 941). He 
 says : " It is difficult to discover what influenced our 
 ancestors to place this tree so generally in churchyards; 
 scarce any could be selected which is so ill adapted to 
 be planted for protection, from the slowness of its 
 growth and the horizontal direction of its branches, 
 both of which circumstances prevent its rising high 
 enough, even in a century, to shelter from storms a 
 building of moderate height; neither would one tree 
 ansvver the purpose of supplying a whole parish Avith 
 bows," Many of our churches were doubtless built on 
 spots where our ancestors worshipped before the intro- 
 duction of Christianity, and the yew, which was 
 regarded with merely superstitious feelings, was suf- 
 fered to remain. 
 
 Instead of returning to Hastings by the same way,
 
 CH. III. Two Old Chuixhes. 41 
 
 the visitor may continue on past the church, and the 
 hideous cottasres before referred to, and so straijjht 
 forward till he comes to another main road running 
 right and left. He will turn to the right (the left 
 leads to Battle) and go straight down hill through 
 the despicable village of Hollington, with its stuccoed 
 cottages, past Silverhill, and so on either to St. Leonard's 
 or Hastings. About three-quarters of a mile beyond 
 Crowhurst church, there is a fine view of Battle in the 
 distance, and also of Mr. Brassey's house " Norman- 
 hurst," Crowhurst Park skirts the roadside, but the 
 house is not within sight. 
 
 The pilgrimage to the fine old church at Etchingham 
 (properly Echyngham) is a more distant one from 
 Hastings — fourteen miles; but it may be made in a 
 pleasant manner by taking the train to Etchingham, 
 and returning from Robertsbridge. The church stands 
 at a short distance from the line, and the keys may be 
 had at the shop in the village. Passengers on the rail- 
 road often ask, " Where is the villaore of Etchinofham?" 
 fancying that there must be a respectable sized town 
 near so large a church. But it is not so; all that there 
 is of Etchingham can be seen from the line — a general 
 shop, a public house and stables, and a few scattered 
 cottages beyond. The house on the left of the line 
 was once a fine old mansion known as " Haremare," 
 but it has been entirely altered or rebuilt. 
 
 On entering the church one is struck with its height 
 and the beauty of its proportions, and is not surprised 
 to find in Mr. Lower's "Compendious History of Sussex,"
 
 42 Field Paths and Green Lanes. 
 
 on. in. 
 
 the opinion that "when complete and undefaccd by the 
 barbarous neglect of later times, this grand edifice must 
 have been among tlie noblest of baronial churches." 
 Some fragments of the stained glass still remain in 
 the windows here and there, and the weather-vane out- 
 side is said to have been originally on a still older church 
 than the present, although this one was erected in 
 the fourteenth century. The vane is "banner-shaped," 
 and is said to bear the " frettd coat of the De Echyng- 
 hams," that family which once were lords of the manor, 
 and several of whose members now sleep in the church. 
 In the chancel, in front of the altar rails, is a brass 
 to the memory of Sir William de Echynghara, of the 
 date 1345. The head is gone, but the rest of the 
 figure remains untouched. Just westward of it is a 
 fine brass with three effigies upon it, a lady between 
 two male figures, all in perfect order. The men have a 
 bluff, Henry the Eighth, sort of look about them ; the 
 lady was perhaps intended to have been pretty. This 
 brass is dated 1444. The choir and screen are ancient, 
 and give the church a stately appearance. On the 
 south side of the nave is a very plain brass with two 
 female figures engraved upon it, and near a pillar is a 
 plate from w'hich I copied the following inscription : 
 "Here lies the only sonne of Sr. Gyfiford Thornhurst 
 Barronett an Infant by Dame Susan Thornhurst, Now 
 Living, the only daughter of Sr. Alex. Temple, Kt., 1G2G." 
 The letters are as fresh and clear as if they had been 
 cut but yesterday. There is an old helmet and other 
 relics of a knight hung high upon the wall. The font
 
 CH. III. Tiuo Old CIuLrches. 43 
 
 is of great antiquity, but has the appearance of having 
 been much polished up or " restored." The church, five 
 hundred years ago, was surrounded by a moat, and Mr. 
 Lower says that there is a legend setting forth that a 
 great bell lies at the bottom of this moat, and that it 
 will " never be brought to light until six yoke of white 
 oxen can be found to drag it forth." After a great 
 prevalence of wet weather, such as was experienced in 
 the winter of 1876-77, the visitor will be inclined to 
 think that the moat is by no means a thing of the past, 
 for the meadows near the church are flooded, and the 
 whole "bottom " is under water. 
 
 There is a very old yew-tree at the west end of the 
 churchyard, much decayed and weather-beaten, but 
 fighting time gallantly, as its family have a way of 
 doing. When I was last there in March, the simple 
 country graves were covered with homely bunches of 
 primroses and " Lent lilies," and the thrushes and 
 blackbirds were keeping up the sweetest of all choruses 
 in the neighbouring bushes and trees. It was the 
 lambing season, and great was the bleating going on in 
 all directions. At the east end of the churchyard there 
 is a smaller yew, and beyond this point the ancient 
 manor-house once stood, also moated. The great yew, 
 which is the pride of the churchyard, is about eighteen 
 feet in circumference, and has a seat all round it for the 
 convenience of the rustics. 
 
 About two and a half miles to the south-west there 
 is an interesting corner of " old Sussex " called Burwash 
 — that being the shape into which the ancient name of
 
 44 Field PatJis and Green Lanes. ch. m. 
 
 Burgliersh has gradually twisted itself. The manor 
 once belonged to the family of De Burgliersh, but the 
 race has long since disappeared from this part, and 
 the name is only represented by the local pronunciation 
 of Buro'lsh. I was curious to sec this old villa^je — the 
 centre, not many years ago, of one of the wildest and 
 most lawless populations in all Sussex, — and started off 
 to find it. 
 
 A little way up the road there is the village post- 
 office, and close by is the rectory, a comfortable house 
 surrounded with fine trees, in which a colony of rooks 
 were hard at work amid much noise and darting to and 
 fro. "When the top of the road is reached, there is 
 a lovely vievv^ for many miles around ; a tall pillar 
 stands conspicuously on a hill a few miles off. This 
 is an obelisk on Brightling Down, known hereabouts as 
 " the Brightling needle." The beauty of this neighbour- 
 hood is beginning to attract new residents, and one 
 good house stands a little way back from the road, and, 
 as an old man with w hom I struck up an acquaintance 
 informed me, belonged to "a harchitect." This old 
 fellow told me that he was born at Etchingham — which 
 he pronounced " aitch-an-ham," each syllable distinctly 
 — and had scarcely been ten miles away from it in his 
 life. He spoke the East Sussex dialect in all its vigour, 
 and it was with difficulty that I made out one half of 
 what he said. 
 
 " Tins harchitect," said he, " bart this place and built 
 it all of the best 'terials, begor. It was nowt but a field 
 covered with ammut castees." " Begor," or " begorra,"
 
 CH. Ill, Two Old Chinxhcs. 45 
 
 I have seen put into the mouths of Irishmen in novels 
 and on the stage, but here was this old Sussex man using 
 the word repeatedly. His " ammut castees " bothered 
 me until, on my return home, I searched in the excellent 
 " Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect," by the Rev. W. D. 
 Parish, of Selmeston (a parish, by-the-by, which is 
 locally called " Simpson "), and there I found the 
 words properly entered: " Ammut-castes : Emmet-casts; 
 ant-hills," 
 
 " They rooks as you see on barson's place," continued 
 the old man, " only coom a few year agoo. About 
 fi' year back, ten or a doozen coom, and the next year 
 about varty, and now you see as there be a hundreds 
 of 'em. Queer birds, they be — sometimes coom all of 
 a sudden, and then go away again same way." 
 
 Two rough-looking men were a little way a-head, 
 and I was sui-prised to see them in such an out-of-the- 
 way place, for they were evidently tramps, and very 
 bad faces they had. " Do you know these men ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 '' Wait till we cooms up to 'em," said he, " and I'll 
 tell 'ee." Then when we had passed and he had taken 
 a sharp glance at them, he said, " Ay, they be 
 runagates,'' — i.e., ne'er-do-wells. 
 
 I was delighted to get a present of this good old 
 Biblical and Shakspearian word, and was almost 
 equally pleased when my companion presently used 
 the word iniad in the sense of angry. This is what 
 some people would call a genuine Americanism — an 
 " Americanism " being in nine cases out of ten an old
 
 46 Field Paths and Green Lanes. cu. m. 
 
 English Avord preserved in its ancient sense. My 
 Etcliingliam friend frequently made use of the expres- 
 sion " I reckon," so that, but for his misplaced li's — 
 and he dropped them all over the road in a most reck- 
 less and amazing manner, — he might have been a 
 Southern or Western American. He also used the 
 word "Fall," in speaking of the autumn. I am told 
 that most hard- winged insects are commonly called 
 " bugs," as in America, — thus we hear of tlie lady-bug 
 (lady bird), the May-bug (cockchafer), the June-bug 
 (the green beetle), and so forth. I have heard the 
 word " axey " for ague in the Eastern States, just as it 
 is used to this hour in many parts of Sussex. 
 
 The Rectory at Etchingliam is an attractive looking 
 place, but it is quite cast into the shade by the 
 " barson's " house at Burwash. It is surrounded with 
 stately old trees, and seems to be one of the most 
 charming residences in this part of the county. "He be 
 rich," said the old man ; " why the tithes of this parish 
 coom to more'n eleven 'underd poons a-year." The 
 parish is a very large one — between nine and ten miles 
 in length — and there are many good farms in it. It Avas 
 formerly the "birth-place or sheltering-place of rick- 
 burners, sheep-stealers, and thieves," and now is a quiet 
 agricultural district. As for the church, the steeple or 
 spire is almost the only relic of its former self which 
 the restorer has spared. 
 
 I found the clerk in a little cottage — an old man 
 with a bad cold. His wheezings and splutterings, 
 and the perpetual drop which was unfortunately sus-
 
 cji. III. Two Old Churches. 47 
 
 pended from Lis nose, made him rather an unsatisfactory 
 person to be with for any lengthened period. 
 
 When we entered the churchyard, he pointed out to 
 me a row of six or seven graves. " That's the place," 
 said he, " where my family lie. My grandfather and 
 grandmother are theer, and that's my mother, and 
 that's my first wife, and them be my two children." 
 He pointed them all out with a kind of pride. " My 
 mother died sixty year agoo." 
 
 The lime trees in the churchyard are tall and well 
 shaped, and there is a yew, but of no great size. 
 Inside the church, all has a bran-new appearance, 
 except the font, on which is the Pelham buckle, and 
 a forlorn old slab which used to be in the chancel, 
 but which is now nailed up in an out-of-the-way corner, 
 like a bat to a barn dooi\ This slab is of iron, and was 
 cast at a foundry not far off, in the days when iron 
 foundries still existed in this part of Sussex. 
 
 "It was made at Starkmush Farm," said the^ clerk. 
 I had half a mind to ask him to spell it, but that would 
 have been too absurd. I found out that the name of the 
 place was Sochnarsh, and that the slab (on which the 
 words " Orate pro annema Jhone Colline " are to be 
 traced) is to the memory of one of the Collins family, who 
 became extinct here in l7o3. The old clerk said the 
 inscription was "pray for poor John Collins," vaguely 
 suggestive of a drink invented by a waiter at the now 
 extinct Limmer's Hotel. 
 
 But, not knowing the facts at the time, I kept repeat- 
 ing the old clerk's name of "Starkmush" in despair.
 
 48 Field PaiJis and Grcm Lanes. cu. m 
 
 " I don't know how they spell him," he said, the tear 
 still persistently dripping from the wrong place. " Some 
 spell it some way, some another. It be like people's 
 names — you spell 'em how you like. Surnames might 
 be anything now-a-days. Can you tell me one thing, 
 sir ? They do say as we are all sprung from Adam 
 and Eve, yet there be 95,000,000 of different names 
 in the world. How do you account for that, sir \ " 
 
 I said I would think it over. Tlicn, seeing that I 
 was writing something in a note-book, he asked, 
 
 " Be you a miikin' of a chronology, sir ? Because if 
 you be, you might like to know as the clerkship 'as 
 been in my family ever since the year 1738, without 
 e'er a break." 
 
 " I will put that in the chronology," I said. 
 
 "Ay, do, sir. I am pretty old myself, but — " he 
 stopped short, and his face fell. I looked round, and 
 saw his wife — not his first wife— coming in at the gate 
 after him. Doubtless she scented afar off the shilling 
 I had just handed over, and was on guard to convey it 
 
 home. 
 
 "If I were you," said I to the clerk, "I would lock the 
 old lady up here in the church while I went to get my 
 fjlass of ale." 
 
 " You would really, sir ? " 
 
 " Indeed I would." 
 
 It evidently struck him as a beautiful idea, and he 
 dwelt on it long and lovingly, and gazed at me as a 
 kind of genius for suggesting it. But he had not the 
 strength of mind to act upon it. " I coom to zee arter
 
 CH. III. Tivo Old Churches. 49 
 
 my spectacles," said the old woman, " did you take 
 'em ?" Did anybody ever know one of the sex to be at 
 a loss for an excuse ? The old clerk was taken in tow, 
 and bade me good day with a disconsolate air. That 
 dreadful drop grew larger than ever, and as we went 
 out of the gate he motioned once more towards his 
 little property in the churchyard, and said, " that's my 
 own mother, and she be dead sixty year. And that 
 be my first wife," and a look in his face seemed to 
 say that it was a thousand pities his second was not 
 there also. 
 
 The one street of Burwash runs straight down from 
 the churchyard gate. The " Bear " Inn looks old and 
 snug, and there is a fine house, apparently of Queen 
 Anne's time, with a well-carved doorway. It is the 
 very picture of a roomy and comfortable home. But 
 no one could tell me anything about it. 
 
 I now walked back to Etchingham, with the inten- 
 tion of going from there to Robertsbridge over the 
 fields — little more than two miles. But the fields were 
 half flooded, and a steady down-pour of rain came on, 
 and so I determined to stick to the road. 
 
 And this undoubtedly commands the finest views, 
 for the road runs high above the valley, while the 
 field-path is in a hollow, hugging the river Rother — a 
 swollen stream just then — nearly the whole way. The 
 distance to Robertsbridge by road is a long four miles. 
 Yet it is well worth walking over — the country is 
 lovely, the views everywhere superb. You leave the 
 house of HavevfiQjVe just below you, and keep always
 
 50 Field PatJis and Green Lanes. cu. m. 
 
 to the right. The rain came down without ceasing, 
 the roads were muddy, and the east wind was rather 
 sharp ; but I had barely an hour to do the four miles 
 in, and the birds were singing in the hedgerows and 
 trees, and I had the satisfaction of spying out among 
 some primroses my first " cuckoo-flower" of the season 
 — the lady-smock of Shakspeare. How could the road 
 be dull ? With a light heart and a quick step I soon 
 reached Hurst Green, a village with nothing particular 
 about it, and then through the toll gate to the right, 
 and all down hill to Robertsbridge, where a rich abbey 
 stood in 1176, the remains of which have been used in 
 our own day for the noble purpose of mending the 
 roads. A pleasant little town is Robertsbridge, Avith 
 some good houses round about it, and most beautiful 
 country at the back. It is only thirteen miles from 
 Hastings, and for a moment I thought I would go on. 
 But I had made a long round already, and enough is 
 as good as a feast, although how can one tell when one 
 has had enough of these charming old country roads 
 and fields and hedges ?
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THREE CASTLES— PEVENSEY, HURSTMONCEUX, AND 
 
 BODIAM. 
 
 "Anderida." — Old Churclies Made New. — The Road Across the 
 Marsh. —"Naun about Flowers." — The Castle and Church at 
 Hurstmonceux. — Extiuct Yeomanry Families. — Two Barns, one 
 Old and one Few. — Gardner Street. — Tipsy England. — Hail- 
 sham. — A Relic of the Van-Cortlandts. — The Road to Bodiam. 
 — Salehurst and its Church. — A Morning Bouquet. — The Fair 
 "Warden of Bodiam, 
 
 Pevensey is sacred ground to the archaeologist. It 
 v/as an ancient British settlement, and the Romans built 
 a castle here of which the remains are still to be seen even 
 from the railroad. " Fifteen centuries stand between 
 [the visitor] and the builders," says Mr. Roach Smith, 
 and he adds that if the said visitor tears "aside the 
 ivy that clings to the facing of the wall, he will find 
 the course of the mason's trowel marked as freshly as 
 if the tool had smoothed the mortar only a few months 
 since." But Mr. M. A. Lower would take us back to 
 a still more distant period. " The most remarkable 
 coins," he says in his " Compendious History of 
 Sussex," "ever found here are those of some of the 
 Bactrian kings, Radpluses, Menander, and Apollodotus, 
 who flourished about 200 years B.C." As to the
 
 52 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. iv. 
 
 accuracy of this statement, it is beyond my province to 
 speak — the idle tourist will be content to leave such 
 questions to the learned Thebans. Certain it is that 
 here a settlement of native Britons was exterminated 
 by the first South Saxon king, and that here also, but 
 80 long afterwards that the date seems almost recent 
 by comparison, William the Conqueror landed for the 
 first time in England. A long, long history is that of 
 Pevensey, and short work would the anti(|uaries make 
 of any simple summer-day's rover who attempted to 
 deal with it. Far be it from me to venture on such 
 dangerous territory. As I walked up the quaint 
 villaire street of Westham which leads to tlie castle, I 
 thought to myself, " Let us first step aside to see this 
 old church, with its aisle and chancel of the time of 
 Edward the Fourth, and its memorials to many a 
 family now gone and forgotten. Here we shall see a 
 famous carved screen made in the days of Henry the 
 Sixth, and ancient windows such as no man will 
 mind walking a dozen miles to look at." While thus 
 ruminating on the treat before me, the sound of work- 
 men's hammers fell upon my ear. I had crossed the 
 threshold of the church, and what a spectacle presented 
 itself! The whole of the inside was literally " gutted " 
 — the walls had been torn down and were lying in 
 confused heaps upon the floor, mortar was being mixed 
 on gi-ave-stones with ancient crosses carved upon them, 
 the pews, communion-table, windows, all were clean 
 gone. " What are you doing with the church ? " said 
 I to a man who was hammering away on an old
 
 CH. IV. Three Castles. 5 3 
 
 slab. " We be a restoring of un," replied he without 
 looking up. I fled in horror from the scene. 
 
 Within the walls of "Anderida" a few cows were 
 munching the grass, and turned to look lazily at the 
 solitary intruder who had invaded their domain. The 
 walls are low and ivy-clad, and there is little within 
 them to satisfy the seeker after the picturesque. Yet 
 to those who know anything of the history of their 
 country, few places in England will possess greater 
 interest than this, for every inch of it is classic 
 soil. 
 
 Through the Norman arch on the other side there is 
 a glimpse of an old grey street, the " High street " of 
 Pevensey. Nearly all the houses in it are weather- 
 worn and ancient, and there is a Town Hall not much 
 larger than a cottage. You pass through this jDrimitive 
 street to reach Hurstmonceux, the road winding round 
 to the left, across a low marsh, over which the sea 
 washed a thousand years ago. " And will again," said 
 an old man whom I saw mending the road, "though 
 maybe not in my time. She will come here again, I 
 tell ye. Look how she washes over Hastings and St. 
 Leonard's now at high tides. She will go up to them 
 hills again some day, though I shan't live to see 
 her." 
 
 "And that is my road, straight through the marsh ? " 
 
 "Ay, that be it — 'Orsemonsoo be about five mile 
 and a half You can't go across the marsh, because 
 you see the water's out." And, in truth, the ditches 
 were like little rivers, and the fields resembled swamps.
 
 54 Field Paths and G^'ccn Lanes. en. iv. 
 
 " Do 3^ou know what flower this is ? " I held up the 
 marsh -marigold, which grew in profusion all over the 
 hedges. 
 
 " Not I — I know naun about flowers." 
 
 " Have you heard the cuckoo yet ? " 
 
 "No, the loth is cuckoo day, and ye never hear'n 
 afore." Now this was the 9th of April, consequently 
 a week too soon. 
 
 "Look out for the finger postes as you go along 
 — there be a plenty of 'em when you pass the second 
 geat." 
 
 The blackthorn was in blossom, and the words of the 
 " May Queen " pictured the landscape : 
 
 " By the meaJow trenches blow the faint sweet cuekoo-flowers, 
 And the '.vild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows 
 gray.' 
 
 Yet three-miles of the marsh are enough — I tried the 
 fields over u,nd ovei again, but the wet and mud were 
 nearly knee-deep. At last the road makes a lucky 
 dash out of the marsh, and mounts up to Wartling 
 Hill, where there is a church by the road-side, 
 "restored." Now as I had no curiosity to cross the 
 devastating path of the restorer again that day, I 
 passed on to the left, and presently came to a " geut " 
 which led into the park of Hurstmonceux. 
 
 The park has a bare and pillaged look, the fine trees 
 which were formerly its pride having long since been 
 cut down and sold. As you go over the brow of the hill, 
 glancing at Pevensey Castle five miles away, and ships 
 like specks on the distant sea, all at once you see the
 
 A.N OLD KNCiLlSH lliLHAl. CAblLE. 
 HURSTMON'CEUX. 
 
 [!''•>:<: 55-
 
 CH. IV. Three Castles. 55 
 
 old castle just below you in a hollow, grim and 
 solitary, with the little church where Julius Hare 
 preached so long, and of which John Sterling was once 
 the curate, on the rise of the hill beyond. Popular 
 opinion would doubtless confirm Mr, Lower in his 
 statement that the castle is the "most picturesque 
 building in Sussex," yet I should be inclined to award 
 the palm to Bodiam, although it is much smaller than 
 Hurstmonceux. The great entrance to the latter is, 
 indeed, far superior to anything that Bodiam has to 
 show, although it is far less picturesque than the 
 entrance to Raglan Castle, while in extent it is a mere 
 child's toy compared with the vast ruin at Caerphilly, 
 in Glamorganshire. The few trees now remaining near 
 Hurstmonceux have had their tops all cut off by the 
 fierce gales of last winter — even the three yews at 
 the side look ragged and broken down. The castle 
 was once of red brick, now grey with its four hundred 
 years of wear and tear. An old chesnut towards the 
 road was just beginning to show signs of awakening 
 from its winter's sleep. " It is the forwardest tree 
 about here," said the boy at the castle, "and has the 
 biggest nuts upon it." He was munching a huge piece 
 of cake but seemed a little overpowered by the lone- 
 liness of the place. " No one has been here for two or 
 three weeks," said he, " and it is terrible dull. A old 
 man who used to keep the castle died in a room up 
 there. He lived here alone, and no one knew anything 
 about it till they broke into his room, and found him 
 dead. I never see anything all day but them rooks
 
 56 Field Paths and Green Lanes. <:ii. iv. 
 
 ami liOvAsy The ground in tlic hollow was saturated, 
 and one had to go splashing and slipping along very 
 cautiously up the hill to the old church — a church 
 which has been restored with reverence and care, 
 and therefore looks the better rather than the worse for 
 the process. 
 
 It is towards yonder ancient yew that one is naturally 
 attracted first, partly because it is so ancient, partly be- 
 cause under it sleeps Julius Charles Hare, " twenty-two 
 years rector of this parish," and his wife. Near to it 
 also lie other members of the Hare fjimily. Across 
 the churchyard, in a meadow, there is an enormous old 
 barn, one of the largest in Sussex, It is cvidentl}'^ of 
 great age, " older than the castle," says the clerk of the 
 church, although there may be no satisfactory proof of 
 that. In another part of this quiet churchyard, there 
 arc twenty-six gravestones in rows, evidently bearing 
 record to the memory of one family. The name on 
 them was that of Pursglove — " once," said the clerk, 
 " the Pursglovcs were well known here ; and they are 
 all gone. They were farmers, and all of them were 
 dissenters. We have no Pursgloves in this part of 
 Sussex now." Then he showed me the graves of three 
 other families, once well known in the parish, now 
 extinct there, although members of them may still be 
 found on the sheep farms of Australia, or the ranches of 
 the Great West. 
 
 Inside the church, the flowers which had been used 
 for the Easter decorations were still on the walls and 
 pillars, — primroses, daisies, heart's-case, daffodils, and
 
 CH. IV. Thi'ce Castles. 5 7 
 
 other simple but beautiful flowers of rural England, all 
 arranged with a delicacy and taste which the most con- 
 summate artist might envy. I was so much taken up 
 with them, as to almost forget to look at the monument 
 to old Lord Dacre and his son in the chancel, which was 
 erected here in 1533, or the brass on the floor to "Wil- 
 liam Ffienles, chevaler." There is no house near the 
 church or castle, except Hurstmonceux Place, the village 
 called Gardner Street being a mile and a half distant. 
 The vicarage is not even in sight. As for the " Place," 
 it was uninhabited when I was there, and I strolled 
 over it, the workmen not objecting. It was built from 
 the materials taken from the old castle below, but 
 the modern builder was not able to " convey " the 
 ideas of his predecessor so easily as the old bricks. 
 Even these bricks are covered with whitewash, and the 
 house is a large, rambling, ungainly place, a wretched 
 mockery of the noble fabric which stands despoiled 
 below. There are no old carvings in the rooms, as 
 some of the local guide books would lead one to suppose. 
 From this house, not half so interesting as the great 
 barn near the church, I pursued my walk to Gardner 
 Street, and there at the Woolpack Inn, an old posting- 
 house on the Lewes Road, I managed to obtain without 
 difiiculty the standing dish in Sussex — eggs and bacon. 
 The village does a thriving trade with the farmers for 
 miles round, and consequently the " general " shop is a 
 small market in itself, and the landlord of the Woolpack 
 was fat and jolly, and there was an air of prosperity all 
 over the place. I hope it was not the landlord's ale
 
 58 Field Paths and Green Lanes. cii. iv. 
 
 which had capsized two brick-makers whom I after- 
 wards passed on the road to Hailsham, lying dead 
 drunk in a ditch. Was there ever a greater curse to 
 any country than drunkenness is to England ? Like 
 travellinij through a land smitten with some sore 
 disease, wherever one goes its fatal blight rests upon 
 the people. But then, is not the Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer able to report, year after year, that the 
 revenue from the Excise has exceeded his estimates? 
 
 Hailsham is a quiet town, with an old and pleasant 
 church in it, and the door being open of course I went 
 in, for how can one pass by an old church un visited ? 
 On the north wall I was struck with a tablet to the 
 memory of " Colonel Philip Yan Cortlandt, a retired 
 royalist officer of the American War, died at Haikham, 
 May, 1814, aged 74." The Van Cortlandts are still a 
 large and widely-spread family in the United States, 
 but doubtless this old royalist officer found the repose of 
 Hailsham more to be preferred, after the stormy period 
 of the Eevolution, than the homestead of his kinsfolk 
 across the seas. 
 
 And what are the distances of these places one from 
 the other ? The best of the local guide books says 
 that Hurstmonceux is *i\ miles from Pevensey station. 
 Murray puts it at ^\. In all such cases, I have invari- 
 ably found Murray right, and so it proved in thii^ case, 
 for according to my pedometer, which is never far out, 
 the distance is 5^ miles to. a yard or two. From Hurst- 
 monceux to Gardner Street, is a mile and a half, and 
 thence to Hailsham four miles — eleven miles altogether.
 
 CH. IV. Tlu^ce Castles. 59 
 
 enough and yet not too much for any man, who would 
 rather any day tramp along the road, admiring the 
 fields and flowers, and picking up odd characters, than 
 ride in the finest carriage ever seen in Hyde Park. 
 
 Bodiam is decidedly a " prettier " ruin than Hurst- 
 monceux — its moat alone, still as complete as when 
 the castle was built in 138(j, would render it more 
 attractive to the sketcher than its grander rival in 
 Sussex. A special journey must of course be made to 
 the ancient seat of the Earls of Eu and the De Bodiams 
 — -if from H astings, there is a long but interesting walk 
 or drive of fourteen miles through Northiam and 
 Brede ; if by a more direct route, from Robertsbridge 
 Station on the South Eastern railroad. The distance 
 by field-patli from Robertsbridge, is not more than 
 three and a half miles, following the Rother all the 
 way. By road, it is over five miles, although the men- 
 dacious finger-posts say three and a half from the 
 turnpike gate. But after walking a full half mile from 
 the 'pike, the traveller will see another finger-post, 
 stating that the distance is still three and a half miles, 
 which will be sufficient to open his eyes to the untrust- 
 worthiness of these false guides by the roadside. The 
 path through the fields is quite impracticable during 
 the winter and spring, if there has been much rain. 
 The Rother soon overflows its banks, and the meadows 
 are covered ; and indeed in April, 1877, the scene which 
 was presented through all this part of the country was 
 most melancholy. Farming operations were out of 
 the question ; rain had fallen ever since the previous
 
 6o Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. iv. 
 
 November, with scarcely an intermission of two days 
 together at any one time ; and the seed which had been 
 sown was either washed out into the roads and drains, 
 or lay rotting in the water. I do not like to say that 
 the English climate has a fault — but i/it has, excessive 
 dryness of the atmosphere is not the one. 
 
 A little way on the road to Bodiam I came to a 
 church with a grand old tower, commanding all the 
 road. Men must have cared something for their 
 religion, when they built such a church as this in the 
 midst of a small community. The name^ of the place 
 is Salehurst, and its church alone would amply justify 
 every Salehurst man in holding his head high in the 
 world. If we had to build a church at Salehurst now, 
 what sort of a thing would it be ? We all know — let 
 us not dwell too minutely on the painful picture. Here, 
 too, the restorer has been at work, and that work is of 
 the worst kind — even the old tower has been stuccoed 
 all over, and the stucco has peeled off, leaving the 
 stones, which have stood there for centuries, still far 
 better able to defy wind and weather than our odious 
 shoddy work of the present day. A fine spacious 
 church is this within, with Early English arches, and 
 several slabs near the door to the memory of a family 
 named Peckham, varying in date from 1679 to 1805. 
 Just outside is a very quaint thatched roadside inn, 
 with the sign of " The Old Eight Bells,"— bells which I 
 fear are more in favour in these tippling days than 
 those of the parish church. 
 
 "Where does the clerk live," I asked one of the
 
 CH. IV. Three Castles. 6 1 
 
 younger inhabitants of Salehurst, who had just been 
 refining the fomily jug with bad ale. 
 
 "At whoam," said he. This was encouraging, but 
 indefinite. 
 
 " And where is his home ? " 
 
 " Down theer," pointing vaguely all across the horizon. 
 
 " Where are the keys of the church ? " 
 
 "Don't knoaw." 
 
 " What will you do with twopence if I give it to you?" 
 
 "Don't knoaw." But he manifested a hearty desire 
 to find out. 
 
 It is a very charming walk from here to Bodiam — 
 not following the finger-posts in their deceptive direc- 
 tions, but turning to the right wherever a turning has 
 to be made. Then the road winds through some of the 
 loveliest lanes in Sussex, deep in ferns and wild flowers. 
 Before going far from that old church of Salehurst, I 
 made up, according to custom, a morning bouquet for 
 the buttonhole, which, when made, I consider worth a 
 dozen of the kind for which they have the conscience 
 to charge me a shilling in Piccadilly. To-day the 
 flowers offering themselves for selection were the prim- 
 rose, the wild violet, and the cuckoo-flower, the " lady- 
 smock all silver white." Perhaps some people will say 
 that they would have preferred a few azaleas and 
 camelias from the conservatory, and why should they 
 not ? Let them have their own way, and welcome, so 
 long as I may continue to have mine. 
 
 When the road comes out at the finger-post which 
 says go to the left, then go to the right ; do it every
 
 62 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. iv. 
 
 time. At last you will come to the "Junction Inn," 
 and a mile beyond that is the school house of Bodiam, at 
 which you must buy for sixpence a ticket to see the castle. 
 Just opposite the school is a stile going into a field — 
 cross it,, and go down the field, and you will presently 
 come out pretty much as at Hurstmonccux, with the 
 old castle beneath you, the rooks making a great fuss 
 round about it, and the green leaves of the water- 
 lilies half covering the moat. A veritable castle, as 
 seen a little way off ; only when you cross the draw- 
 bi'idge, and pass under the gateway, do you find that it 
 is roofless and dilapidated, traces of its inner arrange- 
 ments being almost gone. But there it is, a castle still 
 — to enter it we have to cross a real moat, and we almost 
 expect to hear the w^arder's challenge and the draw- 
 bridge rattling up. A pleasant castle for a picnic, for 
 it is thoroughly secluded, and there are all sorts of turf- 
 covered nooks and corners in it. But the picnic party 
 should not be very large — not larger than two, I think. 
 
 At the little red cottage on the slope the keys are 
 kept. Thither I repaired, the first visitor since Easter 
 Monday. 
 
 " I will go and open the gate," said the old lady. 
 
 " No, let me go," said her daughter, who had just cut 
 me some bread and butter and given me a glass of 
 milk. And very nicely she had cut the bread and 
 butter, for there is an art in that as there is in most 
 other things. 
 
 " Be sure you put on the clogs," cried the mother, 
 and no wonder, for all the field was soaking wet.
 
 Three Castles. 6 
 
 CK. IV. 1 1 tree ^^abiic^. u j 
 
 Forward tripped the girl, and I followed, she with 
 clogs, and I without clogs. She was a buxom lassie 
 with bright rosy cheeks. Her eyes were grey and 
 clear, and a laugh was hiding in the corners of them. 
 
 " This must seem a lonely place for one to live in," 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Especially if one happens to be a pretty girl." 
 
 "Oh, I get used to that." 
 
 " What, to being pretty ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, (laughing) that is all nonsense." 
 
 "Is it? I do not think so." 
 
 " Dear me," said the damsel, " I've dropped the key." 
 
 "So you have — but here it is, and I declare your 
 cheeks are rosier than ever," 
 
 " You are a funny gentleman." 
 
 " No, I am a serious gentleman. And now which 
 way shall I go ? " 
 
 " You can go wherever you please, sir," said the 
 maiden, looking down.
 
 CHAPTEPv V. 
 
 MAYFIEI.D. 
 
 Ancient Sussex. — The Home of Legend and Fable.— St. Dunstan's 
 Fight with the Evil One.— The Sacred Tongs.— A Field Path 
 to Mayfield. — The Blacksmith's Forge.— An Old-Fashioned 
 Inn. — Mayfield Church.— Iron Slabs of Sussex Work. — The 
 Restorer Again.— The Protestant Martyrs.— The Roman Catholic 
 " lie vival."— Mayfield Palace.— The Chapel and IJclics.- The 
 Old Houses of Mayfield. —Kotherfield and the Way Back. 
 
 Mayfield is one of the haunted places of Sussex. 
 Many are the signs and wonders which have been 
 seen there. Ghosts are still said to appear in some 
 of the old houses in the neighbourhood, and the 
 stranger is half inclined to believe that the ancient 
 forge at the entrance to the village is the very one 
 in or near which St. Dunstan performed liis famous 
 miracle. It is well known, and it would be heresy to 
 question it, that the saint was at work beating out 
 hot iron, when he became aware that the Father of Evil 
 was standing by his side. With admirable presence 
 of mind, the saint seized his wily visitor by the 
 nose with a big pair of pincers, but "Auld Nickie 
 Ben " was equally fertile in Resources, and flew away 
 with the whole concern — pincers, saint, and all. 
 The saint held fa^t, and a terrific combat shook the
 
 en. V. May field. 65 
 
 valley. At last the fiend got loose, more's the pity, 
 and cleared the nine miles between himself and 
 Tunbridge Wells at one leap. There lie plunged into 
 the waters to cool his nose, and thus imparted to the 
 springs that flavour of iron which the visitor may taste 
 to this very day. That is one proof of the truth of 
 the story, and if you want another, the identical pair 
 of tongs or pincers with which St. Dunstan greeted 
 the demon may still be seen in the " Palace " at 
 Mayfield, now a nunnery. One of the sisters showed 
 them to me only a few weeks ago ; how could I doubt 
 any longer ? The iron is worn with time, and seems 
 still to bear traces of the desperate struggle of nine 
 hundred years ago, for it is nearly as long as that since 
 St. Dunstan lived at Mayfield. 
 
 " These are the tongs with which St. Dunstan worked 
 his miracle," said the worthy sister. 
 
 "I have read of the legend in my book," said I, 
 meaning no offence. 
 
 " It is not a legend," replied the sister in a tone of 
 slight reproof. 
 
 " No, no," said I, " I did not mean to throw any 
 doubt upon the story." 
 
 How could one wish to wage a controversy with this 
 good sister, whom I had heard a few minutes before 
 instructing the muddle-headed boys and girls of the 
 village in religious truths ? She was teaching them 
 about the soul, and one of the pupils persisted in 
 calling it sd , nor could the patient teacher prevail 
 upon him to add the other two letters. If she chooses
 
 66 Field Paths and Green Lanes. cu. v. 
 
 to believe in the tongs, why not ? Certain it is that 
 they are mucli notched at the end, and how could that 
 be unless a nose, or some other very hard substance, 
 had been held between them ? 
 
 You could scarcely find a more interesting specimen 
 of ancient Sussex than Mayfield, entirely untouched 
 as it is by that bane of England, the speculative 
 builder, and unintruded upon still by railroads or 
 other devices which lend a charm to modern life. 
 The nearest railroad station is Ticehurst Road, and 
 that is five miles off. From thence there is a walk 
 ■which those who love the old parts of Old Eng- 
 land will do well to take. On leaving the station 
 turn to the left over the railroad bridge, and go up 
 the road till you come to a cottage on the right. 
 Turn in at a gate there, and make your way by a 
 field-path, past a very old farmhouse and a mill- 
 stream, for nearly a mile, when the path will be 
 found to end at the turnpike road. Cross the road, 
 and go over the stile, and continue across the fields 
 for some distance, till at last the turnpike road cuts it 
 off. By this path fully a mile is saved, a long and 
 dusty mile, nearly all up hill. To this field-path I 
 had no clue on my first visit, and only discovered it 
 by mere accident the second time I made the journey. 
 The turnpike road goes doubling round and round in 
 a provoking manner, but in spring-time it is literally 
 lined all the way with wild flowers. The violets, 
 primroses, wild anemones, and forget-me-nots, are so 
 abundant that the journey seems to be merely through
 
 CH. V. Mayfield. 67 
 
 one long garden. Then you come to an ugly red 
 building (new, of course), and afterwards to a 
 comfortable farm-house of the old style, and not far 
 from that you see Mayfield in front of you on. a hill. 
 But although it looks near, it is in reality some dis- 
 tance off, and the more you walk, the further off it 
 seems to get. It is a long five miles by the road, and 
 about four by the field-path and road combined. 
 
 An old yew-tree stands appropriately at the entrance 
 to the village, near the blacksmith's forge. Here, you 
 will think, is your journey's end, but it is not so, for 
 Mayfield itself still eludes you, and when you turn 
 the corner it seems to have entirely disappeared, as if 
 St. Dunstan's visitor had suddenly returned while you 
 were mounting the last hill, and flown away with the 
 whole of it. Up a long and steep street you plod 
 along, more or less tired — and these Sussex roads will 
 punish the strongest pedestrian — and at last you come 
 to some houses which time seems to have overlooked, 
 and then to the inn called the Star, where there is 
 accommodation to be had far superior to that which 
 I have found in many a grand hotel. The butcher 
 below sells good mutton; the landlord has good 
 bread and butter and excellent ale, and a clean table 
 cloth, and a comfortable .bed-room, if you want a 
 night's rest withal. What more does any man seek ? 
 When I sit and eat my luncheon in the old kitchen 
 (a comfortable room in winter or spring) an im- 
 measurable distance is between me and the troubles 
 of life. The great wave cannot come foaming and
 
 68 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. v, 
 
 tumbling into this secure harbour. The old fireplace 
 has a large armchair in it, quite out of sight, and I 
 suppose there must be a big cupboard somewhere or 
 other in the vast recess, for I notice that the landlord's 
 daughter disappears bodily in the fireplace from time 
 to time, and comes out again none the worse. It is 
 a fireplace in which you might almost hold a town- 
 meeting, notwithstanding the new range and boiler, 
 and all the rest of the " fixings " without which a 
 family of the present day cannot roast a leg of mutton 
 or boil a potato. 
 
 The chiu'ch is a far more interesting building than 
 the accounts of it which I had consulted led me to 
 suppose. It is a large and beautiful edifice, with a 
 noble chancel, in one part of which there is a hagio- 
 scope, and a recess in the wall for a piscina. Similar 
 recesses exist in the body of the church. The pulpit is 
 of carved oak, and there are some high pews near it 
 also exquisitely carved — fine relics of a byegone age, 
 when artificers in wood were valued and encouraged 
 in England. These old pews have thus far escaped 
 the restorer, who has, however, destroyed the ancient 
 roof, and put up one of his own design instead. On 
 •the sides of the aisle the ancient free seats still exist, 
 all of oak black with age. How long they may have 
 been there it is impossible to say, perhaps from before 
 the time the original church was burnt down in 1389. 
 For it is recorded that the tower, and the lower portion 
 of the church, as well as the central window, escaped the 
 destruction which overtook the rest of the building. In
 
 CH, V. Mayjield. 69 
 
 the nave and chantry are several slabs of iron, of native 
 make, to the memories of Mayfield folks of the olden 
 time. The earliest of these slabs are rude in shape and 
 lettering — I noticed one bearing record to "Thomas 
 Sands, who was buryed July the 2()th, 1G68, aged 72 
 years," the figure 7 being turned the wrong way. But 
 a great advance is made in the workmanship of the 
 slab next to it, which is surmounted by a tremendous 
 coat-of-arms, and ambitiously ornamented with scrolls 
 and borders. This also is to g, member of the Sands 
 family, "citizen and wine cooper of London," and is 
 dated 1708. The two slabs nearer the communion- 
 table bear date 1G09 and 1671. Mayfield was once 
 the centre of a great iron-making .district, and even 
 now, as the woman who showed me the church assured 
 me, the parish boundaries are marked by farms which 
 are named the " Forge," and iron ore of excellent 
 quality is constantly found in the neighbourhood. The 
 pedestal of the font is apparently older than the upper 
 part, although that is dated 1666. Monuments to the 
 Baker family are numerous in the church, but of the 
 Bakers themselves one representative only is said to 
 remain. The Palace of Mayfield belonged to this 
 family from 1617 to 1858. In this as in many other 
 parts of the country, direct descendants of the old 
 families are rarely to be found. The Cades once 
 flourished here, and Jack Cade himself is believed to 
 have come of the stock, but there is no one of the name 
 hereabouts in the present day. 
 
 In the churchyard four martyrs were burnt in the
 
 70 Field PaiJis and Grccii Lanes. ch. y. 
 
 cause of the Protestant religion — that very religion 
 wliicli now, to all appearance, is falling a little out of 
 favour in many quarters. "The Roman Catholics come 
 to see this church very often," said the woman, "and 
 they say it belonged to them once, and they Avill have 
 it again." Perhaps they will, for no one can tell what 
 may happen in this whirligig world ; at any rate they 
 arc making great advances in all this district. The 
 priests who have their central point at St. Leonard's 
 arc full of activity, energy, and "missionary" enter- 
 prise, while their Protestant brethren are too often 
 engaged in copying their outward forms and cere- 
 monies, and trying to make themselves as much like 
 them as possible, except in this immense zeal for 
 adding new members to their church. There is a 
 convent at St. Leonard's which sends out men and 
 women far and near, winning over "converts" to the 
 " old faith." One branch of this convent is now at 
 May field, in the ancient Palace. A famous place was 
 this Palace in its day ; the primates of England 
 legarded it as a favourite abode, perhaps for the very 
 reason that sickly sisters are now sent to it from St. 
 Leonard's, on account of the bracing quality of the air. 
 King Edward the First visited it more than once, and 
 long after him Queen Elizabeth, and long after her 
 again came a monarch wlio will perhaps be remem- 
 bered as long as either of them. Queen Victoria. 
 Little remains of the building as it formerly stood, 
 even the great hall (built circa 1350) having been 
 restored, and turned into a chapel for the sisterhood.
 
 cii. V. May field, 7 1 
 
 It was the banqueting hall of the archbishops, and had 
 fallen into almost complete ruin. The arches still 
 exist, and give a noble appearance to the hall, now 
 fitted up with more than ordinary display and pomp. 
 Numerous figures or images surround the altar, and 
 lights are constantly burning. The sister who showed 
 me the j)lace took me to the relics, and there I saw 
 the tongs by which St. Dunstan once had a firm hold 
 of the Prince of Darkness, but unfortunately, as I have 
 said, let him go again. I asked for the hammer of 
 which Mr. Lower says, " the hammer, with its solid 
 iron handle, may be mediaeval," but the sister said that 
 it had disappeared — how and when no one knew. "It 
 was there (pointing to a corner) when we came here, 
 but one -day when we looked for it, it was gone, and 
 since then we have never seen it again." She showed 
 me an old sword and an anvil, and who knows but that 
 the anvil was the very one on which St. Dunstan 
 was at work when the enemy of mankind appeared to 
 him? 
 
 Church and Palace are no doubt the lions of May- 
 field, but there is a great curiosity which will strike 
 the visitor with astonishment and admiration as soon 
 as he enters the town, and that is a timbered house 
 with the date of 1575 upon it. "It is one of the most 
 curious timber houses in Sussex," says Mr. Lower, and 
 it is certainly one of the most beautiful houses I have 
 seen anywhere — quite perfect from top to bottom, the 
 carvings and decorations being wonderfully well 
 preserved, although I notice some differences between
 
 ']2 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. v. 
 
 the front of the house as it now stands and the 
 engraving of it given in the 21st volume of the "Sussex 
 Archa3ological Collections." The timber work is of a 
 more varied and ornamental character than is repre- 
 sented in the picture. The house is worth going many 
 miles to see, and there is another of stone at the lower 
 end of the town equally curious, although not quite so 
 picturesque. The smaller houses and inns in any 
 other place would be deemed remarkable, so quaint 
 and old-fashioned are they ; but " Middle House " and 
 " Aylwins " eclipse stars of lesser magnitude. 
 
