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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:27:49 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:27:49 -0700 |
| commit | b886fe59c385d6a162f1efc3e14b2af29030aa8e (patch) | |
| tree | fb8f69dab19ce70a3939dcaf06abb14836a1b64c /20696-h | |
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diff --git a/20696-h/20696-h.htm b/20696-h/20696-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd9eccd --- /dev/null +++ b/20696-h/20696-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20061 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Highways And Byways In Sussex, by E. V. Lucas. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + hr.smler { width: 10%; } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + .tbrk { margin-top: 2.75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem div.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em;} + .poem div.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem div.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em;} + .poem div.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem div.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em;} + .poem div.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em;} + .poem div.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 14em;} + + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + + /* index */ + + div.index ul li { padding-top: 1em ;text-align: center; } + + div.index ul ul ul, div.index ul li ul li { padding: 0; text-align: left; } + + div.index ul { list-style: none; margin: 0; } + + div.index ul, div.index ul ul ul li { display: inline; } + + div.index .subitem { display: block; padding-left: 2em; } + + /* picindex */ + + div.picindex ul li { padding-top: 1em ;text-align: left; } + + div.picindex ul ul ul, div.index ul li ul li { padding: 0; text-align: left; } + + div.picindex ul { list-style: none; margin: 0; } + + div.picindex ul, div.index ul ul ul li { display: inline; } + + div.picindex .subitem { display: block; padding-left: 2em; } + + .mynote { background-color: #DDE; color: black; padding: .5em; margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; } /* colored box for notes at beginning of file */ + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Highways & Byways in Sussex, by E.V. Lucas + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Highways & Byways in Sussex + +Author: E.V. Lucas + +Illustrator: Frederick Griggs + +Release Date: February 27, 2007 [EBook #20696] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS IN SUSSEX *** + + + + +Produced by Peter Yearsley, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class = "mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:<br /><br /> +To improve accessibility, certain letters in the 'Dialect' Chapter have been replaced with letters which +should appear in most browsers.<br /><br /> +'e with dot above' is rendered as ê<br /> +'a with dot above' is rendered as â<br /> +'o with dot above' is rendered as ô<br /><br /> +Some punctuation has been added or corrected, and spelling of +names has been standardized except in quoted material.</p></div> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h1><i>Highways and Byways in Sussex</i></h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h2>BY E. V. LUCAS<br /> +WITH · ILLUSTRATIONS · BY<br /> +FREDERICK L. GRIGGS</h2> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h3>MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED<br />ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON<br />1921</h3> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h4><i>COPYRIGHT.</i><br /><i>First Edition printed February 1904.</i><br /> +<i>Reprinted, April 1904, 1907, 1912, 1919, 1921.</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<p>Readers who are acquainted with the earlier volumes of this series will +not need to be told that they are less guide-books than appreciations of +the districts with which they are concerned. In the pages that follow my +aim has been to gather a Sussex bouquet rather than to present the facts +which the more practical traveller requires.</p> + +<p>The order of progress through the country has been determined largely by +the lines of railway. I have thought it best to enter Sussex in the west +at Midhurst, making that the first centre, and to zig-zag thence across +to the east by way of Chichester, Arundel, Petworth, Horsham, Brighton +(I name only the chief centres), Cuckfield, East Grinstead, Lewes, +Eastbourne, Hailsham, Hastings, Rye, and Tunbridge Wells; leaving the +county finally at Withyham, on the borders of Ashdown Forest. For the +traveller in a carriage or on a bicycle this route is not the best; but +for those who would explore it slowly on foot (and much of the more +characteristic scenery of Sussex can be studied only in this way), with +occasional assistance from the train, it is, I think, as good a scheme +as any.</p> + +<p>I do not suggest that it is necessary for the reader who travels through +Sussex to take the same route: he would probably prefer to cover the +county literally strip by strip—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> Forest strip from Tunbridge Wells +to Horsham, the Weald strip from Billingshurst to Burwash, the Downs +strip from Racton to Beachy Head—rather than follow my course, north to +south, and south to north, across the land. But the book is, I think, +the gainer by these tangents, and certainly its author is happier, for +they bring him again and again back to the Downs.</p> + +<p>It is impossible at this date to write about Sussex, in accordance with +the plan of the present series, without saying a great many things that +others have said before, and without making use of the historians of the +county. To the collections of the Sussex Archæological Society I am +greatly indebted; also to Mr. J. G. Bishop's <i>Peep into the Past</i>, and +to Mr. W. D. Parish's <i>Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect</i>. Many other +works are mentioned in the text.</p> + +<p>The history, archæology, and natural history of the county have been +thoroughly treated by various writers; but there are, I have noticed, +fewer books than there should be upon Sussex men and women. Carlyle's +saying that every clergyman should write the history of his parish +(which one might amend to the history of his parishioners) has borne too +little fruit in our district; nor have lay observers arisen in any +number to atone for the shortcoming. And yet Sussex must be as rich in +good character, pure, quaint, shrewd, humorous or noble, as any other +division of England. In the matter of honouring illustrious Sussex men +and women, the late Mark Antony Lower played his part with <i>The Worthies +of Sussex</i>, and Mr. Fleet with <i>Glimpses of Our Sussex Ancestors</i>; but +the Sussex "Characters," where are they? Who has set down their "little +unremembered acts," their eccentricities, their sterling southern +tenacities? The Rev. A. D. Gordon wrote the history of Harting, and +quite recently the Rev. C. N. Sutton has published his interesting +<i>Historical Notes of Withyham, Hartfield, and Ashdown Forest</i>; and there +may be other similar parish histories which I am forgetting. But the +only books that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> I have seen which make a patient and sympathetic +attempt to understand the people of Sussex are Mr. Parish's +<i>Dictionary</i>, Mr. Egerton's <i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i>, and "John +Halsham's" <i>Idlehurst</i>. How many rare qualities of head and heart must +go unrecorded in rural England.