 Rotherfield, with its beautiful old church, dating 
 back to the year 792, so says Mr. Lower, is rather less 
 than four miles distant, and a conveyance may be had 
 in the town by which the traveller may visit this 
 ancient parish, or drive round b}'' Heathfield to Etching- 
 ham (a lovely drive, ever very high ground), or through 
 Frant to Tunbridge Wells, about ten miles. There are 
 roads enough to Mayfield, and although within the 
 memory of many of the inhabitants, these roads were 
 horrible to travel over at the best of seasons, and 
 quite impassable in winter, they are now hard and 
 good, and at almost every step unfold such exquisite 
 pictures of English scenery that it is with sorrow one 
 bids farewell to them.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALFRISTON AND WILMINGTON. 
 
 Echoes of War.— The Nightingale.— "Happy England."— The South 
 Downs. — Alfriston and the "Star" Inn. — Another "Resto- 
 ration." — An Ancient Vicarage. — Content in a Cottage. — 
 Wanted, a Minister. — The Lone Man of Wilmington. — The 
 Priory and Church. — An Old Grave and a New Tenant. — A line 
 from the "Short and Simple Annals of the Poor." — The South 
 Downs beyond Wilmington. — Where to Find Cowslips. 
 
 E,UMOURS of war had reached this quiet corner of the 
 South Downs when I was there on the last day of 
 April. I was watching a nightingale, the first of the 
 year, which had just flown across the road, and was 
 perched on a hedge within a few yards of me. Pre- 
 sently it began to pour forth its wondrous song, and 
 although it did not finish it, perhaps because it fancied 
 it was a little too early in the season, yet the fragment 
 with which it was pleased to favour its two listeners — 
 namely, a poor hedge-cutter and myself — fairly put to 
 shame the thrushes and blackbirds which had been 
 trying hard to sing each other down. While I was still 
 waiting in the hope of hearing the rest, the hedge- 
 cutter said, " Excuse me asking you, sir, but can you 
 tell me whether there is war ? " 
 
 " There is, between Turkey and Russia."
 
 74 Field Paths and Gi'ccn Lanes. en. vi. 
 
 " But are \vc in it ? " 
 
 " Not yet." 
 
 " Ah, sir, they will never come here — England is safe. 
 And if they did come, I reckon they would soon be glad 
 to get away again. We are too much for 'em all." 
 
 That was how the gleat "Eastern Question" presented 
 itself to his mind. Confidence is an excellent thing, 
 especially when it is not pu.shed too far, " I see you 
 a-listenin' to the nightingale," said the hedge-cutter, 
 " it be a good bird for singin' like. I heard one for the 
 first time three days ago. As you go up the road 
 mebbe you'll hear two or three." 
 
 With or without nightingales, one might well be glad 
 at any time to walk a few miles on such a road as this. 
 I had started from Berwick Station and turned my face 
 straight towards the South Downs, that beautiful ridge 
 of hills which, to the eye of Gilbert White, seemed a 
 " majestic chain of mountains," and which, in good 
 earnest, appear much higher than they really are when 
 you are upon them, so vast is the sweep of the view 
 they afford over land and sea. Beneath these noble hills 
 there are still villages to be found which are almost as 
 they were three or four hundred years ago, and towards 
 one of them I was bending my steps — to Alfriston, the 
 " Aluriceston" of Domesday Book, a parish in which there 
 are more British and Roman barrows to be seen to-day 
 than new houses. At every stage of the road there are 
 abundant signs that you are travelling in an old country. 
 The farm houses and barns have never known the hand 
 of the modern builder. And when, about two-and-a-half
 
 en. VI. Alfriston and Wilmington. 75 
 
 miles from the station, you come to the village, and see 
 the ancient up-hill street, with the long sloping roofs of 
 the houses, and the remains of the market cross, which 
 may have stood there five hundred years or more, it is 
 difficult to realise that one is living in commercial 
 England, in the midst of a driving and pushing age. 
 About half-way up the street there is an inn which will 
 gladden the heart of any man who takes an interest in 
 the traces which are still allowed to exist of the old 
 times in England. This inn is called the " Star," and 
 it must have been standing here at least three hundred 
 and fifty years, with no great change inside or out. 
 At each side of the door, and along the front of the 
 house, there are carved figures, one of St. Julian the 
 friend of travellers, another of a priest, a St. George 
 waging a gallant fight with the dragon, two animals 
 supporting a staff, and other figures or devices which 
 are more delightful to look upon than all the pictures 
 in the Royal Academy put together. At one corner of 
 the house there is a rude figure of a lion leaning against 
 the wall, but this is only the figure-head of a vessel 
 which was wrecked on the coast some time last century. 
 All the rest is old, from the roof which is half sunken 
 in with age, to the bow windows with their small panes 
 of glass, and the narrow doorway guarded by St. Julian 
 and, as some suppose, St. Giles. Alfriston is believed 
 to have been formerly a much larger place than it now 
 is, and Mr. Lower thinks that the Star Inn was " a 
 house of call for pilgrims and the clergy who were 
 wending their way to the tomb of St. Richard and the
 
 76 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. vi. 
 
 Episcopal See." So the house had a somewhat religious 
 character, and ornaments were adopted which " appear 
 at first sight rather incongruous with the objects of a 
 road-side iiui." However this may be, the figures are 
 well worthy the notice of the modern pilgrim, who will 
 find few such ancient hostelries as this left in merry 
 England, although he will come in the way of plenty 
 of abominable " gin palaces " and flaring bar-rooms. 
 
 While seated in the little parlour of the " Star," at 
 an enormous distance, as it seemed, from the w^orld of 
 the present day — railroads, telegraphs, newspapers, 
 being all like some dim recollection of a disturbed dream 
 — I noticed a circular upon the wall, with an engraving 
 of the old church above it. In this I read, with great 
 sinking of the heart, that progress to a most alarming 
 extent had been made with the work of "restoring" the 
 church — that wooden seats had been put in, " cut from 
 the old large timbers of the south transept interior 
 roof," a new east window made, and the chancel windows 
 repaired. This was sad news, and when, after diligent 
 search, I found the old woman who had the keys, and 
 we entered the church, my worst anticipations were 
 confirmed. Three parts of the edifice had been made 
 to look spick and span new — the other part remains in 
 its old state, simply because the funds have been ex- 
 hausted. The famous east window is new; it all looks 
 like a lecture hall just finished. Would it not have 
 answered every good purpose to have mended the roof, 
 so as to keep out the wet, and "repair" rather than 
 " restore " the other parts of the building ?
 
 CH. VI, A If vision and Wilmington. jj 
 
 " We liked the old church best, sir," said the woman, 
 who was wheezing away dismally. " This don't seem to 
 us as if it were the same church like. See, yonder is 
 the old house where they say the vicars used to live — I 
 would come and show you, but my chest ^ives out." 
 " Gives out " — a true Americanism if there ever was one. 
 
 The old house, at least, was uninjured — a simple 
 timbered cottage, or, as one may read, " an ancient 
 vicarage of post and panel, a specimen of the lowly 
 abodes with which our pre-Reformation clergy often 
 contented themselves." As I stood looking at this 
 house, and thinking that old as it was I would rather 
 have it than many a new one I had seen, an old 
 woman came to the door and I wished her good morning. 
 Presently she asked me if I would please to step in and 
 sit down. 
 
 It was a low ceilinged room, that parlour of hers, 
 with an immense fire-place in it, in which she had got 
 her arm-chair and foot-stool, and other little comforts. 
 
 We ha' no minister here now," said she, after we had 
 talked a bit, " and of course we miss 'un a good deal. I 
 wish we had e'er a one to come and sit and read a little 
 to a body. Three have died here the last few years." 
 
 " How do you manage to kill them off so fast ? " I 
 asked, 
 
 "Oh," said the old lady very seriously, " it aint us as 
 kills 'era off; they are worn out when they do come. 
 That's the reason of it, sir. The last one as was here 
 was a nice old gentleman, but his breath was bad, and 
 so he could not get about much. We want a young
 
 78 Field Paths and Grceii Lanes. en. vi. 
 
 man, if so be as we could get one, and I should not 
 care how poor he was." 
 
 "The churchwarden told me," she went on, " this very 
 miirning that he was goin' to write to the Lord Chancery 
 or something and try to get us a minister, and I hope 
 he will, for it is bad to be without one. A gentleman 
 comes over from Eastbourne, but I can't understand 
 what he do say. Perhaps it is because I am old." 
 
 " How old are you ? " 
 
 " I am seventy-seven, sir." 
 
 "And live here all alone ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes ; I have only two children myself, but how 
 many ihey have I really do not know. I have the 
 rheumatism very bad, all down my side. No, sir, it is 
 not this old house as gives it to me, and I could not 
 bear to leave it now. I have lived in it a-many years. 
 I want for nothing, sir, for God is good to me." 
 
 "And so this is the house where the minister used to 
 live in old times." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I have heard say that the Popes of Rome 
 did use to live here." What on earth could have put 
 that notion in the old lady's head ? It fairly took my 
 breath away. 
 
 " I do wish, sir," she continued, " that we could get a 
 minister here, but no one seems to want to come. The 
 place be too poor, I suppose. Oh, no, sir, I am not 
 afraid to live here alone. God is good to me, sir, and I 
 am very thankful." 
 
 She repeated these words very earnestly. No doubt 
 there are some who would have gone into that room,
 
 cH. Ti. Alfriston and Wih7iington. 79 
 
 and looked round, and seen very little for anybody to 
 be thankful for ; but it is not always those who have all 
 the good things of this life who are the most grateful 
 for what they get. 
 
 " I am very glad you are comfortable," said I, as I 
 turned to go away. " From what I can see in this world, 
 those who believe as you do seldom come to much harm." 
 
 " They do not, sir, for if you trust in God he never 
 deserts you, sir ; no never." 
 
 The landscape was rather blurred to my eyes when I 
 left that little room. No doubt some profound philoso- 
 pher, who has discovered all the secrets of the universe, 
 could explain to this poor old woman that she was the 
 victim of an exploded delusion, and that in fact there 
 is no God but " matter," and therefore nothing for any 
 human being to trust in. He might also propose 
 to her several infallible tests — prayer-tests and the like 
 — by which she could ascertain for herself that matter 
 Avas the be-all and the end-all ; but what if she took the 
 test of her own daily experience and life, and found that 
 conclusive ? No doubt the philosopher would have to 
 give her up as beyond the reach of reason — one of those 
 besotted " lower classes " for whom nothing can be done. 
 
 Through the meadow at the side of the church, and 
 across the little bridge over the " River Cuckmere " — a 
 river about as wide as a lady's ribbon — there is a foot- 
 path to Wilmington, under the very shadow of the Downs. 
 Or the visitor may turn to the Downs at once, and 
 mount to Firle's Beacon, and make his way over the 
 top to Lewes— a distance of nine miles or so ; or he
 
 8o Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch, vi, 
 
 may go over the lulls in tlie opposite direction to East- 
 bourne. But I went towards Wilmington, after a 
 glance over the training stables which are at Alfris- 
 ton, across that ancient street known as " Milton 
 Street," where there are two or three of the oldest and 
 quaintest cottages and barns in all Sussex. A stranger 
 does not often find his way into this solitary, yet 
 beautiful, region. Wandering on over the path which 
 looks like a thread amid a vast field of young green 
 wheat, one's eye is caught by a colossal figure of a man 
 on the side of the Downs close by — the Father of Giants, 
 with each hand closing on a huge staff, a strange wild 
 figure, upwards of 240 feet in length. How came it 
 there 1 It is thought that the monks of Wilmington 
 cut it in the chalk, in the days when a priory existed 
 here, a priory which was founded in the reign of 
 William Rufus ; but the country folk hold that the 
 fairies made it. For the fairies are still believed to 
 have their homes in these Downs, and many a large 
 " ring " or " hag-track " may be seen in lonely spots, and 
 strange figures cut out on the grass. I have often stood 
 before them wondering how they were made, and who 
 made them : no one knows ; but certain it is, that any- 
 body who rambles about these lovely Downs will see 
 many strange things and hear strange sounds. 
 
 A wonderful old place is Wilmington, or " Wineltone" 
 as it was called before the Normans came over here, in 
 the days when it was held by the great Earl Godwin, 
 King Harold's father ; a village with part of its old 
 priory gate still standing, and a farm-house made out of
 
 cu. VI. Alfristou and Wilmington. 8i 
 
 the monks' former home, and a church so old that one 
 gives up trying to find out the exact date of it. It 
 is primitive enough in construction, for some of the 
 windows and doors are cut out of the chalk. On the 
 west wall, outside, I saw a grotesque figure, with its 
 knees doubled up nearly to its chin, carved in stone ; 
 and inside there is a finely carved pulpit with a beautiful 
 canopy over it, and chalk walls and arches, and ancient 
 seats — altogether one of the plainest, oldest, and least 
 " improved " churches in England. In the churchyard 
 there is an enormous yew tree, of great height (for a 
 yew) as well as girth — a tree said to be at least a 
 thousand years old. Its companions are the dead ; and 
 how many must have come to it since first it struck its 
 roots in this soil ! 
 
 As I walked into the churchyard from the fields, I 
 saw a white head appearing every now and then from 
 an open grave, and heard the dull thud of earth falling 
 as it was thrown up by the spade. It was the sexton 
 digging a grave. Just beyond him was that solemn 
 yew now about to be joined by still another companion, 
 and the venerable church, and the solitary ruins, and 
 the weird figure on the hill-side seeming to be watching 
 all. "Ade, Ade" — scarcely any name but this old 
 Sussex one of Ade on the gravestones. A large family, 
 and death has reaped them nearly all. 
 
 I wandered over to the open grave. All was silent 
 
 in this ancient and lonely churchyard, save the beating 
 
 of the mattock and the dull fall of the earth. The 
 
 sexton, like all else around, was old; his hair was white, 
 5
 
 82 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. vi. 
 
 and he had a white beard. He worked very slowly^ 
 and as he worked he threw human bones into the hill 
 which was fast rising outside the grave. It did not 
 seem a real scene in any way. I should not hope to 
 persuade anybody that all was as I saw it there that 
 day. Yet there was the old man in the grave, and those 
 were bones, the bones of some man or woman, which 
 he was throwing up in every spadeful of earth. There 
 was a thigh bone, and the smaller bones of the leg, and 
 many more, and the earth near them had a tinge of 
 brown, like iron-rust. It was all very strange. • The 
 words of Hamlet rose up, unbidden, to the mind : " Did 
 these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at 
 loEfcrats with 'em ? Mine ache to think on't." 
 
 " These are human bones," said I to the old man. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and many a year they must ha' lain here, 
 for you see there is no sign of a coffin. That must ha' 
 rotted away long ago." 
 
 " Do you know whose grave it w^as ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, it is too long ago for that. We ha not 
 used this part of the churchyard much. A very old 
 grave, sir, and bad workin' in it." He struck hard into 
 it with a cruel-looking three-pronged tool, and then 
 began again with his spade, and threw up more bones. 
 I tried to turn a little earth over them with my stick, 
 but they refused to be covered. 
 
 " And so no one knows who was buried here." 
 
 " Why, no, sir, how should they ? It was long ago, 
 for the ground is so dry that it must have taken a long 
 time for a body to get like this ; the grave is very old."
 
 CH. VI. Alfriston and Wilmington. 8'' 
 
 o 
 
 " Some poor person, I suppose ? " 
 
 "No doubt, sir, but it makes no difference now. 
 This is what we must all come to, sir, and we don't 
 know how soon." 
 
 The grave told the tale ; it needed no sermon from 
 within it. 
 
 " I have not much time to spare," said the sexton, 
 " for the funeral be at half-past four." -It was then 
 near three. " I shall not get home before milkin' time." 
 
 " And Avho is to be buried here ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, it be a poor 'ooman as lived over yonder, 
 and very sad it be about them. She had three children 
 at a birth a month or so ago, and she was very destitute. 
 Her husband works on the line now, although he was 
 formerly a labourer. The children all died, and the 
 poor mother lingered on till last Friday, shocking 
 destitute as I believe, sir. Poor thing, she was fairly 
 wore out. Very sorry I be for 'em all ; for the other 
 five children as they have got are all young, and the 
 father is dazed like. It be a great trouble for him." 
 
 " And the mother is to be buried in an hour's time 1 " 
 
 "Yes, sir, and she is better here perhaps; but I be 
 sorry for Jiim and the children. They live over there." 
 
 He pointed into the beautiful country beyond, more 
 beautiful than usual it seemed as I turned from that 
 mournful earth, and the ghastly relics of some fellow- 
 creature who had once walked over these fields as 
 lightly as the best, now tossed into the sunlight as if in 
 grim irony of existence. To look out from the churchyard 
 upon the endless landscape startles the mind. That all
 
 84 Field PatJis and Green Lanes. en. vi. 
 
 seems so serene and immutable, while we — 'tis but a day 
 Ave have before us to wander through these fast- vanishing 
 scenes ; a brief day, well-nigh over before we realise that 
 it has begun, and the end of it is a heedless labourer 
 digging a hole in the ground, and a few solemn pathetic 
 words said over deaf ears, and a vacant place left in 
 perhaps one or two faithful hearts, and a hillock covered 
 with grass. An end but too familiar to us all, yet never 
 familiar. Who can but think of that noble passage of 
 Carlyle, loftiest of all modern teachers : — " This little 
 life-boat of an Earth, Avith its noisy crew of a Mankind, 
 and all their troubled History, will one day have 
 vanished ; faded like a cloud-speck from the azure of 
 the All ! What then is man ! What then is man ! 
 He endures but for an hour, and is crushed before the 
 moth. Yet in the bcin<jf and in the workins^ of a 
 faithful man is there already (as all faith, from the be- 
 ginning, gives assurance) a something that pertains not 
 to this wild death-element of Time ; that triumphs over 
 Time, and is, and will be, Avhen Time shall be no more." 
 Past the old church and the ruins of the Priory 
 there is a narrow cart-track which leads straight to a 
 chalk pit, and close to that \)\i the Long Man stretches 
 himself far up the hill. I walked up to the spot, and 
 found that the outline was bricked-in, a work of recent 
 times. In Horsfield's Sussex it is stated that the 
 " indentation is so very slight, as not to be visible on 
 the spot, although it may occasionally be seen at the 
 distance of two or three miles." It is to be seen quite 
 plainly now, the bricks being clear of grass and laid
 
 cii. VI. Alf^'istou and Wilmington. 85 
 
 two deep. Some people in the neighbourhood have 
 taken this precaution to prevent the disappearance 
 of their local giant. There appears to be a large 
 tumulus in the hill just below it. From the Long Man 
 a broad path runs round the brow of the hill, and 
 half England seems to be at your feet. The Downs at 
 this height present as fine a field for walking as any 
 one could desire, but it is evident that few do desire it, 
 for a boy who was frightening crows from a newly-sown 
 field told me he had not seen a stranger there for three 
 weeks. He seemed to be having an uneasy time of it. 
 Two or three large crows would alight at a far corner of 
 the field, which was on the hill side, and as soon as he 
 made pretence to go towards them, some old stagers 
 descended upon the ground from the other side, and this 
 game they kept up as long as I watched the scene. It 
 did not seem to be a pleasant way of passing the day. 
 The Downs were in many places literally covered with 
 the cowslip, the "freckled cowslip," as Shakespeare 
 calls it, the bed of the most life-like of all fairies, Ariel. 
 
 " In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
 There I couch when owls do cry. " 
 
 On this particular day, there were miles of cowslips 
 lighting up the green hills. I kept along the Downs 
 till I found myself nearly opposite Polegate, with its 
 junction, and then struck down towards it, and soon 
 reached the station — thinking much of the yew tree and 
 its silent companions, and of yonder lonely grave, and 
 the sad group of children left motherless in a hard world.
 
 CTIAPTER VII. 
 
 IN THE SOUTH DOWNS. 
 
 ri-Miii rulborough to Stonington. — The Mysterious Stranger. — Parliam 
 Park. — A Couiitr}' Jnii. — The " Workus." — From Storringtoii 
 to the Devil's Dyke. — The Phantoms of the Downs.— Washing- 
 ton. — Chanctonhury Ping. — AViston House. — Steyning and 
 Bramher. — The Piid-stuU'er. — Sickle versus Steam. — South 
 Down Sheep and Grass. 
 
 At Pulboroiigh Junction, whither I had come on my 
 way to Parham, I met with a man who puzzled me. 
 He had a thin, keen, intellectual lookinof countenance, 
 a sharp eye, a somewhat sallow complexion, a tuft of 
 hair on his chin. An American, thought I, beyond a 
 doubt — and yet, how comes he here ? This is not the 
 road to Paris, nor even to Shakespeare's birth-place ; 
 not a part of any beaten ti"ack ; and, moreover, this 
 man has not a tourist's new suit of clothes on — facts 
 which tell against my surmise. I felt bound to speak 
 to him. 
 
 He evidently knew a great deal about that part of 
 the country, and the people who lived in it, but what 
 lie was doing there was still a mystery. He had only 
 a small black bag in his hand, and could not possibly 
 be a commercial traveller, neither w^as he an artisan.
 
 CH. vii. Ill the South Downs. 8 7 
 
 He seemed to be a well-educated and long-headed sort 
 of man. I could make nothinof of him. 
 
 " These are all rather poor places about here," said he, 
 " Hardham, Greatham, small places not worth seeing." 
 
 " But I have come here on purpose to see small 
 places. I don't like big ones." 
 
 " Well, if you want pretty scenery, you had better get 
 nearer to the Downs — it is not very good about here," 
 
 " So I see ; " and indeed the prospect from the rail- 
 road station is not very brilliant. " I will go on and 
 sleep at Storrington, and see Parham on my way." 
 
 " You have heard of that affair, I suppose, sir ? It 
 was " 
 
 " Yes," said I, " I know all about it, and do not want 
 to hear any moi-e, thank you. Is there any business 
 doing about here ? " 
 
 " Business ? No, this is the wrong part of the world 
 for that. We have a great seed merchant living just 
 above there, and what do you think I noticed the other 
 day ? All his bags were stamped with some maker's 
 name and the address, ' Ontario, Canada.' I asked 
 about it, and they told me that Canadian-made bags 
 have driven English bags completely out of the market, 
 for they are both better and cheaper. What do you 
 think of that ? " 
 
 " I think," said I, " that the same sort of thing is 
 going on in many trades just now. American calicos 
 are better and cheaper than English goods of the 
 same description, so they tell me. We shall have to 
 bestir ourselves by and by."
 
 88 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. vn. 
 
 . " Yes, — you can get American calicos now in every 
 villafje. It is all because we let the Americans see our 
 machinery in the Great Exhibition, sir. Of course, 
 they went away and imitated it, and we shall lose our 
 trade. I alwuvs thouirht we did wron2f to show our 
 machinery." 
 
 That was his explanation of a great change in the 
 current of trade, which is yet destined to make some 
 noise in England when it is properly understood. For 
 some time to come, our supreme confidence in ourselves 
 will ])rcvent our being much troubled about a competi- 
 tion which has already cost us dearly. 
 
 " I do not think that is the cause of it," said I, " but 
 never mind. You will not be offemled if I ask you 
 what brings you to this dull part ? " 
 
 "I Wcilk about all over Sussex, sir." 
 
 " Dear me, and so do I." 
 
 " But you are not in my trade, sir." 
 
 " I do not know that — tell me what you have got in 
 that little black bag, and I shall be better able to judge.'' 
 
 " My instruments." 
 
 "Well, well. You must be a dentist." 
 
 " No, sir ; and yet I go to almost every house far ami 
 near, at one time or another." 
 
 " Surely you are not an undertaker," said I, starting 
 back, for I have no partiality for undertakers. 
 
 "I am not, sir;" said the man ; " I am ^ j)\ano-fort(i 
 tuner y 
 
 I can give a shrewd guess at the trades of most 
 persons at a glance, but what outward sign or token is
 
 CH. VII. In the South Downs. 89 
 
 there to denote a piano tuner ? My friend was soon 
 out of sight, black bag and all; and I shaped my course 
 for Parham, that old house which is stored with count- 
 less curiosities of art and literature, from Coptic and 
 Syriac manuscripts to a book called the " World of 
 Wonders," containing an autograph of our Shakespeare ; 
 one of the very few relics of his handwriting in 
 existence. I thought I had made arrangements to get 
 a sio^ht of these treasures, but I misunderstood them, 
 and consequently I was obliged to content myself with 
 a survey of the building from the carriage drive. 
 
 It is a picturesque house, with its gray old face 
 turned towards the South Downs, and standing in the 
 midst of a fine and well-timbered park. The oaks are 
 ancient and wide-spreading ; near the house are mag- 
 nificent elms, and on the way to it, some incomparable 
 hawthorns. The woods are thick ; one wanders on 
 through them knee-deep in ferns, turning up rabbits 
 by hundreds. A somewhat melancholy looking park 
 is it, with all its beauty, as many of these old parks 
 are apt to be. The weight of years ha*s settled down 
 upon them. Parham can boast, among many other 
 things, of a heronry. " Formerly," says my beloved 
 Yarrell, " in the palmy days of falconry, the places 
 where they were bred were almost held sacred ; the 
 bird was considered royal game, and penal statutes 
 were enacted for its preservation. Now, however, the 
 heron is disregarded, and left to depend on its own 
 sagacity for its safety." But here it is still protected, 
 and Mr. A. E. Knox, in his interesting " Ornithological
 
 go Field Paths and Green Lanes, ca. vn. 
 
 Rambles," tells us that Parhara "can now boast of 
 possessing one of the finest establishments in the king- 
 dom, of this magnificent and interesting species." 
 
 When one has gazed one's fill at the house, there is 
 nothing to do but to pass on, by the road which runs 
 near the mansion and the little old church near it, and 
 then almost touches a farmhouse called Springfield, 
 and comes out at the very foot of the Downs. From 
 thence it is a pleasant walk of a mile and a half to 
 Storrington, where at the "White Horse" Inn I was 
 furnished with a stuffy bed in a stuffy room, and had 
 for dinner the toughest mutton that any man's teeth 
 could cope withal — and this in the very midst of Mutton- 
 land, where the genuine South Down sheep are as com- 
 mon as blackberries on the hedges. If 3'ou wish to 
 taste the worst butter, milk, and cream in the world you 
 must go to the country for them ; in Herefordshire you 
 cannot get an apple ; in the South Down region there 
 is no mutton fit to eat ; at the seaside there is no fish 
 until the train comes in from London ; I should not be 
 surprised to find nothing but American cheese sold in 
 Cheshire, just as it is very certain that five butchers out 
 of six are now selling American beef for English. And 
 when good, it is better beef than ours, for it is grass-fed, 
 whereas most of ours is the product of oil-cake and 
 patent cattle-food and similar compounds. But too 
 often the meat sent over here is not good, nor is it pos- 
 sible that the best descriptions could be imported at a 
 profit, seeing that " prime joints " are from 25 cents to 
 27 cents a pound in New York, or a shilling and over, —
 
 en. VII. In the South Downs. 91 
 
 in other Avords, much about the same price as beef in 
 Eni^i'land. 
 
 Storrington is a small old-fashioned place, with dark 
 pine Avoods and commons in front of it, and the Downs 
 rising somewhat abruptly at the back. In an evening 
 stroll I came to a long, low, antiquated looking building 
 about three-quarters of a mile out of the town, and 
 wondered what it could be, for clearly it was not a gen- 
 tleman's house, nor a farm, nor could it be a prison. 
 Two tramps at that moment came along, one limping 
 painfully in his stockings, his shoes being slung over his 
 shoulder. "Beg pardon, sir," said the first, "can you tell 
 us where is the Union?" A vile face he had — guilt, 
 not wretchedness, was stamped in glaring characters 
 upon it. There was a boy sitting on a rail over a 
 little stream whittling a stick, like the traditional 
 Yankee. He seemed buried in thought. " What 
 place is that ? " I asked, pointing to the long barn-like 
 building. " It be the worhusl' replied he, the desti- 
 nation for the night of the rascally looking tramp and 
 his limping companion — a brace of rascals who, I en- 
 gage to say, will never do a hard day's work as long 
 as they can get food and lodging for nothing. Why 
 should the}^ ? 
 
 I started off betimes in the morning for the walk 
 which I had marked out, to wit, from Storrington over 
 the Downs to the Devil's Dyke, near Brighton, a 
 journey the length of which I could not estimate, for 
 the path over the hills is a doubtful and circuitous 
 one. It turned out to be nearly twenty miles, includ-
 
 92 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. vn. 
 
 ing the descent upon Stcyning and Bramber and the 
 climb up the Downs again beyond Beeding. But the 
 morning was so lovely — a perfect summer's day at the 
 beginning of August, with a westerly breeze and a sky 
 of blue, dappled with white fleecy clouds — that the 
 prospect of a long walk was all that any man could 
 need to put him in good spirits. Soon I was on the 
 very crest of the Downs behind Storrington, and could 
 see the sea gleaming like silver some miles away, and 
 vessels seeming no more than small black dots upon it. 
 Landward a column of light smoke marked out the 
 city of Chichester, and nearer still the eye rested on 
 the dark foliage of the thick trees at Parham, while far 
 in the distance was the clear blue line of the Surrey 
 hills. The white clouds, soft and billowy, which occa- 
 sionally passed over the face of the sun threw wonder- 
 ful shadows on the grass; a huge giant appeared all 
 across the path, then a turreted castle — one could 
 almost make out the sentinel on the walls— strange 
 and gigantic animals, shapes not to be likened to 
 anything known to us on earth. All this and more 
 were visible on those glorious Downs that August day, 
 for what forms will not the shadows take in the early 
 morning or at eve, especially in wild and lonely 
 places ? Nothing could have been changed for the 
 better, not even the weather Avhich people abuse so 
 much, for it Avas such weather as only the English 
 summer yields, neither hot nor cold, but with a 
 delightful freshness in the air which makes the blood 
 dance again. Nathaniel Hawthorne, decidedly no
 
 CH. VII. In the South Downs. 93 
 
 lover of England or anything English, could not refrain 
 from breaking out now and then in praise of these 
 summer days. " I think," he says in his English Note 
 Book, " that there is never in this English climate 
 the pervading warmth of an American summer day. 
 The sunshine may be excessively hot, but an over- 
 shadowing cloud, or the shade of a tree, or of a 
 building, at once affords relief; and if the slightest 
 breeze stirs, you feel the latent freshness of the air." 
 
 It was not very long before I came Avithin sight of 
 the little church of Washington, high up on the hill 
 side, — a very different place from the other Washing- 
 ton across the Atlantic. This little spot was a Saxon 
 settlement, as Mr. Lower relates : — " Wasa-injra-tun, 
 the settlement of the sons of Wasa." It was in this 
 parish, as the same industrious archteologist tells us, 
 that three thousand pennies were found, of the reigns 
 of Edward the Confessor and Harold II. They were 
 supposed to have been hidden just before the battle of 
 Hastings ; and what is very curious is, that down to 
 the very day they were found, in 1806, local tradition 
 had pointed out the spot as that in which a great 
 treasure was concealed. Local tradition, as I have 
 more than once pointed out in these pages, is not so 
 mean an authority as some people would have us 
 suppose. The vessel which contained these coins, 
 says Mr. Lower, " was turned up by the plough, and 
 they were so scattered broadcast, that they were 
 regarded by the peasantry as pieces of old tin, and 
 sold, principally to the village innkeeper, for the
 
 94 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, cii. vn. 
 
 purchase of ale. In one instance, half a pint of them 
 was offered for a ([iiart of ' double X.' " 
 
 From this point the Downs rise up sharply, and 
 begin to be covered with shrubs and small trees, which 
 get thicker and thicker until a dark belt of wood is 
 reached at the top, like a huge cap on the brow of 
 the hill. This is Chanctonbury Ring, a landmark for 
 many a league round about. I had seen it from dis- 
 tant points so often that I was well pleased to make 
 nearer acquaintance with it. The view from the "Ring" 
 is superb, and the spot has something more than a 
 picturesque interest connected with it, for it is said to be 
 an earthwork of Celtic origin, planted round with trees. 
 To the right of it on the plain, almost under its shade, 
 there stands the beautiful old house known as Wiston 
 Manor. I made my way down to it, not without some 
 scrambling, and found another of those wondrous parks 
 which add so much to the beauty of England. The 
 house looks stately, and even solemn, among the green 
 fields, distinctly the memorial of another age, — an age 
 when the Shirley family flourished here, and when one 
 of the three famous " band of brothers " went into 
 foreign lands and married a Circassian lady, and after- 
 ward came back and lived with his wife in this house 
 at Wiston. But the roving spirit was strong in him, 
 and he returned to the East, and died in Persia, and 
 his wife ended her days in a nunnery. The last of 
 the Shirleys died in 1638, and the estate came into 
 possession of the present family, the Gorings, in 1743, 
 " No Shirley relics now exist in the house at Wiston,"
 
 ciT. VII. In the South Doivns. 95 
 
 says Murray's Handbook, but nevertheless I much 
 longed to see the grand old hall and dining-room 
 within, and stood a long time admiring the magnifi- 
 cent entrance, the heavy mullioned windows, and the 
 exquisite park with deer moving in stately herds to 
 and fro. 
 
 A short walk along the road brings one to Steyning, 
 a clean and comfortable-looking town, with an inn, the 
 " White Horse," which looks as if it miglit be made a 
 pleasant home for a day or two. Few towns in Sussex 
 have struck me more favourably than this. I was 
 directed to the vicarage for the keys of the church, and 
 the gardener came and showed me the sacred building, 
 the chief features of which are the capitals of some of 
 the pillars, of fine workmanship, and supposed to date 
 back to the time of the Confessor. The vicarage is said 
 to be embellished with some curious wood carvings ; 
 but although the maid-servant who opened the door to 
 me was gracious, and the watch-dog did not bark or bite, 
 yet I did not like to ask permission to go in. It is an 
 unlucky day when the traveller is obliged to pass three 
 houses of great interest unseen. 
 
 Half a mile through a shady lane, across the line, 
 and we are at Bramber. The lane is narrow, and 
 presently I met an elderly gentleman coming along 
 with a dog. We had a few minutes' chat together, for 
 he seemed to be a good-natured man, and in the mood 
 for a talk. 
 
 " You would scarcely believe," said he, " that this is 
 the old coach road we are on now."
 
 96 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, en. vn. 
 
 "I should not," said I, "for there seems scarcely 
 room for a wheelbarrow. I suppose, however, that 
 these young trees and bushes have encroached upon it 
 of late years." 
 
 "Not so much as you might think. The roads 
 about here were proverbially bad, and there were only 
 certain places at Avhich it was possible for one vehicle 
 to pass another. That's why they used to put bells on 
 horses, so that the drivers might get out of each other's 
 way in good time." 
 
 "Thank you," said I ; "now will you tell me where- 
 abouts is Bramber Castle ?" 
 
 " There, just above you, hidden by those trees. A 
 mere heap of stones is left now, but it must have been 
 a strong fortress once, for the sea came up here 
 formerly, and the castle was intended to guard the land 
 in this direction." 
 
 I wondered who and what the civil gentleman with the 
 dog could be, but he passed on without my finding out, 
 and in a few minutes I made my way to the tall frag- 
 ment of an old tower and the shattered walls, which 
 are now all that is left of the seat of the once powerful 
 Norman family of De Braose. All ruined and broken 
 as the walls are, they still look as if they would last for 
 ever. There is a mound in the middle, encompassed 
 by thorn trees, from which a splendid view of the 
 Downs and surrounding country is obtained. Just 
 below is the church, with its small ivy-clad tower; but 
 the gate thereto was locked, and I went on my way 
 without seeing it.
 
 CH. VII. In the Sotitk Downs. 97 
 
 In the one street of Bramber, near to a clean and 
 cosy-looking inn, I noticed a signboard pointing " To 
 the Museum." What sort of a museum could it be ? 
 It turned out to be a very curious place indeed, pre- 
 pared and fitted up by one man, whose name is James 
 Potter, a self-trained naturalist. Numerous animals, 
 birds, and insects, all caught and stuffed by Potter 
 himself, and made up into striking or grotesque groups, 
 were round the room. There is a " kittens' croquet 
 party," which must be the delight of children, a 
 " squirrels' carouse," a cricket match played by guinea- 
 pigs, and other scenes, wonderfully life-like, and all 
 sweet and clean and pleasant to look upon, which is 
 quite a new feature in connection with stuffed animals. 
 " I suj^pose," said I, " many of these creatures are only 
 made up ? " " Oh no, sir," said Potter, " they are all 
 real. I was obliged to have them alive, or I could 
 not have given them the exjjression" There were 
 some capital herons and king-fishers, caught close by. 
 I noticed on the wall a certificate, setting forth that 
 in September, 1839, a premium of £2 had been 
 awarded to James Potter for " fifty-six years' con- 
 tinuous service." And a very liberal reward too for 
 over half a century's faithful service, and I hope James 
 Potter took care of his large fortune, and properly 
 secured it to his descendants in the male line. 
 
 " Was that your father ? " I asked the naturalist 
 *' My gi'andfather, sir, I believe." What an odd thing 
 that he should be in doubt on such a point. Evidently, 
 however, he is a worthy and an industrious man, and I
 
 qS Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. vh. 
 
 am quite sure he lias not squandered the family in- 
 heritance in riotous living. 
 
 We now come to Beeding, smallest of small villages, 
 where once stood a priory, long since gone to dust. 
 Here I resolved to recover the crest of the Downs, and 
 with that object in view, I followed the chalky road 
 which may be descried from Beeding, turning round by 
 the " Rising Sun " inn. It is a long and steep road, 
 and near the top I could distinguish a steam-plough at 
 work, and could hear its noise and fuss while still afar 
 off. A man was cutting oats in a field which I passed, 
 and " after compliments " I said to him, " So you have 
 got the steam-plough even here." 
 
 " Ay, it be steam everywhere now," said he, wiping 
 his forehead, " a poor fellow don't get no chance," 
 
 " Well, you see, it saves the farmer money." 
 
 "No, it doant ; it ain't cheaper in the end. The 
 reaping machine do gather up all the stoans, and mucks 
 the cam all over the plaace. It waastes a sight, I can 
 tell ye." 
 
 " But it does the work quickly." 
 
 " Not much quicker on these hills than we can. 
 And look how clean it is done ; " he pointed down 
 to his little sheaves with some pride. They were all 
 tied up carefully, and laid by in rows as if for an agri- 
 cultural exhibition. " You can't get ne'er a machine 
 to do that. I sometimes think I will emigrate." 
 
 " You will have to go a long way, if you want to get 
 out of the way of steam." 
 
 " Well, it be hard to get a living here, and yet this
 
 CH. VII. In the Soiilh Doivns. 99 
 
 be the best way of doing the work, after all," going on 
 with his reaping ; " you don't gather up no stoans with 
 this." 
 
 The competitors, man and machine, were both left 
 doing their best, and at last I was on the top of the 
 hills once more, with the ever welcome sea again in 
 sight. To tlie right was Worthing, while just in front 
 one could see the tops of the vessels lying off Shoreham. 
 A large city, covered with smoke, stood a good way 
 further to the left— and this was the once quiet village 
 of Brighthelmstone. The view of the sea from this 
 point seems almost boundless. After " prospecting " a 
 little at the top, you strike a green lane and cart-track, 
 running past a couple of barns over the brow of the 
 hill. Two valleys have to be crossed, but the green 
 lane need not be lost sight of all the way. Every now 
 and then one comes across patches of purple heath, 
 and the ground beneath one's feet is sprinkled with 
 celandine, and is so thickly covered with wild thyme 
 that every step which crushes the grass sends up a 
 fragrance more delicious and more welcome than all the 
 poor imitations of sweet smells which are vended in 
 Bond Street. Everywhere on the hill-side large flocks 
 of sheep are regaling themselves on this celestial food, 
 and turning it into "saddles" and "haunches" which 
 will cause the mouth of the epicure to water and his 
 heart to leap for joy. Southdown sheep may be found 
 in many parts of the world, but without the Southdown 
 grass their flesh cannot have the true and proper 
 savour. Wandering on amid thousands of the.se
 
 lOO Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. vn. 
 
 adorable creatures, we at last see the little village of 
 Poynings, with comfortable farm-houses near, and the 
 Devil's Dyke above — smooth, round, and fat at the top, 
 "muttony," as some one has said of the South Downs 
 generally. And there my walk came to an end, for 
 the road between the Dyke and Brighton is one of the 
 dustiest in England, and is overrun Avith holiday 
 makers in various stages of drunkenness — noisy, ill- 
 looking, offensive, much to be avoided by all sober and 
 right-minded persons. But of the Downs themselves 
 no one can ever grow weary, for, as Mr. Lower truly 
 says, " In their sweet undulations there are continually 
 changing curves and indents, which vary as they may 
 — from the precipitous valley down which a confident 
 horseman would scarcely urge his courser, to the gentle 
 declivity where the most delicate lady (in imitation of 
 the fairies which of old haunted it) might dance — are 
 always lines of beauty, such as we confidently believe 
 have nowhere else an existence, except, perhaps, in 
 some graceful island group of the Pacific."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HAYWARD'S HEATH TO EAST GPJXSTEAD. 
 
 Another "Country Inn." — An Uncomfortable Night. —The Eich Man 
 from London. — CuckfieW. — A Vision at the King's Head. — 
 Tlie Haunted House. — Lindfiehl and its Church. — Pax Hilh — 
 Horsted Keynes. — Arcadian Shepherds Carousing. — Broadhurst. 
 —East Grinstead.— The " Players. "—The " Last Performance." 
 
 As I have a fancy for starting 'out on my walks early 
 in the morning, I went to Hayward's Heath overnight, 
 intending to explore some of the countr}^ round about 
 it before the main business of my journey began. I 
 found an inn there almost adjoining the station; a good 
 inn for aught I know in ordinary times, but it so 
 chanced on this occasion that the best rooms were all 
 engaged, as the waiter informed me, by a "London 
 gent." These visitors from London, with their piles of 
 money and unlimited orders for all the best rooms, are 
 grievously in the way of the honest pedestrian, who can 
 scarcely find rest for the soles of his feet where they 
 are. They are worse tlian the Colorado beetle. You 
 cannot compete for the favour of " mine host," still less 
 for the smiles of his dame, with a gentleman who has a 
 gold mine in the City, or who has just brought out a 
 foreign loan for the benefit of his poorer countrymen
 
 I02 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cu. vm. 
 
 and their widows and orphans. Thus it turned out 
 that my night at the hotel was passed in the most 
 dismal manner. I had to dine on the crumbs which 
 were brought down to me from Dives' table, and Dives 
 with his friends caroused till a late hour, and I had 
 scarcely sunk off into an uneasy slumber, when a 
 horrible groaning, puffing, and blowing brought me 
 rudely from the land of dreams. I at first thought it 
 was the " London gent " careering about in a fit, or 
 dreaminof of his bag^s of gold, and thinking he was being 
 robbed thereof, but it was only a goods train blow- 
 ing off or otherwise disposing of its steam, a process 
 which lasted all tlic night long. I seldom go to the 
 country for quiet ; when I want that I come to 
 London. The noises at Hayward's Heath that night 
 would have shamed Piccadilly, I will say nothing of 
 the bigf doof in the stables which barked all nioht, 
 because he can be poisoned by the next traveller who 
 passes that way. Take a piece of prepared meat with 
 you, and throw it out of window just before going to 
 bed. The early village cock can be "fixed" in the 
 same manner. But the engine is not amenable to this 
 course of treatment, nor is it to be practised on a 
 London gent without fear of the 'sizes. 
 
 Before these troubles overtook me, however, I had 
 enjoyed an interesting walk to Cuckfield, a pleasant old 
 town a couple of miles or so from Ha3'ward's Heath. 
 The two quaint inns in it had a look so inviting that 
 they caused me to regret the risk I had run of crossing 
 the blighting path of a millionaire at a railway hotel.
 
 CH. VIII. Hayward's Heath, East Grinstcad. 103 
 
 Moreover, as I passed the " King's Head " I spied a 
 fair damsel setting out clean glasses on a spotless 
 cloth, — how infinitely preferable to the ordinary hotel 
 waiter-man, who has dirty hands, and smells of gin and 
 onions. The hands of that rosy maiden were not dirty, 
 I will ensaofe for it, thouc^h to be sure* I had no means 
 of judging, much to my loss. Just opposite the tap of 
 this inn are several queer little shops, among them a 
 photographer's, with a sign in his window setting forth 
 that he takes "photographs daily," — a great boon to the 
 Cuckfieldians, and one of which I hope they make good 
 use. Half a mile or so beyond is one of those old 
 houses, around which many associations of legend or 
 romance have gathered — Cuckfield Place, the " Rook- 
 wood Hall" of Harrison Ainsworth. An avenue of 
 limes leads to the house, and one of these trees is 
 believed to have had the magic power of foretelling the 
 approaching deatli of its owner. As the lord of the 
 estate passed towards his home, a bough from the tree 
 fell upon his path, and full of youth and health as he 
 might be, he then knew that he was about to cross the 
 threshold for the last time. I met in the avenue a 
 woman with two children, probably a gamekeeper's 
 wife, and asked her a question or two about the house, 
 which I could see at a little distance. 
 
 "It has all been done up the last few years," said she, 
 "except at the back, and that is just as it used to be. 
 You can walk round if you like." 
 
 " And can you show me the tree about which they 
 tell the stories?"
 
 104 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. vm. 
 
 " No, I cannot, sir, for I don't rightly know which it 
 is. But I have heard say that when anybody is going 
 to die in the big house a branch snaps off, and they do 
 say that when tlie last master died a bough was found 
 lying on the path the next morning." In this case the 
 warning tree seems to have been a little late with its 
 sign. As I had read that the tree was carefully pre- 
 served I looked about for it, and suppose that I dis- 
 covered it in a veteran of the avenue which was bound 
 round with iron plates, and seemed to be more decrepit 
 than its fellows, as if the awful responsibility of being 
 an instrument for making known the decrees of the 
 dark Fates had deprived it of some share of its spirit 
 and vigour. On the other side of the house everything 
 wears a strangely wild and romantic aspect. There are 
 gloomy pools of water, over which a thin mist was slowly 
 stealing, half hiding the heavy weeds and grass which 
 choked them. Hard by was a decayed out-building, in 
 the yard of which two huge bones were to be seen, and 
 presently a gaunt dog came out slowly and silently, and 
 began gnawing at them, occasionally casting a searching 
 and wary eye up at me. The back of the house had a time- 
 worn appearance, and little stretch of the romancist's 
 imagination is needed to invest it with those spectral 
 guests which from time immemorial have haunted ancient 
 family mansions such as this. Yet there is notliing so 
 uncanny about the house itself as the fateful tree, the 
 dark pools of water, and the crumbling out-house, with 
 the huge bones before it, like the relics which strewed 
 the cave of Giant Despair, and the strange, solitary dog.
 
 en. VIII. Hayward's Heathy East Grinstead. 105 
 
 The sombre influences of this spot were soon dis 
 persed under the early morning sun, as I started off 
 for East Grinstead. It is a hot and treeless road to 
 Lindfield, fortunately less than two miles in length, 
 and the suburbs of Hayward's Heath are as little 
 attractive as suburbs generally are. But Lindfield is a 
 pleasant village, with very ancient timbered houses in 
 it, the finest examples thereof being at the back of the 
 churchyard. There is a good common at the entrance 
 to the village, and a pond, and then a long street 
 abounding with old houses, all more or less interesting. 
 "Any one tired of the bustle of this changeful life," 
 says Mr. Lower, " might safely retire to Lindfield as 
 one of the most peaceful spots in Britain," and all that 
 I saw there fully confirmed this impression. The 
 church, with its shingled spire, has a homely look, but, 
 alas ! it is but another example of the mischief wrought 
 by those architectural wreckers, the "restorers." White- 
 wash and plaster have done their worst, and some old 
 fine stained glass has been carried off altogether. I saw 
 traces of paintings on the walls, and a man who was 
 cleaning the clock, told me that there were formerly 
 three, of which his description was vague. " On one 
 there used to be someone or other weighing out soles," 
 said the man, or so I understood him. 
 
 "A fishmonger ? " I asked. 
 
 "No, a hangel. On the other was the apostles, or 
 something, and on the other — well, I forget what that 
 was. Some party or other has had 'em all plastered 
 over. They do what they like with this church, for you
 
 io6 Field Paths and Green Lanes. 
 
 cir. \\u. 
 
 see it's in Chancery, and nobody takes any interest in 
 it. The old Vicar, who died lately, came here only on 
 Sunday mornings, and then he tried to make himself 
 disagreeable. He stopped all the singing." This 
 bad account I found afterwards corroborated by Mr. 
 Lower, who says that " within the nineteenth century, 
 bodies of deceased parishioners, have remained in the 
 church for several days, for want of an officiating 
 priest." A curious "sepulchral effigy on three glazed 
 tiles," dated 1520, has apparently been taken to rejoin 
 the stained glass ; at any rate I could find no trace of 
 it, nor had the clock-cleaner any recollection of seeing 
 or hearing talk of such a thincf. 
 
 From the churchyard, the road passes over an old 
 bridge, and just beyond it are the gates of an Eliza- 
 bethan mansion, known as Pax-hill. I learned that the 
 house had recently been sold— to a " London broker," 
 as a matter of course— and that the new family had not 
 arrived, so I summoned up courage to go to the door, 
 and ask permission to see it. After some persuasion, 
 I prevailed, and found the house a very interesting 
 building, though bearing ample traces of careless treat- 
 ment and neglect. It has received some modern addi- 
 tions, which are in the worst possible style and taste. 
 But the old rooms are charming, and have exqui&ite 
 examples of wood-carving within them. There is a 
 capital hunting scene round the fireplace of the library, 
 and in a panel I noticed the date 1612. The dining 
 room is full of admirable carving. It seemed to me 
 that in some of the old bedrooms, the oaken panelling
 
 cii. VIII. HaywarcTs Heathy East Grinstmd. 107 
 
 has been covered with a cheap and nasty wall-paper. 
 The modern builder and repairer is capable of greater 
 atrocities than that. 
 
 From the house one goes out at the other end of the 
 park, and by a pleasant nutty road — and this has been 
 a great year for hazel nuts — to Horsted Keynes, a small 
 old-fashioned village, with a little church below it. In 
 this church the great and good Archbishop Leighton 
 used to preach, and here he worked among the poor, 
 spending " most of his income in works of charity," 
 not in rich vestments, or in efforts to imitate the rites 
 and ceremonies of the Papal Church. I fear such a 
 man would be lightly esteemed by the Society of the 
 "Holy Cross" and "priests" generally. There is a 
 little inn in the village, at which the pedestrian may 
 obtain modest refreshment should he need it, and there 
 is no other between this and East Grinstead, eisrht 
 hilly miles away. I halted for a few minutes here, 
 for a biscuit and some cider, and found two rustics 
 smoking long pipes and drinking liot gin-and- water at 
 a little after ten on a " muggy " day in August. No 
 wonder the poets laud the simplicity of rural tastes ! 
 The landlady seemed to be a worthy and resj)ectable 
 woman, and I saw her go to the kitchen and brew the 
 hot grog for the peaceful and innocent swains. She 
 told me that she had very little business, and, indeed, 
 there did not seem to be two dozen people in the place. 
 After looking at the old church and the quaint little 
 effigy inside, I kept along the narrow road, which runs 
 past the churchyard, in preference to the turnpike
 
 \ 
 
 1 08 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. vm. 
 
 above, and eventually came to the ancient house of 
 " Broad hurst," where Archbishop Leighton lived. It 
 is now a farm-house, with very ancient barns near it ; 
 all the gate-posts and rails arc rotting with age, and 
 one can take pinches of dust out of them, as out of a 
 snuff-box. Past the house, the road leads to a gate 
 locally called " double-gate," and the« the visitor must 
 cross the road, and go over the stile into a field, and 
 across a second field, which ends in a small patch of 
 wood and the public road. It is necessary then to 
 turn to the right, and follow the road, which will 
 occasionally offer some fine views of the South and 
 North Downs. While still four miles away, East 
 Grinstead can very clearly be seen, standing on a hill. 
 The last part of this road has, to tell the truth, little 
 to recommend it, and the number of times one has 
 to go up hill and down again, chiefly up, is past all 
 counting. The distance from Hay ward's Heath, with 
 the deviations I have described, is over thirteen miles. 
 A pleasant old town is East Grinstead, as its name 
 implies — cjrenestede, or gi-een place, " a clearing in the 
 great forest of the Weald." The houses have a vener- 
 able appearance, and the college founded by the Earl 
 of Dorset in 1608 is an imposing building. The church 
 is mainly new — almost the only new building which I 
 observed in the place. Although it was a hot day, the 
 room in the inn where I took lunch Avas quite cold and 
 chilly, a peculiarity of counti'y inns. Doubtless they 
 are generally very damp. While reading some verses 
 on a tombstone in the churchyard — verses quite equal
 
 CH. viii. Hayzuai'd's Heath, East Grins tcad. 109 
 
 to Crabbe's, and much in the same vein — I heard the 
 sounds of a band, and asked an old woman who was 
 passing what was going on. 
 
 "It's the players," said she, "they are over in yonder 
 field." 
 
 If there is one form of the drama which pleases me 
 better than another it is that which is played beneath 
 a tent in a field, by a company of ladies and gentlemen 
 who have their own ways of interpreting the works of 
 the great masters, and among whom the older traditions 
 of the stage are preserved, from sheer force of necessity, 
 more closely than in the crack theatres of the day. 
 These rovers, now fast dying out, handed down their 
 " business " one to the other, passed on their favourite 
 " gags," and had little time to study " new readings," 
 or invent a new style of acting. I have sometimes 
 thought in looking at them that one got a fair idea of 
 acting as it used to be in Shakespeare's day, for the 
 stage is a great conservator of tradition, and many an 
 old custom is, or was, preserved by the strolling players 
 which had long before been discarded by the great 
 actors in theatres. One of the best Hamlets I ever 
 saw was played by a poor fellow in a field in Derby- 
 shire, on a bitter winter's night, when the snow was 
 falling heavily outside, and a charcoal fire in front of 
 the stage scarcely kept us from freezing, and Ophelia 
 had drunk so much beer that her subsequent tumble 
 into the stream did not surprise any of the audience. 
 Why, by the way, is Ophelia treated by the priest at 
 the grave as if she had committed suicide, or as if her
 
 iio Field Paths and Green Lanes, cii. vm. 
 
 death was, as he says, "doubtful?" Accordinjr to the 
 circumstantial account previously given by the Queen, 
 it "was a very clear and undoubted case of accidental 
 death, whether according to Crowner's quest or any 
 other law. 
 
 The abolition of fairs has taken the strolling player's 
 occupation from him, and I had little expectation of 
 meeting with any of my old Derbyshire friends in the 
 field at East Grinstead. The company, in fact, turned 
 out to be a travelling circus. A woman was brushino- 
 the skirt of her gown at the door of one of the waggons 
 or carts, and another was dressing her child on the 
 grass. Their faces were tanned to a copper colour by 
 the sun. I went up to them and asked them how they 
 had fared in East Grinstead, carefully paving the way 
 by giving the child a sixpence. The woman had a 
 listless and care-worn expression, but this did not 
 prevent her from taking the sixpence. 
 
 " AVe haven't done very Avell," said the one with 
 the child, for the other liad retired, probably to put on 
 her skirt. 
 
 " Business is bad at all the theatres in London," 
 said I, in order that she might see she had companions 
 in misfortune. 
 
 " It has been hard with us everywhere," she said ; 
 " and the old woman grumbles at us all, and says she 
 can't keep it going much longer." 
 
 " Is the circus owned by a woman ? " 
 
 *' Yes — there she is at the door taking tickets. This 
 is our last performance here." '
 
 cH. VIII. Hayward's Heath, East Grinstcad. 1 1 1 
 
 " Where do you go next ? " 
 
 " I don't exactly remember the name of the town, 
 but they say it's twenty-five miles away from here. We 
 shall have to foot it a great part of the way, for the 
 horses are tired out, and can't work in the ring and be 
 on the road too, day and night." 
 
 I went over to the tent — the performance was nearly 
 over. The clouds were gathering heavily, wild scud 
 was flying about the sky, and there was a south-west 
 wind blowing. " You will have rain for your packing 
 up," said I to the woman who took the tickets. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and that's bad, for we have to put the tent 
 away wet, and everything goes wrong. Rain, rain — 
 there's nothing.6it^ rain," said she moodily as she locked 
 up the bag containiog the money and the tickets, and 
 hurried off to the door. The clown was in the rinfj 
 making the old, old jokes ; a man was ridjng on the 
 back of the wild untamed steed, which was soon to be 
 put in the shafts once more, and drag the dejected 
 ])arty to some other village green far over the hills of 
 Sussex. The poor horse looked as if he had scarcely 
 a \q^ left to stand upon, and the fearless rider seemed 
 bored to death. The " ringmaster " was indulging in 
 that species of fun which a British audience is never 
 slow to appreciate, knocking down the clown for being 
 " himperdent," or slashing him across the legs with 
 his whip. There was no sawdust on the ground — 
 merely the green grass, turned up a little all round in 
 a sort of narrow trench. Presently the rain came 
 pattering down upon the tent, the wind howled
 
 1 1 2 Field Paths a7id Green Lanes, en. vm. 
 
 dismally, and the poor old horse slackened his gentle 
 canter, thinking doubtless that the roads outside would 
 be heavy for his night's journey, and cursinf' his father 
 and mother for giving him a black and white coat, 
 and thus condemning him to the fate of making sport 
 for rustic children in a circus.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FROM PETWORTH TO MIDHURST. 
 
 The House at Petworth. — Some Faces to be remembered. — The Park 
 of the Percies. — Cottages in the " AVeald." — Lodsworth Church, 
 Past and Present. — An important Citizen of Lodsworth. — An 
 old Farm. — The Chestnut Gatherers. —Cowdray Park and Ruins. 
 — A Page of Family Romance. — Midhurst. 
 
 It is occasionally a good plan to make some great 
 park or house the starting-point for a long day's ramble, 
 especially if the region you intend to traverse is a wild 
 one. The effect of the scenery is then heightened by 
 contrast. Petworth is a very suitable house to select 
 for this purpose. Although not beautiful externally, it 
 contains within its walls many rare treasures of art, 
 and the park forms a worthy introduction to the scenes 
 which lie beyond. Anyone who can spend an hour 
 among the portraits which may be found in every room 
 of this house, even without reference to the other 
 pictures, will find his time profita.bly employed. Take 
 the portrait of the ninth Earl of Northumberland, now 
 in what is called the "square room" — and a very square 
 room it is — close by the fireside. What an example is 
 here of the art of portrait-painting ! What dignity and 
 melancholy the great artist, Vandyke, has thrown into
 
 1 1 4 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. ix. 
 
 the expression of tliis man's face ! We seem to read 
 there the whole story of his long imprisonment in the 
 Towei- — of the weary waiting for release, and the 
 gradual extinction of hope and peace. The portrait 
 stands out so vividly, that one stands silently before it 
 almost expecting the man on whom sorrow has left so 
 many ineffaceable marks to move or speak. It is a 
 work which, when once seen, can never be forgotten. 
 On the opposite side of the same room, near the 
 door, is a portrait of a very different kind and of a 
 very different person — Queen Catherine Parr. The 
 face is hard, dull, and heavy, but evidently true to life. 
 The painter is Holbein, and in the famous "carved 
 room," a masterpiece by the same artist may be seen — 
 the portrait of Henry the Eighth. Every detail of this 
 wonderful work is a study, from the face and hands of 
 the subject, to the jewels on the clothes. The picture 
 gives, no doubt, an accurate likeness of the king, and 
 we see in it a large-built, fat, sensual person, with small 
 eyes and rather a high forehead, who would look more 
 like a drayman than a king but for his small hands 
 and rich attire. Here again the living man seems to 
 stand before us. The portrait of Edward the Sixth 
 (painted when he was ten years old) should be com- 
 pared with the likeness of his father — there are the 
 same small eyes, and the same general outline of the 
 features. The five portraits of ladies by Vandyke in 
 the white and gold room, and Rubens' curious' picture 
 of two prelates kneeling, are among the other works 
 which will live in the memory. However hurried the
 
 oil. IX. Fi^oni Petwoi'th to JMidhiwst. 1 1 5 
 
 visitor may be, he should on no account fail to see 
 Vandyke's portrait of himself, or Rembrandt and his 
 wife painted by the great master, or the striking 
 portrait of Cardinal Medici, or Hogarth's delightful 
 picture of Peg Woffington. 
 
 The new picture gallery was still unfinished in' 
 October, 1876, and it seemed then a somewhat ill-lifc and 
 unsatisfactory apartment. In the middle of the long 
 passage or corridor, near the chapel, the light was very 
 bad, although the day was a remarkably sunny and 
 cheerful one. The tapestry in the hall has been re- 
 stored, and the colours look so bright that at first one 
 is inclined to suspect the antiquity of the work. The 
 grand staircase is one of the noblest in England, and 
 the old chapel, said to have been built by Hotspur, but 
 much disfigured by gold angels and cherubim and 
 other rubbish, is well worth a visit. The place has 
 a cold and neglected appearance. The magnificent 
 carvings by Grinling Gibbons in the large room where 
 Holbein's Henry the Eighth hangs, can scarcely be 
 properly looked at during the short time visitors are 
 allowed to remain. But let not the visitor complain 
 that he is hurried through the rooms too fast, but 
 rather recollect that it is extremely liberal on the part 
 of the owner to open the house to the public at all. 
 For Petworth is one of the great houses which are still 
 the homes of the families to which they belong. Lord 
 Leconfield and his wife and children live here for at 
 least ten months out of the year, and often as the 
 party of visitors enter a room at one door, they may
 
 1 1 6 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. ix. 
 
 see the ladies of the family retreating from it at the 
 other. 
 
 The various views of the park which attract the eye 
 in going over the house will not be found to promise 
 too much. The glimpses from the windows are not, 
 indeed, so beautiful as those which are the chief glories 
 of the " Deepdene " in Surrey, but they are very 
 striking, and bid one to expect a lovely walk throu^di 
 the noble domain outside. And in this the visitor 
 will not be disappointed. The South Downs run to 
 the left of the park, only three miles away, and they 
 help to give the scenery very much the appearance 
 of the country in many parts of Wales. From a 
 grove of limes about three-quarters of a mile away 
 there is a glorious view. Looking towards the house 
 — which at this distance shows to some advantao-e — 
 the South Downs stretch away to the right, and to the 
 left there is a charming expanse of woodland and 
 meadow, with herds of deer grazing in the foreground, 
 and beyond all, the dark ridge of Blackdown. As you 
 go on, it is well to strike off from the carriage drive, 
 just past the little church at Tillington, and make for 
 the higher parts of the park, keeping the " Prospect 
 Tower " in front. The ground at the time of the year's 
 decline is in some places an inch deep in chestnuts, 
 and the noble trees scatter a fresh supply to the 
 ground with every puff of wind. From this hio^h 
 ground the larger part of the immense park may be 
 seen, and as fair a bit of this beautiful England is 
 spread before the traveller as he could well desire to
 
 CH. IX. Front Petworth to MidJmrst. 117 
 
 behold. The Tower is worth climbing ; from the leads 
 you can see for miles around ; to the north of you 
 there is a broad valley in a semi-circle of hills, and 
 far in the distance you can make out Mr. Tennyson's 
 house, on the edge of Blackdown. The wild scenery 
 in this direction comes up to the very edge of the park, 
 and extends from it far as the eye can reach. One 
 wonders why the house at Petworth was not built on 
 the beautiful spot where Prospect Tower stands, rather 
 than in a somewhat common-place part of the lower 
 park. 
 
 There is, of course, a more direct way of going to 
 Midhurst from Petworth than that which is here 
 described — the turnpike road is easily found, and is not 
 without merits of its own. But the route which I 
 made out, and now recommend to others, is by far the 
 best for those who travel on foot, and who wish to see 
 as much as they can of the country. The walk through 
 Petworth Park is something gained — for although there 
 is a carriage drive through it, yet the upper and more 
 beautiful portion is available only for the pedestrian. 
 From the Prospect ToAver the continuation of the road 
 may readily be seen. The w^oman at the tower will 
 open the gate close by, and the best path to take is 
 that which runs across the common in front of you, 
 nearly due north. You leave an old white timbered 
 cottage to the left, after passing a pond, and then the 
 path turns west, and runs through a mass of high ferns 
 and furze — a specimen of the wild country through 
 which one may wander for days together in this part of
 
 1 1 8 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. ix. 
 
 Sussex, and the adjoining districts of Surrey and Hamp- 
 shire. Very soon the narrow track takes us into the 
 midst of a copse, which at finst siglit does not look 
 very encouraging, hut at the top the path trends to 
 the north-west, and a few yards farther there is the 
 road, with several old cottages on each side One of 
 them, on the left, has a yew-tree before it. This place 
 is called River, or River Street, and the common we 
 have just passed over is in part Upperton and in part 
 River Common. We go past three more ancient 
 timbered houses or farms to the right, and open a gate 
 just before coming to a yew hedge, cut into various 
 shapes. All this part is very quaint and old-fashioned, 
 and few strangers ever are seen in it, except perhaps 
 an artist or two now and then in .summer. In the 
 autumn and winter it is quite deserted by visitors. 
 
 The path by the gate just spoken of leads down 
 through a wood, and if you bear to the right, it will 
 bring you to a wooden bridge over a brook — path and 
 wood and brook, each a delight to the wanderer, and 
 combining to form a charming picture. A cart track 
 now runs up straight in front of you, and it is only 
 necessary to pursue that in order to be taken safely to 
 the village of Lodsworth. 
 
 Here is another of the nooks and corners of England 
 which looks as if it might have been untouched for 
 hundreds of years, except the church, on which the 
 hand of the restorer has fallen with great severity. Of 
 the ancient building, nothing but the tower and door- 
 way and part of the timber roof remain. Even an
 
 cii. IX. From Petworth to JMidhurst. 119 
 
 old yew-tree has been carted off, and pretty coniferse 
 planted around, looking like so many Christmas-trees 
 in a toy-shop. There used to bo an open cloister of 
 timber-work on the south side of the churchyard, but 
 no trace of it is left. It has fallen before wind, weather, 
 and "aesthetic influences" combined. I manao-ed to 
 find the man who had the keys. He was a queer 
 little tailor, adapted by nature to play the apothecary 
 in Romeo and Juliet, and was at work in a very small 
 shop, next door to his house. When I interrupted 
 him, he was busily engaged in flattening out a pair of 
 corduroys for some young hopeful of Lodsworth who 
 was just going to be breeched. He came out in his 
 shirt sleeves and slippers, and went over the church 
 with me. It turned out that he was the " clerk," and 
 his seat was close by the wall as we entered. "I used 
 to sit near the pulpit," said he, " but they have put me 
 back a smart ways. They alters everything. I suppose 
 it's the march of intelleck." I asked this ironical tailor 
 about the " open cloister of timber work." He said it 
 had been blown down and carted off. " I remember," 
 he added, " when there were the remains of a chapel 
 close by the church. It was afterwards used as a 
 stable, but is all gone long ago. You can see the 
 stumps of the trees that used to run along side of it." 
 I looked over the wall and saw them plain enough. 
 " Where did the money come from in this small place 
 to make all these alterations in your church ? " I asked, 
 "Ah, there you puzzle me," said the clerk; "I can't 
 make it out. The rector, he never let anything alone ;
 
 1 20 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. ix. 
 
 but now he's gone somewhere else. I suppose he won't 
 let nothing alone there. Bless me, what a rum world 
 it is." "True," I said, "very true; but pray tell me 
 how it is that you have your workshop away from your 
 house. The women-folks, eh ? " My friend of the 
 scissors gave me a sly look, smiled slightly, but 
 evidently thought it best not to commit himself to 
 the expression of any opinion, especially as his wife 
 was listening at the open window. " I call it a very 
 rum world," repeated he, " and so would you if you 
 lived here. Dead and alive it is. I makes clothes for 
 all around — it would never do to depend on this 
 village ; " and I could quite believe him, for there did 
 not seem to be half-a-dozen persons who wore trousers 
 in the whole place, — at least, not of the male sex. 
 
 Round the road to the right we come to the " Hollist 
 Arms," a plain sort of inn, with two or three old 
 cottages and a little green in front. It is now neces- 
 sary to take the turning which runs to the left of this 
 inn, and to keep to it, not wandering off by a some- 
 what tempting looking road to the right. Some 
 distance on you reach a farm-house, with a box-tree 
 at the corner of the garden, and an old yew cut and 
 trained to grow in the shape of an umbrella or a 
 gigantic mushroom. The box-tree is also trimmed to 
 suit the fancy of its possessor. In front of this farm, 
 tlie road turns to the left ; but keep sti'aight forward, 
 and you will find yourself led down another copse, 
 to a stile, and there across a field in front is the entrance 
 to Cowdray Park.
 
 CH. IX. From Petworth to Midhu7'st. 121 
 
 A party of chestnut gatherers were standing round 
 this stile, having evidently had a successful morning's 
 work, for two large sacks and some smaller bundles, 
 stuffed as full of chestnuts as a turkey is at Christmas, 
 were lying by their side. They turned out to belong 
 to one family — a big brother, three sisters (one of them 
 rather a pretty girl) and three or four children. One 
 of the laicer looked very ill, and I asked what Avas the 
 matter with him. " He has never been well since he 
 had the measles," replied the elder sister, and the poor 
 little fellow was blinking at the light, and coughing, 
 and evidently had a very slight and precarious hold on 
 what my friend the tailor considers " a rum world." 
 " Come, get on with the bag," said the brother, and 
 the poor boy roused himself and took up his bundle, 
 and stumbled along with blinking eyes and a racking 
 cough. I distributed a few pence among them, and 
 received a handful of chestnuts in exchange — the pretty 
 girl had all the big ones in her pocket, and she was 
 for giving me the entire cargo ; but I had as many as 
 I could carry, and left the party in the little wood, with 
 the light of the setting sun gilding the brown leaves 
 all round them, and they plodding their way heavily 
 along the narrow path. 
 
 Cowdray Park is a romantic spot, not only in its 
 present aspect but in its past associations. To the left 
 are the South Downs, now looking very near at hand, 
 and " Chanctonbury Ring," just above Worthing, can 
 be very plainly seen. Some old oak-trees skirt the 
 path, and all around there extends a solitary region,
 
 122 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. ix. 
 
 wliich seems to speak as plainly as any historian 
 could do of the decay and extinction of some great 
 family wliicli once ruled as lords in all this part. The 
 past history of a place often seems to stamp some 
 outward mark or characteristic upon it, as the byegone 
 years leave their traces upon a man's face. As we cross 
 the public road in Cowdray Park, and go down the path 
 to the left hand, and mark the ivy-clad ruins in front, 
 the thick belt of trees still covered with the sad colours 
 of autumn foliage, the deserted aspect of the country 
 far away towards the South Downs, it is not possible to 
 prevent the thoughts wandering to a page of family 
 history as strange as any which the novelist can conjure 
 up. In a single month, the beautiful house of the 
 Montagues, and the last male heir to the line, perished 
 toffether. The house was one of the most famous in 
 the country — its walls were embellished with works 
 from the hands of Holbein and other masters, its 
 chapel was renowned for its beauty, and of the glory 
 of its banqueting hall we ma^^ still form a faint idea 
 from the traces which are left. The paintings on 
 the walls were preserved from destruction during the 
 civil wars by a coating of plaster. But everything was 
 destroyed by fire on the night of September 24;th or 
 25th, 1793, and within a month a strange fatality 
 befell the eighth Lord IMontague, who never heard of 
 the disaster which had overwhelmed the home of his 
 fathers. He was travelling in Switzerland, and deter- 
 mined to make an attempt, with a companion, to pass 
 the water-falls and rapids of Laufenberg. " The magis-
 
 A TUDOR ENGLISH MANSION. 
 RUINS OF COWDRAY — SUSSEX. 
 
 [Pagg 122.
 
 CH. IX. From Pctwo7'-th to Midhurst. 123 
 
 trates of the district," says one account, " having heard 
 of the resolution of these travellers, and knowing that 
 inevitable destruction would be the consequence of the 
 attempt, placed guards to prevent the execution of it." 
 But nothing could shake Lord Montague's purpose — of 
 old it would have been said that the dark fates were 
 resistlessly urging him on. As he was stepping into 
 his boat, his servant seized him by the collar and tried 
 to pull him out, but " his lordship extricated himself 
 with the loss of part of his collar and neckcloth, and 
 pushed off." They passed the first waterfall, Avaved 
 their hats and shouted in token of success, reached the 
 second waterfall, and — were never seen again. 
 
 Such is the contemporary account, and it has been 
 repeated with few variations in the different hand- 
 books. The falls are there described as those of 
 Schauff hausen, but \xl\\\q, Sussex Archceological Collec- 
 tion, vol. 20, p. 203, there is a paper by Sir S. D. Scott 
 which contains a letter written by M. Bossart, the 
 chief priest of the church of Laufenberg. In this 
 letter it is stated that an old resident of Laufenberg, 
 Johannes Roller, remembered the two Englishmen 
 attempting to pass the cataract, saw them upset, and 
 watched them swim to the spot called Oelberg, " and 
 there, in the so-called strait, they disappeared in a 
 vortex or eddy, and were never seen again ; nor were 
 their bodies recovered." The account goes on to say 
 that " the banks were crowded with spectators, but 
 nobody could save the Englishmen, who swam together, 
 endeavouring, as it appeared, to lay hold of the boat
 
 1 24 Field Paths and Green Lanes. cu. ix. 
 
 that was overset and floating along the current, but 
 they could not reach it. They sunk exhausted in the * 
 whirlpool into the depths, and the dog with them." 
 
 Thus perished the last Viscount Montague ; and it 
 may well be supposed that the double tragedy which 
 had befallen the family in less than a month was not 
 allowed to pass unimproved by village crones and 
 gossips. It was said that a " venerable monk " had 
 predicted the burning of the house and the drowning 
 of the last male heir, as a judgment for the alienation 
 of certain church lands. It is fortunate for other 
 families that this sort of "judgment " is not of common 
 occurrence. 
 
 The true story and the legends which have grown up 
 around it, cannot but be recalled with interest as one 
 stands before the ruins of Cowdray — still covering a 
 great space of ground, and enabling the visitor to form 
 a faint idea of the former splendours of the mansion. 
 The offices and outbuildings escaped the fire, and are 
 now used as workshops or barns. The outlines of the 
 banqueting hall and chapel have not been entirely 
 effaced by time ; the windows are still beautiful ; and 
 on one of the walls can be discerned faint traces of the 
 pictures which formerly covered them. But the ivy is 
 making sad havoc everywhere — tearing down the stone 
 and brickwork, and growing in such thick masses that 
 in many places it looks almost like a wood. It should 
 be cut away with a free and yet judicious hand. Ivy 
 does not make a building damp, as some people 
 suppose, but it undoubtedly helps to crack it. Sir
 
 CH. IX. From Petworth to Midhurst. 125 
 
 Edmund Beckett has a few lines on this point in his 
 "Book on Building." He says: — "It is well known 
 that nothing tends so much to keep walls dry as ivy ; 
 at any rate, west ones, against which the rain beats 
 hardest. I have heard of west rooms, rooms which 
 could never be kept dry, till they were covered with 
 ivy. It is also cool in summer and warm in winter. 
 But you must take care that ivy does not get into holes 
 or cracks in your walls, or it will split them to pieces 
 in time." 
 
 In front of the ruin there is a little bridge, and the 
 pathway over that will bring the visitor into the clean 
 and broad old street of Midhurst, which can boast of 
 having had a charter at least as far back as Richard 
 the First, and — what will perhaps be of equal interest 
 to the tired or hungry traveller — of being still able to 
 show one good inn (the " Angel ") where a fair dinner 
 and a comfortable night's lodging may be safely counted 
 on by all who need either.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FROM MIDHURST TO HASLEMERE AND GODALMING. 
 
 The Road to Hasltanere. — A Town half-spoiled. — " Mine Ease in Mine 
 Inn."'— IMackdown.— A Poet's Home.— The " Old Gentleman," 
 — Over Ilindhead.— Gibbet Hill and the Murdered Sailor. — 
 Tlie Devil's Puneh- Bowl.— Only a "Turnpike Road."— The 
 "Green Lanes" of England. — Thursley Church and Common. 
 — Last Stage to Godalming. 
 
 The road from Midhurst to Haslemere goes almost 
 due north, and for some distance lies embedded 
 between trees, and makes its way up a steep hill. 
 Althouofh the distance is not more than eight miles, 
 the walk will be found a sufficiently long one, for it 
 is all up and down hill from beginning to end. The 
 first view that cheers the traveller on his journey is 
 trained at a little over two miles from Midhurst, where 
 to the right the country suddenly opens ami enables 
 you to see as far as Horsham. " You may almost see 
 the trains going in and out of the station," said a man 
 on the road, but I am not prepared to testify that I 
 saw the arrival or departure of any passengers while 
 I stood there. A little farther on you come to Henley 
 Common, and then to Henley Hill, where a magnificent 
 view greets the eye — the weald far below, and the high 
 hills, or "mountains" as they used to be called, in
 
 CH. X. Jllid/iursl, Hasleiuere,& Godahning. 127 
 
 front. Blackdown here wears a most imposing appear- 
 ance, and no matter how far, or in how many lands 
 you may have travelled, you will be compelled to own 
 that you have witnessed few finer scenes than this. 
 Resuming the road, we reach a point where the boun- 
 daries of three counties are said to meet, and which 
 was once marked by an inn called the " Blue Bells " or 
 "Sussex Bell." The inn itself no longer exists. We 
 must now keep to the right in order to avoid being 
 carried down to Haslemere station, and here another 
 rather steej) hill presents itself. When this is sur- 
 mounted, the old town of Haslemere lies below us, with 
 Hindhead on the north, ending in a sort of cape, and 
 all around us lies the wildest and most romantic regions 
 of the beautiful county of Surrey. 
 
 The appearance of Haslemere has been greatly 
 marred by the new cottages and small houses which 
 have been erected in and about it — all of which are 
 very abominable in look, mere wanton desecrations of 
 Nature's exquisite work. What conscience or feeling — 
 let us not talk of taste — can a man have who outrages 
 his native land with these uncouth and detestable piles 
 of brick and mortar ? In old times, they built cottages 
 which were at least an ornament to the country, and 
 artists still make long journeys in order to sketch them. 
 The artists of the future are not likely to travel far for 
 the purpose of copying the homes of the labouring 
 classes which are now being sprinkled all over the 
 country. All taste in design, all sense of fitness, and 
 all regard for the surroundings of the house seem to be
 
 128 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. x. 
 
 deliberately sacrificed. On the outskirts of Haslemere, 
 towards the railroad, there are repulsive examples of 
 this barbarism. The old part of the town has not been 
 so much touched by the hand of the nineteenth century 
 improver. It is a rambling place, with several inns, in 
 not one of which can you depend upon getting a good 
 clean bed for the night. The " White Horse " is " not 
 what it used to be," the ostler told me, and for the 
 sake of those who have lodged there, I hope he is right, 
 for the bed on which I passed an uneasy night was 
 neither dry nor clean, and the tap-room just below was 
 filled with noisy drovers who had come to the market 
 that day, and who were now quarrelling, swearing, and 
 getting drunk over a game of dominoes. It was with 
 great relief that I turned out at daylight and got into 
 the fresh air once more. How glorious the whole 
 country looked under the beams of the early sun ! In 
 one direction the dark heath of Blackdown loomed 
 up like a cloud, while, in the other, Hindhead stood out 
 grandly in the morning light — 
 
 " tlie morn in nissct mantle clad, 
 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon hi<,'h eastern hill." 
 
 After a season of hard work, or an uneasy night, 
 haunted perhaps by sad dreams and gloomy presages, 
 what relief is there to be found like the sovereign balm 
 of the country ? Who has not felt the heavy load of 
 care lifted from his mind, as the mists are rolled from 
 the earth under the first warm rays of the sun ? 
 
 On mv return into the town I met a man driving
 
 CH. X. 
 
 MidJiurst, Haslemere, & Godalming. 129 
 
 some cows, and asked him whereabouts was Mr. Tenny- 
 son's house? "Tennyson," repeated he doubtfully, 
 "Tennyson? I never heerd tell of that name. There 
 is a Mr. Hodgson lives up there," pointing to Black- 
 down. For the credit of the Haslemere folk, I must 
 add that this man came from Midhurst, and perhaps 
 a poet's reputation can scarcely be expected to extend 
 in rural districts so far as that. Nor would local 
 ignorance of Mr. Tennyson's poems be surprising con- 
 sidering that I with difficulty found anyone in the place 
 who had ever heard of the " old beech tree," which 
 Murray's Handbook reports to be the "lion" of Hasle- 
 mere. I found this beech after some search, and to say 
 the truth it is, though old, not a particularly fine tree. 
 It stands a little off the London road, to the left, about 
 half-a-mile from the village, and does not look as large 
 as it is said to be — 20 feet in girth. 
 
 No one, of course, would dream of going to Haslemere 
 without paying a visit to Blackdown — a stretch of moor, 
 knee-deep in heath and ferns and wild flowers. The 
 views from the upper part are magnificent, and it is 
 not easy to realise that this wild spot, with so much 
 exquisite scenery around it, is only a little over forty 
 miles from London. In the most solitary part of 
 the moor or heath, slightly below the crest of the hill, 
 with all the southern country lying below it, stands 
 Mr. Tennyson's house. I had driven to Blackdown to 
 save time ; and the coachman told me that he had 
 no doubt I could go round and look at the house. 
 I asked if the family were there. " Oh, yes," said the 
 7
 
 1 30 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. x. 
 
 driver, " but never mind. The old gentleman docs not 
 like to see strangers about his place, but lie won't say 
 anything to you. In fact, he seldom speaks to any- 
 body, but goes walking about with his head down. 
 Writes books, I believe — not that I've read 'em. 
 Something about poetry, ain't they, sir ? " Such is 
 fame. The Laureate's house is lonely enough to suit 
 the tastes of the most confirmed aiichorite. On a fine 
 day, it must be a lovely spot — such a view as that which 
 extends southward is worth travelling many a long and 
 weary mile to see. But all days are not fine, and in 
 rain or fog, or when the piercing blasts of winter are 
 sweeping over the snow-clad and frozen licath, even a 
 poet's soul may long for the companionship of his 
 fellow man, and for a row of gaslights along a bustling 
 street. Mr. Tennyson does not, it appears, put his 
 love of Blackdown to quite so severe a trial, for he 
 o'oes to the Isle of Wight in winter. This close inter- 
 course with nature, this incessant communion with 
 her in the midst of all her beauties, have added, it 
 cannot be doubted, many a gem to the noble writings 
 of our great poet — who would have been justly deemed 
 great if he had never written anything more than 
 tKnone, Tithonus, and Lucretius. Some such morning 
 as this in October, when all the trees and ferns are 
 wearing the .signs of quick decay, and some such scene 
 as the half-savage one spread before us here, may have 
 suggested that pathetic complaint : — 
 
 " The woods decaj', the woods decay and ftill, 
 The vapours weep their hnrlhen to the ground,
 
 CH. X. Midliiirst, Haslemere, & Godalming. 1 3 1 
 
 Man comes and tills the field .and lies beneath, 
 
 And after many a summer dies the swan. 
 
 Me only cruel immortality 
 
 Consumes : I wither slowly in thine arms 
 
 Here at the quiet limit of the world, 
 
 A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream 
 
 The ever silent spaces of the East, 
 
 Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn." 
 
 From Haslemere to Godalming is a long walk, yet 
 for beauty I scarcely know of another which can be 
 pronounced equal to it. People who have only seen the 
 tamer parts of Surrey would be amazed if they could be 
 persuaded to take this most varied and delightful jour- 
 ney. The best way to go is to pass Haslemere church, 
 leaving it on your left, and then follow the road 
 straight before you. It leads to a common, from which 
 you can see Hindhead and Gibbet Hill directly in 
 front. The path upwards is a steep and solitary climb, 
 and as you reach the top of the hill which stands 
 between Haslemere and Hindhead, a picture reveals 
 itself which one would not be surprised to find five 
 hundred miles away, but which is startling when 
 one thinks that it is actually in the same county with 
 a large part of London, and comparatively a short 
 distance off. The sides of the hill are covered with 
 heath and ferns, adorned with all the varied colours of 
 the Fall ; sheep are scattered over it here and there, a 
 few foot-tracks wander up its side, like thin veins in a 
 giant's body, and a small farm or cottage stands quite 
 alone, almost at its foot. As you halt, and quietly peruse 
 all the details of this striking scene, you discern a green
 
 132 Field Paths and Gi'ccn Lanes. oh. x. 
 
 lane running up the liill and passing over through the 
 cleft. That is your road, and it is as well not to try 
 any " short cuts " with it, but keep to it in a friendly 
 way. Across the valley it Avanders in a rather un- 
 decided sort of manner, and then fairly settles itself 
 to its work, and goes straight up Hindhead. At every 
 step some new beauty bursts upon you. There is 
 not a human being near — but one house, a solitary 
 farm far away on the ridge of Hindhead, is to be 
 seen. To the left hand is Gibbet Hill, where two 
 sailors were executed for murdering^ a brother sailor 
 on the way to Portsmouth — as desolate and bleak a 
 spot as ever romancist dreamt of. A cross has been 
 erected here to mark the site where the dead male- 
 factors hung on the gibbet, and close to it is an older 
 stone with the remains of an iron staple in it. Can 
 this be a part of the gibbet ? In Macmillan's 
 edition of Gilbert White's " Natural History of Sel- 
 borne," among the " new letters " there given, I find 
 the following passage, written on the 1st of January, 
 1791 :— " The thunder storm on Dec. 23 in the 
 morning, before day, was very awful ; but, I thank God, 
 it did not do us any the least harm. Two millers in a 
 windmill on the Sussex Downs, near Goodwood, were 
 struck dead by lightning that morning ; and pai't of 
 the gibbet on Hindhead, on which two murderers were 
 suspended, was beaten down." The bit of old stone 
 and the iron staf)lo are far more suggestive of the story 
 than the new cross, with its "In luce spes," "Post 
 tenebras lux," and other affected and incongi'uous
 
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 cu. X, Midhurst, Haslemere, & Godalming. r ^ '? 
 
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 inscriptions. Cobbett says of Hindhead that it " is 
 certainly the most villainous spot that God ever 
 made." To the north are the frowning hills, and far 
 below the huge hollow known as the " Devil's Punch 
 Bowl/' into which the two murderers rolled the dead 
 body of their comrade. It is with surprise that in this 
 lonely waste one sees, between the Devil's Punch Bowl 
 and the top of the hill, a fine, broad, and well-kept 
 road, nor is that surprise diminished when you come 
 upon it, and find that it is as hard and smooth as any 
 road in a private park can possibly be. There are very 
 few marks of wheels to be found upon it, but abundant 
 traces of sheep. This is the main Portsmouth road, 
 and to anyone who knows what the roads are in 
 country places, and even in large towns, throughout 
 the United States, this splendid thoroughfare must 
 seem one of the greatest curiosities in England. For 
 the traffic of London Bridge might be driven along it, 
 and even in tliis steep and wild country it is kept in 
 the most perfect order. I declare that I stood looking 
 at that road in amazement for pretty nearly a quarter 
 of an hour, and I am inclined to think that if I had 
 stayed there till now I should not have seen anybody 
 or anything coming along it in either direction. Will 
 the tide of English summer travel ever again turn 
 towards England itself? 
 
 It was now possible to keep on this road to Godalming ; 
 but observing a green lane just across it, apparently 
 a continuation of the one I had come thus far upon, I 
 determined to take it. The country now begins to show
 
 1 34 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. x, 
 
 more signs of life and cultivation, and a comfortable- 
 looking farm here and there is dotted about the 
 hollows. I had faith in my green lane, although it 
 needed strengthening occasionally by a glance at the 
 compass, for it carried me farther and farther away 
 from houses, fields, and even the sound of a sheep-dog. 
 These " green lanes " are among the most curious fea- 
 tures of English scenery — they are still travelled over 
 by drovers and others, but the grass grows thick upon 
 them, and I have wandered along them for days in one 
 part and another Avithout meeting a solitary creature, 
 either two-legged or four-legged. One might easily 
 imagine oneself far away in a land which had been 
 deserted by reason of pestilence, or swept bare by the 
 sword. 
 
 The lane branchinof off from tlie Portsmouth road ends 
 by bringing you safely out to Thursley, four miles from 
 Haslemere ; and it would be hard to say where another 
 four miles of such scenery can be found anywhere 
 within a hundred miles of London. Thursley makes a 
 very satisfactory termination to this stage of the journey. 
 You first see in front of you a primitive cottage with a 
 porch at the door, and then a good old church. It 
 seems a great place for pigs, for pig-sties line both 
 sides of the road like an avenue ; and as all the dogs in 
 the village came out to salute me, and two young ladies 
 in the churchyard looked at me as if I had dropped 
 suddenly from a balloon, I inferred that strangers are 
 not very common in that part of the world. Among 
 the gravestones there is one to the memory of the poor
 
 CH. X. 
 
 Midhurst, Haslcmere, & Godalming. 135 
 
 sailor who was murdered on Hindhead. At the top of 
 it there is a rude representation of three men com- 
 mitting the murder, and below an "appropriate in- 
 scription " and a " copy of verses." We learn from the 
 latter that the sailor was killed on the 24th September, 
 1786, by "three Villains, after he had liberally treated 
 them, and promised them his further assistance on the 
 road to Portsmouth." The doleful history is further 
 described in the " poem " : — 
 
 " On bended knees I mercy strove to obtain, 
 Their tliirst of blood made all entreaties vain." 
 
 The view from this stone across to the Hog's Back 
 is more attractive than the elegiac stanzas, and with 
 that one's researches in Thursley may fitly end. The 
 road now winds round to the left, past the shell of an 
 old pollarded tree ; and when you get through " the 
 street," it is necessary to turn to the right, and go on 
 till you come to the common, where another green 
 path, though necessarily, from its situation, less pic- 
 turesque than the one above, makes itself visible near 
 the public road. This path finds its way round by a 
 pond, marked on the map as " Hammer Ponds." At a 
 short distance further on, we come out again upon the 
 Portsmouth Road which we left up at Hindhead — a 
 grand road indeed, along which it is easy now to 
 reconcile oneself to travel the rest of the journey, 
 especially as there is no other way. Through Milford, 
 a pleasant village, lying near these wide and attractive 
 commons, and past the railroad to some more venerable
 
 136 Field Paths and Green Lanes. ch. x. 
 
 cottages, a little inn or two, and then a queer old 
 market house and a long narrow street. Here we are 
 at last in Godalming, after a walk such as you could 
 scarcely find in any land save England, even though 
 you searched the wide world round.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DORKING AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 
 
 A Good Old. Surrey Town. — The "Marquis of Granby " and old 
 Weller. — The Dorking of To-day and a Hundi-ed Years Ago. — 
 Dorking Fowls. — The Scenery in the vicinity. — "Mag's Well." 
 — A Quiet Road np Box Hill. — Brockham and Betch worth. — 
 The Holmwood. — "Walton Heath. — The Mickleham Downs. — 
 Pixholm and Milton Lanes. — Ranmore Common and Church. — 
 Over the Common by Moonlight. — Pickett's Hole. — "Wotton 
 Church.— " Land Hunger."— Bury Hill and the " Nower." 
 
 Most readers of " Pickwick " will remember that 
 when poor old Weller made that fatal blunder with the 
 widow, it was in the ancient town of Dorking, at the 
 "Marquis of Granby," that he settled down. There the 
 memorable scenes took place between the " shepherd," 
 Sam Weller, the mother-in-law, and "Old Nobs." 
 There are inns without number in Dorking, but there 
 is no " Marquis of Granby " among them. It is 
 generally believed that the " Old King's Head ". was 
 the tavern which Dickens had in mind when he drew 
 the picture of the comfortable, old-fashioned bar in^ the 
 twenty- seventh chapter of " Pickwick." It stood on 
 the site of the present post-office, and some portions of 
 the building still remain at the back. There was 
 formerly a coachman named Weller in Dorking, who
 
 i^S Field Paths and Grcni Lanes. en. xi. 
 
 drove tlie coach, and afterwards the omnibus to the 
 station, for many years. This estabhshes a sufficiently 
 strong relationship between Dorking and " Pickwick," 
 and a more recent writer, Colonel Chesney, has made 
 the name of the town familiar to thousands who have 
 never seen it. I have an American friend who, rely in o- 
 upon the hazy ideas of history which fill the heads of 
 the common run of people, is in the habit of saying, 
 " Of course you remember the battle of Dorking ? 
 Well, this was the very place where it was fought ! " 
 It is astonishing how many persons there are who do 
 not feel themselves in a position to throw any doubt on 
 this sanguinary engagement. 
 