</p> + +<p>I have to thank my friend Mr. C. E. Clayton for his kindness in reading +the proofs of this book and in suggesting additions.</p> + +<p class="right">E. V. L.</p> + +<p><i>December 12, 1903.</i></p> + +<p>P.S.—The sheets of the one-inch ordnance map of Sussex are fourteen in +all, their numbers running thus:</p> + +<table border='1' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='15' summary='ordnance maps of sussex'> + <tr> + <td class="center">300<br />Alresford</td> + <td class="center">301<br />Haslemere</td> + <td class="center">302<br />Horsham</td> + <td class="center">303<br />T. Wells</td> + <td class="center">304<br />Tenterden</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center">316<br />Fareham</td> + <td class="center">317<br />Chichester</td> + <td class="center">318<br />Brighton</td> + <td class="center">319<br />Lewes</td> + <td class="center">320<br />Hastings</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="center">331<br />Portsmouth</td> + <td class="center">332<br />Bognor</td> + <td class="center">333<br />Worthing</td> + <td class="center">334<br />Eastbourne</td> + </tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE_TO_THE_SECOND_EDITION" id="PREFACE_TO_THE_SECOND_EDITION"></a>PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION</h2> + +<p>In the present edition a number of small errors have been corrected and +a new <a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">chapter</a> amplifying certain points and supplying a deficit here and +there has been added. The passage about Stane Street is reprinted from +the <i>Times Literary Supplement</i> by kind permission.</p> + +<p class="right">E. V. L.</p> + +<p><i>April 20, 1904</i></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><a name="frontispiece.png" id="frontispiece.png"></a><img src="images/frontispiece.png" width='617' height='700' alt="The Barbican, Lewes Castle." /></p> + +<h4><i>The Barbican, Lewes Castle.</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="index"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE</a></li> +<li><a href="#PREFACE_TO_THE_SECOND_EDITION">PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION</a></li> +<li><a href="#LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</a></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></li> +<li>MIDHURST</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></li> +<li>MIDHURST'S VILLAGES</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></li> +<li>FIRST SIGHT OF THE DOWNS</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></li> +<li>CHICHESTER</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></li> +<li>CHICHESTER AND THE HILLS</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></li> +<li>CHICHESTER AND THE PLAIN</li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></li> +<li>ARUNDEL AND NEIGHBOURHOOD</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></li> +<li>LITTLEHAMPTON</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></li> +<li>AMBERLEY AND PARHAM</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></li> +<li>PETWORTH</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></li> +<li>BIGNOR</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></li> +<li>HORSHAM</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></li> +<li>ST. LEONARD'S FOREST</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></li> +<li>WEST GRINSTEAD, COWFOLD AND HENFIELD</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></li> +<li>STEYNING AND BRAMBER</li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></li> +<li>CHANCTONBURY, WASHINGTON, AND WORTHING</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></li> +<li>BRIGHTON</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></li> +<li>ROTTINGDEAN AND WHEATEARS</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></li> +<li>SHOREHAM</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></li> +<li>THE DEVIL'S DYKE AND HURSTPIERPOINT</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></li> +<li>DITCHLING</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></li> +<li>CUCKFIELD</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></li> +<li>FOREST COUNTRY AGAIN</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></li> +<li>EAST GRINSTEAD</li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></li> +<li>HORSTED KEYNES TO LEWES</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></li> +<li>LEWES</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a></li> +<li>THE OUSE VALLEY</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></li> +<li>ALFRISTON</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a></li> +<li>SMUGGLING</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a></li> +<li>GLYNDE AND RINGMER</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a></li> +<li>UCKFIELD AND BUXTED</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a></li> +<li>CROWBOROUGH AND MAYFIELD</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a></li> +<li>HEATHFIELD AND THE "LIES"</li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a></li> +<li>EASTBOURNE</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a></li> +<li>PEVENSEY AND HURSTMONCEUX</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a></li> +<li>HASTINGS</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a></li> +<li>BATTLE ABBEY</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></li> +<li>WINCHELSEA AND RYE</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a></li> +<li>ROBERTSBRIDGE</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a></li> +<li>TUNBRIDGE WELLS</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a></li> +<li>THE SUSSEX DIALECT</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII</a></li> +<li>BEING A POSTSCRIPT TO THE SECOND EDITION</li> +<li><a href="#INDEX">INDEX</a></li> +<li><a href="#ADVERTISEMENTS">ADVERTISEMENTS</a></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<div class="picindex"> +<ul> +<li><a href="#frontispiece.png">THE BARBICAN, LEWES CASTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page004.png">COWDRAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#page010.png">BLACKDOWN</a></li> +<li><a href="#page022.png">COWDRAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#page031.png">CHICHESTER CATHEDRAL</a></li> +<li><a href="#page035.png">CHICHESTER CROSS</a></li> +<li><a href="#page039.png">THE RUINED NAVE OF BOXGROVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page041.png">BOXGROVE PRIORY CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page043.png">BOXGROVE FROM THE SOUTH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page049.png">EAST LAVANT</a></li> +<li><a href="#page054.png">BOSHAM</a></li> +<li><a href="#page068.png">ARUNDEL</a></li> +<li><a href="#page071.png">THE ARUN AT NORTH STOKE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page084.png">GATEWAY, AMBERLEY CASTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page087.png">AMBERLEY CASTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page089.png">AMBERLEY CASTLE, ENTRANCE TO CHURCHYARD</a></li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span><a href="#page091.png">AMBERLEY CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page093.png">PULBOROUGH CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page095.png">AT PULBOROUGH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page097.png">STOPHAM BRIDGE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page099.png">THE ROTHER AT FITTLEWORTH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page101.png">ALMSHOUSE AT PETWORTH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page104.png">PETWORTH