 That Dorking is an old town is very well known to 
 all who have looked into its history. The relics of 
 former times which still remain in it have been effec- 
 tually disguised by paint, whitewash, and modern im- 
 provements. Some years ago, a very picturesque and 
 venerable house, which originally belonged to a Dutch 
 family, was pulled down, greatly to the regret of Mr. 
 Henry Hope, of the Deepdene, Avho would have pur- 
 chased it had he known of its destined fate. The 
 chief attraction of the town now is the beautiful sceneiy 
 wdiich surrounds it. The whole district for miles 
 around is rich in trees, wild flowers, and ferns, and the 
 most melodious of our songbirds so abound that in 
 spring and early summer there is a perpetual concert 
 going on in the open air from sunrise to dusk. Black- 
 birds, starlings, thrushes and skylarks are as thick as 
 sparrows in a London park, and from many a wood the
 
 cH. XI. Dorking and its NeighboiirJiood. 1 39 
 
 sonof of the nicjlitinsiale thrills the listener in the 
 stillness of the night. I heard the skylark singing 
 till the 16th of November, when some rough weather 
 set in, with hard frosts at night, and there was silence. 
 In the Redland woods the nightingale may be heard 
 all day as well as all night. 
 
 The lover of trees will find plenty of occupation for 
 him in every direction. The yew and the beech flourish 
 marvellously in this chalky soil, and there are many 
 fine oaks, limes, and chesnuts in the neighbourhood. 
 The pine woods of Wotton have long been famous. 
 Those who have seen the hill-side of Denbies, in the 
 full flush of autumn, if only from the railroad, are not 
 likely to forget the splendour with which it is clothed, 
 especially at moments when the sun strikes upon all the 
 varied colours of the foliage. As for the climate of the 
 place, not very much can be said in its praise ; it is soft 
 and enervating in summer, while in the autumn and 
 winter the mists hang heavily over the valley. 
 
 The toAvn still answers well to a description of it 
 which I happened to turn over in the "Gentleman's 
 Magazine" of May, 1763. In little has it changed, 
 although most of the estates round about have 
 passed into different hands since then. "The town," 
 says the writer, "though not large, is well filled with 
 
 inhabitants Thoudi no manufacture is carried 
 
 on here, yet a gi-eat deal of business is done with 
 regard to many necessary articles of life. The streets 
 are wide and open, and from its natural situation the 
 town is remarkably clean." This is just as applicable
 
 140 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. xi. 
 
 to Dorking as if it had been written yesterday. The 
 shops are unusually good, and several of them are kept 
 by men whose range of reading and general information 
 would do honour to any career in life. Brayley's 
 "History of Surrey" was wholly printed in Dorking 
 by Mr. Ede, who was a chemist and "perfumer" as 
 well as printer, and who made more money by his 
 bottles of scent than by his " History." In the latter 
 enterprise, indeed, he is said to have sunk over £10,000. 
 " In the summer season," continues the writer above 
 quoted, " there is a great resort of gentry from London, 
 who come to feast on water sousee ; the mill ponds 
 which are numerous, being well stocked with perch, and 
 there being also exceedingly fine carp and tench." I am 
 sorry to say that I do not know where I can recommend 
 the visitor of the present day to go for " water sousee," 
 although the proprietor of one or other of those 
 excellent old fashioned inns, the "White Horse" or 
 "Red Lion," might find it not unprofitable to revive 
 the reputation of the town for the one dish which it 
 brought to perfection. The Dorking fowls are, beyond 
 doubt, more delicate in flavour than any others, but 
 the casual visitor who orders one is more likely to get a 
 bird from London than a true "Dorking.'' The old 
 breed is now kept up with some care by the school- 
 master of St. Paul's, Rosehill — most of his fowls are 
 partridge-coloured, and have the proper number of 
 toes, five, which characterise this variety. "I have 
 seen capons about Christmas," says the writer of 1763, 
 " which weighed between seven and eight pounds each
 
 I 
 
 z 
 z 
 
 OS o 
 
 2 : 
 
 S M 
 
 u o 
 X 
 
 X a 
 
 o * 
 
 2 £ 
 
 2
 
 CH. XI. Dorking a?id its Neighbourhood. 1 4 1 
 
 out of their feathers, and were sold at 5s. a-piece." A 
 Christmas capon of that weight would now be very 
 cheap at three times the price. The market is de- 
 scribed as appearing "much less considerable than it 
 is, because a custom has long prevailed of selling all 
 the corn in the public-houses of the town where it is 
 lodged." It is just the same now. Thursday is market- 
 day, but no one who looked round the streets would 
 suppose that any market was going on. The cattle 
 market is no longer held, and the corn market, if such 
 it can be called, is chiefly carried on at the " Three 
 Tuns," an old-fashioned inn just opposite the " Red 
 Lion." Perhaps a drunken man or two more than 
 usual may be seen about the streets on Thursday 
 evening ; that is the only sign of the flourishing trade 
 of Dorking. A relic of old times still survives in the 
 custom of kicking a football from one end of the town 
 to the other on Shrove Tuesday. The shops are all shut 
 up early in the afternoon, and the ball is started from 
 the passage leading to St. Martin's Church. The game 
 is now, however, chiefly appropriated by "roughs." 
 
 Mr. TJrban's correspondent is among the very few 
 writers who have made any mention of "Mag's Well," a 
 spot which the compilers of all the local guide books have 
 passed by without a word. It is the charmed spring of 
 the district, and lies not far from the tillage of Cold- 
 harbour, There is a walk to it from Dorking, over 
 fields all the way, starting from Bury Park, and 
 crossing the road at Milton Lane. It is not possible to 
 give written directions which would enable a stranger
 
 142 Field Paths and Green Lanes. cu. xi. 
 
 to fiud the well, but some of the older iuhabitants may 
 be trusted to point out the way. Two of the fields 
 which you cross are covered in June witli the bee 
 orchis {Ophrys apifera), but the plant is not to be 
 found beyond or around them. Throughout the walk, 
 however, wild-flowers flourish in profusion. The well 
 itself lies in a wood, and it may be reached by a turn- 
 ing from the Coldharbour road. The supply of water 
 was never known to fail, in winter or summer. It still 
 has a certain repute among the older inhabitants of 
 Dorking for medicinal properties. The writer in the 
 " Gentleman's Magazine " says " that the waters, used 
 outwardly, are found to be veiy salutary in scorbutic 
 cases, and when taken inwardly are said to purify the 
 blood." So also in Manning's "Antiquities of Surrey," 
 (i, 598) I find similar (pxalities ascribed to the spring. 
 It is "neither cathartic nor emetic, as Mr. Aubrey had 
 been taught to believe, but of great purity, uncommon 
 coldness, and, outwardly applied, detergent. Dogs 
 from the neighbourhood are frequentlj'' sent hither to 
 be washed for the mange, and with good effect ; and 
 there are instances of extraordinary cures performed by 
 it in cutaneous and even scrofulous disorders." The 
 only virtue now ascribed to the water is that of being 
 good for sore (or weak) eyes, and I have heard of 
 persons sending long distances for it in bottles to be 
 used for that infirmity. When I made a pilgrimage to 
 the well, I found the water, as Manning says, "of 
 uncommon coldness " — like iced water — and I was 
 told that though boys sometimes go there to bathe in
 
 cH. XI. Dorkmg and its NeighboiLrhood. 143 
 
 the small reservoir of brick which has been built, they 
 are obliged to jump out almost as soon as they jump 
 in. This discourages the visits of the younger genera- 
 tion to the well, and the path to it is familiar to very 
 few. 
 
 There are many other walks round about Dorking 
 which are not generally known, and which any good 
 pedestrian will easily discover for himself. But the 
 beaten track is not to be despised. Box Hill may be 
 taken in the midst of the summer season, when scores 
 of visitors are ascending it from the path near the little 
 hotel at Burford Bridge, in such a way as that the 
 crowd may be entirely avoided. To accomplish this, 
 the carriage-drive must be followed to the point at 
 which it turns for the first time, where a thicket of box 
 will be seen straight in front. Through that thicket 
 the visitor may pass to the top of the hill, by a path 
 completely sheltered from sun or rain, and quite un- 
 known to the ordinary holiday-maker, for no trace of 
 his destructive march can be found — not even a sand- 
 wich paper or a broken bottle, whereas those interest- 
 ing relics are as plentiful in other parts of the hill as 
 bones in a rich barrow. 
 
 Turn which way you will on going out of doors, those 
 objects abound which are dear to the heart of the 
 Englishman wherever his lot may be cast, whether in 
 bis own land, where he can enjoy them, or under foreign 
 skies, where the recollection of them will at many an 
 unexpected hour sharpen the pang of exile. There are 
 the thick hedges, the green trees, the church tower
 
 144 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, cn. xi. 
 
 grey with age, the cheerful farm or homestead, the old 
 timbered cottage. The air is full of the faint scent of 
 flowers and the songs of innumerable birds. Even if no 
 longer journey be undertaken than a walk to Reigate — 
 six miles — there will be much to interest the traveller. 
 The way to go is through Betchworth park, which is 
 entered at a little gate not far beyond the " Punch Bowl." 
 The magnificent Spanish chesnuts, which were fine 
 trees even when the park was first enclosed in 1449, 
 will awaken admiration at any season of the year. In 
 summer they afford refreshing shade ; in the autumn 
 they cover the ground beneath them with chesnuts, 
 and people come from far and near to gather them. 
 The path beneath these trees leads to a carriage-drive, 
 and just on the left hand is another gate, which opens 
 into a less frequented part of the park. There, within 
 sight of the road, is a noble double avenue of limes, 
 one of the grandest and most beautiful sights in Surrey. 
 A few hundred yards beyond the end of this avenue 
 the remains of Betchworth Castle may be found, almost 
 hidden among shrubs, ivy, trees, and a thick under- 
 growth of wood. The scene is quiet and solitary, and 
 not without its softening influences when the dead 
 leaves are i-ustling mournfully in the air, around the 
 fragments of what was once a stately castle. Near it 
 are two ancient yews, which flourished when the castle 
 was in its pride, and now stand over its wreck. Still 
 further on by the river Mole is Brock ham, which can 
 boast of a charming village green, and of many a strange 
 old turning and winding path near the " sullen " stream.
 
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 cH. XI. Dor kino- and its Neighbourhood. 145 
 
 Just past the ancient cottage which stands at the corner 
 of Brockham Green, a field-path entices you gently on 
 to Betch worth, a village which strays hither and thither 
 in a desultory fashion, and is chiefly hidden away 
 behind high walls and trees. When you think that 
 you have walked all over it, you turn a corner, and 
 behold, there it is still straggling aimlessly on in 
 another direction — you see an inn such as Moreland 
 used to paint, a group of crumbling cottages, a melan- 
 choly church and churchyard, with the weed-covered 
 and neglected grave of Captain Morris, who sung the 
 praises of " the sweet shady side of Pall Mall." Then 
 the road passes pleasantly on to Keigato, where the 
 recollection of ruins and churches vanishes at the sight 
 of a good dinner at the " White Hart," or of a party 
 of pretty girls playing croquet on the lawn. 
 
 The Holmwood, formerly a haunt of the red deer, is 
 one of the numerous commons which may be found in 
 this part of the country, and many a good walk may be 
 had upon and around it. An excellent way of reaching 
 it is to go through the wood known as the " Glory," 
 just above Rose Hill, and to continue through the fields 
 at the bottom. The path either to the right or left 
 will lead to the Holmwood Common. The walk to the 
 old church is a very good one, or a longer excursion 
 may be made to Ockley or Capel, both rather pretty 
 villages. There is a delightful walk in another 
 direction which ought on no account to be overlooked. 
 Go past Burford Bridge and along the road till you 
 come to Juniper Hall, which may easily be known by
 
 146 Field PatJis and Green Lanes. cii. xi. 
 
 the large and beautiful cedar trees in its grounds. 
 There is a road which turns to the right by the side of 
 "Juniper." If you take this, and keep to the right, it 
 will bring you out upon Headley Heath, a wide space, 
 from which practically one common opens into another 
 for miles — the splendid heaths and downs of Headley, 
 Walton, Banstead, and Epsom, are all to be enjoyed 
 in the course of a long ramble. From Headley Heath 
 the course may be shaped to Epsom, or a return to 
 Dorking may be made by Box Hill — a beautiful walk 
 of nine or ten miles. On another day, the visitor may 
 go again as far as Juniper Hall, take the same road by 
 the house, but at a very little distance up he must turn 
 off sharp to the left. This will bring him out upon the 
 Mickleham Downs, and give him a beautiful walk to 
 Leatherhead. Or he may go to that comfortable old 
 town through Mickleham village and Norbury Park — a 
 very pretty road — or take the longer round over Ran- 
 mere Common described in another chapter. It may 
 with truth be said that the beautiful walks within seven 
 or eiirht miles of Dorking are almost endless in number 
 and variety. But it must be repeated that in this con- 
 sists the sole attraction of the place. There are few 
 families in the neighbourhood, except those of the large 
 landowners, who visit only uith each other. Dorking 
 is not a gi-owing place, and it is not likely to become so 
 while residence there is equivalent to complete isola- 
 tion in the midst of beautiful scenery. Returned 
 "colonists" and others are apt to think that a town like" 
 Dorking is the very place to settle down in, but they
 
 CH. XI. Doi'king and its Neighbourhood. 147 
 
 make a great mistake. They, of all others, are the 
 least fitted to stand the weary strain of the small and 
 narrow tone and depressing social atmosphere of such a 
 spot. After an active life in the busy world, a man 
 who came to live in Dorking would perish miserably 
 of utter boredom and dry rot. 
 
 In Dorking, and yet so much apart from it that the 
 casual visitor scarcely knows of its existence, is a very 
 pretty lane, with two old timbered cottages in it, which 
 must have been standing there for generations. From 
 the Box Hill station of the South Eastern railroad, a 
 path may be seen running across a field, on the left 
 of the station as you come out. This will lead to an 
 old mill and pond — one of the ponds which formerly 
 supplied the material for Dorking's "water sousie." In 
 this pond, and in another on the Betchworth road, 
 there are good jack to be caught at times. The 
 cottages adjoining the mill are ancient, and with the 
 huge mill-wheel close at hand, and the pond just 
 beyond, we have a corner well worthy the attention of 
 the artist. Higlier ujd the lane is another old cottage, 
 picturesque as an object of the roadside, as most of 
 such cottages are, but far from being what house 
 agents call an " eligible place of residence." In the 
 summer they look perfect — but in cold and wet weather 
 they are almost as damp as an " eligible house " 
 which I once went to see at Addlestone, and which I 
 found had two or three feet of water in its lower floors 
 during the winter. It was built over springs, and 
 nothing could keep the water out. On sea or on land.
 
 148 Field Paths and Gi'ecn Lanes. cu. xi. 
 
 it is Dot prudent to begin a long voynge with two or 
 three feet of water in the hold. The lane of which I 
 have just spoken is called Pixholm lane — pronounced 
 " pixeni " — and should the visitor desire to see some 
 other specimens of ancient cottages, he may find 
 several in Milton Lane, close by Milton Heath, and 
 adjoining Bury Park. 
 
 Among the chief attractions of this neighbourhood 
 must be ranked the "Denbies" and all the locality 
 surrounding it. A path across the field, seen from 
 the station, leads into a road close by the lodge gate 
 of Mr. Cubitt's house. A little beyond this gate is 
 another and smaller one, from which a narrow path 
 ascends straight to the top of the hill, and comes 
 out just opposite the post-office on Ranmore Common. 
 The Common at another point may be reached by a 
 shorter cut. After entering the path close by the 
 lodge, open the first gate you come to on the right 
 hand. Cross the road, go through the gate opposite 
 and either follow the road right out upon Ranmore 
 Common, past the beautiful deep dell or ravine, or take 
 a path which you will see on your left, a few yards 
 from the gate. This winds through a very pretty 
 wood, with glimpses of the valley here and there on the 
 way, and eventually brings you out upon the carriage- 
 drive to the house. Turn to the right, and you will 
 soon find yourself upon the common. A road or path 
 opens out in front of the upper lodge gate. Follow 
 that, and it will take you to a small piece of water, 
 from whence a green path strikes off to the right, and
 
 CH. xr. Dorking and its Neighbourhood. 149 
 
 this will lead you all across the common in a northerly 
 direction. At the end, a road branches to right and left 
 — by that to the right you may make your way to 
 Great and Little Bookham ; by that to the left, to 
 Chapel Farm and West Humble. Chapel Farm 
 derives its name from the ruins of an old chapel, said 
 to have been used by the Canterbury pilgriais. These 
 ruins are now very slight, much of the stone having 
 been carried off by enterprising local builders. 
 
 The church whose spire, piercing its way through the 
 trees, forms a landmark for miles around, lies close 
 beside the road on Ranmore Common, and althoucrh 
 small — quite large enough for the population here- 
 abouts — it is gi-aceful without and beautiful within, 
 one of the most worthy achievements of Sir Gilbert 
 Scott. It is evidently built to last, and affords another 
 proof that good workmanship may still be had if 
 anybody will take the trouble to insist upon getting 
 it. The interior has been lavishly decorated, and the 
 pulpit and communion-table are alone well worth 
 going to see. In the church-tower there is a fine peal 
 of bells, which send their soft and pathetic strains far 
 and near over the surrounding country. What sound 
 is there which recalls faint memories of the distant 
 years like the chimes heard from afar across the hills 
 and fields ? Lucky is the man in whose mind no sad 
 thoughts mingle with the recollections which those 
 echoes awaken ! The beauty of the church, and the 
 musical tones of its bells, are in harmony with the 
 gr-een and peaceful graveyard— not yet an overcrowded
 
 150 Field Paths aJid Green Lanes. ch. xr. 
 
 and gloomy city of the dead, but rather like a garden 
 which is tenderly cared for, with wild flowers and 
 grasses inviting the mother and the child to step aside 
 and renew their recollections of the beloved who sleep 
 ])elow. 
 
 Northward from Ranmore on a clear day, the Crystal 
 Palace, and some of the greater towers of London, with 
 the heavy body of smoke resting over the huge city, 
 may easily be descried ; and at sunset it is a grand sight 
 to see the wide expanse of hill and vale suffused with a 
 violet light. No one who has the opportunity should 
 fail to start from Hanmore for a walk on a moonlight 
 night. Then the whole country seems to be wondrously 
 transformed. Box Hill looms up in the east, with 
 streaks of silver dashed all athwart its dark summit. 
 The leaves and branches of the trees, especially when 
 autumn has thinned the foliage, are pencilled out in 
 the soft light like the most delicate lace- work. No 
 one who has not paused to gaze at a fine tree, which 
 stands between himself and the moon, can tell how fairy- 
 like is its beauty. It reveals all its outlines in bold 
 relief, like some picture seen in a spectroscope. If, 
 after emerging upon Ranraore Common, you turn to 
 the right, and keep close to the hedge all the way, 
 many a tree will present itself in this bewitching light. 
 The road descends rather sharply, and eventually turns 
 through a gate into a wood — always to the right. This 
 will soon bring you out to some fields, where in summer 
 time the corn and barley are waving in the breeze, 
 Witli Box Hill to your left, you may now return to
 
 CH. XI. Dorking and its NeighbotLrhood. 151 
 
 Dorking through acres of ripening grain, and will 
 presently mark a hilly field in which stand four grim 
 old yew-trees, keeping watch over the upland. A 
 weird, unearthly look they have under the moon, like 
 the ghostly sentinels which the poet saw pacing a long- 
 forgotten battle-field. One of them has been struck by 
 lightning, and although dead, yet stands fast, seeming 
 to lift its bare arms in wild remonstrance to the skies. 
 A long line of yews once marked the Pilgrims' way to 
 Canterbury, and on many a lonely slope of these hill- 
 sides, that line may still be traced, as we shall see in 
 other walks. 
 
 How many visitors to Dorking have ever been to 
 Pickett's Hole ? Even the guide books say little or 
 nothing about it. There is no walk in all this part 
 better worth taking. From the Post Office on Ranmore 
 Common, the road runs due west. Even in July, a 
 fresh and invigorating breeze is most likely to be found 
 sweeping over this fine common. There are few farms 
 or cottages to be seen, and yet the handful of in- 
 habitants look upon Ranmore as a place of some 
 importance, and will scarcely acknowledge that they 
 live in the country. They are like the printer far out 
 West. His office was almost the only house for miles 
 around, but when he hung out a sign on the branch of 
 a tree for an apprentice, he was careful to add the 
 important qualification, ''A boy from the country 
 preferred." However, if Ranmore is not actually the 
 country, we are certainly near it when we come to a 
 gate which completely shuts off the road to Horsley.
 
 152 Field Paths and Grccii Lanes. cu. xi. 
 
 Co through the gate, and take the green path wliicli 
 you will see immediately to your left. A thoroughly 
 rustic path it is, with a border of wild flowers and 
 grasses on each side of it. Presently you will come to 
 a place where two gates stand opposite to each other — 
 pass through the one to your left hand, and bear round 
 to a meadow in which you will observe a foot-track ; 
 keep closely to this ti'ack, although it has a suspicious 
 appearance of leading to nowhere, and before long a 
 lovely view will burst upon you. Close beside you is 
 a yawning gulf, — the sort of place generally associated 
 in the minds of country folks with a far more depraved 
 and dangerous being than the unknown " Pickett'" 
 could ever have been. The gorge is dotted all over 
 with stunted shrubs and bushes, and in front, across the 
 valley, are the dark woods of Wotton, Avith the old 
 church peeping through the trees — as fair a scene as 
 even the county of Surrey has to offer. 
 
 Towards this old cliurch the walk should now be 
 directed, down the hill towards the brick railroad bridge 
 (not the w'ooden one), with the plantations of " Wood 
 Town " in front. The lover of nature will not be 
 disposed to quarrel with this domain of the Evelyns, 
 although a man whom I once met upon the railroad 
 bridge was apparently not by any means satisfied 
 with it. 
 
 " Fine view ? " said he, in reply to a remark from 
 me. " Well, I don't call it. so. I don't tliirdc it at all 
 fine to look over miles of land which is kept up for a 
 selfish purpose, and does no good t(.) man or beast."
 
 CH. XI. Dorking and its Neighbour Jiood. 153 
 
 Here, thought I, is one of those noisy demagogues 
 who make out their country to be the worst on the face 
 of the earth, without taking the precaution first to see 
 how another would suit them. 
 
 " I suppose this man's land is his own," said I. 
 
 " I don't know so much about that — very few of these 
 large estates would bear closely looking into, in my 
 opinion. They were got in queer ways, I can tell you 
 that, and are chiefly held by men who look upon the 
 labourer as they would on a dog. What right has any 
 man to hold thousands of acres of land ? " 
 
 ' The same right that you have to that coat on your 
 back — that is, supposing you have bought and paid for 
 it." 
 
 " Excuse me, sir : where do you come from ? " 
 
 " Come from ? Oh, all sorts of places. From America 
 last, if it will do you any good to know." 
 
 " Fi'om America ? Well, now I believe the land is 
 open to anybody there — to one as well as to another ? " 
 
 " No doubt, if you have money enough to buy it. 
 I never had any offered to me there for nothing." 
 
 " And here, two-thirds of the whole country are in the 
 hands of a few lords and squires — one man owns over 
 125,000 acres. Do you know that, sir? " 
 
 Yes, I had heard of that. My man seemed to have 
 got the figures pretty pat. 
 
 " Now, do you call that right ? " 
 
 " Pray, Avhat are you ? " I said. 
 
 " I keep a shop at Guildford." 
 
 "Indeed? I wish I did. Shop-keeping is the only
 
 1 54 Field PatJis and Green Lanes. en. xr. 
 
 thing a man can make money at now-a-days. Well, I 
 dare say there are some people in Guildford who would 
 like to have your shop, and wish much to get you out 
 of it and themselves in. What would you say to 
 them ? " 
 
 " Say ? Why I should say they were quite welcome 
 to my shop if they liked to pay for it. Why not ? I 
 am ready to sell it to you or to anybody else ; and it 
 ought to be the same with the land. What I say is 
 that if you offer a fair price for the land you oucjlit to 
 have it, and that a few hundreds of men ought not to be 
 allowed to monopolise all England. Why should not 
 land be as free here as it is in America ? " 
 
 " I have told you before that you cannot get it there 
 without paying for it. And no man would be obliged 
 to sell his land to you unless he liked." 
 
 "But it is easy to get it there." 
 
 I could only assure my friend that I had known a 
 good many persons who had not found it at all an easy 
 matter, although they had worked hard for it all their 
 lives. A man may be as well off in a shop in the 
 homely town of Guildford as in a log hut in the back- 
 woods, if he only knew it. 
 
 Wotton Rectory is enough to make one forget all 
 the troublesome questions arising out of that " land 
 hunefer " which is not confined to Englishmen. It 
 stands half-hidden from the road, and a little way 
 beyond it is the church where John Evelyn lies buried ; 
 a grey old church, deeply embosomed among trees, 
 and defended by a colony of rooks, detachments of
 
 AN ENGLISH COUNTRY CHURCH. 
 WOTTON, SURREY 
 
 [Pa^re 155.
 
 CH, xr. Dor kins' a,nd its N'eip'kdourhood. 155 
 
 which fly out screaming with anger at the intruder. 
 It is a dark and damp Uttle church, having within it 
 some interesting memorials of the Evelyn family, but 
 not otherwise a tempting place to linger in. The porch 
 is large and curious, but near it, half blocking up the 
 park, is a great ugly brick grave — a dismal object. 
 The high trees outside necessarily give the church a 
 dark and melancholy aspect ; and if the visitor should 
 chance to attend service there on a Avet Sunday, as I 
 have done, with the rain dropping heavily from the 
 branches, and the daylight almost shut out, and a 
 number of sleepy villagers nodding on the benches 
 around him, he will find his spirits very much subdued, 
 and a presentiment will slowly creep over his mind that 
 some unutterable misfortune is about to overtake him. 
 Nor is it at all inspiriting to pass into the churchyard, 
 and behold numbers of long wooden boards stuck up 
 between two posts, and bearing in large letters the 
 warning, " Prepare to Die." Thus, in the midst of a 
 summer's walk, when the thoughts are turned with 
 thankfulness to Him who made these beautiful hills, 
 and clothed them with verdure, and has spared us thus 
 far to delight in them, poor Betsy Stubbs and Giles 
 Gibbs from below ground must needs wail forth their 
 ghastly memento mori. 
 
 ' ' Time driveth onward fast, 
 
 And in a little while our lips are dumb." 
 
 Is not the tale told plainly enough in all that we see 
 going on around us, without the raven note of these 
 poor rustics who have long been at rest ?
 
 156 Field PatJis and Gi'ccii Lanes. en. xr. 
 
 The turnpike road between Dorking and Guildford 
 is hard by the church, and the return to Dorking may 
 either be made through the grounds of the " Rookery," 
 or by Westgate and Bury Park. Tliat park, at least, 
 ought to excite no discontent in any mind, for it is 
 always most generously thrown open to the public by 
 its owner, ]\Ir. Barclay. In front of the house is an 
 artificial lake which contributes to the view the sole 
 feature of beautiful scenery which is lacking throughout 
 the rest of the district — that of water. The river Mole 
 can very rarely be discerned from a distance in this 
 valley, and makes no mark in the landscape. This 
 want has been ingeniously supplied at Bury Hill. In 
 these grounds, also, are many rare and beautiful trees, 
 and vast beds of rhododendron. Then in the park 
 there is the " Newer," a spot which must be dear to the 
 memory of every man or woman whose early life was 
 passed in Dorking. From this gentle eminence, covered 
 with ferns and green turf, there is a striking view of 
 the old town and of Box Hill, and beyond through the 
 Mickleham Valley ; Avhile to the south the eye wanders 
 over Holmwood Common, and far away towards the 
 distant haze in the landscape, where the waves beat 
 perpetually against this " precious stone set in the 
 silver sea."
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 TO LEITH HILL BY WOTTOX. 
 
 Two Hundred Miles of Old England.— The Eoad to take.— A Colony 
 of Sand Martins. —The " Rookery."— Wotton and John Evelyn. 
 — The Healing Virtues of Trees. — How to "Corroborate" the 
 Stomach and make "Hair spring on Bald Heads."— A Carefully 
 Guarded House. — Friday Street. — The Old Sawyer. — "Age is 
 Unnecessary." — Through the Pines to Leith Hill. — An Excur- 
 sion for a Lomloner. — Abinger Hatcli. — The "British Grum- 
 bler." — Farming in Colorado. 
 
 It is just possible that a man may go up Leith Hill 
 for the first time, and find the two hundred miles of 
 country, which are said to be visible from that point, 
 spread out like a map before him. But this would be 
 an unusual stroke of good fortune. The chances are 
 that a curtain of mist, more or less thick, will be drawn 
 over a large part of the scene. When the atmosphere 
 is favourable, ten or eleven counties may be made out, 
 and the sea is faintly reflected through Shoreham gap. 
 Even if the distant view is lost, the -country near the 
 hill is so full of charms, that the visitor will never 
 think his time and trouble throw^n away. Let him go 
 down among the heath, and wander about the hollows 
 where wild-flowers and ferns make these deserted 
 places bloom like a garden, and he will not care to
 
 158 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cu. xii. 
 
 strain his eyes to ^ct a glimpse of the distant sea. 
 The view from the tower on the top of the hill will 
 enable him to make out a pathway through even the 
 wildest part of the heath. For that tower we owe our 
 thanks to a Mr. Hull who built it for the benefit of a 
 rather ungrateful public, who have amused themselves 
 ever since by breaking the windows in it, and scratching 
 their names upon its walls. Mr. Hull, not anticipating 
 all this, desired to be buried in his tower, and there 
 accordingly he was laid to rest above a hundred years 
 ago. But the " neighbouring gentry," thinking perhaps 
 that he might get out, took it into their heads to brick 
 up the tower; and when it was resolved to re-open it 
 a few years ago, it was found that the " bricking up" 
 process had been done so effectually, that neither pick- 
 axe nor crow-bar could make the slightest impression 
 upon it. Another tower was therefore tacked to the 
 old one, and a woman may generally be found there 
 in charge of it, able to supply the visitor with such 
 gently stimulating refreshments as ginger-beer or 
 lemonade. 
 
 About two miles from Dorking, just below the hill 
 leading from Westgate, there is, at a turn of the road, 
 a large sand-bank full of martins' nests — many colonies 
 of martins may be seen in this part of the country, but 
 this is one of the largest and most conveniently placed 
 for purposes of observation. A little beyond this bank 
 there is a gate from which a very pleasant path for 
 pedestrians, as well as a bridle path, runs through the 
 grounds of the " Rookery " — a house in which " Parson
 
 cH. XII. To Leith Hill by Wotton. 159 
 
 Maltlms " was born, and which is now occupied by Mr. 
 Fuller, a banker. The house itself has nothing to boast 
 of, but the deep woods and lovely gardens amid which it 
 is placed make it an interesting spot, and it is always 
 much pleasanter to walk through this estate than along 
 the turnpike road. In point of distance there is not 
 much difference between the two, but the road is dull 
 and hilly, whereas the grounds of the " Rookery " are 
 charminsf. The trees, whether seen from far or near, 
 have all the appearance of forming part of a large and 
 natural forest, and in early summer the gardens in 
 front of the house are ablaze with rhododendron — a 
 favourite plant in Surrey. The path, at all times open 
 to the visitor, winds round very close to the house — so 
 close as to suggest the idea of trespass, with all the 
 pains and penalties which wait upon that dark crime. 
 But it is all right — the visitor need fear nothing. 
 From the house the path goes up a slope and through 
 a lovely green wood, and then passes across a field into 
 a carriage drive. We are now on the Tillingbdurne 
 estate, and the visitor may please himself whether he 
 will go by Broadmoor to Leith Hill, and see a small 
 waterfall — a pretty road enough — or by Wotton. The 
 latter is by far the best route. Having, then, come out 
 at the carriage drive, turn to the right, and go straight 
 on till you reach the inn known as Wotton Hatch, 
 on the main road to Guildford. The lodge gates of 
 Wotton are a little beyond the " Hatch," but go along 
 the road till you reach a stile on the left hand, leading 
 to a meadow. Get over, and from thence a few
 
 1 60 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, ch. xir. 
 
 minutes' walk will place you full in front of Wotton 
 House, on the only liij^h ground from which a good 
 view of the whole of it can be obtained — whereas if 
 you turn in at the lodge gates, and follow the carriage 
 drive, the effect is spoiled by your being led to the 
 house on the lowest level, and at the point where it is 
 least worthy of admiration. 
 
 Wotton is an irregular red-brick mansion, largely 
 modern, having big patches stuck on it here and there 
 with a sublime disregard of plan, harmony, or effect. 
 It looks somewhat like a gentleman's house turned 
 into an infirmary, and stands on the very lowest part 
 of the estate, so that from every point the water must 
 drain down towards it. The central part alone is 
 connected with the memory of John Evelyn. The 
 author of Sylva and the well known Memoirs was 
 much attached to the house, as well as to his " own 
 sweet county of Surrey " in general, the beauty of 
 which perhaps struck him all the more because of 
 his long residence at Deptford. There is no countiy 
 near Deptford which can afford to be looked upon 
 the same day as Wotton. No wonder, therefore, that 
 Evelyn delighted in the home which only became his 
 when he was some distance advanced on the journey 
 of life. " I will say nothing," he writes in his Diary 
 (Vol. I. pp. 2, 3) " of the ayre, because the prseeminence 
 is universally given to Surrey, the soil being dry and 
 sandy ; but I should speake much of the gardens, 
 fountaines, and groves that adorne it, were they not 
 as generally knowne to be amongst the most natural
 
 CH. XII. To Lcitli Hill by Wotton. i6i 
 
 and (till this later and universal luxury of the whole 
 nation, since abounding in rich expenses) the most 
 magnificent that England afforded, and which indeede 
 gave one of the first examples to that elegancy since 
 so much in vosrue, and follow'd in the managing of 
 their waters, and other ornaments of that nature. Let 
 me add the contiguity of five or six Manners, the 
 patronage of the livings about it, and, what is none 
 of the least advantages, a good neighbourhood." 
 When this was written the estate seems to have 
 been worth about £4,000 a year, and Mr. Evelyn was 
 evidently a good manager. A property was not likely 
 to deteriorate in his hands. He made an etching of 
 the house, which is given in the first edition of his 
 Me'TYiOiTS — scarcely any resemblance can be traced 
 between that and the present Wotton. 
 
 The gardens are formed in terraces at the back of 
 the house. There are many fine beeches on the estate 
 — one particular tree of unusual size — but the pines 
 lord it all over the rest. In one part there is a pine- 
 wood almost as deep and dark as the traveller may 
 find in Maine or New Hampshire. The author of 
 Sylva was a great admirer of the pine, and once 
 more proved that he was a shrewd business man, as 
 well as a great lover of the picturesque, in recom- 
 mending a more frequent planting of that tree than 
 was common in his day. He ascribed wonderful 
 virtues to it, and declared that its bark would heal 
 ulcers, and that the "distilled water of the green 
 cones takes awav the wrinkles of the face " — a dis-
 
 i62 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xii. 
 
 covery tliat cannot be generally known. " In sum," 
 ho says, " they are plantations which exceedingly 
 improve the air by their odorifei'ous and balsamical 
 emissions, and for ornament create a perpetual spring 
 where they are plentifully propagated." But the 
 squire of Wotton found wondrous medicinal properties 
 in other varieties of trees. Thus, an oil extracted 
 from the ash tree is good for the tooth- ache and 
 for "rot of the bones." Moreover, he confirms a 
 common superstition which lasted long after his 
 time, and perhaps lingers still in some parts of the 
 country, when he says — "I have heard it affirmed 
 witli great confidence, and upon experience, that the 
 ruptuie to which many children are obnoxious is 
 healed by passing the infant through a wide cleft 
 made in the bole or stem of a growing ash tree ; it 
 is then carried a second time round the ash, and 
 caused to rejiass the same aperture as before." Again, 
 we are assured that the water of the husks of walnuts 
 is "sovereign against all pestilential infections, and 
 that of the leaves to mundify and heal inveterate 
 ulcers." The "distillation of its leaves with honey 
 and urine makes hair spring on bald heads " — a queer 
 remedy for baldness, but doubtless quite as efficacious 
 as the mixtures which importunate hair-dressers try 
 to force ujDon every unhappy mortal whose head- 
 coverinff is deserting him. The fruit of the service 
 tree " corroborates the stomach;" the lime tree is "of 
 admirable effect against the epilepsy," and the distilled 
 water thereof is good for apoplexy and gravel. Wine
 
 CH. XII. To LcitJi Hill by WoUon. 163 
 
 J 
 
 made from the birch tree cures " consumptions," but 
 we are to understand that these remedies are only 
 recommended en ainiateur. "Quacking," says the 
 worthy man, " is not my trade ; I speak only here as 
 a plain husbandman and a simple forester, out of the 
 limits whereof I hope I have not uupardonably trans- 
 gressed." Certain it is that his injunctions as to the 
 duty of a landowner to plant trees are scrupulously 
 followed on his own property to this day. There are 
 no woods in the county finer than those of Wotton, and 
 the annual sales of timber on the estate must bring in 
 a very handsome sum of money. 
 
 The house contains many interesting relics, among 
 them the prayer-book said to have been used by 
 Charles the First on the scaffold. " The leaves are 
 stained with the king's blood," so I have been told by 
 one of the very few who have been permitted to see 
 the book. In the library there are many of Evelyn's 
 books and manuscripts, but the visitor need not hope 
 to see this room or any other part of the house. A 
 written request to be allowed this privilege does not 
 even receive the scant courtesy of an answer. Yet it 
 is not unreasonable for the pilgrim to wish to see a few 
 of the personal memorials of the man who knew 
 Charles the First, contrived to avoid suspicion during 
 the Protectorate, was intimate Avith Charles the Second, 
 saw James the Second fly from the throne, and was 
 among the first to kiss the hand of William. But the 
 door is closed in the face of all, gentle or simple, scholar 
 or peasant. The stranger, therefore, must make the
 
 164 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, ch. xii. 
 
 ■ " — , . I. .. ■ — 
 
 most of the road over which the public have a right 
 of way, and liis best phin is to take a path which 
 runs by the side of the house, and leaves it on the 
 right lyxnd. This affords an occasional glimpse of the 
 gardens, and leads out to a quaint and most interesting 
 spot called Friday Street, for which we may look in 
 vain on the one-inch ordnance map. Yet it is a 
 veritable street — a thoroughfare leading from one place 
 to another, but so primitive in all its " belongings " 
 that in coming upon it one seems suddenly to have 
 been put back a couple of hundred years in English 
 history. It lies in a sort of ravine, with a large pond 
 at one end of it, and beyond a few ancient and pic- 
 turesque cottages. It has a totally " untouched look," 
 and with its beautiful hills and trees, among which it 
 lies hidden like a village over which some wizard has 
 cast a spell, there is no place within the compass of a 
 day's journey which will more delight the lover of those 
 half-forgotten nooks and corners of " Old England," 
 now fast disappearing before the invincible march of 
 time and improvement. 
 
 " Fish, sir ? " said an old man whom I met in this 
 out-of-the-world street, "oh, yes, there are plenty of 
 them. Pike? No, trout — big trout, only no one dares 
 catch 'em. You don't get anything for nothing about 
 here. Ke (no name mentioned) says that he loses by 
 this 'ere estate, and that it costs more'n it's worth to 
 keep it up. Likely, ain't it ? But that's when you 
 want anything done to your cottage. Which road is 
 the best for you to take ? Let me walk with you, sir.
 
 CH. XII. To Leith Hill by Wot ton. 165 
 
 and sliow you. Oh, it don't matter, I ain't got nothing 
 to do. I was a sawyer up in them woods for five-and- 
 forty year, but now I'm losing the sight of my eyes, 
 and feel shiftless like. I've got one son out in New 
 York, so he can't do nothing for me. What part of 
 New York? Well, I can't rightly tell— I think in 
 Canady. He's a doin' well — they say you can have 
 your own cottage out there. If you pay for it ? Ah, 
 but here you can't have it whether you could pay for it 
 or not. Do you suppose lie would sell one of them 
 there cottages? Why should he, do you say, sir? 
 Well, I can't argy it, not being a scholard. I shouldn't 
 keer if only one of my eyes would last my time, but 
 I'm obliged to wear a patch over this 'ere left 'un 
 (pointing to it), because else something would nm into 
 him. He won't shut any more when he goes near any- 
 thing, and if I didn't cover him up he would run into 
 a tree or anything that came in his way. Have I any 
 young children? No, they are all growed up, and what 
 good am I to them ? I can't work any more, but (he 
 repeated this as if talking to himself) I shouldn't keer 
 if this 'ere left 'un would do a little while longer, but 
 he gets darker every day, and he would always be 
 runnin' into something if I didn't cover him up." Poor 
 old sawyer ! Lander's pathetic lines came into my 
 mind as I looked on his wrinkled and sorrow-stricken 
 face : 
 
 " Is it not better at an early hour 
 
 In its calm cell to rest the weary head, 
 "While birds are singing, and while blooms the bower, 
 Than sit the fire out, and go starved to bed ? "
 
 i66 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xn. 
 
 From Friday Street I struck up through the pine- 
 woods to the right, confident that they must bring me 
 out somewhere in the direction of Leith Hill. I had 
 taken the "bearings" of my destination before I 
 started, and in such cases as this there is no better 
 plan than to trust to the compass, and go on until you 
 reach the mark you are aiming at. You may wander 
 a little astray here and there, but are sure to come out 
 right in the end. The track in tlie fir-w'ood brought 
 me upon a high road, skirted with tall pines on each 
 side; and this I followed until 1 came to a keeper's 
 lodge on the left, and heathy ground stretching away 
 beyond it. Presently 1 detected another foot-track, 
 and several old cart-ruts through the heath. I cut 
 into the foot-track, and soon found myself wandering 
 over a sort of moor, with paths straggling away in 
 oj)posite directions. Into one or two of these I got 
 "switched off," and found that I had arrived at nothins: 
 more wonderful than a gravel-pit or a clearing where 
 they had been cutting wood and furze. I made, how- 
 ever, constantly for the rising ground wherever I saw 
 any, and at last the tower came in sight, and I steered 
 for that through thick brushwood and heath. Other 
 hills soon began to make their appearance — the familiar 
 range between Dorking and Guildford, Box Hill, and 
 then an immense landscape was suddenly unrolled far 
 below, with a few farms and churches at long intervals. 
 It was a clear day — only out by the horizon was 
 there a little mist, such as one may notice at sea 
 in the early morning before the sun has risen more
 
 cii. XII. To Leith Hill by Wotioii. ibj 
 
 than a few feet above the water. There are many fine 
 views to be had in the county of Surrey from various 
 points, but none so gi'and or majestic as this — it ahnost 
 takes away one's breath to look around, and see this 
 vast expanse of " mellow " English land, green and 
 beautiful wherever the eye rests upon it. It is a 
 picture which stamps itself indelibly on the memory, 
 but a man should no more try to describe it than he 
 should try his hand on Niagara or the Himalayas. 
 
 This wide-spread heath abounds with beautiful 
 Avalks, some leading down into deep hollows, others 
 into woods, and there is one road by which a carriage 
 may be driven close to the tower itself. No one should 
 fail to go to the top of the tower — the additional 
 elevation adds much to the extent of the view. A 
 glorious path over the hill leads to Coldharbour, a 
 villao'e able to boast of an almost unrivalled situation. 
 There is a grocer's shop, a very small place, with a view 
 from its windows which the owner of the proudest 
 mansion in England well might envy, and a httle farther 
 on the Coldharbour E lad is a plain but comfortable 
 little inn, where a modest luncheon may be obtained — 
 a pedestrian's luncheon, not fit for what the people call 
 " carriage folks." In August and September the whole 
 of Leith Hill, and the country round about it, is 
 covered with the purple bloom of the heath, and the 
 jaded Londoner would find it well worth his while to 
 spare a morning or an afternoon to run down and see 
 this beautiful sight. I will suggest to him a plan by 
 which he can easily manage it. Let him take the train
 
 1 68 Field Paths and Grcni Lanes, ch. xh, 
 
 from Victoria to Holmwood Station, and walk from 
 thence through Tanhiuht (Mr. Bosanquet's park) to 
 Leith Hill. Thcfre is no pos.sibility of mistaking the 
 road — Coldharbour may be seen from the platform of 
 the Holmwood Station, and the station-master will 
 point out a path across a field which brings you out 
 close to Tanhurst. From thence the road goes, with 
 exquisite views at intervals, to Coldharbour, and close 
 b}' the church is a path running up tlie side of Leith 
 Hill. Having spent an hour or so about the tower, a 
 path on the other side — there are two or three, but the 
 woman at the tower will show the right one ; it is 
 the widest — will lead through the jsines down to 
 Abinger Church, opposite to which there is a fine 
 specimen of an old-fashioned country inn, the "Abinger 
 Hatch." The sign-post in front of it is almost worn 
 away by time, and close by are the old stocks and 
 whipping-post, which were never used, because the 
 people of Abinger have always been so good. The 
 church has been restored, but forms a welcome object 
 in the landscape. The inn is just as it was when first 
 built, and when that was I do not know. I asked the 
 landlady, and she said it was very old — older than any 
 of the people about there. As a rule, this is about the 
 utmost idea of antiquity which I have found in the 
 minds of the occupants of old cottages or houses. " It 
 is very old — I have lived here fifty years," The inn at 
 Abinger is more than fifty years old, but very comfort- 
 able accommodation may still be found there. We. will 
 suppose the Londoner enjoying his luncheon in the
 
 CH. XII. To Leith Hill by Wot ton. 169 
 
 little parlour overlooking the pretty garden, and when 
 he is ready, he may take the road over the common to 
 the Gomshall Station on the South Eastern Railroad, 
 the entire distance between the two stations beinof 
 about seven miles, making ample allowance for a little 
 rambling to and fro on Leith Hill. By properly timing 
 his trains, any man may accomplish this delightful 
 excursion in the course of a summer's afternoon, and 
 how could he spend his time to greater advantage ? 
 Not by lounging about London streets, or chattering in 
 a club, or even by perusing the latest infallible dis- 
 quisition of our dear friend the " able editor." 
 