CHURCHYARD</a></li> +<li><a href="#page112.png">THE CAUSEWAY, HORSHAM</a></li> +<li><a href="#page118.png">COTTAGES AT SLINFOLD</a></li> +<li><a href="#page121.png">RUDGWICK</a></li> +<li><a href="#page135.png">CHURCH STREET, STEYNING</a></li> +<li><a href="#page138.png">STEYNING CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page140.png">BRAMBER</a></li> +<li><a href="#page142.png">COOMBES CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page145.png">CHANCTONBURY RING</a></li> +<li><a href="#page153.png">SOMPTING</a></li> +<li><a href="#page157.png">LANCING</a></li> +<li><a href="#page185.png">NEW SHOREHAM CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page188.png">OLD SHOREHAM BRIDGE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page189.png">OLD SHOREHAM CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page193.png">POYNINGS, FROM THE DEVIL'S DYKE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page196.png">HANGLETON HOUSE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page200.png">MALTHOUSE FARM, HURSTPIERPOINT</a></li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span><a href="#page207.png">DITCHLING</a></li> +<li><a href="#page208.png">OLD HOUSE AT DITCHLING</a></li> +<li><a href="#page212.png">CUCKFIELD CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page219.png">EAST MASCALLS—BEFORE RENOVATION</a></li> +<li><a href="#page228.png">THE JUDGE'S HOUSES, EAST GRINSTEAD</a></li> +<li><a href="#page239.png">ON THE OUSE, ABOVE LEWES</a></li> +<li><a href="#page241.png">HIGH STREET, SOUTHOVER</a></li> +<li><a href="#page246.png">ANN OF CLEVES' HOUSE, SOUTHOVER</a></li> +<li><a href="#page251.png">ST. ANN'S CHURCH, SOUTHOVER</a></li> +<li><a href="#page253.png">THE OUSE AT SOUTH STREET, LEWES</a></li> +<li><a href="#page255.png">THE OUSE AT PIDDINGHOE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page256.png">RODMELL</a></li> +<li><a href="#page258.png">PIDDINGHOE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page261.png">SOUTHOVER GRANGE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page263.png">NEAR TARRING NEVILLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page282.png">GLYNDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page293.png">FRAMFIELD</a></li> +<li><a href="#page298.png">IN BUXTED PARK</a></li> +<li><a href="#page318.png">BEACHY HEAD</a></li> +<li><a href="#page325.png">BEACHY HEAD FROM THE SHORE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page329.png">PEVENSEY CASTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page333.png">WESTHAM</a></li> +<li><a href="#page335.png">HURSTMONCEUX CASTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page349.png">BATTLE ABBEY—THE GATEWAY</a></li> +<li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span><a href="#page352.png">MOUNT STREET, BATTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page355.png">BATTLE ABBEY, THE REFECTORY</a></li> +<li><a href="#page359.png">THE LANDGATE, RYE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page363.png">SEDILIA AND TOMBS OF GERVASE AND STEPHEN ALARD, WINCHELSEA</a></li> +<li><a href="#page365.png">THE YPRES TOWER, RYE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page370.png">COURT LODGE, UDIMORE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page372.png">UDIMORE CHURCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page373.png">BREDE PLACE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page375.png">BREDE PLACE, FROM THE SOUTH</a></li> +<li><a href="#page377.png">BODIAM CASTLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#page388.png">SHOYSWELL, NEAR TICEHURST</a></li> +<li><a href="#page391.png">THE PANTILES, TUNBRIDGE WELLS</a></li> +<li><a href="#page396.png">BAYHAM ABBEY</a></li> +<li><a href="#page403.png">ASHDOWN FOREST, FROM EAST GRINSTEAD</a></li> +<li><a href="images/map.png">MAP OF THE COUNTY OF SUSSEX</a></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/page001.png" width='700' height='528' alt="page1" /></p> + +<h2>HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS</h2> + +<h3>IN</h3> + +<h1>SUSSEX</h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>MIDHURST</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The fitting order of a traveller's progress—The Downs the true +Sussex—Fashion at bay—Mr. Kipling's topographical +creed—Midhurst's advantages—Single railway lines—Queen Elizabeth +at Cowdray—Montagus domestic and homicidal—The curse of +Cowdray—Dr. Johnson at Midhurst—Cowdray Park.</p></blockquote> + +<p>If it is better, in exploring a county, to begin with its least +interesting districts and to end with the best, I have made a mistake in +the order of this book: I should rather have begun with the +comparatively dull hot inland hilly region of the north-east, and have +left it at the cool chalk Downs of the Hampshire border. But if one's +first impression of new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> country cannot be too favourable we have done +rightly in starting at Midhurst, even at the risk of a loss of +enthusiasm in the concluding chapters. For although historically, +socially, and architecturally north Sussex is as interesting as south +Sussex, the crown of the county's scenery is the Downs, and its most +fascinating districts are those which the Downs dominate. The farther we +travel from the Downs and the sea the less unique are our surroundings. +Many of the villages in the northern Weald, beautiful as they are, might +equally well be in Kent or Surrey: a visitor suddenly alighting in their +midst, say from a balloon, would be puzzled to name the county he was +in; but the Downs and their dependencies are essential Sussex. Hence a +Sussex man in love with the Downs becomes less happy at every step +northward.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE INVIOLATE HILLS</div> + +<p>One cause of the unique character of the Sussex Downs is their virginal +security, their unassailable independence. They stand, a silent +undiscovered country, between the seething pleasure towns of the +seaboard plain and the trim estates of the Weald. Londoners, for whom +Sussex has a special attraction by reason of its proximity (Brighton's +beach is the nearest to the capital in point of time), either pause +north of the Downs, or rush through them in trains, on bicycles, or in +carriages, to the sea. Houses there are among the Downs, it is true, but +they are old-established, the homes of families that can remember no +other homes. There is as yet no fashion for residences in these +altitudes. Until that fashion sets in (and may it be far distant) the +Downs will remain essential Sussex, and those that love them will +exclaim with Mr. Kipling,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>God gave all men all earth to love,</div> +<div class="i1">But since man's heart is small,</div> +<div>Ordains for each one spot shall prove</div> +<div class="i1">Beloved over all.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * * * * *</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Each to his choice, and I rejoice</div> +<div class="i1">The lot has fallen to me</div> +<div>In a fair ground—in a fair ground—</div> +<div class="i1">Yea, Sussex by the sea!