 The return journey to Dorking is best made by the 
 Coldharbour Road, past the " Plough Inn," for it is all 
 down hill, and only about three miles from the village 
 to the town. On this road I fell into conversation 
 with a man who was walking along by the side of his 
 horse and cart, and whom I found boiling over with 
 complaints about everything on the earth and above it 
 — a true British grumbler. The weather was bad — it 
 was a lovely day in June — and the crops were certain 
 to be bad ; England was not worth living in. " What 
 was the good of trying to farm in such a country as 
 this, where everything is either scorched up with the sun 
 or drownded with the rain ? " And so he went on. I 
 thought of a little account of farming in another land 
 which I had read a little while before, and whea I went 
 home I hunted it out, and read it again, and wished I 
 could hear what my discontented friend on the road 
 would have to say to it. It is from the Golden Tran-
 
 1 70 Field Paths and Green Lanes. 
 
 CH. XII. 
 
 sci'ipt, a Colorado paper, and altliougli the account of 
 farming difficulties in that rich state is written in the 
 half-comic vein so dear to the American journalist, yet 
 the difficulties themselves are not in the least ex- 
 aggerated. Thus it runs : " The farmers in the vicinity 
 are having a pleasant time now. At daylight they get 
 up and examine the holes around the corn-hills for 
 cut-worms ; then smash coddling moth larva3 with a 
 hoe handle until breakfast. The forenoon is devoted 
 to watering the potatoe bugs with a solution of Paris 
 green, and after dinner all hands turn out to chase 
 with Hail and broom the festive grasshopper. In the 
 evening, a favourite occupation is sitting on the fence 
 figuring how much they Avould have made had it not 
 been for the bugs, and after a brief season of devotion 
 at the shrine of the night-flying coleoptera, all the folks 
 retire and sleep soundly till Aurora reddens the east, 
 and the grasshoppers tinkle against the window panes, 
 and summon them to the labours of another day." 
 Life in England may have its drawbacks, but has any 
 man yet discovered the country where there are none ? 
 If so, I wish he would communicate with me.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM DORKING TO LEATHERHEAD. 
 
 A Roundabout Journey.— Over the Hills to Eanmorc— The Twin 
 Trees.— Lost in the Woods.— Polesden.— Box Hill in a New 
 Aspect. — High Earn. — Sentenced to Death. —The "Grand 
 Emporium "of Effingham. — A Much Rastored Church. — Little 
 Bookham.— The Church and the old Yew.— Across the Fields 
 to Great Bookham.— The Crown Inn.— Great Bookham Church 
 and its Monuments. — On the Old Portsmouth Road. — Leather- 
 head. 
 
 For those who want the shortest road between the 
 two towns above named, the walk now to be described 
 Avill never do. But if anyone desires to ramble for a 
 few hours over commons and hills and fields, with b\it 
 one or two little touches of a turnpike road here and 
 there, and a village occasionally to enliven the journey, 
 this is a route that he will find in every way satis- 
 factory. The total distance, making allowance for 
 straying out of the Avay occasionally, is about ten miles. 
 
 The first stage from Dorking is over Milton Heath, 
 and through the first lodge gate on the right-hand side 
 after crossing the heath. This leads round close to the 
 Elizabethan house which forms so picturesque an object 
 in the valley from any of the surrounding hills. This 
 house was once in great danger of falling to pieces
 
 172 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cu. xm. 
 
 through neglect and bad usage, but the grand old 
 staircase which it possesses attracted a purchaser nvho 
 was willing to save it. A narrow cart-road winds close 
 round by the hedge, leaving the house to the right, 
 and passing on to the raih'oad. It must in common 
 honesty be admitted that mud, much mud of a thick 
 and pasty quality, will be found in this road after wet 
 weather. The patli on the other side of the railway 
 goes straight up a rather steep hill, but the best plan 
 is to keep below the plantations, and ascend the slope 
 gradually. From this hill side there is a view of 
 Dorking wliich will be new even to many who know 
 the district tolerably well. The author of " Forest 
 Scenery" lays it down as a princijale that "a landscape 
 of extent and beauty will take the full period of a year 
 to show itself in all the forms it is capable of receiving," 
 and of no district can that remark be more true than of 
 this part of Surrey. Here, for example, is a portion of 
 the valley, the exact position of which must be well 
 known to every one who has visited the locality, and 
 yet there are probably not half-a-dozen strangers a 
 year who traverse it. As you mount the hill, the 
 landscape slowly discloses itself as if a screen were 
 withdrawn from the front of a picture — the whole 
 valley to Reigate is laid bare, and opposite are the 
 beautiful woods of the Ilookery. The entire country 
 side is covered with trees, and on the 2nd of last 
 November, when I took this walk, it was tinted with all 
 shades of colour, tinder the light of the morning sun. 
 The hedges and bushes were covered witli red berries,
 
 CH. XIII. From Dorking to Leather head. i'jt^ 
 
 from which the birds were making a merry meal, 
 and the song of the skylark was ringing in the air. 
 The breeze was fresh and invigoratiuff, the sun bright 
 and clear, most of the trees were still thickly clad with 
 foliage, and the country was as green as an emerald. 
 The summer itself had offered no lovelier day. And 
 yet there are people who will tell you without a blush 
 that the English climate is a bad one. 
 
 I have said that it is best not to go straight up the 
 hill from the railroad, but to keep on the slope till you 
 descry two or three cottages above you. This involves 
 a few yards of rough walking in places, but nothing to 
 make a fuss about. When you see the cottages, strike 
 upwards, for you will then be beyond Mr. Cubitt's 
 grounds. There is a track which will bring you out 
 at the little public-house on Ranmore Common, and 
 nearly opposite to that are three or four new cottages. 
 
 By the side of the last of these, westward, you will 
 see three green lanes or paths. The middle one is the 
 most direct, but Avho cares for that ? Who minds 
 being carried a little out of his way when the devious 
 path has anything to show which is worth seeing ? If 
 the visitor here will do as I did, he will take the last of 
 the three paths — the one which runs nearest to the 
 road, and starts off nearly west. A little way up this 
 green lane, there is a curiosity which will detain the 
 tree-lover a few moments on his road. It is a yew tree 
 growing out of an oak, and it may be found on the 
 left-hand side of the path, in a sort of circle formed by 
 smaller trees. Where the branches of the oak begin to
 
 1 74 Fiela Paths and Green Lanes, on. xm. 
 
 spread out from the trunk, the top of the yew also 
 sends forth its branches, and pokes its way tlirough tlie 
 oak in all directions. The trunk of the yew — only a 
 few inches in diameter — grows, to all appearance, out 
 of the very roots of the oak, and at the ground the two 
 trees cannot be distinguished apart, except by the 
 different appearance of the bark. You could not, for 
 instance, put a sheet of paper between them. The yew 
 then grows straight up the trunk of the oak, and forces 
 its branches through those of its companion, making 
 substantially one tree. The contrast in colour alone 
 attracted my attention to these twins. A man whoin 
 I met close by said he had never noticed the tree, 
 although he had lived on Ranmore Common many 
 years. But how many country people are there who 
 ever do notice the trees, or can tell you the names of 
 any of them, except perhaps the oak and the elm ? 
 
 " You are pretty sure to lose yourself on this 
 Common," said the man with a grin ; " you will come 
 out at a very different place from what j'ou expect. 
 Everybody does." Lose myself? Well, I once managed 
 to do that, but in a very different sort of place to this. 
 I was up among the mountains in New Hampshire, 
 and had strolled off into one of the huge forests there 
 to see a waterfall, to which there was a narrow track, 
 covered over in many places with leaves and bushes. 
 I found the Avaterfall, and was on "my way back as I 
 thought, when suddenly I looked about me, and saw 
 at once that I had wandered from the path. Probably 
 I had not gone many yards, but in the " fdrest
 
 cH. xiir. Fro7it Doi'king to Lcatkerkead. 175 
 
 primeval," with bears known to be about (one liad 
 been seen close to the hotel only the night before) this 
 was quite enougli. In less tlian five minutes I had 
 tumbled down a hole three or four feet deep, which 
 had been hidden by the thick brushwood, had scratched 
 myself severely with thorns, and straggled into an 
 almost impenetrable mass of underbrush and large 
 trees.. I could not see the sky for the dense foliage, 
 and realised the unpleasant fact that I was lost. The 
 heat was stifling. The mosquitoes and other insects 
 set upon me in myriads. I shouted out to see if 
 anyone was within ear-shot, but no answer came. The 
 forest was in one of the wildest parts of the mountains, 
 and I knew very well that assistance of any kind was 
 out of the question. An hour passed away, and I had 
 only wandered into thicker woods than ever. I must 
 say that I have been in many places which I liked the 
 look of very much better than this ; but wherever one 
 may find oneself, on sea or land, there is nothing like 
 taking things quietly, and making the best of tliem. 
 Still, the fatigue of scrambling through thorns and 
 brambles nearly waist high, had produced a violent 
 thirst, and the heat had left not a dry thread on me. 
 After all, it seemed ju.st as well to wait where I was 
 until it should occur to me to do something, better 
 than go tumbling from one hole to another, and 
 bruising myself against trees. Presently, I heard 
 faintly the sound of water. I began to push and fight 
 my way as well as I could in that direction, but there 
 was nothing to guide me, and no one who has not
 
 1 76 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xm. 
 
 been in a similar predicament can judge how difficult 
 it is to tell whether you are going forward or merely 
 doubling back on your path. It was evident by the 
 increasing darkness that the day was closing in. But 
 I kept listening for the water, determined if I found 
 it to follow it down hill, and after what seemed an 
 age, I reached the waterfall itself, but at some point 
 above the place where I had left it a few hours before. 
 I now followed the water down, and in less than a 
 quarter of an hour struck the right trail again, kept 
 on it with rather more care than I had shown before, 
 and at last found myself on the mountain road once 
 more, half dead with heat, thirst, and weariness. All 
 this came of getting off the right track ; and thus this 
 proves to be a little story with a moral thrown in. 
 
 Beyond my twin trees, the path takes a dip into a 
 hollow, crosses a small ravine, and goes up the other 
 side in a north-westerly direction. A stray partridge 
 rises with a whirr, or a blackbird rustles out with his 
 foolish scream as you approach the bush where he 
 is digesting his ample breakfast of " hips-and-haws." 
 No other sounds Avill disturb you on this rather lonely 
 part of the common. A distracting number of paths 
 here open themselves u]), to the perplexity of the 
 traveller — some of them leading to clearings where 
 chopped wood is piled, and some to gravel pits. In 
 this case, as in many others, the path on which you 
 started is the safest, and although it will land you 
 plump against a fence, yet there is a cart road running 
 to the right and left of that fence, and if you turn to
 
 CH. XIII. From Dorking to Leatherhead. 177 
 
 the right you will find yourself ere long near a black 
 shed on the side of the road. From this point there is 
 a good view of Polesden, a house once occupied by 
 Sheridan, and often besieged by his duns. Since those 
 days it has been much improved. It stands in an 
 isolated position, but overlooks a noble expanse of hill, 
 dale, and moorland. Opposite the black shed, a path 
 may be seen winding round a tree, and running 
 diagonally across two fields. That is now our road. 
 When you come to the second field, you will be 
 rewarded with a fine and entirely new view of Box-Hill. 
 Ranmore Common, uneven and covered with trees and 
 ferns, lies to the right, to the left is the ridge with 
 Polesden adorning its side, and between is a deep and 
 well wooded gorge, while beyond all is Box Hill, with 
 its scarred face turned towards the spectator. The 
 whole scene is full of wild and rugged beauty. And 
 within ten minutes' walk there is a total change — a 
 change as great as if you had been transported a 
 hundred miles away on the magic carpet of the 
 Arabian wizard. The path which we have been fol- 
 lowing comes out upon the main road to Horsley, near 
 two cottages known as " High Barn," and there the 
 wide and open country lies extended before us, 
 stretching far away into Berkshire to the front and 
 left, and to the right over Epsom and Banstead Downs. 
 In the foreground are the villages of Efiingham and 
 Bookham. The hills have entirely disappeared, and 
 the whole country has chiinged suddeidy into smiling 
 fields, dotted with old church towers.
 
 1 78 Field Paths and Green Lanes, on. xin. 
 
 We now turn to the right, past the cottages. The 
 cries of a sheep were here so loud and plaintive that I 
 could not help asking a man in the garden what was 
 the matter, "Why Sir," said he, "we be a goin' to kill 
 him directly after dinner for the great house." " He 
 seems to know all about it." " Oh, no," said the man 
 laughing, " he don't know what's a comin', and it's best 
 he shouldn't." The doleful bleatings of the poor animal 
 proved that if he didn't know exactly what was "a 
 comin' " he had some very gloomy forebodings on the 
 subject. Presently Effingham came in sight, first intro- 
 ducing the " Prince Blucher" inn to one's notice, and 
 then a little further on, a siiop which was enough to 
 take one's breath away — a truly astounding shop, built 
 in a style of architecture for which they ought to take 
 out a patent, and crammed with everything that the 
 housekeeper could wish for, from mops and brooms to 
 hufje flitches of bacon. But the woman who was serving: 
 behind the counter did not seem at all proud, and 
 condescended to answer my question as to where I 
 should find the kejs of the church. She gave me a 
 direction which, as near as I could guess, would have 
 taken me somewhere in the neighbourhood of Brighton. 
 There was an old yew tree before the door, the lower 
 part of it cut to resemble a cannon ball, or it may be, 
 as more suitable to the place, a large Dutch cheese. 
 " You have a fine old tree, here," said I. " Yes," said 
 the woman, " very old ; it has been here ever since we 
 have been in the house." I quite believed her. The 
 church turned out to be the most dismally restored
 
 CH. XIII, Fro7n Dorhiiig to Leatherhead. 1 79 
 
 building conceivable — the tower has been made to look 
 like the stuccoed front of a new villa on the outskirts 
 of London, and a gang of common bricklayers and 
 plasterers seem to have been let loose in every direction. 
 Never was a poor church more abominably ill-used. 
 There are two or three old seats inside near the porch, 
 with the ^eur de lys carved at the top — perhaps relics 
 of the days when Walter de Jeddynges was lord of 
 Effingham in the fourteenth century. What would be 
 his feelings if he could see the church they have put 
 up on his former domains ? 
 
 Through the churchyard there is a path turning 
 down by the side of a wall, and then running pleasantly 
 across meadows, due east, until it brings you very unex- 
 pectedly upon Little Bookham churchyard. You see 
 nothing of that or the church until you have actually 
 opened the gate which leads into them. By the side, 
 separated by a wall, is what is called the Manor House, 
 an ugly, but possibly very comfortable, edifice. In the 
 churchyard is a large old yew, protected by an iron rail- 
 ing ten or twelve feet in height. The traces of Norman 
 arches and capitals outside are very clear and good, 
 and were only brought to light in 1864. The path still 
 goes on straight through this very small and retired old 
 churchyard, and across more fields to Great Bookham 
 — three quarters of a mile from its neighbour. The 
 visitor will notice fine fat barns and good big stacks 
 hereabouts, and other evidences of a land of plenty. 
 
 At Great Bookham there is an inn called the 
 " Crown." Here with some difficulty I succeeded in
 
 1 80 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, ch. xnr. 
 
 getting the homely refreshment of bread and cheese 
 and ale — each bad of its kind. A damsel who wore 
 spectacles, and who had a voice like a man's, and whose 
 hair was hanging doiwn her back, brought iii the repast, 
 and proceeded to pick a few hairs, which bore a striking 
 resemblance to her own, out of the butter. Meanwhile, 
 I examined the works of art upon the walls. The first 
 that struck me was a small engraving of the " Piazza, 
 Congress Hall, Saratoga Springs," evidently some thirty 
 or forty years old, for the fashions of the ladies depicted 
 in the engraving were not by any means like those 
 which I have seen exhibited by the young beauties at 
 Saratoga. "Pray how did this picture come here?" I 
 asked. The beautiful creature with the spectacles sus- 
 pended for a moment her employment of picking sam- 
 ples of her back hair out of the butter, and said, "It 
 was there when we came here" — identically the answer 
 that one gets everywhere about everything, from a tree 
 to a picture. I next admired a spirited lithograph re- 
 presenting the " Attempt of John Francis to assassinate 
 the Queen, May 80, 1842." We are here shown John 
 Francis attired in a fashionable frock coat, buttoned 
 round the waist within an inch of his life, and the 
 queen and the prince seated in a " shay," pointing out 
 the landscape to each other, in utter disregard of John 
 Francis, who is calmly blazing away at them with a 
 pistol. The " shay " is drawn by four horses, all on 
 their hind legs. I was anxious to buy this sweet 
 picture, but the young woman sternly refused to sell it. 
 I now requested her to remove the butter to some
 
 CH. XIII. Fr07n Dorking to Leatherhead. iSi 
 
 distant apartment, munched my dry bread, and speedily 
 found my way into the street again, without the lock 
 of hair which ray fair friend had clandestinely tried to 
 thrust upon me. 
 
 I discovered that Mr. Ragge, a saddler up the street, 
 had the keys of the church, and although Mr, Ragge 
 was a somewhat austere man in aspect, as a saddler is 
 very apt to be, he at once handed me the keys. The 
 church is an interesting one, and contains some curious 
 brasses and monuments. An inscription in the wall 
 near the communion-table, which looks as if the letters 
 had been recently cut, sets forth that the chancel was 
 built by " Johanue de Rutherwyka," Abbot of Chertsey, 
 in 1341. Near this is a monument evidently designed 
 to perpetuate the memory of some Roman gladiator, 
 although the name of " Colonel Thomas More " is by 
 mistake inscribed upon it. Then there is a long epitaph 
 on a brass plate inserted in the south wall, descriptive 
 of the virtues of Edmund Slyfield : — 
 
 '* A. iustice of ye Peace lie was from ye Syxt Kynge Edward's dayes, 
 And worthely for vertves vse dyd wyn deserved prayse." 
 
 This excellent person died in 1590, and the plate bears 
 witness that — 
 
 " Thaire Eldyst sonne Henry this cavsde to be made, 
 In FaythfuU performans of the will of the Dedd." 
 
 While I was copying these lines, raps, cracks, and 
 bangs were going on thick and fast all round me, and 
 at last I came to the conclusion that Mr. Slyfield had
 
 1 82 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xm. 
 
 some message to communicate to me. Once the organ 
 gave a loud thud as if a stop or two had been pulled 
 out, and it was about to perform a " voluntary." Then 
 a pew just behind me went off with a crack, and was 
 instantly answered in an overbearing manner from the 
 pulpit. As I closed my book, a general chorus of 
 crackings and creakings broke out all over the church, 
 and many mysterious shapes appeared. Some people 
 may think that these shapes were only the monuments, 
 but as honest Izaak Walton says when he is relating the 
 story of the" ghost which appeared to Dr. Donne, "I 
 am well pleased that every reader do enjoy his own 
 opinion." 
 
 From Great Bookham there is a tolerably direct road 
 to Dorking, by Ranmore — 5 miles ; a road by the 
 " Crown " to Leathcrhead, by Fetcham — 1\ miles ; and 
 a road above the village (the old Portsmouth road) also 
 to Leatherhead, the same distance. I chose the latter, 
 because it affords the best views. The farm labourers 
 were getting the fields ready for the winter's wheat, the 
 birds were singing in the bushes and trees, and the 
 only objectionable thing to be seen was a being of my 
 own species in the shape of a tramp. He staggered up 
 as well as much strong drink would permit him, and 
 begged for " assistance." " What for," I asked — " to 
 enable you to get more drunk than you are now 1 " "I 
 haven't tasted a drop for a fortnight, guvner," replied 
 the man, who could scarcely stand upright. " I can't 
 get anything to do." His way of looking for work 
 reminded me of the " loafer " in Vermont who was
 
 CH. XIII. F^'om Dorking to Lcatherhead. 1 8 
 
 1 
 
 hired by a farmer to dig some potatoes* Presently the 
 farmer went out, and finding him lying down smoking, 
 began to reproach him. "All right," mumbled the 
 man, "if you want your potatoes dug, just fetch 'em 
 on ! I ain't going to run all over the lot after them." 
 Followed by a tempest of curses from the industrious 
 tramp for refusing to give him more drink-money, I 
 once more had the old Portsmouth road all to myself, 
 and presently saw Leatherhead a little below me, with 
 its church looking like the tower of some old fortress 
 flanking the hill, and two red houses beneath it, and a 
 group of miserable " Building Society " cottages at the 
 back — and the homely meadows closing in around it 
 on every side.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TO GIJILDFOUn OYER THE IIILES. 
 
 The Merits and Defects of this Walk.— A Long Green Lane. — The 
 Beech Wood. — A Hard I>oad to find. — IMisleading Finger 
 Posts. —A Lonely Path. — Due AVest through a Wood. — New- 
 land's Corner. -St. Martha's Chapel.— The Last Dilliculty.— 
 Guildford. — Queer Guests at the Angel. 
 
 There are many things to be .said in favour of tliis 
 walk, and a few to be set down against it. In the first 
 place it runs almost entirely along the top of the hill, 
 and that in itself is a great attraction. But anyone 
 who stands in the valley, and looks along the range of 
 hills leading to Guildford, would naturally suppose that 
 the prospect must be extensive and varied almost 
 through the entire distance, whereas you get very few 
 views unless you make long and perplexing sweeps from 
 the proper track, and if you do that, the twelve mile 
 walk will very easily be turned into one of sixteen. 
 For the greater part of the journey, the lovely scenery 
 which stretches far away on each side of the hill is as 
 completely shut out from eye-sight as though the 
 traveller were not within a thousand leagues of it. 
 You have the " green road," with hedges and woods on 
 each side, but it runs far back from the brow of the
 
 cii. XIV. To Guildfoi'd over the Hills. 185 
 
 hill, and there is only the great prize of Newland's 
 Corner to lure you on. But many who start on this trip 
 fail to come out at that famous spot, and so they miss 
 the chief glory of the walk, and thenceforward are fain to 
 hide their heads when Newland's Corner is mentioned. 
 Some travellers might think it an objection that the path 
 is very solitary, although I have nothing to say against it 
 on that score. But there are persons who would dislike 
 being four or five hours on a road m,uch shut in by trees, 
 without the chance of meeting a single human being, 
 or of coming upon a house of any kind where even a 
 glass of water may be obtained. If a man gets thirsty 
 on this journey, especially on a hot day, he will wish 
 that he had never been born, or had been " changed at 
 nurse." Yet to the true lover of the countr}', or to 
 anyone who wants to get out of the way of the world, 
 and have an uninterrupted talk with himself, this 
 green lane, twelve miles long, may be very safely 
 commended. 
 
 The best way is to start from Dorking, and to make 
 for Ranmore Common by the narrow path, already 
 described, just beyond the lodge gates. Having come 
 out opposite to the Post-office, the people about— if you 
 meet with any — will tell you that it is a " straight line " 
 to Guildford, but before you have reached your journey's 
 end you will be of a different opinion. I started off 
 betimes on a fine morning towards the end of July to 
 do this walk, in the hope that the day would turn out 
 cool and pleasant, since there had been a stiff north 
 wind blowing all night. But long before ten the sun
 
 1 86 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xiv, 
 
 burst out in a great hurry, and made up for a little 
 lost time that day by producing a temperature which 
 would have done no discredit to Calcutta. By that 
 time, however, I was a couple of miles on the journey ; 
 and, as I hate to turn back when once I have started 
 off, I determined to push on and take my roasting. 
 And a pretty thorough roasting it proved to be — most 
 people may remember that the summer of 1876 was 
 rather hot, and this happened to be one of the very 
 hottest days of that summer. More than once in the 
 course of that tramp I would have given a good price 
 for a bottle of soda-water, but between Dorking and 
 Guildford there is nothing whatever to be had except 
 fresh air and plenty of trees, and one cannot drink 
 them. 
 
 The road over Ranmore Common must be followed 
 as far as the point described in the walk to "Pickett's 
 Hole," and then the next turning to the left must be 
 taken — a broad green lane, on the main road to East 
 Horslcy, a little below the gate which shuts off the 
 Common. The green road cannot well be missed, for 
 at this part it is nearly as wide as Fleet Street. " Keep 
 on that and you can't go wrong," said a man who was 
 tying up faggots on the Common. But like most other 
 right roads in life, it is far easier to get off it than 
 to keep on it. Sometimes one strays away without 
 knowing it — sometimes you stand looking at two or 
 three paths exactly alike, and wondering which is the 
 right one? For although the "course" is west, yet 
 sharp bends have sometimes to be made to the north,
 
 cH. XIV. To Guildford over the Hills. 187 
 
 and any man who tries to find his way without a 
 compass will most certainly go wildly wrong. Even 
 with it, the traveller must be on his guard lest he is 
 tempted by promising-looking roads down to Horsley 
 on one side, or Shere on the other, or get all adrift on 
 the Downs. Yes, yes — the " right road " is a puzzle 
 here as elsewhere, whereas the wrong one is provokingly 
 easy to find ; so easy that no one who looked for it was 
 ever yet known to miss it. 
 
 Very soon the green lane — it is thickly overgrown 
 with grass, like a field, although marked with some 
 deep old cart-ruts — leads into thick woods, where you 
 see rabbits scuttling off by hundreds, and squirrels 
 climbing nimbly from branch to branch. The birds are 
 almost as thick as flies — chiefly blackbirds and thrushes. 
 There is a grove of beeches to the right, wonderfully 
 green and beautiful, and throwing so deep a shade that 
 it seems twilight underneath them. The local tradition 
 is that thei-e are many ravens in this beech grove, but 
 I made several visits to it and never saw any. The 
 trees are among the finest I have anywhere found. 
 Why should not the leaves of this tree be restored to 
 their ancient use ? Evelyn's testimony to their excel- 
 lence as a stuffing for beds has been confirmed by other 
 waiters. The autlior of Sylva says : — " But there is yet 
 another benefit which this tree presents us; its very 
 leaves, which make a natural and most agreeable canopy 
 all the summer, being gathered about the fall, and 
 somewhat before they are much frost-bitten, afford the 
 best and easiest mattresses in the world to lay under
 
 1 88 Field Paths and Gircn Lanes, en. xiv. 
 
 our quilts instead of straw, because, besides their.tendel-- 
 ness and loose lying together, they continue sweet for 
 seven or eiglit years long, before which time straw 
 becomes musty and hard." He adds, " In Switzerland 
 I have sometimes lain on them to my great refresh- 
 ment." It would be interesting to know if beech- 
 leaves are still used in this manner in any part of 
 rural England, or whether it is simply one of the old- 
 fashioned customs which have given way to new ones 
 not half so good. All through this part of Surrey the 
 beech flourishes in all its glory, and a more beautiful 
 object than a fine beech it would surely be hard to find. 
 I hope there are not many who share the opinion ex- 
 pressed by Mr. Gilpin in his "Forest Scenery" (i. 45), 
 that "upon the whole the massy full-grown lu.xuriant 
 beech is rather a displeasing tree." 
 
 As the road passes between belts of beeches or oak, 
 the traveller will meet with no one, and hear no sound 
 save the twittering of birds, or the sharp crash of the 
 woodman's axe in tlie distance. At about five miles 
 from Dorking, there is an opening from which a beauti- 
 ful view to the southward is to be obtained, and it 
 is not unwelcome after a longish stretch of country 
 bounded by trees and hedges on each side. Here, too, 
 the road becomes as bron.d as any turnpike road, quite 
 green, and very wild and picturesque. Presently, how- 
 ever, it narrows again, and several paths of pretty much 
 the same general appearance go bearing away from it 
 in variou.s^ directions. It is easy to avoid those which 
 break abruptly off to the south or north, but it requires
 
 fit. XIV. To Guildford over the Hills. 1 89 
 
 some firmness to resist the allurements of the paths 
 which sidle a little away, and seem to have as good a 
 claim to your confidence as any other. In my case, 
 however, I determined to obey the compass, and I still 
 kept my face to the west, and considered myself re- 
 warded presently when I reached a finger-post Avhich 
 pointed straight on " to Guildford."' But finger-posts 
 are not always to be trusted by the pedestrian, for they 
 naturally direct to the turnpike road, which it may be 
 his very object to avoid, and indeed a bad case of the 
 sort occurs in the course of this very journey, as will 
 shortly apjiear. 
 
 Beyond this point some cultivated fields came in 
 sight, and the road began to look more like a common 
 turnpike. Perhaps the finger-post misled me ! At 
 any rate, the road was running due west. But, alas ! 
 at a distance of seven miles, it took a sudden sweep 
 downhill to the south, and downhill I was determined 
 not to go until I reached Guildford, come what might. 
 What was to be done ? There went the road to the 
 left — to the right was a farm track ; directly in front 
 was a grove of tall pines, and a wood beyond. I hesitated 
 a few moments, compass in hand, but as the needle 
 plainly indicated that if I took to the wood I should be 
 on my proper course, I resolved to push into it and 
 take my chance of finding my way out again. Steer- 
 ing once more for the west, I passed through some 
 hick trees and underbrush, and in a short time came 
 out upon a broad green road again — the very same to 
 all appearance as that which I had left behind me
 
 190 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xiv. 
 
 where the view liad been so welcome. Had I then 
 wandered from it, and now recovered it ? I had, and 
 have still, my suspicious on the subject. At any rate, 
 I made up my mind not to lose sight of it again ; and, 
 indeed, from this point there is no difficulty in keeping 
 a close grip of it. For at no great distance the traveller 
 will have the satisfaction of coming out at Newland's 
 Corner, and from thence he remains in the " open " 
 until his ramble is over, and has more than one land- 
 mark to show him which way his face should beset. 
 
 The view from Ne\Yland'.s Corner is inferior in extent 
 to the wide range commanded from Leith Hill, but it 
 has a winning character of its own, Avhich tempts one to 
 linger long over it, to sit down and enjoy it slowly and 
 peacefully, and make a feast of it. At Leith Hill, one 
 has a sort of restless desire to find out places — to look 
 for this or the other well-knowai hill or clump of trees 
 or church, and to get a glimpse of the far-off sea. But 
 at Newland's Corner the desire is simply to rest awhile, 
 and take it all in little by little — to let this fair handi- 
 work of Nature exercise its own spell over the mind. 
 "The whole scene," says Murray's Handbook for Surrey, 
 " recalls some wide-sweeping landscape by Rubens or 
 by Turner ; " and the comparison is a happy one. If 
 the visitor to this spot will look around him, he will see 
 something beside the view worthy of his attention — a 
 few ancient yew trees, still marking the line of the 
 path which was taken by the pilgrims to the shrine of 
 St. Thomas A'Becket at Canterbury when they came 
 from Southampton. This most interesting path we
 
 CH. XIV. To Guildford over the Hills. 191 
 
 shall cross many times yet in the course of our rambles. 
 The yew trees, which still define its outlines, are not 
 less curious in their way than the torn and broken 
 stones in Canterbury Cathedral, which point out the 
 spot where the great shrine stood three centuries and a 
 half ago. From the sides of the hill, other and younger 
 yews may be traced, down towards the Duke of North- 
 umberland's gardens at Albury, becoming thin and 
 faint in the distance, like a dark green thread. 
 
 Still keeping on the high ground, the view will 
 presently be found to open to the northward, disclosing 
 Windsor Castle in the distance. St. Martha's Chapel 
 is now not far off — a "chapel" which stands in an 
 isolated and even a melancholy spot, cut off from all 
 human habitations, and only to be reached from this 
 side by some rough up-hill work. Service is still held 
 in it once a month, but very few persons attend it. It 
 may be doubted whether it was ever used as a place of 
 general public worship. Manning thinks that it was 
 originally designed to serve as a chantry, and that it 
 was erected " over the graves of some Christians who 
 suffered on this spot." He truly adds that this supposi- 
 tion is the more reasonable since " it is not likely that 
 a place originally intended for the ordinary services of 
 religion should have been erected on a spot so difficult 
 of access." There seems to be little doubt that the 
 church was one of the three mentioned in Domesday 
 Book as belonging to the manor of Bramley. In ]463 
 an appeal was made for funds towards its repair, but it 
 fell into ruins, and the present building is compara-
 
 192 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xiv. 
 
 lively modorn. It forms a striking object in the land- 
 scape, from whatever point it may be seen, and doubtless 
 has often attracted the attention of travellers on the 
 railroad, who may have wondered what could have 
 induced anybody to build a church, which only a 
 climbing animal could reach witli comfort. 
 
 As soon as I had passed the chapel, the road began 
 to descend, and for the first time I submitted to its 
 guidance, and descended with it. And here the abiut}' 
 of the pedestrian to steer a good course will be tested 
 for the last time. The road winds due north, and a 
 finger-post astounds the traveller by pointing to ilmt 
 as the proper path to take for " Guildford and Stoke." 
 But I still had my doubts about the trustworthiness of 
 that other finger-post up above, and hence I surveyed 
 this one with mingled distrust and aversion. I did not 
 like its bullying way of pointing me down a road I did 
 not want to go. The map said, go west ; the post said, 
 go north. Which should it be? It is almost as serious a 
 thing to fly full in the face of a finger-post as it would be 
 to contradict an editor in his own room, or a parson in 
 a church. " To the west," however, I determined once 
 more to go, and I struck out boldly for it across a field, 
 leaving the swaggering finger-post at my back. It was 
 a very good thing to do, for I saved myself a long pull 
 along a dusty turnpike road. At no great distance the 
 path clearly made towards the town, and I came out 
 under the borough police station, near the " Angel " 
 Inn — a queer old inn, in which there are all sorts of 
 rambling passages and staircases, and a cosy bar in
 
 en. XIV, To Guildford over the Hills. 193 
 
 front of a clock dated " 1688," and low-ceilinged old 
 bedrooms up-stairs, among which you are pretty sure 
 to lose yourself. It is one of the relics of the England 
 of a past age — that England Avhich the wise men think 
 so poorly of, but which was quite as good a place to 
 live in as the England of to-day, all things considered, 
 and perhaps a little better. 
 
 A pleasant and comfortable town is Guildford, much 
 sought after as a place of residence by half-pay officers 
 and ladies with a " little in the funds," — a respectable, 
 though dull, community, "We have five admirals, 
 three orenerals, and I don't know how many colonels 
 and captains waiting here now for houses." Thus 
 proudly spake a house agent there, and the slight air 
 of contempt with which he referred to such common- 
 place persons as captains served to show what an im- 
 portant place Guildford is. Such a town as this in the* 
 United States would have three or four newspapers 
 published in it — here, I believe, there is but one. 
 Perhaps the English provincial journalist is more fasti- 
 dious than his American cousin, who sometimes finds 
 a newspaper anything but a source of wealth. "We 
 are out of meat, money, and other things. We are out 
 at elbow. We are out of patience." This was the 
 doleful complaint of an Arkansas editor, poor man, 
 not long ago. Another aspiring intellect in Ohio 
 boasted of having received one hundred and fifty new 
 subscribers, but added, "We want about two hundred 
 more subscribers; we need a new pair of socks." It 
 was a more fortunate journalist who published the
 
 1 94 Field Paths and Gree^i Lanes, en. xiv. 
 
 following triumphant leading article in a Tennessee 
 paper : " Halleluyer ! we've got a new shirt." Let us 
 hope that the craft drive a more flourishing trade in 
 this excellent town of Guildford. 
 
 While endeavouring to slake a raging thirst at the 
 "Angel," with sparkling hock and seltzer water, two 
 sunburnt and awkward-looking men entered the room. 
 They sat down at the table, and one said to the other, 
 " I have ordered a thick soup, some salmon, some 
 corned beef, and a claret cup." And a very strange 
 mixture it is too, thought I, at three o'clock in the 
 afternoon on a broiling hot day. Perhaps they are 
 going to use the claret cup as a sauce for the salmon. 
 
 No, they did not do that, but they drank it copiously 
 with the soup — a strong, dark-coloured soup, an old- 
 fashioned commercial traveller's soup, in which the 
 spoon will almost stand upright. It was passed round 
 three times — an awful thing to witness on a hot day. 
 Then these wonderful men began to exchange notes 
 of foreign travel, and tlie following conversation took 
 place : — 
 
 "How did you like Bolong?" 
 
 " Pretty well, but what an ignorant set they are 
 there ! I went to the Station Hotel and asked what 
 Ave could 'eve to eat. They said, 'Anything you like 
 to order.' So I said, 'Soup and cutlets.' They brought 
 me about half as many cutlets as I could have eat 
 myself, and there were three of us ! ' What Avill you 
 like afterwards ?' says the waiter. Says I, ' A meat tea, 
 and cook half a sheep for us.' " Here the two epicures
 
 CH. XIV, To Guildford over the Hills. 195 
 
 nearly choked themselves under the combined influences 
 of laughter and huge masses of food. 
 
 " Them French," said the other, " don't know what 
 good eatin' means. When I was theer, they told me I 
 could have twenty-five courses, but I 'ud rather 'eve 
 'ed a bit of salmon than 'em all. (Putting half a 
 pound or so in his mouth). They know nothing 
 about cookin' or eatin'." 
 
 " The women are all ugly," the salmon-devourer 
 went on, " and did you ever see such guys as the 
 men ? " 
 
 That is your opinion of the Frenchmen, thought I. 
 I would now give a great deal to hear their opinion of 
 you. 
 
 What were these men, I wondered — farmers ? 
 Farmers sitting here drinking claret cup, and gorging 
 themselves with soup and salmon at three in the after- 
 noon of a hot day ? That was scarcely likely. So when 
 I paid my bill, I said to the host, " Pray what are those 
 two gentlemen in there — bagmen ? " 
 
 " Auctioneers," said he in a solemn whisper. 
 
 "Ah, good morning, Mr. Michaux." 
 
 " Good morning, sir." 
 
 Whew ! What a relief it is to get into the blessed 
 fields and fresh air once more after sitting in the 
 same room for an hour with some of our dear fellow 
 creatures.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FEOil CATEUIIA.M TO GODSTONE. 
 
 A Country of Hill and Yale.— More " Land- Grubbers. "—A Cluster of 
 Villages. — Warlingham and Tatsiield. — Cross Country toTitsej'. 
 —The Poor Church and its Eich Brother.— The "Bull" at 
 Limiisficld. — A Native Critic of Manners and Custom.s. — 
 Eniigi'ation.—" Everybody Well Off Abroad."— A Little Ad- 
 venture in a Church. — Tandridge Church. — The Old Yew. — A 
 Station Two ^Miles from Anywhere. — A Dull End to a Day's 
 Journo}-. 
 
 The country all round Caterhara is so broken up by 
 hills and valleys that the well-known "bicyclist" who 
 lives in the neighbourhood must find it no easy matter 
 to make his way about. The roads go a long way 
 round, and there are some places not actually more 
 than four or five miles from Caterham, which cannot 
 be reached by less than ten miles of travelling by any 
 kind of conveyance, not excepting that ugly, bewildering, 
 and offensive machine, the bicycle. Thus, to Tatsfield 
 the walk over the hill docs not exceed five miles, while 
 by road it is not less than nine. Anybody who wishes 
 to see the pretty village of Warlingham, and one or two 
 other places on the way, must do as I did — drive over 
 to Tatsfield, and perform the remainder of the journey 
 to Godstone on foot.
 
 CH. XV. From Cater Iia7n to Gods tone. 197 
 
 In this manner the nature of the country in the 
 neighbourhood of Caterham may be seen to advantage, 
 the total distance traversed being between sixteen and 
 seventeen miles. The roads are all up and down-hill, 
 and the valleys run off in various contrary directions in 
 a most confusing manner. The man who drove me to 
 Tatsfield had lived in Caterham many years, and had 
 very little to say in favour of it. Was it a growing 
 place ? I asked him. 
 
 " No, leastways not so much as it ought to be. You 
 see they bought up the land about here some time ago, 
 for perhaps £^ or £4 an acre, and now they charge 
 anything they like for it, I suppose you could not get 
 an acre under £300, perhaps more. That keeps people 
 away," 
 
 " And who has done this ? " 
 
 "The tradespeople and others in Caterham," 
 
 " So there are other people who are ' land-grabbers ' 
 besides the large landowners," said I, 
 
 " Oh, yes — we are not much troubled about here 
 with the landlords. That gentleman I was telling of 
 you about (the bicyclist) has only a small place. Isn't 
 it odd. Sir, as a near-sighted gent should fly around 
 like that on one of them queer things? Wonder he 
 don't meet with an accident ? Why he does — with lots 
 on 'em. I've seen him come off myself, and then he 
 run agin a man at the bottom of the road here," and 
 he went on to tell me a doleful story which lasted until 
 we reached Warlingham, a very pleasant and quaint 
 old village, with a pretty inn called the "Leather
 
 1 98 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xv. 
 
 Bottle " standing in front of the village green. A little 
 way further along the road the church spire of Chels- 
 ham shows itself among the trees, and we can see the 
 wooded grounds in which one of the large houses of this 
 part, the " Ledgers," lies concealed. 
 
 The road winds round past a public house to Worms 
 Heath, as pleasant a spot as any man need wish to see 
 on a summer's day. The views are far reaching and 
 delightful in evei'y direction — the Crystal Palace shines 
 brightly in the distance, and on the other side of the 
 road you have miles upon miles of downs spread before 
 you, and Leith Hill can be made out beyond the 
 Reigate range. Then we come to a clump of beeches 
 known as " Coldharbour," and presently the road takes 
 another long swing round, and we are at Tatsfield 
 Church. There I dismiss my friend the driver, not 
 sorry to be alone on the good road once more. "I 
 hope you will not meet Mr. Blank with his bicycle," 
 said I. 
 
 " Thank you, Sir," said he, " he would never see me 
 if I did no more nor if I wasn't theer." 
 
 Tatsfield Church stands on the top of a hill, and is 
 evidently not one of the new fashionable and gim-crack 
 places of worship. I did not observe the traces of 
 many carriage wheels on the road, and the bare cold 
 walls and rough seats inside spoke of a small rustic 
 conjrreaation. The chancel has been restored, but the 
 whole place has a cheerless and barn-like aspect, and 
 cold shivers gradually steal down one's back after stand- 
 ing in it a few minutes. There is a stone tablet on the
 
 cii. XV. From Cater ham to Gods tone. 199 
 
 wall to the memory of John Corbett, who died in 1711, 
 and on the clerk's small reading desk below the pulpit 
 I noticed the letters "R H E. 1661." No other sign of 
 monument or record is there in this primitive old 
 church. "Over the communion table," says Manning, 
 " the Decalogue, Lord's Prayer, and Creed are written 
 in a most curious but very small hand, and behind 
 them is a beautiful painting in perspective, representing 
 the inside of a Gothic church." There are no traces of 
 these curiosities left now, and the woman who showed 
 me the arch had never heard of them, neither had an 
 elderly workman, who was repairing the gate outside. 
 If the building has little to boast of in point of archi- 
 tectural beauty, there is a view from the churchyard 
 which might well draw pilgrims hither, and which is 
 worth going half-a-day's journey to see. Nothing 
 can rob the neglected old church of this great attrac- 
 tion. In the churchyard, moreover, there is a very 
 large y€W tree, apparently suffering somewhat from 
 time and weather, but still putting on a good thick 
 green coat and making believe to think nothing of 
 its age. 
 
 No old stager would have the patience to follow 
 the roads hereabouts, — instinct, if nothing else, would 
 compel him to take to the fields and woods, and trust 
 to luck for finding his way out. But as you can see 
 the spire of Titsey church from a corner of Tatsfield 
 churchyard, there can be no danger of wandering far 
 astray. The field which adjoins the churchyard must 
 be taken, and that will bring you, at the farther end,
 
 200 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cii. xv. 
 
 upon the turnpike road. Cross that, and go through a 
 gate into another field, and kq.ep along the upper side 
 till you see a third field, in which the characteristics of 
 this region are pleasantly brought together into a small 
 space — for in the middle it suddeidy dips down and 
 forms a miniature valley, with hills beyond, so that you 
 almost begin to feel mystified, and fancy that if you 
 look over- your left shoulder you will see Caterham 
 again. A more uiihandy field it would be hard to 
 find, for the pitch is so sudden and so deep, that even 
 the sheep graze along its sides with difficulty. Beyond 
 this field, however, there is a lovely view over towards 
 East Grinstead in one direction, and towards Sevenoaks 
 and Tunbridge down the valley — the tops of the hills 
 being all wild common land, or " chart " as a man on 
 the road called it. The whole scene is a bold and 
 striking one, and it is not without many a back^vard 
 look that one leaves the field with the big hole in it, 
 and turns into a narrow lane, which brings us out 
 on the turnpike road a little above Titsey church. A 
 very different building this from the church we have 
 just left behind us ! It has been built by Mr. Leveson- 
 Gower, who has a house close by, and everything about 
 it is neat, clean, and comfortable. The church has 
 been completed, inside and out, with great care and 
 liberality, and the churchyard is as trim and well-kept 
 as a garden. Just below it are two or three good old 
 cottages, and the parsonage at a little distance looks a 
 homely as well as a picturesque place. The "turnpike" 
 is like the finest park road. The whole place lias a
 
 CH. XV. Fro7n Cater ham to Gods tone. 201 
 
 Sunday-like aspect — so well swept and brushed up that 
 one is almost afraid to walk about for fear of dirtying 
 something. 
 
 Limpsfield is rather less than a mile and half away 
 — the outlying houses can be seen from Titsey. After 
 following the road a short distance, the visitor can 
 strike into the fields on the left, and make his way to 
 the church. This, again, is totally unlike the other 
 churches we have passed — evidently the church of a 
 large parish, with the graveyard covered with tomb- 
 stones, among them a stone near the wall of the church 
 with a staring coat of arms engraved upon it. There 
 are few places in which the mummery of heraldry 
 could seem more absurd. An old manor house nearly 
 opposite the church south, was once, according to 
 Murray's Guide, "occupied by the widow of Philip 
 Stanhope, the natural son of Lord Chesterfield, whose 
 well-known letters to her husband were published by 
 Mrs. Stanhope after his death." In the upper part of 
 the village street are one or two small shops and the 
 "Bull Inn," whither I made haste to go for a frugal lunch. 
 I found a notice inside the little bar (which is only 
 about half as large again as the painted Bull on the 
 sign-post outside) making public the important fact 
 that " parriffen oil " could be obtained there at 2s. per 
 gallon; but this, although tempting, was not quite what 
 I was in search of. You cannot make a really good 
 lunch on "parriffen oil." Ultimately I succeeded in 
 getting some bread and cheese, and while I was work- 
 ing my way through a " hunch " of dry bread, an old 
 10
 
 202 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xv. 
 
 man came in and called fur a glass of stout. He was 
 one of the cross-grained scandal-mongering persons 
 who seem so common in rural villages — full of little 
 ill-natured gossip and sour remarks. Presently I 
 rnannged to get into conversation with him by asking 
 him if that was not a very old house just opposite 
 the inn ? 
 
 " Hold ? " said he. " Yes, and it might do well enough 
 for a hofficer's widow or a hold parson as ain't no use, 
 but it ain't fit for a human being to live in as is of any 
 account." 
 
 Not being quite prejDared for this outburst against 
 an inoffensive looking house, I said nothing. But the 
 landlady, who was Aviping a glass, interposed : " Ac- 
 count, indeed ? you are letting your tongue wag pretty 
 free to-day, I think." 
 
 " Well, this is a free country, ain't it? Ain't it. Sir?" 
 turning to me. 
 
 " I have always understood so," said I, not wishing 
 to commit myself too far before so slashing a critic. 
 
 " May I make bold to ask what brings you out in 
 this here out-o'-the way place, Sir ? " 
 
 " 1 want to see some churches." 
 
 " Well, well ! " looking at me curiously, as if I were 
 an escaped lunatic. " We has artists down here some- 
 times — I l<now they are poor, and I don't believe they 
 are over honest. But I never seed a gent as wasn't an 
 artist going about looking at churches. As for being 
 poor, I don't mind that. Gi' me a poor man anytime 
 of day rather than a rich one."
 
 cii. XV. Fi'om Caterham to Godstone. 203 
 
 "Then you live in a world Avhere you can be very 
 easily accommodated." 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said this old man, thumping 
 his fist on the bar, '•' the rich are too stuck up, and I 
 want to see 'em took down. They throw a word to you 
 when they do speak as if they thro wed a bone to a dog. 
 
 Look at Mr. (mentioning a name). Why you'd 
 
 think he was made of some better kind of stuff than 
 you are." 
 
 "I don't know that he is not," said I; "perhaps he is." 
 
 " I know what I'd do if I were young enough — I'd 
 get away from 'em all, and emigrate to Canady or 
 Horsetralia, where one man is as good as another. 
 Everybody is rich over there, or leastways it's their ow^n 
 fault if they ain't." 
 
 " But," said I, " I thought you did not like the rich ? 
 You don't mean to tell me you want to belong to them 
 yourself?" 
 
 " You are getting into a mess," said the landlady. 
 
 " That's my business if I am," growled the man. 
 "I'm not rambling around pretending to look at 
 churches. I can pay for what I have, / can." 
 
 Evidently I was becoming a prey to the local satirist, 
 and therefore I went on munching my bread and cheese 
 in silence. " Would I stand some beer ? " said my 
 acquaintance, presently. No, I would not do that, but 
 I offered to treat him to a yeoman's draught of "pariffen 
 oil," for of all other liquors he had evidently had enough 
 and to spare. But he did not care for that, and soon I 
 went on my way in peace.
 
 204 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cu. xv. 
 
 Beyond the cottage on the left hand side of the road, 
 after leaving the " Bull " at Lirapsfield, there is a lane, 
 which presently leads across a little wooden bridge, and 
 then into fields. This is the shortest road to the next 
 village on this little circuit — the village of Oxtoad, 
 distant about a mile and a half from Limpsfield. The 
 path across the fields is a beaten track, but rather 
 rough when ploughing operations are going on. I 
 nearly stuck fast in the soft wet earth two or three 
 times. At last, however, I came out upon the hard 
 road, and passed through a farmyard, and so to the 
 old church of Oxtead, with its great heavy square 
 tower, and a substantial farm-house near its gates. 
 This church has suffered much in its time from fire 
 or lightning ; it is recorded that in or about the 
 year 1637 it received its first heavy blow, and that in 
 1719 " it was burnt by a great tempest of lightning." 
 All the five bells were melted by that fire, but ten 
 years later a new peal was placed in the old tower, and 
 on one of them there is an inscription which says : — 
 
 " Good folks, with one accoid 
 We call to hear God's word 
 We honour to the king 
 Joy to brides do sing 
 We triuniplis loudly tell 
 And Ring your last Farewell." 
 
 The church door was open, and a woman was sweeping 
 in the gallery — an accident which very nearly led to 
 awkward results. For while I was looking round the 
 church, and wondering at its size and reading the
 
 CH. XV. From Caterham to Godstone. 205 
 
 inscriptions on the monuments, the woman went out, 
 I heard her shut the door, but presuming she had seen 
 me enter, I thought nothing of it. The inscription to 
 the wife of one of the old lords of the manor, Charles 
 Hoskyns (1651), seemed to indicate that the worthy- 
 lady did not have a " good time " of it in this world. 
 " Let this Patterne of Piety, Mapp of Misery, Mirrour of 
 Patience, here Rest." So ran the writing. Pews had 
 been put in the chancel without much regard for the 
 brasses and old monuments, some of which have been 
 cut clean in half. Can it be that this large church is so 
 crowded with Avorshippers as to need those pews nearly 
 up to the railing of the communion-table ? The whole 
 church has the appearance of being built like a fortress, 
 to resist an assault. As I thought this I tried to open 
 the door, but found it locked. I listened for some sound, 
 but could hear none. It seemed to me that there was 
 likely to be another " Mapp of Misery and Mirrour of 
 Patience" in the church before the day was over. It 
 was then Friday, and the opportunity of studying the 
 old monuments till Sunday morning was not so attrac- 
 tive as I am sure it would have been to a well-trained 
 mind. The windows were high ; the door was thick. I 
 began thumping on the latter, but for some time there 
 was no sign of any answer. At last, however, I heard a 
 hesitating step, and saw a dark shadow on the slit of 
 light under the door. Evidently there was some un- 
 certainty about opening the door, but after I had made 
 several little reassuring speeches, the woman unlocked 
 it, and stood with a very white face on the threshold.
 
 2o6 Field Paths and Greoi Lanes. en. xv. 
 
 I saw in a moment that she had the strongest doubts 
 about my belonging to this eartli, and as I had no time 
 to argue the matter over with her, I bade her good 
 afternoon in a sepulchral tone and "glided" out of sight. 
 Beyond the strong tower of the church there is a 
 path going by a small pond across a field. From that 
 field the fine old church, and the red farm-house in 
 front of it, show to great advantage, and to the right 
 the village of Oxtead, about a quarter of a mile off, may 
 be seen straggling up the hill. It is a curious looking 
 place, not quite so dirty as a mining village in South 
 Wales, but still recalling those districts in a general 
 way. It is very much like Blaenavon for instance, 
 and the smoke of the brewery hanging over the houses, 
 and a sort of " dolly-shop " at one end of the mean 
 street, increased the resemblance. The road from here 
 runs direct to Tandridge, but there is a short and 
 pleasant path by the fields. After passing through 
 Oxtead, keep on the main road till you come to a gate 
 on the left about half a mile up. This leads through a 
 field by a lime kiln to a narrow lane, and from the end 
 of that lane there is a charming view over the country 
 through which we have been walking. Across some 
 meadows, which look like a part of a park, we descend 
 upon Tandridge Church — a place, like the others, with 
 many historical associations connected with it. In old 
 days, the Priory of Tandridge must have been a house 
 of some little importance in the village, but there are 
 no remains of it left to-day. I was not aware of this 
 when I visited the spot, and I asked an old man on the
 
 CH. XV. From Caterhavi to Godstone. 207 
 
 road if be could tell me where the priory used to be ? 
 " Why, there it is," said he, pointing towards a modern 
 house which I had noticed. " I mean the old priory," 
 said I. " Well," said he crossly, " this is the hold 
 priory — the only one as we've ever 'eerd tell on in 
 these parts." "So, then, the old priory," I began. 
 " I knows nowt about liim — that theer's the priory, and 
 good enoush for us." Nevertheless, "that theer" could 
 not have been the priory of which one Walter was 
 appointed prior in 1306. The church has a very 
 pleasant and homely aspect, and is evidently properly 
 cared for by the people round about. 
 
 In this churchyard of Tand ridge there are at least 
 two things which will arrest the traveller's attention — 
 the enormous yew tree, and the elaborately carved 
 monument to the wife of Sir Gilbert Scott, the 
 architect. They are both within a few feet of each 
 other, so that the yew shades the grave. The monu- 
 ment looks far too beautiful to stand out of doors in a 
 climate where rain is not at all unfrequent. The 
 immense yew which almost touches it is said to be 
 decaying, but it looks perfectly green and vigorous. 
 Just below the church are some old cottages, and some 
 " carriage-folks' houses " are in or near the village. 
 But what interested me most were the venerable yew, 
 that tree for which it is difficult to avoid feeling 
 an almost superstitious reverence, the beautiful monu- 
 ment of the artist to his wife, and the sweet, country 
 churchyard, " strewed thick in early spring," says piy 
 companion, Murray's Handhooh, " with violets and
 
 2o8 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xv. 
 
 primroses." It was in November that I stood there, 
 and " God's acre " was strewed thick with dead leaves, 
 and from the trees they came down silently in showers 
 all around— an emblem of our poor human life which 
 at such a time and place sunk deeply into the heart. 
 
 From Tandridf^e to Godstone station it is a long, 
 roundabout, tedious road, which may be shortened here 
 and there by a cut across fields, but in the main has to 
 be taken at its best and worst. There is one old 
 cottage or small farm on the road, and a muddy wood 
 to cross — but Godstone Station is at least two miles and 
 a halt from Tandridgc. It is about the same distance 
 from everywhere else — a ridiculous station, put down 
 in the middle of a country road, bearing a name to 
 which it has no right whatevei', and serving simply as 
 a trap to catch unwary travellers. Here I was doomed 
 to wait tln-ee hours for the next train, hungry, cold, 
 tired. I tried the inn near the station — it was a 
 cheerless hole, full of tramps. The evening was closing 
 in ; the mists and fog were coming on heavily ; the 
 tramps were drunk. I should not like to spend those 
 three hours at Godstone Station over again.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NORBURY PARK, ALBURY, AND THE DEEPDENE. 
 
 Three Ancient Estates. — The Park at Norbuiy. — A Bargain in 1719. — 
 The Dniids' Grove, and how to find it. — A Plague of Rabbits. — 
 The Yew Grove. — A Giant Beech. — Butterflies at Midnight. — • 
 A Desolate Region. — Albury Park. — The " Catholic Apostolic 
 Church." — Mr. Drummond's "Cathedral." — Apostolic "Pre- 
 cepts." — The Gardens at Albury. — The finest Yew Hedge in 
 England.— Through Shere to Gomshall. — The Deepdene and its 
 Glories. — The House and its Art Treasures. — A Retreat for a 
 Scholar. — The Dene and the Beech Avenue. — Chart Park and 
 its Trees. 
 
 These three estates are not without historical inte- 
 rest, although the houses now standing upon them bear 
 no outward traces of a long past. Of the families 
 which first founded homes on these beautiful sites, or 
 enrolled them among their possessions, some have 
 entirely disappeared. The Clares, Earls of Gloucester, 
 to whom Norbury belonged, are remembered as part of 
 the nobility of England in days when no Disraeli could 
 have said of it, that it consisted of " families who, in 
 one century, plundered the church to gain the property 
 of the people, and in another century changed the 
 dynasty to gain the power of the Crown." Albury and 
 the Deepdene have both been in their day the homes
 
 2IO Field Palhs and Green Lanes, m. xvi. 
 
 of the Howards, but the Dcepdene can trace back its his- 
 tory from long before the time when the brave old Earl 
 Warrenne, who married the daughter of William the 
 Conqueror, held it with the rest of the manor of Dork- 
 ing. " You ask me for my title deeds," said he, accord- 
 ing to the well-known story, " there they are," and he 
 threw down his sword upon the table. Doubtless there 
 have been ere now estates which were held on title- 
 deeds with less claim to respect. 
 
 The man who longs for solitude need not " fly to a 
 lodge in some vast wildoa-ness," for he may find what, 
 he seeks at Norbury, or within a mile or two of Albury. 
 He may wander about alone for days together, and lose 
 himself in a forsaken region whicli might be somewhere 
 amid the wildernesses of the Far West — a region with- 
 out farm or shed to be seen, without even the bark of 
 a dog or the crowing of a cock to be heard for miles 
 around. England is, as we have often been told, a 
 "densely overcrowded country," but sevei'al places could 
 be pointed out on the map in which room for a few 
 more families could still be found. 
 
 Norbury Park abounds with splendid trees, sheltered 
 woodland paths, and broad views over the loveliest 
 parts of Surrey. It is not a place to be seen at one 
 visit, but to be wandered over at leisure, sometimes 
 in the lower parts in company with the river Mole, 
 sometimes among the woods through which even a 
 July sun scarcely has the power to pierce, and where 
 the ground is covered with cool green moss on the 
 hottest summer's day. Armed with a pencil or a book,
 
 CH. XVI. Nordtiry Pai^k, Albury, Deep dene. 2 1 1 
 
 or wishing merely to pursue his own thoughts in peace, 
 the wanderer here need fear no interruption. Ho will 
 rarely hear any footfall but his own. He may enter 
 the park at Mickleham, and stroll quietly on by the 
 Mole, through meadows which are in themselves ob- 
 jects of perfect beauty — English fields such as many a 
 traveller in foreign lands would give a year of his life 
 to see again. Or he may turn towards the house, and 
 soon find himself half lost amidst noble oaks and 
 beeches which are here still contending for the mastery. 
 But, better than all, he may penetrate to that secluded 
 spot still known as the Druids' Grove. If the visitor 
 who desires to see that shrine of tree-lovers will place 
 himself upon the bridge across the railroad in West- 
 humble Lane, and look before him to the north, he 
 will see a narrower lane winding past a cottage. Let 
 this be followed almost to the end, an up-hill road 
 though it will prove, and then at the right hand there 
 will be seen a five-barred gate. Pass through that, and 
 neither heat of sun, nor sight or sound of your fellow 
 mortal will disturb you. It will be strange if you meet 
 man, woman, or child throughout these delightful 
 groves, where the dead leaves lie a whole year upon 
 the ground, and in the thickest parts of which it is 
 not much more than twilight at noon in midsummer. 
 
 Presently the path opens upon a patch of green 
 sward, with a belt of ferns in the background, and 
 here and there an isolated yew — a sort of forerunner of 
 the venerable army which is drawn up in solemn gran- 
 deur below. Everywhere the noise of a footstep will
 
 2 1 2 Field Paths and Gircn Lanes, cw. xvi. 
 
 cause myriads of rabbits to start up from the grass or 
 ferns, and make for their warrens in all directions. 
 The wilder parts of the park are alive with rabbits, and 
 the surface of the ground is rotten with tlieir holes. 
 There is a certain path between woods, on the Mickle- 
 ham side, which is rapidly being undermined by these 
 vermin, and when you begin to intrude on their ter- 
 ritory, a large army rises up and flies down the hill- 
 side from before you, scuttling among the dry leaves 
 with a sound like the rush of rain. The owners of 
 such estates as this would gain rather than lose by 
 allowing the poor to make a dinner occasionally off 
 the rabbits which infest their grounds. There is no 
 danger that the animal would ever become scarce — 
 nature has made ample provision against that. When 
 one sees the havoc made by rabbits in a garden or 
 park, it scarcely seems worth while to send a poor 
 man to prison for catching one without leave. "A 
 young oak," says the author of " Forest Scenery," "just 
 vegetating from the acorn, is esteemed by these per- 
 nicious inmates the most delicious food. Thus it may 
 be said, the glory of England may be nipped in the 
 bud by a paltry rabbit." Is it absolutely necessary to 
 fence this creature round with penal laws ? 
 
 The open patch of sward is not far from the house, 
 from the windows of which there are some of the love- 
 liest views in Surrey. A carpenter with whom I once 
 had a chat on the road said to me, "I have worked in 
 every large house in this county, and in my opinion the 
 house at Norbury is the best situated of all." I liave
 
 CH. XVI. Nor bury Park, Albiiry, Dcepdcne. 2 1 3 
 
 no doubt he is right, and most people who survey the 
 surrounding country from the lawn will think so too. 
 The house contains some paintings supposed to be a 
 " continuation of the landscape without," bnt in this 
 instance art has been left far behind by nature. The 
 building is not worthy of the spot in which it is placed 
 — it may almost be said that it is common-looking and 
 unsightly when you are close to it, although it makes a 
 good appearance from a distance. In Evelyn's day, the 
 estate belonged to Sir F. Stidolph (or Stydolf), and 
 since then it has passed through several hands. The 
 whole property, consisting of the mansion and about 
 527 acres, was sold in 1819 for £19,000 — to-day I 
 suppose that £150,000 would not buy it. In Evelyn's 
 " Diary," (Vol. II., p. 295) he speaks of it as a " seate 
 environ'd with elme-trees and walnuts innumerable. 
 * * Here are such goodly walkes and hills shaded 
 with yew and box as render the place extreamely 
 agreeable, it seeming from these ever-greens to be 
 summer all the winter." It is wonderful that so great 
 a tree-lover as Evelyn should have made no other 
 reference but this to the yew-trees of Norbury, and 
 that even Mr. Selby, in his excellent work on " Forest 
 Trees," should pass them over unnoticed. 
 
 A private path southward of the house leads straight 
 down to the Druids' Walk. It is best to approach it 
 from the upper end, and to go in summer when the 
 oaks and beeches are in full foliage, for then the shade 
 they cast adds much to the mysterious appearance of 
 the grove. 'I believe that permission to go over the
 
 2 14 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, en. xvi. 
 
 grounds, and downwards tl)rougli the path marked 
 " private," is seldom refused if asked for at the house. 
 The Druids' walk is long and narrow, with a declivity, 
 in some places rather steep, to the left hand, and rising 
 ground to the right, all densely covered with trees. 
 The yew begins to make its appearance soon after the 
 little gate is passed, like the advance guard of an army. 
 In certain spots it seems to have successfully driven out 
 all other trees. As the path descends, the shadows 
 deepen, and you arrive at a spot where a mass of yews 
 of great size and vast age stretch up the hill, and beyond 
 to the left as far as the eye can penetrate througli the 
 obscurity. The trees in their long and slow growth 
 have assumed many wild forms, and the visitor who 
 stands there towards evening, and peers into that sombre 
 grove, will sometimes yield to the spell which the scene 
 is sure to exercise on imaginative natures — he will half 
 fancy that these ghostly trees are conscious creatures, 
 and that they have marked Avith mingled pity and 
 scorn the long processions of mankind come and go 
 like the insects of a day, througli the centuries during 
 which they have been stretching out their distorted 
 limbs nearer and nearer to each other. Thick fibrous 
 shoots spring out from their trunks, awakening in the 
 memory long-forgotten stories of huge hairy giants, 
 enemies of mankind, even as the " double-fatal yew " 
 itself was supposed to be in other days. The bark 
 stands in distinct layers, the outer ridges mouldering 
 away, like the fragments of a w^all of some ruined 
 castle. The tops are fresh and green, but till below in
 
 CH. XVI. No7'bury Park, Albiiry^ Deepdene. 215 
 
 that sunless recess seems dead. At the foot of the 
 deepest part of the grove there is a seat beneath a 
 stern old king of the wood, but the genius loci seems 
 to warn the intruder to depart — ancient superstitions 
 are rekindled, and the haggard trees themselves seem 
 to threaten that from a sleep beneath the " baleful 
 yew," the weary mortal will wake no more. 
 
 Beyond this grove the yews lead the way down hill, 
 and on the right hand, in an opening, there grows a 
 majestic beech, full twenty-four feet in girth at five 
 feet from the ground. It throws out its roots more than 
 fifty feet, and they are all gnarled and interlaced, and 
 covered with moss. The lower branches reach to the 
 ground, and run far along it, while the trunk looks like 
 the body of some huge elephant, bearing many a deep 
 scar which time and weather have left as traces of their 
 heavy blows. Here and there the wounds have been 
 covered with iron bands, and huge props have been 
 placed under the drooping branches. A nobler tree, far 
 stricken in age as it is, it would be hard to find. Just 
 below it, a worthy companion, there is a grisly yew, 
 standing all across the path, as if to forbid further pro- 
 gress. The branches touch the ground all about it, and 
 cover a circumference of 230 feet. I measured it with 
 care. There is another yew hard by which is twenty- 
 three feet in circumference, but this measurement is 
 partly caused by a cleft in the trunk. The dark colour 
 of the yew is beautifully relieved in summer by the 
 tender green of the ash. " Where the oak decays in 
 this park," says Brayley, in his " History of Surrey,"
 
 2i6 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cii. xvi. 
 
 " the beech succeeds ; and where the beech decays, the 
 ash springs up spontaneously." The Rev. C. A. Johns, 
 in his interesting work on the "Forest Trees of Britain," 
 quotes a letter from Evelyn, in Aubrey's "Surrey," whicli 
 refers to this supplanting of the oak by the. beech. 
 " That which I would observe to you from the wood of 
 Wootton is, that Avhere goodly Oaks grew, and were cut 
 down by my grandfather almost a hundred years since, 
 is now altogether Beech ; and where ray brother has 
 extirpated the Beech, there rises Birch." This process 
 may easily be traced in the Druids' "Walk, but there the 
 ash succeeds the beech. In Brayley there is also a note 
 which may be of interest to some visitors here, for it 
 states that the "rare moth, the dotted chestnut {cjIcOj 
 rubigmea), of which the locality is said to be unknown," 
 frequents the yews in the Druids' Grove when " the 
 berries are ripe, and becoming intoxicated with the 
 juice is easily caught about the midnight hour in 
 October." Perhaps there are not many persons who 
 being suddenly set down in the Druids' Grove at the 
 midnight hour, would be much inclined to go off in 
 pursuit of moths. 
 
 Beyond the yew which stands all across the path, 
 there is another little gate, and from that a path 
 bearing to the right will lead out into Westhumble 
 lane. Just above the railroad station (the Boxhill 
 station of the Brighton line) there is a road leading to 
 Chapel Farm and Ranmore Common, or by a short cut 
 across the fields and Mr. Cubitt's carriage drive, to 
 Dorking. The latter road will take the visitor past
 
 en. XVI. Noj'bitry Park, Albury, Deepdene. 217 
 
 " Camilla Lacey," the house (now enlarged) in which 
 Madame D'Arblay wrote " Camilla," and in which she 
 lived for many years. 
 
 Albury Park is very unlike Norbury, but it has 
 many charms of its OAvn, not the least among them 
 being an old yew hedge and some noble trees. If the 
 visitor will go past Mr. Drummond's " cathedral " — 
 which is more frequented than any other place of worship 
 for miles round — and will make his way over the hills 
 to East Horsley (a road only to be found by making 
 enquiries on the spot), he will see what may well be 
 described as the most desolate region of Surrey. In all 
 my wanderings, never have I seen in a civilised land 
 such a deserted tract as this. You go for miles through 
 a totally uninhabited country, nor does any sign of the 
 hand of man appear until you reach the Earl of Love- 
 lace's estate, far beyond the Downs. The land is all 
 overgrown with large ferns which seem to strangle the 
 very trees, and drag them to the ground. The oaks 
 and beeches are stunted in growth, and begin to push 
 out their short branches directly they come above the 
 soil. The thick rank weeds and coarse ferns encroach 
 even upon the narrow roadway, and far as the eye can 
 reach nothing can be seen except this barren and 
 melancholy expanse. Not even game is preserved here 
 — the land, hundreds of acres of it, is simply allowed to 
 run wild, unfenced and un tilled. There are noble sites 
 for residences in the district, one scarcely inferior to 
 the site of the Deepdene, and ample space for scores of 
 farms. But nothing is grown upon it — not even good
 
 2i8 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xvi. 
 
 trees. A man who once drove mc through this part 
 said that he had never seen anybody about here at 
 work, and that in certain places, roads whicli were 
 formerly used, were now all covered with grass and 
 weeds. " I have tried some of them," he said, " and 
 after a few hundred yards you come to a dead stop." 
 "Do you see much game here?" I asked. " None at 
 all. I don't know how it is, but the birds do not seem 
 to come here — not but what if they did the poachers 
 would not soon have them, for you see there is nobody 
 to prevent them." 
 
 All this land is, of course, beyond the limits of the 
 village of Albury, which is one of the most pleasant 
 places in Surrey. The church or "cathedral" before 
 referred to stands very near Albury Park. It is called 
 the " Holy Catholic Apostolic Church," ahd was origin- 
 ally built for the followers of Irving, of whom the late 
 Mr. Drummond, the banker, was among the foremost. 
 His daughter, the present Duchess of Northumberland, 
 still takes the deepest interest in the welfare of the 
 sect, but the worshippers in the church deny with 
 some warmth that they are " Irvingites," or that Mr. 
 Irvinjj was the founder of their church. 
 
 " It is a great mistake to call us Irvingites," said a 
 member of the church to me. " But suppose anyone 
 wishes to mention your church, what is it to be called 1 " 
 " The Catholic Apostolic Church," he answered. " But 
 I think I have heard of other churches which claim 
 that title ? " " No matter — we are the true Apostolic 
 Church, believing in a fourfold ministry, as the Apostles
 
 cH. XVI. Norbitry Park, Albiiry, Dccpdene. 219 
 
 did." "I see — but what particular doctrines do you 
 hold?" "We follow strictly the Catholic Apostolic 
 precepts and the fourfold ministry." Thus, continually 
 travelling in the same circle, I left off my questionings, 
 not much wiser than when I began them. 
 
 The services in the Cathedral at Albury are at times 
 conducted with much pomp, and the " priests " are clad 
 in gorgeous vestments. Near the altar there are stalls 
 for the priests, of whom about twelve have their head- 
 quarters at Albury. This is the central church, and 
 from it missionaries or ministers are drawn for service 
 elsewhere. At the door of the church there is a basin 
 containing holy water, incense is constantly burnt, 
 and a lamp is always kept alight before the altar. The 
 sacrament is also kept upon the altar from Sunday to 
 Sunday, and is thus ready, as was explained to me, " for 
 the use of the sick, day and night." There are various 
 texts of scripture on the walls, and a special liturgy is 
 used. 
 
 The gardens of Albury Park are close to the church, 
 and although their natural situation is most beautiful, 
 yet they are not properly careil for, and are too thickly 
 covered with trees to thrive well. Evelyn took a great 
 interest in this estate, and was anxious to purchase it, 
 and with that end in view wrote to Sir Edward Thur- 
 land, a Baron of the Exchequer, soliciting his interest 
 in the matter. He dwells upon the " favour which (I 
 am assured) you may do y"" servant in promoting his 
 singular incly nations for Albury, in case (as I am con- 
 fident it will) that seate be exposed for sale." He
 
 2 20 Field Paths and Gi'ecn Lanes, cu. xvi. 
 
 vows that this service -will bind him to the Baron for 
 ever, and adds, " I suppose the place will invite many 
 candidates, but my money is good, and it will be the 
 sole and greatest obligation that it shall ever be in y"" 
 power to doe for" * the thrifty and long-headed squire, 
 who afterwards so successfully carried out the astute 
 line of policy which was ascribed to the "Vicar of Bray." 
 The great curiosity of the gardens at Albury is the yew 
 hedge before referred to, now more flourishing than 
 ever. It is a quarter of a mile in length, and is largely 
 formed by yew trees, which grow at regular distances, 
 and form a sort of canopy with their branches on each 
 side of the green sward beneath. The lower branches 
 are cut and trimmed every few years in order to pre- 
 serve uniformity. Under the trees there grows the 
 hedge proper — it is, in fact, a thick hedge with an over- 
 hanging roof of yew trees, carefully kept in shape. It 
 is probably the finest and most remarkable hedge to be 
 seen in England, and running at right angles with it 
 there is a holly hedge, to which it would be hard to find 
 an equal. The shelter given by the upper branches, of 
 the yew trees is now so thick that the visitor will 
 scarcely need any other protection from sun or rain. 
 This long.dark line gives the entire garden a somewhat 
 heavy and sombre appearance. The mistletoe seems to 
 flourish here, and may be seen in great branches on the 
 false acacia and apple trees. The woods at the back 
 are bold and striking, but the house is totally without 
 interest. 
 
 * Memoirs and Correspondence of John Evelyn (ed. 1819), vol. ii.p. 96.
 
 CH. XVI. Norbiiry Park, Albnry\ Deepdene. \ 221 
 
 The best way to visit all this part is to go to the 
 Chilworth station, and take the road (which cannot be 
 missed) to Albury. Having seen the "Cathedral," a 
 path through a meadow at the back will lead to the 
 greenhouse and the gardener's cottage, where application 
 may be made for permission to see the grounds. The 
 gardener will let the visitor out at the other end, and a 
 meadow must then be crossed into a lane. Turn to the 
 right, and pass over the little wooden bridge which 
 spans the Tillingbourne, Follow this stream by a 
 pretty path to the left, until it ends in the interesting 
 village of Shere, which with its old cottages and barns 
 and church will afford many a subject for the sketcher 
 and artist. There are few more picturesque villages to 
 be found in this part of England than Shere. From 
 thence the road is an easy one to the Gomshall station, 
 or there is a field-path to it through the churchyard — 
 the entire distance between the two stations by this 
 route being five miles. 
 
 Among all the fine estates which are to be found in 
 Surrey, we may look in vain for one which can surpass 
 the " Deepdene," long the residence of " Anastasius " 
 Hope, and still in the possession of his family. It is a 
 noble domain, more than twelve miles in circumference, 
 full of magnificent trees and long sweeps of forest 
 glade, deep dells covered with fox-glove and ferns, and 
 solitary paths so clothed with thick moss that the 
 ground is as soft as if it were covered with a velvet 
 carpet. Two large parks have been added to this 
 ancient estate since it fell into the hands of the Hope
 
 222 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xvi. 
 
 family, and one of them — Betchworth — is freely thrown 
 open to the public at all times, while the house itself, 
 with its many choice collections, is liberally shown on 
 Tuesdays and Fridays. Few houses in the county will 
 better reward a visit. In the entrance-hall, a striking 
 chamber, are several famous works by Thorwaldsen, and 
 some fine statues which have come to us from the 
 hands of Roman artists. In the gallery above there are 
 some great paintings by Rubens, Domenichino, and 
 other renowned masters, and a bust of a " cardinal " 
 (unknown) which I, for my part, can never look at too 
 often or too long. What shrewdness, penetration, and 
 intellectual power are expressed in that face ! Who 
 can fail to be charmed with the large dining-room, so 
 perfectly proportioned, or with the splendid examples 
 of Paul Veronese, Correggio, and Raffaelle which cover 
 its walls? The Etruscan room, with its valuable collec- 
 tion of vases, is both curious and interesting, and no 
 one who has seen the statue of Minerva in the small 
 Pompeian room beyond will ever be likely to forget 
 that wondrous work. It was found in 1797 at the 
 mouth of the Tiber, and so instinct is the figure with 
 fire and vigour that it absolutely seems alive. Where 
 is the sculptor of modern days who could throw all this 
 wealth of regal beauty into a block of marble ? Even 
 Canova's " Venus leaving the Bath " at the other end 
 of the room looks feeble after that divine Minerva. 
 Then there is the library, which no scholar can regard 
 without admiration and envy. The calm which reigns 
 within this stately room, the shelves lined with the
 
 CH. XVI. Nor bury Park, Albury, Dcepdene. 223 
 
 noblest legacies of the " mighty dead," the views with- 
 out over the sweet fields and rolling hills of Surrey, must 
 ever exercise a potent fascination over those who are 
 well content to pass their lives chiefly amid the un- 
 wearying companionship of books, A work planned by 
 an imaginative man 'patidce sub tegmine fagi, or 
 wandering amid the sequestered glades of the Deep- 
 dene, and chiefly written in this delightful library, 
 could scarcely fail to find an enduring place in litera- 
 ture — and such was the history of Coningsby. 
 
 Above the deep dell, or " Dene," which is the gem of 
 these grounds, there is a splendid avenue of beeches, 
 and to the southward a vast landscape unfolds itself far 
 into the weald of Sussex. The valley towards Reigate 
 is disclosed at the end of the avenue, scarred by deep 
 cuttings in the chalk hills and disfigured by lime- 
 works. In the hollows below are "unvvedgeable 
 and gnarled " oaks, lofty beeches, and luxuriant holly 
 trees. In the month of June all the grounds are clad 
 in gorgeous hues, for then the rhododendrons are in 
 bloom, and their brilliant colours stand out in dazzling 
 relief against the dark firs which fill the background. 
 In the spring, the hawthorn and the lilac perfume 
 the air ; in the winter the walks are gay with the 
 red berry of the holly. Noble oriental planes, and 
 two venerable cedars, still remain in Chart Park, now 
 but an exquisite fringe on the skirt of the Deepdene, 
 but once the site of an ancient house. This solitary 
 paik, with dim associations of the past still clinging to 
 it, and the ruins at Betchworth with their monumental
 
 2 24 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xvi. 
 
 yews, impart a poetic interest to the more radiant 
 beauties which adorn the Deepdene— the enamelled 
 lawn, the tulip-tree near the garden terrace, the dark 
 and spreading cedar beyond, the flowers which sparkle 
 like stars in the leafy paths, and the blue ridge of hills 
 which encircles the magic scene.
 
 CHAPTER XVJI. 
 
 REIGATE, GATTON PARK, AND THE PILGRIM'S WAY. 
 
 Some Points of Difference between Reigate and Dorking. — Drainage 
 and Comfort. — Reigate Park. — Gatton and the "Marble Hall." 
 — The Two Members of Parliament. — Merstham. — On the Track 
 of the Canterbury Pilgrims. — A Scramble among the Yew Trees. 
 — AValton Heath. — The Yews near Box Hill. 
 
 Of all the towns in this part of Surrey, Reigate is 
 the most popular, and not without very good reasons. 
 The shops are excellent, the neighbourhood is full of 
 good houses, and the scenery for miles around is over- 
 flowing with attractions. The speculative builder has 
 not been allowed to sprinkle too many of his " shoddy " 
 and detestable villas over this pleasant retreat, although 
 examples of his style are not entirely wanting. The 
 neighbourhood has been chosen as a place of residence 
 by a larger proportion of active professional men and 
 merchants than any other town in the valley. At 
 Dorking, the tone of "society" must be rather weari- 
 some, for the landowners will not recognise the general 
 residents, unless, indeed, it be in that condescending 
 manner which does not add much to the geniality of 
 social intercourse. The town is therefore, at all seasons, 
 
 one of the dullest in England — and for young people it 
 11
 
 2 26 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cn. xvn. 
 
 must be intolerable, for there is scarcely anybody of their 
 own age to associate with them, there are no amusements, 
 no one gives any parties, there are the usual narrow in- 
 fluences at work which always grow up in small gossipy 
 places, and altogether life is stagnant there. Everything 
 is different at Reigate. The city men and the profes- 
 sional men infuse some of their own energy and vigour 
 into the social atmosphere of the town, and as 3'oung 
 folks abound, there are plenty of parties for croquet or 
 lawn tennis in the summer, and for music and dancing 
 in the winter. Another fact must be mentioned which 
 is not without its importance — Reigate is better drained 
 than Dorking. In the latter town, there is no drainage at 
 all, the only attempt to get rid of the sewage consisting 
 in a partial diversion of it into the Mole at the east end. 
 What happens afterwards may ea.sily be imagined. 
 
 No wonder, therefore, that Eeigate has left Dorking 
 all behind — has, indeed, more than doubled its popula- 
 tion within a very few years. It has an old-fashioned 
 and interesting appearance, its castle vaults are curious, 
 and its church is worth going to see. But it is hard 
 for the visitor to go grubbing about underground, or 
 poking among old monuments, with such attractions 
 outside to call him away. Reigate Park offers far 
 greater temptations to the lover of the beautiful than 
 all the castle vaults. It can boast of some loveliy dells, 
 where the children play at hide-and-seek among the 
 ferns, or wander up the hill sides knee-deep in blue- 
 bells. Such another place for wild- flowers is scai'cely 
 to be found even in the county of Surrey. All the
 
 CH. XVII. Reigate, Gatton Pai'k, Pilgrims Way. 227 
 
 outskirts of the town are intensely " countrified " and 
 rural in their character — it is really the country, not 
 the town. It was after attending the sale of a farm- 
 house hereabouts, that Cobbett burst into one of the 
 most amusing: of his denunciations asrainst modern 
 " progress." " When the old farm-houses," he says, " are 
 down, and down they must come in time, what a 
 miserable thing the country will be ! Those that are 
 now erected are mere painted shells, with a mistress 
 within, who is stuck up in a place she Calls the -paTlouT, 
 with, if she have children, the ' young ladies and gentle- 
 men ' about her : Some showy chairs and a sofa (a sofa 
 by all means) ; half-a-dozen prints in gilt frames hang- 
 ing up ; some swinging book-shelves with novels and 
 tracts upon them ; a dinner brought in by a girl that is 
 perhaps better educated than she ; two or three knick- 
 knacks to eat instead of apiece of bacon and a pudding ; 
 the house too neat for a dirty-shoed carter to come 
 into ; and everything proclaiming to every sensible 
 beholder that there is here a constant anxiety to make 
 a show not warranted by the reality. The children 
 (which is the worst part of it) are all too clever to 
 work : they are all to be gentlefolks. Go to plough ! 
 Good God ! What, ' young gentlemen ' go to plough ! 
 They become clerks or some skimmy-dish thing or other. 
 They flee from the dirty work as cunning horses do 
 from the bridle." This "Rural Ride " was written, or 
 at any rate is dated, at Reigate, and the old farm- 
 houses whose decline Cobbett lamented are not yet 
 entirely swept away from the district.
 
 2 28 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, cjk xvn. 
 
 The walk to Gatton Park, and onwards to Merstham, 
 is one of the best in all this part of Surrey. Having 
 reached the road outside the railroad station, you turn 
 to the right, and go on up-hill till you come to the sus- 
 pension bridge. From that bridge a bird's-eye-view of 
 the town and surrounding country may be obtained, 
 and a most fascinating view it is. In many respects it 
 is preferable to tlie scene which is presented from the 
 point of Box Hill just above Dorking. Beyond the 
 bridge there is a road, with a finger-post at the corner, 
 going off to the right. Follow that — a shady road, with 
 many fine beeches towering up on the right hand — 
 and you will shortly come to a lodge gate, and although 
 there is a board up warning " trespassers " to " beware," 
 yet the road is freely open to all inoffensive strangers, 
 and you may wander about the charming park beyond 
 without fear. This is the place of which Cobbett wrote : 
 " Before you descend the hill to go into Rcigate, you 
 pass Gatton, which is a very rascally spat of earth " — 
 but it can no lontjer boast of its two members of 
 Parliament, which made it " rascally." 
 
 Gatton House is generally called a " stately struc- 
 ture," but an impartial observer would probably describe 
 it as a rather ugly building with a great fungus grow- 
 in or out of the middle. The architect seems to have 
 built the house without providing the usual means for 
 getting into it, since the only entrance is by that side 
 door which is commonly set apart for tradespeople and 
 servants. The first impression that strikes one on 
 seeing the place is, " Something or other has gone
 
 en. XVII. Reigate, Gat ton Park, Pilgrim's Way. 229 
 
 wrong with this strange looking house — perhaps some- 
 body begun it and never lived to finish it." And, in 
 truth, that is very nearly the state of the case. The 
 fifth Lord Monson determined to produce on this spot 
 an exact copy of the Corsini chapel at Rome, and he 
 went so far as to spend £10,000 on marbles for the 
 pavement alone. But like many another man, Lord 
 Monson be^an to build a house in which he was not 
 destined to live, and of course no one else cared to 
 carry on bis fanciful and extravagant design. The hall 
 (to which strangers are readily admitted) was begun on 
 a grand scale, and finished on a paltry one. The walls 
 were intended to be magnificent, but before they had 
 got up very far, a common roof was prematurely clapped 
 down upon them, and now this ambitious structure has 
 a pinched up and squat appearance. The frescoes can- 
 not be said to improve matters very much. The hall, 
 flattery apart, can only be regarded as a rich man's 
 freak — the sort of thing which country people generally 
 christen a " folly." The other rooms of the house 
 dispel the gloomy impression which this unfinished hall 
 produces. The view from the drawing-room windows 
 is delicious, and the pictures on the walls, fine in them- 
 selves, are displayed to great advantage. 
 
 In front of the house is a mausoleum in which Lord 
 Monson was buried, and close by, on the mound shaded 
 by trees, is the place where that interesting and im- 
 portant ceremony used to be performed of "electing" 
 two members of Parliament for Gatton. The con- 
 stituency consisted for many years of one person — the
 
 2 30 Field Paths and Great Lanes, en. xvn. 
 
 lord of the manor for the time being. It cannot be 
 denied that this man at least was very fully represented 
 in the councils of his country. Sometimes he managed 
 for appearance sake to bring up a score or so of 
 " dummies " to the polls, but they voted as their 
 master or employer, the lord of the manor, told them. 
 It was this privilege which always made the property 
 fetch a high price in the market — you bouglit an 
 estate with two seats in the House of Commons tacked 
 on to it. A very much disgusted man liord Monson 
 must have been when, after paying £100,000 for the 
 property, the first Reform Bill cut off the Members of 
 Parliament, only two years afterwards. Rcigate also 
 returned two members once upon a time, and the 
 Reform Bill of 1832 left it with one, and then in 1867 
 it was disfranchised altogether for " bribery and treat- 
 ing" — a subject which it does not do to bring up too 
 suddenly in social circles at Reigate. 
 
 From this house there is a pleasant walk to ]\lers- 
 tham station — through the park, to the right after 
 leaving the house, then across fields — the distance being 
 about a mile and a half. There is not much to see at 
 Mcrstham, but it is a pleasant little village, with some 
 old timbered cottages here and there, and a black- 
 smith's forge which recalls some of Dickens's sketches. 
 The church might easily be passed by unseen, for it is 
 a little out of the way of the village, and in summer is 
 sheltered by the foliage of the trees. 
 
 Most j)eople know that Reigate Avas a very busy 
 place in the days when thousands of our countrymen
 
 cH. xvii. Reigate, Gatton Park, Pilgrim s Way. 231 
 
 made that pilgrimage to Canterbury which Chaucer 
 would have rendered immortal, even if history had been 
 careless of it. It was here that the pilgrims generally 
 found a pleasant halting stage, and a chapel was built 
 for them which stood until the beginning of last cen- 
 tury. The present Town Hall and market stand upon 
 its site. Above Keigate to the north, it is easy to see a 
 line of yew trees going along the slope of the hill, 
 sometimes far apart, sometimes close together. The 
 traveller on the Reading branch of the South Eastern 
 railroad 'may frequently trace this line of yews between 
 Reigate and Guildford, if he looks from the windows on 
 the right-hand side. Two miles from Reigate there is 
 a long procession of yews going up the hill from Buck- 
 land, and in some places thick clumps of them may be 
 made out from the valley below. All these are relics 
 of the Pilgrim's Way. It is by no means a simple 
 matter to get upon the track itself, or to follow it for 
 any distance. There is no regular road. Sometimes 
 the path is effaced by modern cultivation of the land — 
 sometimes it is all overgrown with trees, shrubs, and 
 bushes. To get at any part of it westward of Reigate 
 you must scramble over hedges and fences, and run the 
 risk of tumbling down ugly holes, or of being ordered 
 off some field for trespassing — the last inconvenience 
 being much the worst of the three. Where was the 
 road which the pilgrims who went to Canterbury from 
 Southampton followed for so many years, and in such 
 great numbers ? In endeavouring to find it, one is 
 often obliged to fall back upon local tradition for
 
 232 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xvn. 
 
 guidance, but in such matters local tradition is not to 
 be despised. There is nothing which hngers so long in 
 popular recollection as an old road or an old name. 
 In Surrey, instances of men and women living to the 
 age of ninety are far indeed from being uncommon, and 
 it takes very few such lives to carry us back to the days 
 when the long trains of pilgrims were plodding on their 
 way to the shrine of A Bccket. Local tradition, then, 
 must be allowed some weight, and in Surrey it 
 undoubtedly asserts that the old road was marked by a 
 line of yew trees, and in many places that line is still 
 perfectly well known. 
 
 Mr. Albert Way, in a note to Dean Stanley's most 
 interesting " Memorials of Canterbury," points out that 
 from Southampton the foreign visitors "would probably 
 take the most secure and direct line of communication 
 towards Farnham, crossing the Itchen at Stoneham, 
 and thence in the direction of Bishop's Waltham, 
 Alton, and Froyle." At Alton it has been traced, from 
 Fandiam it probably ran along the Hog's Back, and 
 beyond Guildford it passed by St. Martha's chapel and 
 over the "green road" still existing, and .still marked, 
 as at Newland's corner, by many yew trees. " The 
 line," says Mr. Way, " fur the mo.st part, it would seem, 
 took its course about mid-way down the hill-side, and 
 on the northern verge of the older cultivation of these 
 
 chalk downs Under the picturesque height of 
 
 Box Hill several yews of large size remain in ploughed 
 land, relics, no doubt, of this ancient Avay, and a row 
 more or less continuous marks its progress as it leads
 
 CH. xvn. Reigate, Gattou Park, Pilgrhn' s Way. 233 
 
 towards Reigate, passing to the north of Brockham and 
 Betch worth." Near Dorking, in Westhunible Lane, 
 there are ruins, as I have already mentioned, which are 
 still known as the " Pilgrim's Chapel." And local 
 names, here and elsewhere, plainly point to the track 
 which was unquestionably followed by the pilgrims, and 
 which is still far from being obliterated, although the 
 explorer must be once more fairly cautioned that 
 nowhere can it be followed without considerable in- 
 convenience. 
 