</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<div class="sidenote">MIDHURST</div> + +<p>If we are to begin our travels in Sussex with the best, then Midhurst is +the starting point, for no other spot has so much to offer: a quiet +country town, gabled and venerable, unmodernised and unambitious, with a +river, a Tudor ruin, a park of deer, heather commons, immense woods, and +the Downs only three miles distant. Moreover, Midhurst is also the +centre of a very useful little railway system, which, having only a +single line in each direction, while serving the traveller, never annoys +him by disfiguring the country or letting loose upon it crowds of +vandals. Single lines always mean thinly populated country. As a +pedestrian poet has sung:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>My heart leaps up when I behold</div> +<div class="i1">A single railway line;</div> +<div>For then I know the wood and wold</div> +<div class="i1">Are almost wholly mine.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>And Midhurst being on no great high road is nearly always quiet. Nothing +ever hurries there. The people live their own lives, passing along their +few narrow streets and the one broad one, under the projecting eaves of +timbered houses, unrecking of London and the world. Sussex has no more +contented town.</p> + +<p>The church, which belongs really to St. Mary Magdalen, but is popularly +credited to St. Denis, was never very interesting, but is less so now +that the Montagu tomb has been moved to Easebourne. Twenty years ago, I +remember, an old house opposite the church was rumoured to harbour a +pig-faced lady. I never had sight of her, but as to her existence and +her cast of feature no one was in the least doubt. Pig-faced ladies +(once so common) seem to have gone out, just as the day of Spring-heeled +Jack is over. Sussex once had her Spring-heeled Jacks, too, in some +profusion.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page004.png" id="page004.png"></a><img src="images/page004.png" width='700' height='417' alt="Cowdray" /></p> + +<h4><i>Cowdray.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">ELIZABETH AT COWDRAY</div> + +<p>Cowdray Park is gained from the High Street, just below the Angel Inn, +by a causeway through water meadows of the Rother. The house is now but +a shell, never having been rebuilt since the fire which ate out its +heart in 1793: yet a beautiful shell, heavily draped in rich green ivy +that before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> very long must here and there forget its earlier duty of +supporting the walls and thrust them too far from the perpendicular to +stand. Cowdray, built in the reign of Henry VIII., did not come to its +full glory until Sir Anthony Browne, afterwards first Viscount Montagu, +took possession. The seal was put upon its fame by the visit of Queen +Elizabeth in 1591 (Edward VI. had been banqueted there by Sir Anthony in +1552, "marvellously, nay, rather excessively," as he wrote), as some +return for the loyalty of her host, who, although an old man, in 1588, +on the approach of the Armada, had ridden straightway to Tilbury, with +his sons and his grandson, the first to lay the service of his house at +her Majesty's feet. A rare pamphlet is still preserved describing the +festivities during Queen Elizabeth's sojourn. On Saturday, about eight +o'clock, her Majesty reached the house, travelling from Farnham, where +she had dined. Upon sight of her loud music sounded. It stopped when she +set foot upon the bridge, and a real man, standing between two wooden +dummies whom he exactly resembled, began to flatter her exceedingly. +Until she came, he said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> the walls shook and the roof tottered, but one +glance from her eyes had steadied the turret for ever. He went on to +call her virtue immortal and herself the Miracle of Time, Nature's +Glory, Fortune's Empress, and the World's Wonder. Elizabeth, when he had +made an end, took the key from him and embraced Lady Montagu and her +daughter, the Lady Dormir; whereupon "the mistress of the house (as it +were weeping in the bosome) said, 'O happie time! O joyfull daie!'"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A QUEEN'S DIVERSIONS</div> + +<p>These preliminaries over, the fun began. At breakfast next morning three +oxen and a hundred and forty geese were devoured. On Monday, August +17th, Elizabeth rode to her bower in the park, took a crossbow from a +nymph who sang a sweet song, and with it shot "three or four" deer, +carefully brought within range. After dinner, standing on one of the +turrets she watched sixteen bucks "pulled down with greyhounds" in a +lawn. On Tuesday, the Queen was approached by a pilgrim, who first +called her "Fairest of all creatures," and expressed the wish that the +world might end with her life and then led her to an oak whereon were +hanging escutcheons of her Majesty and all the neighbouring noblemen and +gentlemen. As she looked, a "wilde man" clad all in ivy appeared and +delivered an address on the importance of loyalty. On Wednesday, the +Queen was taken to a goodlie fish-pond (now a meadow) where was an +angler. After some words from him a band of fishermen approached, +drawing their nets after them; whereupon the angler, turning to her +Majesty, remarked that her virtue made envy blush and stand amazed. +Having thus spoken, the net was drawn and found to be full of fish, +which were laid at Elizabeth's feet. The entry for this day ends with +the sentence, "That evening she hunted." On Thursday the lords and +ladies dined at a table forty-eight yards long, and there was a country +dance with tabor and pipe, which drew from her Majesty "gentle +applause." On Friday, the Queen knighted six gentlemen and passed on to +Chichester.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A DESPERADO POET</div> + +<p>A year later the first Lord Montagu died. He was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>succeeded by another +Anthony, the author of the "Book of Orders and Rules" for the use of the +family at Cowdray, and the dedicatee of Anthony Copley's <i>Fig for +Fortune</i>, 1596. Copley has a certain Sussex interest of his own, having +astonished not a little the good people of Horsham. A contemporary +letter describes him as "the most desperate youth that liveth. He did +shoot at a gentleman last summer, and did kill an ox with a musket, and +in Horsham church he threw his dagger at the parish clerk, and it stuck +in a seat of the church. There liveth not his like in England for sudden +attempts." Subsequently the conspirator-poet must have calmed down, for +he states in the dedication to my lord that he is "now winnowed by the +fan of grace and Zionry." To-day he would say "saved." Copley, after +narrowly escaping capital punishment for his share in a Jesuit plot, +disappeared.</p> + +<p>The instructions given in Lord Montagu's "Booke of Orders and Rules" +illustrate very vividly the generous amplitude of the old Cowdray +establishment. Thus:—</p> + +<blockquote><p class="center">MY CARVER AND HIS OFFICE.</p> + +<p>I will that my carver, when he cometh to the ewerye boorde, doe +there washe together with the Sewer, and that done be armed +(videlt.) with an armeinge towell cast about his necke, and putt +under his girdle on both sides, and one napkyn on his lefte +shoulder, and an other on the same arme; and thence beinge broughte +by my Gentleman Usher to my table, with two curteseyes thereto, the +one about the middest of the chamber, the other when he cometh to +ytt, that he doe stande seemely and decently with due reverence and +sylence, untill my dyett and fare be brought uppe, and then doe his +office; and when any meate is to be broken uppe that he doe carrye +itt to a syde table, which shalbe prepared for that purpose and +there doe ytt; when he hath taken upp the table, and delivered the +voyder to the yeoman Usher, he shall doe reverence and returne to +the ewrye boorde there to be unarmed. My will is that for that day +he have the precedence and place next to my Gentleman Usher at the +wayter's table.</p> + +<p class="center">MY GENTLEMEN WAYTERS.</p> + +<p>I will that some of my Gentlemen Wayters harken when I or my wiffe +att any tyme doe walke abroade, that they may be readye to give +their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> attendance uppon us, some att one tyme and some att another +as they shall agree amongst themselves; but when strangeres are in +place, then I will that in any sorte they be readye to doe such +service for them as the Gentleman Usher shall directe. I will +further that they be dayly presente in the greate chamber or other +place of my dyett about tenn of the clocke in the forenoone and +five in the afternoone without fayle for performance of my service, +unles they have license from my Stewarde or Gentleman Usher to the +contrarye, which if they exceede, I will that they make knowne the +cause thereof to my Stewarde, who shall acquaynte me therewithall. +I will that they dyne and suppe att a table appoynted for them, and +there take place nexte after the Gentlemen of my Horse and chamber, +accordinge to their seniorityes in my service.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">THE HOUSE OF MONTAGU</div> + +<p>The third Viscount Montagu was not remarkable, but his account books are +quaint reading. From July, 1657, to July, 1658, his steward spent +<i>£</i>1,945 10<i>s.</i> solely in little personal matters for his master. Among +the disbursements were, on September 11th, fourteen pence "for washing +Will Stapler"; on November 22nd, 1<i>s.</i> 4<i>d.</i> to the Lewes carrier "for +bringing a box of puddings for my mistress and my master"; on January +17th, <i>£</i>4 to "Mr. Fiske the dancing-master for teaching my master to +dance, being two months"; and on April 21st, seven shillings "for a +Tooth for my Lord."</p> + +<p>The fifth Viscount was a man of violent temper. On reaching Mass one day +and finding it half done, he drew his pistol and shot the chaplain. The +outcry all over the country was loud and vengeful, and my lord lay +concealed for fifteen years in a hiding-hole contrived in the masonry of +Cowdray for the shelter of persecuted priests. The peer emerged only at +night, when he roamed the close walks, repentant and sad. Lady Montagu +would then steal out to him, dressing all in white to such good purpose +that the desired rumours of a ghost soon flew about the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>The curse of Cowdray, which, if genuinely pronounced, has certainly been +wonderfully fulfilled, dates from the gift of Battle Abbey by Henry +VIII. to Sir Anthony Browne, the father of Queen Elizabeth's host and +friend. Sir Anthony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> seized his new property, and turned the monks out +of the gates, in 1538. Legend says that as the last monk departed, he +warned his despoiler that by fire and water his line should perish. By +fire and water it perished indeed. A week after Cowdray House was +burned, in 1793, the last Viscount Montagu was drowned in the Rhine. His +only sister (the wife of Mr. Stephen Poyntz) who inherited, was the +mother of two sons both of whom were drowned while bathing at Bognor. +When Mr. Poyntz sold the estate to the Earl of Egmont, we may suppose +the curse to have been withdrawn.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">DR. JOHNSON AT COWDRAY</div> + +<p>Among the treasures that were destroyed in the fire were the Roll of +Battle Abbey and many paintings. Dr. Johnson visited Cowdray a few years +before its demolition; "Sir," he said to Boswell, "I should like to stay +here four-and-twenty hours. We see here how our ancestors lived." +According to the <i>Tour of Great Britain</i>, attributed to Daniel Defoe, +but probably by another hand, Cowdray's hall was of Irish oak. In the +large parlour were the triumphs of Henry VIII. by Holbein. In the long +gallery were the Twelve Apostles "as large as life"; while the marriage +of Cupid and Psyche, a tableau that never failed to please our +ancestors, was not wanting.</p> + +<p>The glory of the Montagus has utterly passed. The present Earl of Egmont +is either an absentee or he lives in a cottage near the gates; and the +new house, which is hidden in trees, is of no interest. The park, +however, is still ranged by its beautiful deer, and still possesses an +avenue of chestnut trees and rolling wastes of turf. It is everywhere as +free as a heath.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>MIDHURST'S VILLAGES</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Hanging in chains—A wooded paradise—Fernhurst—Shulbrede +Priory—Blackdown—Tennyson's Sussex home—Thomas Otway—Kate +Hotspur's Grave—A Sussex ornithologist—The friend of +owls—William Cobbett looks at the Squire—The charms of South +Harting—Lady Mary Caryll's little difficulties—Gilbert White in +Sussex—The old field routine—Witchcraft at South Harting—The +Rother—Easebourne—West Lavington and Cardinal Manning.</p></blockquote> + + +<p>The road from Midhurst to Blackdown ascends steadily to Henley, +threading vast woods and preserves. On the left is a great common, on +the right North Heath, where the two Drewitts were hanged in chains +after being executed at Horsham, in 1799, for the robbery of the +Portsmouth mail—probably the last instance of hanging in chains in this +country. For those that like wild forest country there was once no +better ramble than might be enjoyed here; but now (1903) that the King's +new sanatorium is being built in the midst of Great Common, some of the +wildness must necessarily be lost. A finer site could not have been +found. Above Great Common is a superb open space nearly six hundred feet +high, with gorse bushes advantageously placed to give shelter while one +studies the Fernhurst valley, the Haslemere heights and, blue in the +distance, the North Downs. Sussex has nothing wilder or richer than the +country we are now in.</p> + +<p>A few minutes' walk to the east from this lofty common, and we are +immediately above Henley, clinging to the hill side, an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> almost Alpine +hamlet. Henley, however, no longer sees the travellers that once it did, +for the coach road, which of old climbed perilously through it, has been +diverted in a curve through the hanger, and now sweeps into Fernhurst by +way of Henley Common.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page010.png" id="page010.png"></a><img src="images/page010.png" width='609' height='700' alt="Blackdown" /></p> + +<h4><i>Blackdown.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">FERNHURST</div> + +<p>Fernhurst, beautifully named, is in an exquisite situation among the +minor eminences of the Haslemere range, but the builder has been busy +here, and the village is not what it was.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SHULBREDE PRIORY</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>Two miles to the north-west, on the way to Linchmere, immediately under +the green heights of Marley, is the old house which once was Shulbrede +Priory. As it is now in private occupation and is not shown to +strangers, I have not seen it; but of old many persons journeyed +thither, attracted by the quaint mural paintings, in the Prior's room, +of domestic animals uttering speech. "Christus natus est," crows the +cock. "Quando? Quando?" the duck inquires. "In hac nocte," says the +raven. "Ubi? Ubi?" asks the cow, and the lamb satisfies her: "Bethlehem, +Bethlehem."