 Between Reigate and Dorking the yews which mark 
 the road are more regular in their course than between 
 Dorking and Guildford, but the road itself is almost 
 closed or overgrown with trees and bramble. A chalk 
 path leads up the hill north of Reigate, and if the 
 visitor finds nothing else to attract him, he will at 
 least admire the noble view from the summit of the 
 hill, extending to the weald of Kent on one side, and to 
 the southdowns on the other. If you go to the top of 
 this hill, you will come to a patch of wood, ankle-deep 
 in mud in wet weather, and leading out upon a common. 
 By the hedge there is no path, but it is necessary to 
 keep close beside it, and presentl}'- a gate is reached 
 which opens into a path leading downwards to Buck- 
 land, where a post warns all persons against " injuring 
 the yew trees." The line of yews runs all the way 
 down the hill, and goes on westward, but without any 
 visible track to guide the explorer. Keep on, however, 
 till the hill takes a dip, and then go up a field to the 
 right, where the yews become very thick — almost as
 
 234 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en, xvn. 
 
 deep a wood as the grove at Norbury Park, the trees 
 growing, as it were, into each other, while the ground 
 is all dark and bare beneath them. They form an 
 impassable barrier at this point, and it is necessary to 
 keep still higher up the hill until another wood is 
 reached, through Avhich there is a very slight track 
 made by the country people. If this is followed, it will 
 be found to lead out to Walton Heath, with a church 
 and windmill and a few cottages scattered on its outer 
 edge. The common must be avoided, or it would lead 
 one too far astray, but some rough scrambling has to 
 be done before the yews come in sight again. There 
 they are, however, about half-way up the hill, in a 
 perfectly straight line, with a steep pitch below and 
 cultivated fields above. A small valley opens here, 
 which can only be crossed either by making your way 
 down to the bottom, or by taking it above. In the 
 latter case, you will come out upon a green lane, which 
 leads to private grounds, belonging to the house at the 
 head of the gorge, and wliich is called " Pibblecombe." 
 Here one is compelled to skirt Walton Heath once more, 
 and to join the main roadway until some woods on the 
 left (the late Sir B. Brodie's) are reached. A gatcAvay 
 opens into them, and the track guides you to the brow of 
 the hill once more, where a backward view of the yew 
 trees may be seen, and the dip of the hills which inter- 
 rupts them. There is a path down to Betchworth, but 
 the hill-side must be followed, through Sir B. Brodie's 
 woods, and out upon his carriage drive. Immediately 
 below that a row of yew trees, still running in a
 
 CH. xvir. Reigate, Gatton Park.^ Pilgrim s Way. 235 
 
 straight line, may be seen, and beyond that again they 
 are occasionally found until you reach Box Hill, and 
 from thence they continue across the valley, below Mr. 
 Cubitt's grounds, and so to the hills again and on to 
 Guildford. By the circuitous road I have endeavoured 
 to indicate, it is fully twelve miles to Dorking, but they 
 are twelve miles of lovely country. It is necessary to 
 be vigilant in many places, for great excavations have 
 been made for lime-works, and the grass grows green 
 to the very edge, and sometimes there is little to denote 
 the vicinity of a huge declivity down which it will not 
 be advisable for the traveller to pursue his researches, 
 for he would be compelled to do so head-foremost. 
 There are few walks in Surrey, however, which present 
 greater attractions than this, either for the geologist or 
 the naturalist or the simple lover of nature.
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 REDIIILL TO CROWHURST. 
 
 A Tangle of Railroads. — Nutfield and its old Posting Inn. — An Awful 
 Warning to Bachelors. — Bletchingley. — A Queer Story of a 
 Brass. — The "Vile Rotten Borough." — Godstone and its Green. 
 —Deep in the Clay.— The Yew Tree of Surrey.— The " Moated 
 Grange." — The Road to Godstone Station. 
 
 Redhill, like most other "junctions," is a scattered, 
 bewildering, unsatisfactory place. It lies sprawling 
 vaguely over a large extent of ground, and after you 
 have walked round and about it for an hour or so, 
 you feel as if you were getting tied up in a hopeless 
 knot with railroad lines. The town has no plan — the 
 streets have grown up by accident, and all kinds of 
 houses have been dropped down upon them at random. 
 There is a good common on the outskirts, but even this 
 is disfigured by large sand pits, which it is advisable to 
 approach with caution. While standing up above one 
 of them, I saw a large mass dislodge itself and come 
 crashing to the ground. " That's nothing," said a man 
 who noticed my astonishment, " I was up here the 
 other day when eight or ten tons fell. Plenty of men 
 have been killed down there." There are some good 
 views towards Reigate on the one side and Horley on
 
 CH. xvKi. Rcdhill to CrowJmrst. 237 
 
 the other, from a clump of trees in the middle of the 
 common, and a stirring walk may be taken as far as 
 Reigate. There are also some attractive specimens of 
 Surrey lanes in the neighbourhood, deep and shady, 
 covered with wild flowers in spring, and in the summer 
 almost dark with the foliage of the trees above. 
 
 The moment, in fact, you get outside the town of 
 Redhill you come upon a very pretty country. It is 
 impossible to go in a better direction than towards 
 Nutfield, even if the walk now to be described should 
 prove too long for the chance visitor. It is altogether 
 about thirteen miles, making allowance for going a 
 little out of the way occasionally ; but Nutfield is close 
 to Redhill. Between the two places there are some 
 unusually comfortable looking residences, commanding 
 wide and beautiful views to the southward. I asked a 
 mason who was at work on a wall who owned most of 
 these houses? He said, London men. "What, mer- 
 chants?" "Sometimes, and stockbrokers and them sort 
 of people. They buy up all the land now-a-days. The 
 old families are going out, you see, and these people 
 from the city are taking their places everywhere you go." 
 
 " You speak as if you. were sorry for it," I said. 
 
 " And I am — the gentleman makes a better master 
 than the shopkeeper. I've had to work for them both, 
 and I know." 
 
 " Then you are not one of the people who complain 
 of the bloated lando\vner ? " 
 
 " Not I, sir. What harm do they do anyone ? I 
 think everything's pretty well as it is."
 
 238 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, ch. xvm. 
 
 " Did you ever see Reynolds's Newspaper ? " 
 
 "Sometimes I do, down there at the public (pointing 
 towards Redhill), but I don't pin my faith to any news- 
 paper. None of them are to be trusted." 
 
 " You are an uncommonly sensible man," said I. 
 " Now can you tell me how far it is to Nutfield ? " 
 
 " Why this is part of it, and there is the rest of it 
 just below you." 
 
 There sure enough it was, within ten minutes' walk, a 
 small forgotten-looking place, Avith a large old-fashioned * * 
 inn standing back from the road, a good porch at the 
 door, and a green before it. " Evidently an old posting 
 house," thought I, and in I went, for such antiquated 
 inns are far more interesting than all your grand new 
 hotels, managed by "limited liability" young ladies and 
 waiters. There are many traces of its former prosperity 
 still clinging to this decayed old inn at Nutfield — the 
 remains of large stables without, and marks of good 
 rooms and a thriving business Avitliin. I sat talking 
 nearly half an hour with the landlord, in a parlour which 
 must at one time have been an imposing apartment. 
 I noticed two cupboards opening into the wall on each 
 side of the fire-place. " They have been made there, 
 sir," said the landlord, " in my time. You would never 
 guess what they used to be. Tliey were large and 
 comfortable corners in the old fireplace, where people 
 used to sit down and talk and smoke on winter's nights. 
 But what use would such a fire-place be now ? " 
 
 " I suppose," said I, " that you have very little custom 
 here."
 
 cii. XVIII. Redhill to Ci'owhtirst. 239 
 
 " Very little indeed, sir, and if it were not for the 
 workmen who are employed about here in getting 
 fuller's earth, we should have none at all. That is the 
 only thing that keeps everybody at Nutfield from going 
 to the workhouse." 
 
 A very respectable and quiet sort of man he seemed, 
 though a little down-hearted in his manner, as a man 
 has reason to be when he lives in such a little pla*ce as 
 Nutfield, on fuller's earth. He poioted out to me 
 the " clerk's " house, where he said I could get the 
 keys of the chvirch. The clerk turned out to be a 
 woman with about half a dozen children hanging round 
 her feet, and another one in lier arms — all in one small 
 room, which, however, was clean and comfortable. She 
 handed rae the keys, and I walked down to the church, 
 and with some little difficulty opened the door. Before 
 going in I saw the inscription on the south wall which 
 is mentioned in Murray's Guide : 
 
 " He Liv'd alone, He Lyes alone, 
 To Dust He's gone, both Flesh and Bone." 
 
 Would he have " gone " to anything else if he had 
 not lived alone ? If poor Thomas Steer, over whom 
 the women-folks have set up this kind of war-whoop, 
 had flown to the protecting arms of one of the ladies 
 of Nutfield, he would ha\e escaped the fate of being 
 held up after death as an "awful warning" — although 
 he might not have had so easy a time of it while alive. 
 Inside the church there are two or three old grave- 
 stones and a brass, but the inscription which one is most
 
 240 Field PatJis and Green Lanes, ch. xvih. 
 
 surprised to find in such an out-of-the-way place is 
 to the memoiy of an American — Augustus Longstreet 
 Branham, who " lived two years in this parish." Below 
 the church there is the Rectory, a charming house, 
 standing in the midst of pretty lawn and gardens, and 
 overlooking a fertile and varied country. 
 
 After passing through Nutfield, you come plump 
 upon a windmill, standing close by the roadside. It is 
 certain that Don Quixote never could have passed that 
 without a desperate encounter. I was almost inclined 
 to break a lance with it myself. A few yards beyond, 
 a beautiful view opens to the right, and at this point 
 the visitor is as nearly as possible in a line with 
 Rottingdean, near Brighton. A wide expanse of lovely 
 country, well-wooded and yet well-cultivated, spreads 
 itself to the very foot of the South Downs, and just on 
 the other side of yonder hill is the once pleasant and 
 cheerful " Doctor Brighton," now a huge, over-grown, 
 crowded, noisy city. Doctor Brighton has too many 
 patients in these days for a quiet man. Less than a mile 
 further along the road brings us to Bletchingley, the 
 population of which seems at first sight to be made up of 
 butchers and beagle dogs. While I am waiting for the 
 old clerk to find the keys of the church, I enquire into 
 this phenomenon, and it turns out that the butcher 
 breeds beagle dogs, and gets as much as £5 or 
 £10 a-piece for them. I went down to his shop, 
 and there found an exceedingly cheery and comely 
 dame, who proved to be the butcher's wife. Decidedly 
 Bletchingley is a more interesting place than Nutfield.
 
 CH. xviii. Redhill to Crow hurst. 241 
 
 I made particular enquiries from the " butcheress " 
 about beagle dogs, and was receiving much information 
 in a most agreeable manner, when the clerk, a volatile 
 young gentleman of eighty-five summers, hove in 
 sight with the keys, and we went into the church. 
 Bletchingley has but one church now, although formerly 
 it could boast of seven ; and it used to return two 
 members to Parliament. " A little way to the right 
 (of Godstone), cries out Cobbett, "lies the vile, rotten 
 borough of Bletchingley ; but, happily for Godstone, 
 out of sight." When Members of Parliament were 
 thus plentiful at Bletchingley, what a price the 
 butchers must have got for their beagle dogs — just 
 before election. 
 
 The one church of Bletchingley is now far too large 
 for the village, and it has a monument inside it far too 
 large for the church — a monument which absolutely 
 covers up the whole side of a wall in the south chancel. 
 The person whom it commemorates is Sir Robert 
 Clayton, who died in 1707. He never could have 
 done anything bad enough to deserve this terrific 
 monument. The figures, the "angels," the inscription, 
 everything about it is like a fearful nightmare. I tried 
 to turn my attention to a brass near the altar, to a 
 priest — no inscription. Thereupon the clerk, who had 
 a very melancholy manner — as how could a man fail 
 to have who was doomed to live within a few yards of 
 that fearful monument ? — told me a curious little 
 story : — 
 
 " You see that brass ? Well, a very strange thing
 
 242 Field Paths and Grcc7t Lanes, en. xvm. 
 
 happened about that. It used be over there by the 
 belfry, partly hidden under a seat. One day a gentle- 
 man in a carriage called at my house to see the church. 
 I happened to be away from home, and he said to my 
 missis, ' You have no occasion to come down — we are 
 only going to look over the church.' So, being in a 
 carriage, she gave him the keys, and thought no more 
 about it. The next time I went to the church, that 
 hrciss icas gone ! " 
 
 " And I suppose you were pretty well scared ? " 
 " Well, I did not like it at all, but I did not know 
 what to do. I often thought about the stolen brass, 
 but could get no trace of it. At last, one day, a 
 gentleman came here, and he looked down and saw 
 the traces of the brass in the stone — the vacant place, 
 you understand. Said he, ' Why, good gracious, I 
 think 1 know where that brass is.' ' Do you ? ' said I, 
 * where ? ' ' Why, in my house in London. I bought 
 it not long ago in Soho Square. If you like I wdl 
 send it to you.' Of course I said I should like it very 
 much, but I thought it was all idle talk. But he really 
 did send it down, and the moment I set eyes on it I 
 knew it again directly, but the inscription was gone. 
 We never got that back. The gentleman said he went 
 to Soho Square to see if he could find it, but it was not 
 there. Very likely some descendant of the family had 
 taken it away. Since then I never let anybody come 
 to the church alone." 
 
 "And quite right too," said I. "I wonder whether 
 the gentleman who returned the brass had ever, by
 
 CH. XVIII. Redhill to Cj'ow/mrst. 243 
 
 any chance, seen or met the gentleman who took it 
 away ? " 
 
 The old clerk only shook his head. " How long 
 have you lived here ? " I asked him. He said seventy- 
 five years ! Seventy-five years of life in Bletchingley, 
 near that monument. Nothing will kill some people. 
 
 As I passed down the town, there were the beagle 
 dogs, and there was the butcher's wife standing at the 
 door, blithe and smiling. I stayed to talk with her a 
 little further in reference to beagle dogs, when the 
 butcher took out a big knife, and began sharpening it 
 on his steel, casting a sheep-killer's eye towards me ; 
 and it occurred to me that I might as well be getting 
 homewards. A very nice sort of place, this Bletching- 
 ley, not in the least dull as I first imagined, and the 
 old clerk is quite right not to give it up just yet. 
 There, however, goes my road to Godstone, and a very 
 pretty road it is, and Godstone is prettier still, with its 
 large and picturesque village-green, its old houses, and 
 its comfortable inn, long, low, and bedecked with 
 flowers. The church, which stands at a little distance 
 from the village, has been restored by Sir Gilbert Scott 
 — and restored in the best sense of the word, not 
 defaced and ruined. If all our churches had been 
 dealt with by a similar hand, we should have done 
 almost as much for ecclesiastical architecture as the 
 Roman Catholics. 
 
 After lingering over the ruins of an elm-tree 
 which stands just in front of the inn— the mere rind of 
 one half of the trunk, quite bare and shiny, and yet
 
 244 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xvm. 
 
 with a vifTorous outgrowth of branches and leaves 
 above — I made the best of my way to Crowhurst. 
 And the l)cst is not good, for the roads soon begin to 
 show a change of " formation " — from gravel and sand 
 one passes to wet, greasy, sticky clay. There had been 
 showers throughont the afternoon, and now the roads 
 were in that condition in which one takes, according to 
 the old saying, " one step forward and two steps back- 
 wards." Horace evidently encountered similar roads 
 on his way to Ilubi : — 
 
 " hide Kulios fessi perveniitms, utpote loiifjum 
 Carjientt'S iter, et factum corruptiiis iiiibrc." 
 
 I found my way, after a long and tedious tramp, to 
 Crowhurst church, and soon forgot all about roads and 
 weather. Here is another veritable relic of the old 
 times still left to us — a little piece of the England 
 of our forefathers. Long-past years have left their trace 
 on everything around, on yonder farm-house, called the 
 " Mansion House," with its strangely trimmed yew 
 trees, and its old walls and chimneys, no less than upon 
 this ancient church. Even while yet on the outskirts 
 of the village, the greyness of antiquity made itself 
 felt as well as seen — it was in the very air. Generations 
 have come and gone, and seen no change in anj'thing 
 surrounding us here. The yew tree, says Murray's 
 "Guide," "may probably contend witli its venerable 
 brother at Crowhurst in Sussex, which, according to 
 Decandolle, is one thousand two hundred years old." 
 The inside of the tree has been " barbarously hollowed
 
 CH. x\ III. RedJiill to Crozvkurst. 245 
 
 out," as the same writer very properly describes the 
 operation, and you open a door and walk inside the 
 tree. There are wooden benches fixed against the 
 trunk, and a little round table in the middle, and 
 according to my calculation, fourteen or fifteen persons 
 could seat themselves at this table. Pic-nic parties 
 still meet here occasionally, drinking and carousing ; 
 but a boy from the rectory who showed me the church 
 said that the new rector would not allow this practice 
 to be carried on, and I hope he will be as good as his 
 word. The top of the tree is fresh and green, and in 
 parts it has been strengthened with iron plates. The 
 girth of the trunk is nearly thirty-one feet, about eight 
 feet more than the largest of the yews which I measured 
 at Norbury. Large wens or " bosses " have grown upon 
 it, and yet in spite of all that time and ill-usage can 
 do, it remains a noble tree, worth travelling over many 
 a mile of clayey roads to gaze upon. The boy from the 
 rectory said that the tree was " fourteen thousand 
 years old." I suggested fourteen hundred, but he 
 declined to make any correction in his estimate, and 
 said he knew it was fourteen thousand, for his master 
 had told him so. So fourteen thousand be it. 
 
 The church, though small, well repaid me for the 
 time which I had spent in going to it. There are some 
 fragments of the ancient stained glass to be seen here 
 and there; a very old communion table, and a font 
 perhaps still older ; an inscription on a tomb near the 
 altar to one of the Gaynesford family (date 1591), which 
 formerly made no inconsiderable figure in these parts,
 
 246 Field Pat/is and Green Lanes, ch. xvm. 
 
 and another memorial to Richard Cholmley, date 1034. 
 A little corner of the church is curtained off, and this, 
 it appears, is the vestry. There is an ancient chest in 
 this inconvenient robing-room, and part of a brass on 
 the floor. Tlie church looks very poor as well as old, 
 and in truth it has been much neglected. The old 
 rector, weighed down perhaps with roads of "bottomless 
 clay," and a somewhat melancholy parish, had allowed 
 the churchyard to get knee-deep in brambles, and I 
 was assured that " the birds had made such a mess in 
 the church that you could scarcely sit down." But all 
 was very neat and tidy when I was there on the 5th of 
 September, 1876, and the now rector's mother had 
 worked a cover for the communion table, and the signs 
 of tender care were everywhere visible. They had 
 somewhat softened the ruggedness of this primitive 
 country church, and thrown around it an air befitting 
 so venerable and sacred a place. 
 
 From the church there is a path across fields Avhich 
 affords a " short cut " to the Godstone station on the 
 South Eastern railroad. This path leads out upon the 
 turnpike road, near some tile works, and then the road 
 must be followed till you come to a little public-house 
 and general shop near a railroad bridge. Here you 
 again forsake the road, turning in by a gate at the side 
 of the shop, and pursuing a path on the edge of the 
 fiold.s, Avith the railroad running on an embankment 
 close to the right hand. It is two miles by this path 
 to the station, and nearly four by the road. 
 
 About a mile from the church there is an old moated
 
 cii. xviir, Rcdhill to Croivhurst. 247 
 
 house, called Crowhui'st Place. The kitchen is of great 
 size, but apparently lies below the level of the water. 
 There are great carp in the moat, and the worthy 
 farmer who lives in the house seldom refuses anyone 
 permission to fish for them. But, after all, it is the 
 old yew tree in the churchyard which still brings the 
 pilgrim to Crowhurst. Surely it was this tree, or its 
 contemporary in Sussex, which inspired the lines of 
 Tennyson : — 
 
 "Old yew, which graspest at the stones 
 That name the underlying dead, 
 Thy fibres net the dreamless head, 
 Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. 
 
 " The seasons bring the flower again, 
 And bring the firstling to the flock ; 
 And in the dusk of thee, the clock 
 Beats out the little lives of men. 
 
 " not for thee the glow, the bloom, 
 Who cliangest not in any gale. 
 Nor branding summer suns avail 
 To touch thy thousand years of gloom."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 EWIIURST, ALBURY, AND CTTIL\V01;TII. 
 
 Tlie Wild Commons and Heaths of Surrey.— A Word of Warning.— 
 Sutton, Felday, and Joldwyns.— The "Lucky" Leveson-Gowers. 
 Hohnbury Hill. —The Water Carrier. — A Stonebreaker's Recol- 
 lections.— How Mr. Hull was Buried.— Old Roads and New, — 
 Ewhurst Church and its Critic— An Engli.sh Sleepy-Hollow. — 
 Moorland and Solitary Roads.— Albury and Chihvorth.— Cob- 
 betfs Curse. 
 
 The road throughout this walk leads on through 
 woodland and common, by paths bordered with fir 
 tree.s, or passing over hills beneath which a great 
 part of the wealds of Surrey and Sussex lie extended 
 before the traveller. By far the larger proportion of 
 the land through which he must pass is uncultivated. 
 Considering the small size of the county of Surrey, the 
 extent of it which lies a mere wilderness in these busy 
 days is simply amazing. The whole county is but 
 twenty-seven miles in length, and not more than forty 
 in breadth, yet it contains almost every variety of 
 scenery, scarcely one mile is like another, and often 
 the whole character of the country undergoes an utter 
 change within the space of half a dozen miles. Where, 
 out of Scotland, can be found such moors and heaths as 
 those between Thursley and Hiudhead, or even between
 
 CH. XIX. Ewhiirst, Albiiry, and CJdlwojHh. 249 
 
 Albury and Ewhurst? Many of the commons or downs 
 are familiar to excursionists, but the heaths in the 
 more distant and neglected parts of the county are 
 little visited. The cottagers to be met with here and 
 there will tell you that they scarcely ever see a stranger 
 from one year's end to another. 
 
 The route which I followed between Albury and 
 Ewhurst, and again from Ewhurst to Chilworth, is not 
 marked upon any map, and it goes a long way round. 
 But it has the merits of embracing the best points in 
 the scenery, and of starting from one railroad station 
 and returning to another on the same line. The best 
 way is to begin the journey at the Gomshall station on 
 the South Eastern railroad, and end it at the Chilworth 
 station — but particular care should be taken beforehand 
 to ascertain that a train will touch at Chilworth in the 
 direction the traveller wishes to go, and at the hour he 
 expects to arrive there, for Chilwoi'th is a benighted 
 place, very few trains stop at it in the course of the day, 
 and there is no other conveyance of any kind to be had. 
 
 From Gomshall station the road turns to the left 
 
 under the first railroad arch, and then it swerves to the 
 
 right soon after passing a blacksmith's forge. Having 
 
 got this short distance on the journey, we are apparently 
 
 beyond the limits of civilisation. No houses are to be 
 
 seen, no farms, no churches. The first village to be 
 
 seen, if village it can be called, is Sutton, a very 
 
 different place from the comfortable-looking Sutton 
 
 known to all Londoners. Here there are but three or 
 
 four tumble-down cottages, and a gloomy little public - 
 12
 
 250 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xix. 
 
 house under the sounding name of the " Abinger 
 Arms." The road continues through a waste looking 
 region, -without any features of great interest, until you 
 reach Felday, another small village not down on the 
 one-inch ordnance map. Except that the houses here 
 are of wood or brick, and not of mud, the place looks 
 very like a Hindoo village in Bengal — a few hovels on 
 each side of the road, and low "jungle" beyond. The 
 country, however, is a little more open than it would 
 be near a similar settlement in Bengal. On the right- 
 hand side of the road is a mean sort of house, which 
 must not be disrespectfully spoken of, for it is " Felday 
 Church" — the only church for some distance round, the 
 nearest to it being the one at Abinger. It is a com- 
 mon private house turned into a place of worship. The 
 parsonage close by looks in a little better condition, 
 but Felday is a wretched, half deserted spot, consisting 
 entirely of the few scattered cottages I have mentioned, 
 a brick field, and a melancholy roadside inn called the 
 "Royal Oak." 
 
 From this group of depressing habitations the road 
 took a sudden turn with manifest pleasure, and after a 
 time it plucked up a little spirit, and began to produce 
 its "views." It went rather up-hill till it reached a 
 house called (as near as I could make out) " Jold- 
 wynds," in the grounds of which were to be seen a couple 
 of ladies sketching. If ever you do meet with anybody 
 about here, man or woman, he or she is sure to be 
 sketching, and you dare not ask a question for fear of 
 spoiling the picture and getting most horribly snubbed
 
 CH. XIX. EwJmrst, Albjiry, and Chilworth. 251 
 
 into the bargain. To ask a stranger a direction in 
 English country places is a serious undertaking. I 
 have sometimes got a civil answer, sometimes none 
 at all, and thus I have been duly impressed with a 
 sense of my own unworthiness, and of the immense 
 superiority of the person whom I had addressed without 
 a proper introduction. 
 
 Just above "Joldwynds" the view opens in a very 
 striking manner, with Leith Hill to the left, and a rich 
 and beautiful countiy lying between. There is now 
 nothing but good in store for the traveller. He may 
 shake the dust of Felday from his feet, and look for- 
 ward to one pleasant surprise after another. He will 
 soon come to one of the seats belonging to the " lucky " 
 Leveson-Gowers, and assuredly any man would deserve 
 to be called lucky, even if he owned no other place than 
 this. The house stands on an eminence facing the 
 south, and sheltered from the north by Holmbury Hill. 
 Not only are the grounds themselves as fair and 
 beautiful as an exquisite picture, but for miles beyond 
 and around them the whole country looks like a vast 
 park, and one might easily fancy that it was a portion 
 of this estate. Often in passing through such places, 
 after having talked with people by the wayside, the 
 thought passes through the mind, " Will all this last ? 
 Are there not forces at work, and men able and eager 
 to use them, which will make great changes in the face 
 of England ere another century has passed over our 
 heads ? " Who can tell ? 
 
 The public road winds round at the back of Mr.
 
 252 Field Paths and G7'cen Lanes, en. xix. 
 
 Leveson-Gower's house, but I asked at the lodge gates 
 if I might walk tlirough the park, and was not refused. 
 I saw at a glance that it Avould cut off a very large 
 corner, and so it did — moreover, the carriage drive 
 opens to the visitor all the manifold beauties of the 
 coimtry. Hohiibury Hill at the back of the house is 
 well worth climbing, but on this particular occasion I 
 liad my day's work already cut out for me. Through 
 the lodge gates at the other end of the park I passed 
 out to the turnpike road once more, having saved 
 altogether not much less than a mile. 
 
 Many good ash trees now fringe the road — the pre- 
 vailing tree throughout this part of the journey. I 
 noticed a little spring on the voad-side, and presently 
 overtook a poor woman walking inside a hoop, with a 
 pail of water in each hand. Slie looked very thin and 
 miserable, as if it seldom fell to her lot to have enough 
 to eat. The water was splashing all over her patched 
 and worn out gown. I asked her wliy she did not put 
 a flat piece of wood on the water in each pail, which 
 would prevent any slopping over ? She said she had 
 never heard of it. She put down her pails on the road, 
 and we stood and talked. She mis^ht have been about 
 twenty-eight or thirty, but a hard life probably made 
 her look older than she really was. As I looked at her 
 and recalled the fine house up above, I thought of 
 Thackeray's stern cry, " Awful, awful poor man's 
 country ! " Perhaps there is no one to blame for it, 
 but these contrasts are startling to anyone who has 
 not become so accustomed to them as to cease to notice
 
 cu. XIX. Ewhurst, Albiiry, and Chihuorth. 25 
 
 them at all. They are all the more startling because 
 the English people cannot disguise their poverty as the 
 French and Germans can, or even as the poorer classes 
 Iq America manage to do. They make no attempt to 
 carry it off well. With our countrymen and women 
 it stands out grim-faced and repulsive, in all its tragic 
 misery and horror. 
 
 This poor woman seemed suspicious at first, but 
 presently she told me that she had to fetch all the 
 water that was needed for her family from this spring. 
 It was full a quarter of a mile from her cottage. 
 "Have you no water there at all?" I asked. "No," 
 she said, " not a drop." 
 
 " In the very hot weather we had this summer," she 
 went on, "this spring was dried up, and so I had to go 
 all the way to Ewhurst for water. Every drop we 
 drink or use has to be carried up in these pails. I 
 has enough to do to get water for 'em all." She took 
 up her load again and walked on. 
 
 " How many of you are there ? " 
 
 "Three children and a pig." A pig, thought I — 
 doubtless she means her husband, and not a bad name 
 for any man who would let his wife drag out her 
 strength and life in this way. But jaresently she 
 mentioned her husband separately, not as a pig. 
 
 " Does he ever help you to fetch the water \ " 
 said I. 
 
 She gave a dull sort of smile and answered, " Some- 
 times in the evening — when he can," she added in a 
 queer tone.
 
 254 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xix. 
 
 " When he has not been diiukino: somethiusr stronser 
 himself?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, that's it. My three children cannot earn 
 anything yet, for they are none of 'em five years old, 
 and that keeps us poor. When they can go out we 
 shall do better." It is the only use of the children of 
 the poor — to be turned adrift to eai^n something. 
 
 " I suppose you find it hard sometimes to get them a 
 dinner?" 
 
 "They generally get a good slice of bread, and 
 sometimes a bit of treacle, aud it is hard to cet 
 that." 
 
 By this time we had come up to an old man who 
 was breaking a heap of stones by the road side, and 
 who had a great pair of horn spectacles on his nose. 
 We all three fell into a conversation. The stone- 
 breaker evidently knew the woman — her cottage was 
 now in sight. We could also see the tower upon Leith 
 Hill from where we stood. 
 
 " When I was a boy," said the stonebreaker, " I heard 
 an old man say that he had seen the funeral of Mr. 
 Hull in that tower. He said he was pitched in head 
 first. The people there were all laughing and playing 
 up tricks, and they just threw the corpse in anyhow." 
 
 " Why didn't he want to be buried like a Christian?" 
 asked the woman. 
 
 "Because gentlefolks can be buried how they likes." 
 A decisive answer. 
 
 " Were the roads hereabouts as good as this when 
 you were a boy ? " said I.
 
 CH. XIX. Eivhurst, Albiiry, and CJiilwoi'th. 255 
 
 " Lor bless you no, sir. They are well enough to 
 look at now, but it is all wet clay underneath the surface. 
 Not many years ago, you would have stuck fast in them 
 in wet weather. You are in a clayey country about 
 here — poor land, poor people." 
 
 " How much do you earn a week ? " 
 
 " Six or seven shillings — but not always. In the 
 winter I can scarcely earn anything, for you see I'm 
 not very young. Howsomever, grumbling won't help 
 a body, will it ? " 
 
 I said I thought not, but was not quite sure, and tried 
 to find out what the old man had been before he took 
 to stone breaking, but he did not seem disposed to tell. 
 A few questions about wages and expenses of living, and 
 the poor will instantly be on their guard, as if they 
 expected a visit from the tax gatherer. 
 
 " There's your old man a-calling for you," said the 
 stonebreaker to the woman, and off she went. The 
 old fellow bent down over his heap of stones, and went 
 on hammering away at them, and I walked on think- 
 ing of what Cobbett said of these roads. " From 
 Ewhurst the first three miles was the deepest clay 
 that I ever saw to the best of my recollection. I was 
 warned of the difficulty of getting along ; but I was not 
 to be frightened at the sound of clay. It took me a good 
 hour and a half to get along these three miles. Now 
 mind, this is the real Weald, where the clay is bottom- 
 less." Such work as that at which I found the poor old 
 stonebreaker has made all the difference. 
 
 A sharp walk along a circuitous sort of road soon
 
 256 Field Paths ami Crccn Lanes, ch. xix. 
 
 landed me in Ewluirst, where I saw very little prospect 
 of getting the simplest kind of refreshment. Yet the 
 day was hot, and the way home long, and even a glass 
 of decent ale would have been acceptable. But the 
 two or three public-houses in the place seemed to be 
 of the most squalid kind. 
 
 Evvhurst church rests under the stisrma of bavins: 
 been "restored," and indeed it appears to have been 
 almost entirely rebuilt in 1839. It is still pleasant to 
 look upon, in spite of the extremest efforts of the modern 
 plasterer and mason to make it otherwise. A local 
 personage who followed me into the churcli, and kept 
 a careful watch on all my movements while pretending 
 to look for a book, asked me what I thought of the 
 church. I said that I thought very well of it. 
 
 "But, dear me," he continued, looking at both me 
 and the church with the utmost contempt, " don't you 
 see that it is cvucifovm ? " 
 
 " Bless my soul," said I, starting back apparently 
 much shocked, " so it is. I never noticed that before." 
 
 " Certainly," said the stranger, a little relenting 
 towards me, "A perfect barbarism. I despise a 
 cruciform clnuch, sir," laying a stress \\\)oxi the word 
 " despise," Avhich seemed intended to challenge me to 
 take up the cudgels for it if I dared. But I — what 
 could I say for the poor old church ? I did not build 
 it, or even restore it. Yet I began to take rather a 
 fancy to it, hearing it thus abused, and admired its old 
 oaken gallery, its carved pulpit black with age, its 
 quaint reading desk, its ancient font. It is not so
 
 CH. XIX. Ewhtirst^ Albiuy, and CJiilworth. 257 
 
 pretty as the Rectory hard by, which can show a good 
 pedigree back to the time of James the First, and 
 looks rather like the home of some well-to-do squire 
 than of a country parson. Yet the church is worth 
 going to see, even with the disadvantage of having 
 a local critic heaping scorn upon you for liking it. 
 
 Then I went forth into the village, Avhich is 
 sufficiently well described by the Americanism, "a 
 one-horse place." I met with two or three persons 
 only in the street, and they seemed to be half asleep. 
 At the post office a woman and a girl turned out in 
 some consternation to look at me, thinking perhaps 
 that I had a letter concealed about me, and was about 
 to post it, and thus overwhelm them with work. A 
 waggoner passed by on a load of hay, fast asleep. I 
 too began to feel drowsy, and hastened away towards 
 that windmill which makes so prominent a feature in 
 the landscape in all the southern part of Surrey. The 
 road leads north, up a steepish hill, with many a back- 
 ward view over far-reaching heaths and home-like 
 fields. To the right hand a still higher hill ascends 
 from the road, covered with deep ferns and heaths. It 
 is called "Pitch Hill." There is a roadside inn with 
 the sign of the windmill, and I met with three or four 
 artists within a mile, and had a strictly " private view " 
 of several paintings destined to be submitted to public 
 inspection on the walls of the Academy. No more 
 delightful scene than this is open to mortal to transfer 
 to canvas — if only the mortal could be found capable 
 of doing it.
 
 2 58 Field Pal/is and Gi'ccn Lanes, ch. xix. 
 
 Drop a man down from a balloon in this part, and 
 ask him where he is, and he will probably guess the 
 North of Derbyshire. There are long stretches of 
 moorland and heather-clad hills, and solitary roads 
 almost swallowed up by the ferns, and disappearing in 
 great fir-woods. For a mile or two you are hemmed in 
 among these woods, and then the whole scene changes 
 as it were in a moment — the heath and firs are left 
 behind, and you come out upon a deep lane bordered 
 with hazel trees and young oaks, and as this lane goes 
 on, you will notice that the sandy soil has been much 
 washed awa}', leaving the roots of the trees all bare. 
 There is one good-sized beech especially from which 
 the soil has all run away, and which is left like 
 a vagrant, without any visible means of support. 
 Presently we come to a farm-house on our left — 
 the first we have seen since we left Ewhurst, and 
 then a wider sweep of country appears in front, and 
 the Guildford Hills and St. Martha's Chapel. Pass 
 another farm-house, and take the road to the left — 
 this brings us out upon Shere Heath, a noble expanse, 
 the walk across which might make an old man feel 
 young again. Then by a north-westerly course over 
 Albury Common, another wide and breezy heath, where 
 health and good spirits are taken in at every breath. 
 There are neither houses nor land to be had about here 
 for love or money. When you come to a cottage near 
 the palings at your right hand, leave the road, and cut 
 straight across the heath, and go through a wood, down 
 a deep lane, which soon becomes so narrow that it
 
 CH. XIX. Ewhui^st, Aldzcry, and Chilwoi'th. 259 
 
 looks little else than a dried up water-course. At the 
 end, take the road to the left, not omitting to notice the 
 double yew tree in front of a cottage, trimmed so as to 
 form an archway. This brings you to Albury, where 
 there lives a being -vvho pretends to let out flys, and 
 never" by any chance has one in — how often have I 
 arrived at his mendacious shop, weary and footsore, in 
 the hope of getting a lift to the station, and been 
 oblisred to trudge on amid the ironical remarks of the 
 villagers, upon whom even Mr. Tupper's poems (he 
 lives here, and his books are sold in the chandler's 
 shop) do not seem to have produced that elevating 
 influence which might reasonably have been looked 
 for from them. 
 
 Having, then, reached Albury, you must now turn to 
 the left, and keep to the left, for about a mile and a 
 half, till you come to the big pond and the powder 
 mills, and the remainder of Chilworth, which is not 
 much. We are now at the foot of the hill on which 
 stands St. Martin's Church, not far from the place 
 where, according to Manning, was formerly "the 
 mansion-house of the lords of the manor, which it 
 continued to be till the death of the last of the 
 Randy lis. After that it was used as a farm-house." 
 And now you may hunt in vain for the smallest trace 
 of the building. If anybody takes an interest in gun- 
 powder mills, there they are at Chilworth — I do not. 
 The roads are bad, the inn is wretched. This is the 
 place so energetically denounced by Cobbett, because in 
 his day bank-notes and gunpowder were manufactured
 
 26o Field Paths and Grcai Lanes en. xix. 
 
 here — "two inventions of the devil." Now only one 
 invention of the devil is left. Althougli the natural 
 situation of Chilworth is most beautiful, and the hills 
 at the Lack are glorious, yet the railroad-crossing, and 
 the coal-sheds, and the out-buildings, and the poverty- 
 stricken inn, tend somehow to give the village a 
 depressing look ; and if the visitor should by any 
 adverse chance find himself belated there at night, 
 with the last train gone, he will be sorrow^fully inclined 
 to think that in spite of all the charms Avhich Nature 
 has scattered around, old Cobbett's curse still hangs 
 over Chilworth.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FROM EDENBRIDGE TO PENSHURST. 
 
 A Preliminary Caution. — Edenbridge and Hever.— The Castle and 
 Church. — Chiddingstone and its Timber Cottages.— The Road 
 to Penshurst. —A Bid for Cottage Furniture. — Penshurst Church. 
 — The Harvest Thanksgiving.— Parson DarkenoU. — Penshurst 
 Place.— Lord de L'Isle's Work of Restoration.— The Baron's 
 Hall.— Family Portraits. — The Broken Mandolin. —The 
 Library. — A Stroll in the Great Park.— Sidney's Oak.— The 
 Old Beeches and Yew. 
 
 This is a journey of about ten miles, but in some 
 parts the road is rather hard to find, and if the object 
 of the visitor be to see both Hever Castle and Pens- 
 hurst Place, he must devote two days to the undertak- 
 ing. For Hever Castle is shown only on Wednesdays, 
 and Penshurst on Mondays and Saturdays. There is 
 another word of caution which may be usefully given, 
 and it is this — if you ask at Edenbridge or Hever the 
 road to Penshurst, be sure that you are not sent on to 
 the station, unless you are really aiming for that dismal 
 spot. The station is two miles from the house and 
 village, and there is only a miserable railroad-inn there, 
 where the louts of the neighbourhood are always 
 fuddling themselves over thick beer. All these minor 
 stations on the South Eastern Railroad are far away
 
 262 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xx. 
 
 from the to^\Tis or villages whose names they bear, 
 and more depressing places in -winch a man may be 
 doomed to spend an hour or two cannot be imagined. 
 
 Edenbridge station is about a mile from the village. 
 The church is small, but it gives that air of dignity and 
 peace to the scene which is so seldom absent in rural 
 England. " The walk to Hever," says the Handbook, 
 " across the fields from Edenbridge, is a pleasant one." 
 This was quite enough to set me hunting diligently for 
 it. Most of the townsfolk declared they had never 
 heard of such a walk, and looked upon me with manifest 
 coldness and suspicion, as if I were a sort of cross 
 between a tramp and a policeman. One man told me 
 to go through the churchyard and then go "straight 
 forrards." I went " forrards " until I found myself 
 brought up at a five-barred gate, without track of any 
 kind leading from it. Then I turned back to get fresh 
 directions. An old woman now appeared, and said 
 you could go by the fields to Hever Castle, leastways 
 if the paths were not stopped up, but no stranger could 
 find the way. She told me how to go, but unfor- 
 tunately her directions were far more hopelessly 
 entangled than those which the clown gives to the 
 foot-sore stranger in the pantomime. I therefore gave 
 up the field path, and took Avith reluctance to the 
 turnpike road. There is not much to be said for this 
 road, except that it is tolerably short — the distance to the 
 castle being three miles. About half way I met with a 
 brother tramp — a man of foreign appearance, very thin 
 and poor, with something tied up in a torn and dirty
 
 CH. XX. Front Edenbiddge to Penshw'st. 26 
 
 •1 
 
 pocket-handkerchief, and limping slowly and painfully 
 along. He said nothing, and I passed on, but presently 
 the man's starved look and wan face smote upon me, 
 and I looked back. He was hobbling on at the rate of 
 about half a mile an hour. 1 leaned over a gate and 
 waited till he came up. "You seem tired," said I, 
 " suppose you take this towards your night's lodging," 
 and I offered him sixpence. " I didn't ask for any- 
 thing, did I ? " replied he, with a frightened look. " No, 
 but take it all the same." " I don't want it — not but 
 what I'm poor enough, God knows." " Well then, why 
 not have this trifle ? " "I have just come out of prison 
 for begging a penny on the road, and now you are offer- 
 ing me this to get me another month — I didn't ask you 
 for anything, did I ? Keep your money." This, upon 
 the whole, is the most wonderful occurrence that has 
 happened to me in all my walks. My thirsty fellow- 
 tramps have generally taken my small contributions in 
 the most obliging manner. 
 
 I soon left this poor fellow far behind, and came to 
 Hever Castle — the castle to which Mr. Fronde's hero, 
 Henry the Eighth, went a-courting to Anne Boleyn. 
 I saw the moat, and the pleasant gardens round about 
 it, and the red and white roses which have been trained 
 to grow up each side of the principal entrance — but 
 more than that I was Dot allowed to see. "Master 
 says as no strangers can come in," said the servant 
 girl. Whereupon I took myself otf. But at the 
 church I was more successful, thanks to the school- 
 master who keeps the keys. There are two fine
 
 264 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xx. 
 
 brasses in this poor, neglected, dilapidated church — one 
 to the father of Anne Boleyn, in perfect condition, and 
 dated 1538. The other is to the memory of Margaret 
 Cheyne, dated l-ilO. " Your church is in a shocking 
 state," said I to the schoolmaster. " Yes, sir," he said, 
 " we have no resident gentry now about here, and no 
 one will do anything for it." The pews are evidently 
 ancient, and there is an old oaken staircase, quite 
 rough, going up the tower to the clock. But the damp 
 is cracking the walls in all directions, and it may be 
 doubted whether the tower itself — a picturesque object 
 for miles around — will last very many years longer if 
 something is not done to strengthen it. "The Rector," 
 remarked the schoolmaster, "thinks of appealing to the 
 public for help — we are all very poor about here. It is 
 a dreadfully poor place." I hope the Rector will suc- 
 ceed, for otherwise the old church will come tumbling 
 about his ears one of these days. 
 
 Having ascertained the bearings of Penshurst, I 
 struck across the churchyard into some fields east- 
 ward of Hever, and at the distance of a mile and a 
 half came upon Chiddingstone, one of those quaint 
 villages which it is worth making a long day's march 
 to see. The timber houses are very old and pretty, 
 and afford a great contrast to the " Squire's house," 
 which is a large, square, unornamental jiile of brick 
 and mortar. From this charming village I got sent 
 on, in spite of all my precautions, to Penshurst Station, 
 with its dismal inn, and had to double back the road 
 to my true destination.
 
 CH. XX. From Edenbridge to Pens hurst. 265 
 
 That road may scarcely attract the passing glance of 
 persons who know it Avell, but the stranger's eye will 
 dwell lovingly upon it, for a deep border of green runs 
 on each side of the carriage way, and numbers of 
 beautiful trees overhang this green margin, and keep 
 it cool and shady. These trees, especially on the right- 
 hand side of the road, evidently form part of an old 
 and fine estate — there are cedars, and ash, and yew, 
 which have not grown up by accident. Just beyond is 
 another pretty property, belonging to Mr. Nasmyth, 
 the engineer. On the left hand, glimpses are occa- 
 sionally caught of the historic house to which we are 
 going, and long before it is reached a path turns into 
 the park from the road. But the best plan is to keep 
 on the road till the village is reached, for you will then 
 go right past the house, which stands only a few 
 hundred yards back, and has nothing between it and 
 you to obstruct the view. A little further on is the 
 small village of Penshurst, consisting of little more 
 than a dozen cottages and a freshly painted inn called 
 the Leicester Hotel, where the accommodation is plain 
 but comfortable, everything about the house being 
 remarkably neat and clean. 
 