</p> + +<p>One may return deviously from Shulbrede to Midhurst (passing in the +heart of an unpopulated country a hamlet called Milland, where is an old +curiosity shop of varied resources) by way of one of the pleasantest and +narrowest lanes that I know, rising and falling for miles through silent +woods, coming at last to Chithurst church, one of the smallest and +simplest and least accessible in the county, and reaching Midhurst again +by the hard, dry and irreproachable road that runs between the heather +of Trotton Common.</p> + +<p>On the eastern side of Fernhurst, to which we may now return, a mile on +the way to Lurgashall, was once Verdley Castle; but it is now a castle +no more, merely a ruined heap. Utilitarianism was too much for it, and +its stones fell to Macadam. After all, if an old castle has to go, there +are few better forms of reincarnation for it than a good hard road. +While at Fernhurst it is well to walk on to Blackdown, the best way, +perhaps, being to take the lane to the right about half a mile beyond +the village, and make for the hill across country. Blackdown, whose +blackness is from its heather and its firs, frowns before one all the +while. The climb to the summit is toilsome, over nine hundred feet, but +well worth the effort, for the hill overlooks hundreds of square miles +of Sussex and Surrey, between Leith Hill in the north and Chanctonbury +in the south.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TENNYSON'S SUSSEX HOME</div> + +<p>Aldworth, Tennyson's house, is on the north-east slope,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> facing Surrey. +The poet laid the foundation stone on April 23 (Shakespeare's birthday), +1868: the inscription on the stone running "Prosper thou the work of our +hands, O prosper thou our handiwork." Of the site Aubrey de Vere +wrote:—"It lifted England's great poet to a height from which he could +gaze on a large portion of that English land which he loved so well, see +it basking in its most affluent summer beauty, and only bounded by 'the +inviolate sea.' Year after year he trod its two stately terraces with +men the most noted of their time." Pilgrims from all parts journeyed +thither—not too welcome; among them that devout American who had worked +his way across the Atlantic in order to recite <i>Maud</i> to its author: a +recitation from which, says the present Lord Tennyson, his father +"suffered." Tennyson has, I think, no poems upon his Sussex home, but I +always imagine that the dedication of <i>The Death of Œnone and other +Poems</i>, in 1894, must belong to Blackdown:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>There on the top of the down,</div> +<div>The wild heather round me and over me June's high blue,</div> +<div>When I look'd at the bracken so bright and the heather so brown,</div> +<div>I thought to myself I would offer this book to you,</div> +<div>This, and my love together,</div> +<div>To you that are seventy-seven,</div> +<div>With a faith as clear as the heights of the June-blue heaven,</div> +<div>And a fancy as summer-new</div> +<div>As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of the heather.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The most interesting village between Midhurst and the western boundary, +due west, is Trotton, three miles distant on the superb road to +Petersfield, of which I have spoken above. There is no better road in +England. Trotton is quiet and modest, but it has two great claims on +lovers of the English drama. In the "Ode to Pity" of one of our Sussex +poets we read thus of another:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>But wherefore need I wander wide</div> +<div>To old Ilissus' distant side,</div> +<div class="i1">Deserted streams and mute?</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>Wild Arun, too, has heard thy strains,</div> +<div>And echo, 'midst my native plains,</div> +<div class="i1">Been soothed by pity's lute.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>There first the wren thy myrtles shed</div> +<div>On gentlest Otway's infant head,</div> +<div class="i1">To him thy cell was shown;</div> +<div>And while he sung the female heart,</div> +<div>With youth's soft notes unspoiled by art,</div> +<div class="i1">Thy turtles mixed their own.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THOMAS OTWAY</div> + +<p>So wrote William Collins, adding in a note that the Arun (more properly +the Rother, a tributary of the Arun) runs by the village of Trotton, in +Sussex, where Thomas Otway had his birth. The unhappy author of <i>Venice +Preserv'd</i> and <i>The Orphan</i> was born at Trotton in 1652, the son of +Humphrey Otway, the curate, who afterwards became rector of Woolbeding +close by. Otway died miserably when only thirty-three, partly of +starvation, partly of a broken heart at the unresponsiveness of Mrs. +Barry, the actress, whom he loved, but who preferred the Earl of +Rochester. His two best plays, although they are no longer acted, lived +for many years, providing in Belvidera, in <i>Venice Preserv'd</i> and +Monimia, in <i>The Orphan</i> (in which he "sung the female heart") congenial +<i>rôles</i> for tragic actresses—Mrs. Barry, Mrs. Oldfield, Mrs. Cibber, +Mrs. Siddons and Miss O'Neill. Otway was buried in the churchyard of St. +Clement Danes, but a tablet to his fame is in Trotton church, which is +of unusual plainness, not unlike an ecclesiastical barn. Here also is +the earliest known brass to a woman—Margaret de Camoys, who lived about +1300.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HOTSPUR'S LADY</div> + +<p>The transition is easy (at Trotton) from Otway to Shakespeare, from +<i>Venice Preserv'd</i> to <i>Henry IV.</i></p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Hotspur</span> (to <span class="smcap">Lady Percy</span>). Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying +down: come quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy lap.</p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> Go, ye giddy goose.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>The music plays.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Hot.</i> Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh;</div> +<div class="i2">And 't is no marvel' he's so humorous,</div> +<div class="i2">By'r lady, he's a good musician.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are +altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the +lady sing in Welsh.</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.</p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> Wouldst have thy head broken?</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> No.</p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> Then be still.</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> Neither: 'tis a woman's fault.</p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> Now God help thee!</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> To the Welsh lady's bed.</p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> What's that?</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> Peace! she sings.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>A Welsh song sung by</i> <span class="smcap">Lady Mortimer</span>.</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.</p> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> Not mine, in good sooth.</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear like a +comfit-maker's wife. 'Not you, in good sooth'; and, 'As true as I +live'; and,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'As God shall mend me'; and, 'As sure as day':</div> +<div>And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths,</div> +<div>As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury.</div> +<div>Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,</div> +<div>A good mouth-filling oath; and leave 'in sooth,'</div> +<div>And such protest of pepper-gingerbread,</div> +<div>To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.</div> +<div>Come, sing.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Lady P.</i> I will not sing.</p> + +<p><i>Hot.</i> 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast teacher. +An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and +so come in when ye will.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Exit.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>My excuse for introducing this little scene is that Kate, whose real +name was Elizabeth, lies here. Her tomb is in the chancel, where she +reposes beside her second husband Thomas, Lord Camoys, beneath a slab on +which are presentments in brass of herself and her lord. It was this +Lord Camoys who rebuilt Trotton's church, about 1400, and who also gave +the village its beautiful bridge over the Rother at a cost, it used to +be said, of only a few pence less than that of the church.</p> + +<p>Trotton has still other literary claims. At Trotton Place lived Arthur +Edward Knox, whose <i>Ornithological Rambles in Sussex</i>, published in +1849, is one of the few books worthy to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> stand beside White's <i>Natural +History of Selborne</i>. In Sussex, as elsewhere, the fowler has prevailed, +and although rare birds are still occasionally to be seen, they now +visit the country only by accident, and leave it as soon as may be, +thankful to have a whole skin. Guns were active enough in Knox's time, +but to read his book to-day is to be translated to a new land. From time +to time I shall borrow from Mr. Knox's pages: here I may quote a short +passage which refers at once to his home and to his attitude to those +creatures whom he loved to study and studied to love:—"I have the +satisfaction of exercising the rites of hospitality towards a pair of +barn owls, which have for some time taken up their quarters in one of +the attic roofs of the ancient, ivy-covered house in which I reside. I +delight in listening to the prolonged snoring of the young when I ascend +the old oak stairs to the neighbourhood of their nursery, and in hearing +the shriek of the parent birds on the calm summer nights as they pass to +and fro near my window; for it assures me that they are still safe; and +as I know that at least a qualified protection is afforded them +elsewhere, and that even their arch-enemy the gamekeeper is beginning +reluctantly, but gradually, to acquiesce in the general belief of their +innocence and utility, I cannot help indulging the hope that this bird +will eventually meet with that general encouragement and protection to +which its eminent services so richly entitle it."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">COBBETT LOOKS AT THE SQUIRE</div> + +<p>One more literary association: it was at Trotton that William Cobbett +looked at the squire. "From Rogate we came on to Trotton, where a Mr. +Twyford is the squire, and where there is a very fine and ancient church +close by the squire's house. I saw the squire looking at some poor +devils who were making 'wauste improvements, ma'am,' on the road which +passes by the squire's door. He looked uncommonly hard at me. It was a +scrutinising sort of look, mixed, as I thought, with a little surprise, +if not of jealousy, as much as to say, 'I wonder who the devil you can +be?' My look at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> squire was with the head a little on one side, and +with the cheek drawn up from the left corner of the mouth, expressive of +anything rather than a sense of inferiority to the squire, of whom, +however, I had never heard speak before."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HARTING'S RICHES</div> + +<p>By passing on to Rogate, whose fine church not long since was restored +too freely, and turning due south, we come to what is perhaps the most +satisfying village in all Sussex—South Harting. Cool and spacious and +retired, it lies under the Downs, with a little subsidiary range of its +own to shelter it also from the west. Three inns are ready to refresh +the traveller—the Ship, the White Hart (a favourite Sussex sign), and +the Coach and Horses (with a new signboard of dazzling freshness); the +surrounding country is good; Petersfield and Midhurst are less than an +hour's drive distant; while the village has one of the most charming +churches in Sussex, both without and within. Unlike most of the county's +spires, South Harting's is slate and red shingle, but the slate is of an +agreeable green hue, resembling old copper. (Perhaps it is copper.) The +roof is of red tiles mellowed by weather, and the south side of the +tower is tiled too, imparting an unusual suggestion of warmth—more, of +comfort—to the structure; while on the east wall of the chancel is a +Virginian creeper, which, as autumn advances, emphasises this effect. +Within, the church is winning, too, with its ample arches, perfect +proportions, and that æsthetic satisfaction that often attends the +cruciform shape. An interesting monument of the Cowper and Coles +families is preserved in the south transept—three full-size coloured +figures. In the north transept is a spiral staircase leading to the +tower, and elsewhere are memorials of the Fords and Featherstonhaughs of +Up-Park, a superb domain over the brow of Harting's Down, and of the +Carylls of Lady Holt, of whom we shall see more directly. The east +window is a peculiarly cheerful one, and the door of South Harting +church is kept open, as every church door should be, but as too many in Sussex are not.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>In the churchyard, beneath a shed, are the remains of two tombs, with +recumbent stone figures, now in a fragmentary state. At the church gates +are the old village stocks.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MRS. JONES' MULYGRUBES</div> + +<p>Harting has a place in literature, for one of the Carylls was Pope's +friend, John (1666-1736), a nephew of the diplomatist and dramatist. +Pope's Caryll, who suggested <i>The Rape of the Lock</i>, lived at Lady Holt +at West Harting (long destroyed) and also at West Grinstead, where, as +we shall see, the poem was largely written. Mr. H. D. Gordon, rector of +Harting for many years, wrote a history of his parish in 1877: a very +interesting, gossipy book; where we may read much of the Caryll family, +including passages from their letters—how Lady Mary Caryll had the kind +impulse to take one of the parson's nine daughters to France to educate +and befriend, but was so thoughtless as to transform into a pretty +Papist; how Lady Mary disliked Mrs. Jones, the steward's wife; and many +other matters. I quote a passage from a letter of Lady Mary's about Mrs. +Jones, showing that human nature was not then greatly different from +what it is to-day:—"Mr. Joans and his fine Madam came down two days +before your birthday and expected to lye in the house, but as I +apprehended the consequence of letting them begin so, I made an excuse +for want of roome by expecting company, and sent them to Gould's [Arthur +Gould married Kate Caryll, and lived at Harting Place], where they +stayed two nights. I invited them the next day to dinner and they came, +but the day following Madam huff'd (I believe), for she went away to +Barnard's, and wou'd not so much as see the desert [dessert]; however, I +don't repent it, he has been here at all the merryment, and I believe +you'll find it better to keep them at a civil distance than other ways, +for she seems a high dame and not very good humoured, for she has been +sick ever since of the mulygrubes." Mrs. Jones soon afterwards succumbed +either to the mulygrubes or a worse visitation. Lady Mary thus broke the +news:—"Mr. Jones's wife dyed on Sunday, just as she lived, an +Independent, and wou'd have no parson with her, because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> she sayd she +cou'd pray as well as they. He is making a great funerall, but I believe +not in much affection, for he was all night at a merry bout two days +before she died."