 A little below the inn, on the oppo.site side of the 
 way, is a pollarded oak, and that leads beneath a 
 couple of old cottages into the churchyard, through 
 which there is a path to the great house. The cottages 
 form a sort of archway, and are very fine specimens of 
 the timbered building which was in vogue before lath 
 and plaster played the important part they now do in
 
 266 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xx. 
 
 modern dwellings. From the churchyard their appear- 
 ance is particularly striking. They form a fit introduc- 
 tion to the old church and "castle," and I was glad to 
 hear that Lord de L'Isle would "not have them taken 
 down for any money." He has, indeed, been at con- 
 siderable expense to keep them in repair — only a small 
 part of the very heavy drain which this estate must 
 have kept up on his purse. Near the door of one of 
 these cottages I noticed an old-fashioned piece of furni- 
 ture, and begged to be allowed to look at it. It was 
 of oak, curiously carved, and black with age — a sort of 
 cabinet or sideboard. The woman with the keys said 
 it belonged to her husband's family; that the owner 
 had been offered £5 and even £7 for it by " a person 
 as came from London," but that he would not sell 
 it because it " had been such a loner time in the 
 family." I could not help thinking that it was much 
 to the cottager's credit to keep his heir-loom, and 
 resist the temptations of that crafty person as came 
 from London. 
 
 The day before my visit (2nd October, 1876), there 
 had been " harvest services " in the church, and the 
 decorations were not yet withered. Kound the entrance 
 door was a garland of yellow hops, and the pillars inside 
 were adorned with the bloom of the same plant, inter- 
 twined with chrysanthemums and other autumn flowers. 
 There was a wreath of apples near the reading desk, 
 bright rosy-cheeked apples, with a great branch of the 
 " crab " near them, and various specimens of the harvest 
 of the district. This is one of the good old simple
 
 cH. XX, From Edenbridge to Penshurst. 267 
 
 customs which is still preserved in mauy parts of the 
 country, and which it is to be hoped will survive 
 the "inarch of improvement" yet a little longer. 
 The church has been wholly " restored," but the work 
 was done with care, and if the edifice has lost much 
 of the look of antiquity, it has gained in durability, 
 and will probably now stand for generations to come. 
 In the south chancel, or Sidney chapel, are several in- 
 teresting brasses, among them a small and very plain 
 one — the plainest and rudest I ever saw — inscribed to 
 " Thomas Bullayen, the sone of S}t Thomas Bullayen," 
 whose tomb is at Hever Church. There is no date. 
 Close by is a mutilated bust, lying close to the 
 wall upon the ground, supposed to be of the Thomas 
 Pencester whose family held the Penshurst estate for 
 two hundred years after the Conquest. There is a brass 
 to Margaret Sidney, sister to Dorothy, the Saccharissa 
 of Waller, the said Margaret having died, as is carefully 
 set forth, on Easter Day, 1558, aged only one year and 
 three-quarters. There are also two good figures of 
 Thomas Yden and Agnes his wife (1558), and a large 
 monument to Robert Sidney, Earl of Leicester, and his 
 wife, who " lived thirty happy years together, and had 
 fifteen children, of whom nine died young." In the 
 north chancel opposite there is a brass to the memory 
 of some old parson who seems to have had a touch of 
 humour in him, and who left for posterity this account 
 of himself and his belongings : — 
 
 " Here lyeth W™ Darkenoll, P'son of this place 
 Endynge his ministeri even this yeare of grace 1596.
 
 268 Field Paths aiid Green Lanes, en. xx. 
 
 His father and motlier and wyves two by name 
 
 so 88 50 f>7 
 
 John Jone and two Margarets all lyvcd in good fame . 
 
 Their severall ages who lykctli to know 
 Over each of their names the figures do shewe . 
 The sonnes and daughters now spronge of this race 
 Are fyve score and od in every place. 
 Deceased July 12th anno supradco. " 
 
 There follow a scriptural " application " and a death's 
 head and crossbones. But what is strange is that no 
 record appears in the parish register of any one named 
 Darkenoll being " parson of this place," although I was 
 told there used to be a family of that name living in 
 an old house somewhere in the neighbourhood. In the 
 tower wall a coffin lid has been inserted, carved in stone, 
 with a vivid figure apparently clinging to a cross. The 
 features are contorted as if in pain. " This is supposed 
 to be the figure of the guardian of Thomas Pencester," 
 said the custodian of the church ; but who this guardian 
 was, or why he was thus depicted, there is no one who 
 can tell. 
 
 Adjoining the Church is the Rectory, a house of the 
 time of Charles the First, thoroughly home-like in its 
 appearance, and with that bright ornament, a very 
 pretty garden, in front. A few yards off is the 
 great " Kentish shrine " of Penshurst, lying long and 
 low and covering a great space of ground— partly 
 ancient, partly modern in its external walls, but wear- 
 ing over all that indescribable look which speaks of the 
 long past, and of generations which have flourished and 
 disappeared while these old bricks and stones were 
 resisting the winds and rains of five hundred winters,
 
 CH. XX. From Edenbridge to Penshui^st. 269 
 
 and owners and builders, and all their descendants, and 
 raillions of our kind throughout the world, were being 
 swept quietly into the grave. 
 
 Yet time had laid its hand heavily upon this house, 
 and but for great care and prodigal expenditure it 
 would ere now have been merely a picturesque ruin. 
 A few years ago, it was found necessary to shore 
 up many of the old rooms, for they had become 
 absolutely dangerous. The most extensive works were 
 necessary to save the structure. These works have 
 been carried out in a spirit of love and devotion — for 
 surely such sentiments may be kindled by such a house 
 as this — by the present owner, Lord de L'IsIe. It is a 
 restoration in name as well as in fact which he has 
 attempted — for example, in one part of the building 
 which it was indispensable to take down, every stone 
 was marked as it was removed, and replaced in its 
 original position, under the personal superintendence 
 of Lord de L'Isle himself and his architect, Mr. Devey. 
 The floors were all sinking in, but instead of removing 
 them, a new flooring was laid down, and over that the 
 original boards were carefully placed. The paint and 
 whitewash of Queen Anne's day, and of some later 
 " restorers," have also been got rid of in a great measure, 
 and the work is still being vigorously pressed forward. 
 The burden of preserving such a house as this, and of 
 meeting inch by inch the destructive inroads of time, 
 is one from which many an owner of a princely income 
 would shrink back alarmed. 
 
 You cross the old courtyard, and enter the Baron's
 
 270 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xx. 
 
 Hall, which the best authorities agree must have been 
 built in or about the year 1341. So little change has 
 taken place in it that the imagination can almost 
 revive the scenes which once took place in this famous 
 liall — can place before these old tables the groups of 
 knights and retainers who once made merry here, and 
 recall the great and joyful festivals of harvest home 
 and Christmas, celebrated with the broad and generous 
 hospitality of five hundred years ago. The best table 
 is still at the upper end on the dais, and on each side 
 of the hall are the tables for retainers and servants — 
 just as they stood there when the head of the house, 
 and his family and dependants, assembled to take their 
 meals together. Around the walls are pieces of arms 
 and armour belonging to the Sidneys and Leicesters, 
 and there in the middle of the floor is the great iron 
 " dog " on which the fire was built — the open timber 
 roof above is black with the smoke from it. Huge 
 fago-ots and logs are laid upon this dog, and the old 
 hall is so much unchanged, and everything about it 
 speaks so eloquently of other days, that one almost 
 involuntarily begins to think that presently a servant 
 will come and set alight to that wood, and the knights 
 and retainers will take their places at the tables, 
 and the blooming Saccharissa herself will perhaps 
 appear with other ladies of the family, and the feast 
 will begin. Standing there alone, in the fading light of 
 an autumn afternoon, the old scenes seem to come back 
 and the old actors return — the five hundred years are 
 as if they had not been, and one thinks in a half doubt-
 
 CH, XX. From Edenbridge to Peiishu7'st. 2 7 1 
 
 ful Avay of the many mighty changes which have hap- 
 pened in this land around us, since the bricks of this 
 old floor and the heavy timbers of yonder lofty roof 
 were put together. Is it a dream that these vast events 
 have happened, or that this old hall was once filled with 
 gay revellers and lovely women and brave men ? Com- 
 pared with these slowly changing scenes, what does all 
 human existence seem but a dream ? 
 
 When Mr. William Howitt was here in 1838, he 
 found, as he tells us in his interesting account of his 
 visit,* the huge carved corbels of the roof lying in the 
 music gallery, the roof itself in danger of falling down, 
 and on the outside some leaden vases and urns and 
 other " monstrosities " placed there by a Mr. Perry, 
 who, it seems, had married the heiress to the family. 
 The " monstrosities " have been carted off into the 
 lumber yard, the roof has been placed in a fair state 
 of repair, and the grotesque carvings or corbels have 
 been replaced. To make such a roof as this watertight 
 would cost a large sum of money — probably would be 
 all but impossible ; but the brick floor can take no 
 hurt from a little wet, and the walls are sound, while 
 there is now no danger of the timbers of the roof 
 falling. " There is no such roof to be found out of 
 England," says an archaeologist, and he adds that the 
 tables " are among the eai'liest pieces of furniture 
 remaining in England." Lord de L'Isle has done a 
 good work in putting this interesting part of the old 
 house into a condition which will, let us hope, enable 
 * Visits to Remarkable Places, pp. 1 — 49.
 
 272 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xx. 
 
 it to resist wind and weather for the otlicr half of the 
 thousand years. 
 
 I cannot attempt to play the part of guide to this 
 house, or to describe the numerous portraits and paint- 
 ings or curiosities which are treasured up within it. 
 That is a work which has often been undertaken, and 
 for the traveller it cannot be more conveniently \)QX- 
 formed than it is in Murray's "Handbook" for Kent. The 
 portraits have recently been arranged in chronological 
 order, and have been very carefully cleaned and hung 
 in a good light. No visitor to Penshurst will forget 
 the portraits of the Sidney family, especially those 
 of Algernon and Sir Philip Sidney, and of Waller's 
 " Saccharissa," — the last appearing in this canvas as a 
 bouncing and buxom lass, such as poets are, notwith- 
 standing their sentiment and romance, very apt to 
 fall in love with. Nor can one forget Kneller's portrait 
 of William " the Deliverer," with his long, grave, 
 dyspeptic face ; or Holbein's portrait of Edward the 
 Sixth (who gave Penshurst to the Sidneys), with the 
 tinge of red in his hair, his pale countenance, and 
 small dark eyes ; or the portrait of Lady Jane Grey, 
 sweet and amiable, a great conti-ast to the cross- 
 grained, vixenish features of Mary, whose picture hangs 
 beneath. On the sofa in Queen Elizabeth's room I 
 noticed a broken mandolin, looking as if some one 
 had just injured it and laid it there. I asked the 
 housekeeper about it, and she told me that it had 
 belonged to Sir Philip Sidney's mother. It seemed as 
 if it might have been lying in the same place ever
 
 en. XX. From Edenb ridge to Pens/mrsL . 273 
 
 since that worthy lady finished playing her last tune 
 upon it. Then we have that curious painting by Lely 
 of Nell Gwynne, in which ample opportunity is afforded 
 us of knowing what manner of woman, physically, was 
 this particular favourite of " merry" King Charles, and 
 a very singular picture representing Queen Elizabeth 
 dancingf at Kenilworth with the Earl of Leicester. As 
 for the curiosities, there are the riding boots of 
 Algernon Sidney in the lung gallery, a piece of the 
 shaving glass of Sir Philip Sidney, some wonderful 
 cabinets of most elaborate workmanship, locks of the 
 hair of many Sidneys and Leicesters, all recently 
 gathered into one large glass case ; a table inlaid with 
 tortoise-shell on silver, and another table (intended for 
 whist) with the cover most beautifully executed in 
 needlework ; a collection of. family miniatures, exqui- 
 sitely painted, and much more that it would take 
 almost a volume to set forth. Many of these objects 
 are in the private apartments, which are sometimes 
 shown to visitors of the more quiet description. The 
 rooms now used are very tastefully fitted up, the tone 
 and style of the old house being carefully studied in all 
 details. The library is essentially a room for use and 
 comfort, not too large, and with a glorious alcove 
 window in it, as many other of the rooms have — deep, 
 snug, offering great facilities to the young for mild 
 flirtations, and beckoning the elder folk to step aside 
 and meditate ; overlooking, moreover, portions of the 
 venerable pile outside and charming vistas of the park. 
 
 The best books in the collection once at Penshurst, and 
 13
 
 2 74 Field Paths and Green Lanes, cn. xx. 
 
 the most valuable of the Sidney MSS., were carried off 
 by the active-minded Mr. Ireland, whose Shakespeare 
 forgeries also give him some claim to be remembered. 
 Ireland was on good terms with some member of the 
 family, and had the " run of the house," and improved 
 his opportunities by pillaging it as freely as one of 
 Cromwell's soldiers could have done. 
 
 Most visitors to the park have dwelt much upon its 
 neglected appearance, and Walpole's sneer has often 
 been quoted : " The park is forlorn ; instead of Sac- 
 charissa's cipher carved on the beeches, I should sooner 
 have expected to have found the milk-woman's score." 
 Mr. Howitt speaks of the "silent park," and of "its 
 grass-grown pleasance and its grey walls." Walpole's 
 remark seems a harsh one, but undoubtedly there is 
 something even now about the park which suggests 
 nearly what must have been in his thoughts. I 
 wandered for some hours over it, and the walk pro- 
 duced a melancholy effect upon the mind, for every- 
 thing has a deserted and mournful air. The rabbits 
 have made large mounds all over the park, and it is 
 necessary to look carefully to one's steps to avoid 
 falling into their holes, which in some places resemble 
 long tunnels for water-pipes. Moreover, the grass is 
 not grass, if one may so speak, but heavy coarse fern 
 and bramble, which you must go far out of your way to 
 avoid, for in some places it is so thick as to be almost 
 impassable. It does not look like a park, but like a 
 very wild common or some half-forgotten wilderness, 
 and this appearance is heightened by the gloomy
 
 CH. XX. 
 
 From Edenbridge to Peiishurst. 275 
 
 spectfe which now and then confronts you of a dead 
 tree, without hark or leaf upon it, struck perhaps by 
 Hghtning or dead of mere old age, and now seeming 
 pitifully to beseech one to take it away. Are these 
 utterly dead trees never cut down in this park ? Cer- 
 tain it is that they are numerous, and present a most 
 sorrowful aspect. 
 
 But the park is by no means neglected, for the 
 beautiful avenue of limes leading eastwards from 
 the house has been continued northwards by the plant- 
 ing of some hundreds of young trees. The original 
 avenue must be very old, and there are still some 
 splendid oak and ash trees remaining in it, their 
 younger brethren, which have been put down at their 
 side to fill up the gaps, looking as if they meant to do 
 credit to their training and associations. By following 
 the limes eastwards from the house, and then turning 
 through a gate to the left about halfway down, this 
 northerly avenue is reached, and goes for nearly 
 two miles to Leigh. I followed it almost to the 
 end, and then struck off to examine a thick clump of 
 trees not far off. Was this Gamage's Bower ? About 
 half a mile or so up the avenue is the venerable tree 
 known as Sidney's Oak, now protected by a railing. It 
 has evidently suffered much since the sketch of it was 
 taken for Howitt's " Visits to Remarkable Places " (I., 
 13) — its top is almost entirely gone, and large branches 
 have been battered off or mutilated. But its girth is 
 still gi'eat, and its limbs are gigantic. It is a true 
 monarch of the woods, grand and majestic even in its
 
 276 Field Paths and Green Lanes. en. xx. 
 
 decrepitude, and sturdily opposing itself to the strokes 
 of lightning and the heavy shocks of winter's gales. It 
 recalls the description by Virgil of the oak, so happily 
 imitated by La Fontaine : — 
 
 " Celui de qui la tcte au ciel etait voisine, 
 Et (lont Ic's pieds touchaient a I'dnpire des morts." 
 
 Foliage still covers its trunk and branches, but its 
 shattered head is crowned only with the " monumental 
 pomp of age." Not far northward of this venerable 
 tree there is a grand Spanish chestnut, with one huge 
 branch lying prone upon the ground, and its trunk 
 bearing marks of its great age. Hard by that is a 
 yew, growing unusually straight, not particularly large, 
 but unquestionably very old. Proceeding still further 
 northward, and returning to the avenue, some magnifi- 
 cent beeches come in sight — beautiful trees still, 
 though far advanced in years. One is a mere wreck, 
 and others are fast going to decay. These beeches are 
 the remains of "Saccharissa's Walk," "lofty beeches" 
 .^till, but gradually going the road which Saccharissa 
 and her love-sick poet travelled long ago. 
 
 The visitor who strolls to this part of the park will 
 find himself well rewarded. To the eastward he will 
 obtain a fine view over Tunbridge and the distant 
 country, and if he looks to the south his eye will rest 
 upon the weather-beaten roof of the Baron's Hall, the 
 ivy-clad walls beneath it, the tempest-smitten trees 
 and lonely park, and the purple slopes of the South 
 Downs, which form a noble background to the " home 
 of the Sidneys."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE WYE FROM ROSS TO CHEPSTOW. 
 
 The "Lion" of Ross. —The AVye. — Goodrich Castle. — Gilpin's 
 "Analysis" of the Wye. — From Goodrich to Monmouth. — The 
 "Kymiu"nnd Buckstone. — The Bachelor of Stanton. — A Re- 
 turned Indian. — The Railroad. — From Monmouth to Chepstow. 
 — Encroacliments on Tintern. — The Wyndcliffe. — What is good 
 for Rheumatism ? — Our Beautiful Inns. 
 
 There is uotliing much more curious at E.oss, not 
 even excepting its ancient buildings, than the tree, or 
 double tree, which grows inside the church, on the spot 
 where of old the pew of the " Man of Ross " was placed. 
 Formerly a tree grew just outside the church window, 
 but although it was planted by Jobn Kyrle himself, 
 the rector sacrilegiously cut it down, and what hap- 
 pened ? The tree made itself into two, and grew 
 inside his church instead of outside — thus a double 
 visitation of wrath fell upon him. The old pews are 
 gone, but a couple of elm trees still grow within the 
 church, close to a window. When I saw them in 
 August, 1876, they had a wan and sickly appearance — 
 the foliage on them was very slight, and of a light and 
 delicate shade of green. " It's the hot weather," said 
 the woman who had the keys ; " they don't look so well
 
 2/8 Field Paths and Greui Lanes, ch. xxi. 
 
 as they generally do. The sun strikes upon thera from 
 the window, and the ground is all halced and hard 
 outside." Certainly the poor trees had a languid 
 aspect, reminding one of that saddest of all sad sights, 
 a fair young girl in a decline. They are about four 
 inches in diameter, and the tops are frequently cut to 
 prevent them striking against the roof 
 
 There are more roads than one to Monmouth, but 
 the best is that which goes past the Royal Hotel, and 
 over Wilton Bridfife, and enables the traveller to take 
 in Goodrich Castle or Symond's Yat on his way. Of 
 Wilton Castle, wdiich dates back to the year 1141, 
 little but a few shapeless stones remain, but the bridge 
 over the Wye still forms a picturesque featui-e in tlie 
 landscape. Beyond the small village, the road to the 
 left must be taken, and very soon the Wye makes its 
 appearance, running amid green meadows, with beauti- 
 fully wooded hills and soft pastoral scenery beyond. 
 Sometimes it flows nearly to the road, rippling along 
 over the stones with a cool and refreshing sound — at 
 others it wanders far off", or completely disappears from 
 view. Presently the ruins of Goodrich Castle are seen 
 in the distance, with the modern house called Goodrich 
 Court nearly opposite, and the river apparently running 
 between. In reality, they are divided by a dingle. Then 
 the road ascends, and we pass an old farm on the right 
 hand, and just beyond it a private park studded with 
 fine elm trees, and soon we come to a street of cottages, 
 with a meeting house and a blacksmith's forge. This 
 is the village of Pencraig. At the foot of it a road
 
 
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 cii. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstow. 2 79 
 
 turns suddenly to the left, and a walk of a mile and a 
 half further will bring the traveller to Goodrich, 
 
 The castle is not so beautiful a ruin as Raglan, 
 but it stands on a far more commanding position than 
 the home of the brave old Marquis of Worcester, and 
 consequently it affords an enchanting view of a long 
 stretch of the valley of the Wye. The glimpses of 
 scenery which may be caught through the broken and 
 crumbling windows of the castle surpass all that poet 
 or painter has placed before us. No wonder that Good- 
 rich satisfied even the learned Prebendary of Salisbury, 
 the Rev. William Gilpin, who, although a true lover of 
 nature, was a little too much inclined to measure 
 everything by rule and line. His " Observations on 
 the River Wye" might unfavourably prejudice a reader 
 who had not yet been charmed with the much more 
 genial w^ork on " Forest Scenery." Take, for instance, 
 his "analysis" of the "sylvan Wye": — "The most 
 perfect river-views, thus circumstanced, are composed 
 of four grand parts ; the area, which is the river 
 itself ; the tti^o side-screens, which are the opposite 
 banks, and mark the perspective ; and the front- 
 screen., which points out the winding of the river." 
 He then proceeds with the details of his analysis, 
 thus : " The omaynenis of the Wye may be ranged 
 under four heads — ground — \vood — rochs — and build- 
 ing.s." Perhaps the Wye is not the only river which 
 can boast of the same ornaments. With Goodrich, 
 however, Mr. Gilpin was quite content. " This view," 
 he says, " which is one of the grandest on the river, I
 
 28o Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xxi. 
 
 should not scruple to call correctly picturesque ; Avhich 
 is seldom the character of a purely natural scene." He 
 complains elsewhere that Nature is " seldom correct in 
 composition," It must be admitted, however, that the 
 author's own taste was not always faultless, or he would 
 not have preferred those rude and hideously coloured 
 illustrations of his to what he calls the " unpleasant 
 opposition of black and white." 
 
 In pursuing the journey to Monmouth, we have to 
 leave Goodrich church on the right, and the wood, called 
 by the folks hereabouts the "coppice" or "coppage" 
 (properly, copped), to the left. It is a hard walk from 
 here to Monmouth — six up-hill, tough, and dusty miles. 
 Yet the road has beauties enough to show to reward 
 the man who can truly say that he belongs to the 
 brotherhood of Walkers, even if he cannot quite 
 comply with the exacting conditions laid down by 
 Thoreau : " If you are ready to leave father and 
 mother, and brother and sister, and wife and child and 
 friends, and never see them again ; if you have paid 
 your debts, and made your will, and settled all your 
 affairs, and are a free man, then you are ready for a 
 walk." Soon after you have passed a lodge with a 
 cross over it — which is the entrance to Judge Herbert's 
 house, the "Rocklands" — you will come to a spring by 
 the road-side, Nature's own gift to the tired wayfarer. 
 Pass it not unregarded, O thirsty walker ! Never was 
 there such cool and delicious water ; not all the cham- 
 pagne of Fi-auce is to be compared with it. Now the 
 " copped " hill is at our back, and the Great and Little
 
 CH. x\i. The Wye Jroni Ross to Chepstow. 281 
 
 Dowards in front, and all the country has a stern and 
 wild aspect, for we are approaching the border land of 
 Wales. Ere long we reach the secluded village of Whit- 
 church, with its old-fashioned " Crown " Inn standing 
 all across it. To the traveller approaching it from 
 the other direction, the road seems to be suddenly 
 swallowed up in the inn. A peaceful village, where, if 
 anywhere, a man might spend his days, 
 
 " Free from the sick fatigue, the Languid doubt, 
 Which much to have tried, in much been baffled, brings." 
 
 It was dark before I arrived at Monmouth. Shadows 
 crept gradually over the lovely country ; the trees threw 
 deeper darkness upon the road, the stars were hidden, 
 the very path was difficult to find. Suddenly from a 
 thick wood, a black mass climbing high above the road, 
 a mournful and boding cry fell upon the ear : 
 
 " It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman 
 Which gives the steru'st good night." 
 
 At last the twinkling lights of the old town came in 
 sight, the town wdiere 'Henry the Fifth w^as born, as 
 that thorough Welshman, Captain Fluellen, is careful 
 to remind him : "All the water in Wye cannot wash 
 your Majesty's Welsh blood out of your body, I can tell 
 you that." 
 
 And a charming town it is, to my mind, with its 
 ancient bridge over the Monnow, its two o;- three old 
 churches, its pleasant market place, its civil and homely 
 people, — more Welsh than English in their blood — 
 and the glorious scenery which surrounds it. A dozen
 
 282 Field Pat lis and Green Lanes, 'ir. xx/. 
 
 years and more had passed since last I trod its streets, 
 years of much wandering in distant lands ; but I re- 
 membered every nook and corner of them, and half 
 involuntarily looked round for the faces which once 
 brightened them, now " painted as on the azure of 
 eternity." In these old inland towns, nothing changes 
 but human life. Every house, every street remains the 
 .same — it is only when we look for the friends that are 
 gone that the dread work of Time strikes upon the 
 heart. 
 
 If you go across Wye bridge, and up the narrow path 
 which runs by the side of the road as you turn to the 
 left, you will find yourself brought in due season to a 
 wood. Through that, amidst plentiful green and shade, 
 the traveller may find his way to the very summit 
 of the hill called the " Kymin " — following the well- 
 marked path till he comes to a gate which shuts it off, 
 and then turning to the right. Tiiere is a shorter road, 
 just outside the wood, but it is full of rough stones and 
 glare and all manner of evils. The wood is delightful 
 — full of young birch and elm, and hazel-nut tree and 
 mountain ash, the last of Avhich keeps its old names 
 among the Monmouthshire folk of the "quicken" or 
 "service" tree. There are still many "benighted" 
 persons in this county and in Wales who regard the 
 "Rowan" or "VVitchen" tree as a potent spell against 
 the evil-eye. Evelyn assures us that ale and beer made 
 out of its berries "is an incomparable drink, familiar in 
 Wales," but it never fell to my lot to be offered a 
 glass of the wizard-drink, and I think most Welshmen
 
 CH. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstow. 283 
 
 of the present day would prefer a glass of old-fashioned 
 ale, they being an honest and simple sort of folk. 
 
 From the top of the Kymin the eye wanders over 
 the Wye and the town to the Siigarloaf mountain at 
 Abergavenny, and to the Black Mountains of Breconshire, 
 and over the Forest of Dean. There is a mean little 
 shed here, put up in the first year of this century, and 
 then called a " Temple." " The frieze," says Murray, 
 "is decorated with medallions of British admirals," and 
 I remember them well — coarse, common, in all respects 
 abominable ; yet the admiration of simple Evan Evans 
 and Morgan Jones and their lasses, who often came up 
 from below with picnic parties. Now frieze and medal- 
 lions have all but disappeared, and the "Temple" itself 
 is a disreputable-looking ruin. In the south-east, that 
 curious rocking stone, the "Buckstone," can be dis- 
 cerned, and there is a path from the Kymin to it, 
 chiefiy through woods or across fields. You pass a 
 little inn called the "Duke of York" on the way, and 
 then reach the turnpike road, from whence a narrow 
 track runs up the hill-side. Follow this track till you 
 reach a gate, climb over, leave the ruins of a sheep-cote 
 or small cottage to your right, and presently you will 
 emerge upon Stanton Common— a common, take it all 
 in all, without an equal, standing high above the high 
 hills which are near to it, and looking far over the 
 Black Mountains and the Forest of Dean. The home- 
 like village and church of Stanton are just below. 
 The site of the Buckstone is marked by a small flag- 
 staff — a stone weighing hundreds of tons, and yet
 
 284 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xxi. 
 
 poised upon a piece of rock scarcely two feet broad, 
 like a huge top standing upon its peg. The hill runs 
 down a thousand feet sheer below it, and the stone 
 inclines over at an acute angle, and can be rocked by a 
 strong man. An old fellow, whom I overtook on the 
 common, told me that the frolicsome youth of Stanton 
 had one night come up here armed with " picks " and 
 crowbars, but could not move it. " It is considered," 
 this old man explained to me, " as it was washed there 
 when the world was drownded." My friend was scarcely 
 less worthy of attention than the stone. He was a very 
 ugly little old man, with staring eyes, and great front 
 teeth, like a picture of a gnome. He told me that 
 he kept .some " ship " (sheep) out at gi-ass near Mon- 
 mouth ; they had the tick, and he had been to see 
 them. "There's alius summat wrong!" said he ; "if it 
 aint the tick it's summat else." 
 
 "Are you married?" I asked. 
 
 " Not I," said this scarecrow, with a hideous smile ; 
 " don't 1 live as I've a mind to ? Could I do that if I 
 was married? Sometimes I have thought of taking a 
 missis, but there never was a conweniency without an 
 ill-conweniency, and so I don't do it." 
 
 " But have you ever had a fair chance ?" 
 
 " Chance ! " said he, stojjping short in astonishment, 
 " why lots of women have been after me. They come 
 in offering to help clean up my cottage, but 1 know 
 what they're after. They're after me. I can't abear 
 them, but they will come. Would you get married if 
 you were me?" I pondered this question very seriously
 
 CH. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstow. 285 
 
 in my mind, and replied in the Socratic manner, by 
 assuring him that whichever course he took he would 
 be sure eventually to wish he had taken the other. "I 
 can cook my own food, and clean my own things — what 
 do I want w ith a missis ? " ' 
 
 " Good-bye," said I ; " you are a wiser man than some 
 people I know ; mind you cure your ship of the tick 
 before yoii get a missis," 
 
 How white are the streets of Stanton, how grey its 
 houses ! — and then there is that charming old church, 
 with the remains of an ancient cross just outside the 
 gates, and the old font inside, of which Murray says, 
 that it was "apparently fashioned out of a Roman 
 altar." All is so clean and calm and venerable in 
 appearance that one is reluctant to go on any further. 
 And, in truth, the people whose lot is cast here seem 
 to be unwilling to change it : there is an old farm 
 below the church in which the worthy farmer has lived 
 for upwards of half a century ; and in the churchyard — 
 a friendly churchj^ard, where the last shelter of our 
 mother earth ought rather to be called a bed among 
 violets and roses than a grave — I noticed a tombstone 
 to the memory of Alexander Gibbon aged 91, his wife 
 aged 96, a daughter aged 19, another daughter aged ^o, 
 and "Sarah Foster, their faithful servant for sixty-four 
 years, aged 87." Close by the church there is a vicarage 
 overlooking a wide and varied landscape, and an easily 
 discovered path leads to a point called the "Double 
 View " — a scene which must not be passed unnoticed. 
 The Wye can scarcely be discovered in more lovely
 
 286 Field Paths and Green Lanes, rn. xxi. 
 
 guise. The return to Monmouth had better be made 
 by the turnpike road until you come to the " Duke of 
 York " Inn, from wlience the path through the wood 
 may be taken as before. 
 
 This little house is a very good example of the 
 Monmouthshire hostelry — very plain, but not uncom- 
 fortable. When I was there last August, I found the 
 innkeeper and his wife, an old and worthy couj^le, busily 
 engaged in preparing their dinner. The old man 
 asked me to join them : " We can only offer you a 
 piece of bacon, some peas, and new potatoes," said 
 he, "but such as they are 3'ou are freely welcome," 
 But who can dine at noon save a true countryman ? 
 I contented myself with my ale and a talk. " I never 
 want to go far from this part again," said the old man ; 
 " there's no place like England." 
 
 " Have you ever been far away ? " said I. 
 
 "Why, yes, indeed, sir; I was round the Cape to 
 India and back, and glad enough am I to be here." 
 
 " Now don't begin to talk about India," said his wife, 
 " nobody wants to hear about it." Why, thought I, this 
 old fellow is no more allowed to talk about his Indian 
 experiences than the Governor of a Presidency at a 
 London dinner party. 
 
 " Do you think it is as hot here as there, sir ? " con- 
 tinued the landlord, when he had recovered his spirits 
 a little, and disregarding the words and gestures of his 
 wife. I told him I was quite sure it was not. " So I 
 tells 'em," he cried out in glee, " so I tells 'em, but 
 they only laugh at me. Yes, indeed. AVhen I tells
 
 cH. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstow. 287 
 
 'em as I have seen a dozen men die of cliolery in one 
 day, they don't believe a word I say." 
 
 " Well, I believe you." said I ; " you are not saying a 
 word that is not true." 
 
 "Why, theer now," said the old man triumphantly to 
 his wife, " when / tells 'era about the East Ingies, they 
 
 go away and say, ' that old Jenkins be a d hear, 
 
 so I drcqj it. Yes, sure." 
 
 How many burra-sahibs have I seen in England who 
 were treated, much to their surprise, with just as little 
 consideration as poor old Jenkins of the " Duke of 
 York." He had been a soldier in the 32nd Regiment, 
 and showed me several relics of his army days. I hoj^e 
 that if these pages meet the eye of any of his customers 
 they will desist from denouncing him as a " leear " 
 when he spins them a yarn about the Ingies. English- 
 men pretend to be very proud of India, and yet never 
 hear its name mentioned without a yawn. 
 
 If the pedestrian chooses to go from Monmouth to 
 Raglan Castle or Svmonds Yat — and neither oudit to 
 be missed — the roads are good and full of interest ; or 
 he may pass through Stanton to the still wild and 
 romantic Forest of Dean, Avith its mining villages, 
 and its foresters, with their ways and manners which 
 have been little affected by the great tide of our 
 wonderful civilisation. 
 
 They have made a railroad through the valley of the 
 Wye, even through that lovely part of it which extends 
 from Monmouth to Chepstow. Was this, also, one of 
 the "urgent necessities" of the age? Already there
 
 288 Field Paths and Green Lanes, en. xxi. 
 
 were three ways of passing from one town to the other, 
 and all good — by boat, carriage, or on foot. Were 
 they not enough % The wise tourist will leave the iron 
 horse to the bagman and his parcels, and will still tramp 
 his way along this gem of a valley on foot, noticing as 
 he goes that the railroad, with all its precious freight, 
 is obliged to plunge into great holes in the earth and 
 rock at intervals, and be swallowed out of sight. And 
 a very good thing too. 
 
 From Monmouth to Chepstow it is a walk of sixteen 
 miles. For five miles or so the river flows to the right 
 hand, becoming more beautiful at every movement ere 
 it is lost in the Severn. Then a bridge is crossed, and 
 we arrive at the village of St. Briavel's, which can still 
 boast of its ancient castle. Two miles further on is 
 Llandogo, lying at the foot of richly wooded hills, and 
 with a pretty little church standing close by the river. 
 Cottages are dotted among the woods just as Words- 
 worth described them: — 
 
 " Pastoral laniis, 
 
 Grteii to the very doors, and wreaths of smoke 
 Sent \\\\ ill silence, from among the trees." 
 
 The river here begins to assume a yellower hue, like 
 that of the "sandy-bottomed Severn" to which it is 
 fast approaching. It still keeps a very devious course, 
 sometimes running far away from the road, sometimes 
 looking as if at a short distance it went quite across it 
 and cut it off. A few sloops or other light craft also 
 begin to make their appearance — generally stuck high 
 and dry in the mud. It is not impossible that an active
 
 CH. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstozv. 289 
 
 trade may yet grow up between this part of the valley 
 and the Severn ports. At Brockweir the people are of 
 a pushing and enterprising character, and have already 
 opened up for themselves a thriving business with 
 Bristol. Some day a large town may grow up here, 
 for the Brockweir hoops are already sought for eagerly 
 in the markets. Nearer still to Tintern there are 
 greater signs of life and activity than there used to be 
 — a new bridge with a tramway, black and smoky 
 works, abundance of soot, blacks, dirt, fuss, and noise. 
 Then come a heap of ugly little cottages, higgledy- 
 piggledy, several public-houses or beer-shops (the ever 
 present curse of all this fair land), one very neat and cosy 
 inn, called the " Royal George," and then Tintern Abbey, 
 desecrated by its surroundings. It has endured great 
 wrongs during the last few years. Tea-gardens, beer- 
 shops, and wretched cabins press close up to it, and a 
 gang of beggars waylay the visitor on the road or 
 besiege the gates. The ruin itself is well cared for, 
 but the neighbourhood does its best to degrade it to the 
 level of a suburban show. The visitors appear to be 
 more numerous than ever ; and yet I remember, nearl}^ 
 fifteen years ago, going there one moonlight night to 
 have a quiet look at the Abbey, and finding upwards 
 of eight hundred persons enjoying themselves within 
 the beautiful w^lls. Bottles were popping off in all 
 directions, and the grass was white with the paper 
 in which what the people called "the grub" had been 
 packed up. It is rare, however, to fall in with such 
 a drove as this, except during the full moon in Sep-
 
 290 Field Paths and Green Lanes, ch. xxi. 
 
 tember — popularly known as the harvest moon — when 
 Swansea, Cardiff, Newport, and Bristol, send thousands 
 to see the venerable Abbey. 
 
 Gilpin, whose criticisms upon the Wye it is hard to 
 read with respect, calls Tiutem " ill-shaped," and says 
 of it, " a number of gable ends hurt the eye with their 
 regularity, and disgust it by the vulgarity of their shape." 
 He recommends knocking some of them off with a 
 mallet, '-'particularly those of the cross aisles, which 
 are both disagreeable in themselves, and confound the 
 perspective." Few who look at it from road or river, 
 and mark its exquisite proportions, its glorious east 
 Aviudow, its calm and queenly beauty, will feel inclined 
 to receive this criticism with patience. Rather will 
 they think with Whateley that Tiutern "suggests every 
 idea which can occur in a seat of devotion, solitude 
 and desolation." 
 
 Just before reaching the Abbey, the railroad is 
 fortunately obliged to betake itself to a tunnel, in 
 which it remains for some little, distance, so that trains 
 and " tracks " do not litter up the scenery directly in 
 front of the ruin. But it has done much to spoil the 
 banks a little further on — i^hose banks which used 
 to be an unbroken mass of green from the summit to 
 the Avater's edge, with a strip of meadow below, and 
 the river lapping its sides. Now, about three parts of 
 the way down the cliff, Ave see an embankment, deep 
 cuttings, fences, telegraph posts, a railroad, — what 
 would Wordsworth say if he could see his beloved 
 Tintern thus invaded ? Soon, however, the excessive
 
 CH. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstow. 291 
 
 steepness of the cliffs has obliged the engineer to take 
 his work out of sight again, and the line makes a 
 sudden plunge round a sharp curve into the solid 
 rock, head foremost. What becomes of it afterwards 
 the happy traveller on foot will probably feel no 
 curiosity to ask. 
 
 Through that pretty little toy, the "Moss Cottage," 
 one still makes the ascent of the Wyndcliffe. Rheu- 
 matism lords it over this abode, and has seized the 
 poor old woman who lives in it, and tied up her hands 
 into strange knots, and persecuted her bitterly in all her 
 joints. "I have lived here for thirty-five years," she 
 said to me, " but now I can scarcely move. Can you 
 tell me of anything that is good for the rheumatics, 
 sir ? 
 
 " The oil of mustard is good, but I am afraid your 
 house is very damp." The wet was trickling down the 
 walls in a small and steady stream. 
 
 She shook her head. " My husband died here of 
 the rheumatics, and I suppose I shall have to go too. 
 I live here all the year round, and in the winter it is 
 so damp that you could wring the water out of the 
 clothes." Her knuckles looked like the "bosses" 
 which grow on trees. From this poor old lady's 
 damp cell it is, as everyone who has been here knows, 
 a steep climb up the hill, not to be recommended 
 to ladies, for the steps are often slippery and awkward, 
 and if the air is not very clear, there is less to be 
 seen from the top of the cliff than from the road. 
 From the Chepstow side the ascent is far more easy
 
 292 Field Paths and Grcai Lanes, en. xxr. 
 
 and can, indeed, be managed the greater part of the 
 distance in a carriage. As for the view when the 
 weather is favourable, it must, like other wondrous 
 things in nature, be left undescril^ed— although there 
 is a very good account of it in Murray's Handbook. 
 Immediately below is the curious farm of Llancant, in 
 the shape of a horse-shoe, with the Wye running round 
 it like a streak of silver. To the right is Piercefield, 
 those beautiful grounds through which the traveller is 
 free to walk, and which will take him a long way on 
 the road to Chepstow, where, at the " Beaufort Arras," 
 he may find a fair night's lodging. 
 
 Can anyone tell why it is that at all these hotels 
 only two or three things fit to be eaten are known to 
 the landlords ? For breakfast you are invariably offered 
 " 'am an' eggs," while for dinner in this region the 
 nnenu is never altered — "hox-tail, sole, and a cutlet." 
 The waiter has no suggestions — he rims off his old list 
 glibly, fidgets the spoons about, gives his dirty neck-tie 
 a twist, and then stands smiling vacantly. " Steak or 
 chop," — you must want one of those ? No ? — then try 
 the cold meat ; or come now, what do you say to some 
 briled 'am ? Not like that either ? The waiter, who 
 smells horribly of brandy-and -water, and has a parlous 
 red face, begins to look upon you askance, as a very 
 objectionable person. Evidently a " gent as is hard to 
 please." Will you have some poached heggs ? Last 
 week there were some kidneys in the house, but they 
 are all gone. Perhaps it is quite a^ well that they are. 
 The visitor, feeling rather rueful, mildly suggests salmon,
 
 cH. XXI. The Wye from Ross to Chepstoiv. 293 
 
 You might as well ask for the moon. And yet there 
 are at least two rivers not far off in which the finest 
 flavoured salmon in the world is caught. But you 
 stand a much better chance of getting a Severn salmon 
 in Bond Street than you do at Chepstow or Gloucester. 
 
 THE END.
 
 META HOLDENIS. 
 
 From the French of VICTOR CHERBULIEZ, 
 
 Author of " Samuel Brohl and Company," etc. 
 Paper, 50 cents. - - - Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 From the Neiu J 'ork Ex'ening Post. 
 
 " The story is a good one in itself, wholly unlike the story we expect in a novel. 
 M. Cherbuliez is an artist, a genius, to whom all things are possible; else his success 
 in writing this story in another than his own personality — creating a distinct individual, 
 and then making his creature tell it from his own point of view, with perfect verisimili- 
 tude — would have been impossible. It is admirable in itself, and as an example of the 
 high art of narration." 
 
 From the New York Expreis. 
 
 " A powerful story, whose characters are clearly portrayed, and whose accessories 
 of landscapes and the like are beautifully painted." 
 
 Ftom the New York li'orld. 
 
 "Cherbuliez is, after Balzac and George Sand, the first novelist of France. He is 
 more of an artist, and has more insight into human motives and actions, than other con- 
 temporary French novelists." 
 
 From the New J 'ork Sjtti. 
 
 "A companion-piece to 'Samuel Brohl and Company,' and a book which should 
 renew the notable success gained by the English version of the latter novel. In the 
 present volume we trace the fortunes of a winsome and insinuating governess, so hap- 
 pily fashioned by Nature for strategy and wiles as to continually delude herself. As 
 we have previously spoken of Cherbuliez in connection with ' Samuel Brohl and Com- 
 pany,' we need only add that the action of ' Mela Holdenis ' is somewhat more fervid 
 and vigorous, and the development of the plot more piquant to curiosity. We com- 
 mend it to the reader as the most captivating translation from the French which has 
 been printed in a twelvemonth." 
 
 From the Philadelphia Item. 
 
 " ' Meta Holdenis ' holds the attention of the reader throughout, as the analysis of 
 character; the dialogue, the descriptions, and the details of the novel, are all in Cher- 
 buliez's most animated and sparkling manner." 
 
 Froji! the Hart/ord Coiirant. 
 " Anything more skillfully wrought out than the character of ' Meta Holdenis ' we 
 have not met in a long time." 
 
 From the Boston Courier. 
 " The story is artfully contrived and graphically told, with that genius for the dex- 
 terous management of details which all Frenchmen seem to possess in some measure, 
 but which M. Cherbuliez has in an eminent degree." 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO., 549 & 551 Broadway, New York.
 
 SCHOOLS AND MASTERS OF PAINTING, 
 
 IVith an Appendix on the 
 
 PRINCIPAL GALLERIES OF EUROPE. 
 
 By a. G. RADCLIFFE. 
 I vol., small 8vo Cloth, $3.00. 
 
 " The volume is one of great practical utility, and may be used to advantage as an 
 artistic guide-book by persons visiting the collections of Italy, France, and Germany, 
 for the first time. The twelve great pictures of the world, which are familiar by copies 
 and engravings to all who have the slightest tincture of taste for art, are described in a 
 special chapter, which aflfords a convenient stepping-stone to a just appreciation of the 
 most celebrated masterpieces of painting. An important feature of the work, and one 
 which may save the traveler much time and expense, is the sketch presented in the 
 Appendix, of the galleries of Florence, Rome, Venice, Paris, Dresden, and other Eu- 
 ropean collections." — N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 "Mrs. Radcliffe is a judicious and an entertaining guide, thoroughly acquainted 
 with her subject, and writing in a style that is happily free from the disgusting cant of 
 pretended connoisseurship. She leads her readers through the great galleries, discours- 
 ing in a plain, easily-understood language. She has collected a large amount of useful 
 information, and binds the divisions of her subjects together with a thread of philo- 
 sophical thought." — Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 "Admirably illustrated throughout, and presenting as it does the different schools 
 in an orderly and methodical manner, it commends itself strongly to the art-student and 
 the artist, its value to them being enhanced by the Appendix, with its catalogue of the 
 noted art-galleries of Europe." — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 " A work that deserves a wide sale, and one that is especially valuable and sugges- 
 tive to those who desire a knowledge of the different schools of painting, from the 
 earlier periods to the present time." — Pittsburg Commercial. 
 
 " ' Schools and Masters of Painting, with an Appendix on the Principal Galleries 
 of Europe,' will, we are sure, meet with a flattering welcome from the public. It is at 
 once historical and descriptive, giving the reader a clear though somewhat minute idea 
 of what has been achieved in this department of the fine arts. The author has not 
 omitted to sketch every part of her interesting subject, conveying in the least space 
 consistent with the purpose designed for the work all the material facts with which the 
 public care to interest themselves." — Troy Times. 
 
 " Mrs. A. G. Radcliffe, the author of this book, has done a useful work in giving, 
 within a moderate compass, a history of the art of painting, from the most ancient times 
 to our day, with brief accounts of the more famous painters and their works. The in- 
 formation which she has here gathered can be found only in a number of tomes, of 
 which the size and cost put them beyond the purse and time of the larger portion of 
 general readers. But, having consulted the best authorities, and made herself mistress 
 of what they have told, she here combines the pith of their works in a clear and inter- 
 esting manner, with an easy and practiced pen." — N. V. Evening Mait. 
 
 Nfw Vork: D. APPLETON & CO.,'Pubiishers.
 
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