</p> + +<p>On the arrival of the young Squire Caryll at Lady Holt with his bride, +in 1739, Paul Kelly, the bailiff, informed Lady Mary that the villagers +conducted their lord and lady home "with the upermost satisfaction"—a +good phrase.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gordon writes elsewhere in his book of a famous writer whom +Hampshire claims: "For at least forty years (1754-1792) Gilbert White +was an East Harting squire. The bulk of his property was at Woodhouse +and Nye woods, on the northern slope of East Harting, and bounded on the +west by the road to Harting station. The passenger from Harting to the +railway has on his right, immediately opposite the 'Severals' wood, +Gilbert White's Farm, extending nearly to the station. White had also +other Harting lands. These were upon the Downs, viz.:—a portion of the +Park of Uppark on the south side, and a portion of Kildevil Lane, on the +North Marden side of Harting Hill. Gilbert White was on his mother's +side a Ford, and these lands had been transmitted to him through his +great uncle, Oliver Whitby, nephew to Sir Edward Ford."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE OLD FIELD ROUTINE</div> + +<p>A glimpse of the old Sussex field routine, not greatly changed in the +remote districts to-day, was given to Mr. Gordon thirty years ago by an +aged labourer. This was the day:—"Out in morning at four o'clock. +Mouthful of bread and cheese and pint of ale. Then off to the harvest +field. Rippin and moen [reaping and mowing] till eight. Then morning +brakfast and small beer. Brakfast—a piece of fat pork as thick as your +hat [a broad-brimmed wideawake] is wide. Then work till ten o'clock: +then a mouthful of bread and cheese and a pint of strong beer +['farnooner,' <i>i.e.</i>, forenooner; 'farnooner's-lunch,' we called it]. +Work till twelve. Then at dinner in the farm-house; sometimes a leg of +mutton, sometimes a piece of ham and plum pudding. Then work till<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> five, +then a <i>nunch</i> and a quart of ale. Nunch was cheese, 'twas skimmed +cheese though. Then work till sunset, then home and have supper and a +pint of ale. I never knew a man drunk in the harvest field in my life. +Could drink six quarts, and believe that a man might drink two gallons +in a day. All of us were in the house [<i>i.e.</i>, the usual hired servants, +and those specially engaged for the harvest]: the yearly servants used +to go with the monthly ones.</p> + +<p>"There were two thrashers, and the head thrasher used always to go +before the reapers. A man could cut according to the goodness of the +job, half-an-acre a day. The terms of wages were <i>£</i>3 10<i>s.</i> to 50<i>s.</i> for the +month.</p> + +<p>"When the hay was in cock or the wheat in shock, then the Titheman come; +you didn't dare take up a field without you let him know. If the +Titheman didn't come at the time, you tithed yourself. He marked his +sheaves with a bough or bush. You couldn't get over the Titheman. If you +began at a hedge and made the tenth cock smaller than the rest, the +Titheman might begin in the middle just where he liked. The Titheman at +Harting, old John Blackmore, lived at Mundy's [South Harting Street]. +His grandson is blacksmith at Harting now. All the tithing was quiet. +You didn't dare even set your eggs till the Titheman had been and ta'en +his tithe. The usual day's work was from 7 to 5."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SUSSEX WITCH</div> + +<p>Like all Sussex villages, Harting has had its witches and possessors of +the evil eye. Most curious of these was old Mother Digby (<i>née</i> Mollen), +who, in Mr. Gordon's words, lived at a house in Hog's Lane, East +Harting, and had the power of witching herself into a hare, and was +continually, like Hecate, attended by dogs. Squire Russell, of Tye Oak, +always lost his hare at the sink-hole of a drain near by the old lady's +house. One day the dogs caught hold of the hare by its hind quarters, +but it escaped down the drain, and Squire Russell, instantly opening the +old beldame's door, found her rubbing the part of her body corresponding +to that by which the hound had seized<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the hare. Squire Caryll, however, +declined to be hard on the broomstick and its riders, as the following +entry in the records of the Court Leet, held for the Hundred of Dumford +in 1747, shows:—"Also we present the Honble. John Caryll, Esq., Lord of +this Mannor, for not having and keeping a Ducking Stool within the said +Hundred of Dumford according to law, for the ducking of scolds and other +disorderly persons."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE BEACON FIRES</div> + +<p>The road from South Harting to Elsted runs under the hills, which here +rise abruptly from the fields, to great heights, notably Beacon Hill, +like a huge green mammoth, 800 feet high, on which, before the days of +telegraphy, lived the signaller, who passed on the tidings of danger on +the coast to the next beacon hill, above Henley, and so on to London. In +the days of Napoleon, when any moment might reveal the French fleet, the +Sussex hill tops must often have smouldered under false alarms. The next +hill in the east is Treyford Hill, above Treyford village, whose church +tower, standing on a little hill of its own nearly three hundred feet +high, might take a lesson in beauty from South Harting's, although its +spire has a slenderness not to be improved. Next to Treyford Hill is +Didling Hill, above Didling, and then Linch Down, highest of all in +these parts, being 818 feet.</p> + +<p>Elsted, which has no particular interest, possesses an inn, the Three +Horse Shoes, on a site superior to that of many a nobleman's house. It +stands high above a rocky lane, commanding a superb sidelong view of the +Downs and the Weald.</p> + +<p>Midhurst's river is the Rother (not to be confounded with the Rother in +the east of Sussex), which flows into the Arun near Hardham. It is wide +enough at Midhurst for small boats, and is a very graceful stream on +which to idle and watch the few kingfishers that man has spared. One may +walk by its side for miles and hear no sound save the music of +repose—the soft munching of the cows in the meadows, the chuckle of the +water as a rat slips in, the sudden yet soothing plash caused by a +jumping fish. Around one's head in the evening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> the stag-beetle buzzes +with its multiplicity of wings and fierce lobster-like claws +out-stretched.</p> + +<p>Following the Rother to the west one comes first to Easebourne, a shady +cool village only a few steps from Midhurst, once notable for its +Benedictine Priory of nuns. Henry VIII. put an end to its religious +life, which, however, if we may believe the rather disgraceful +revelations divulged at an episcopal examination, for some years had not +been of too sincere a character. In Easebourne church is the handsome +tomb of the first Viscount Montagu (the host of Queen Elizabeth), which +was brought hither from Midhurst church some forty years ago. Beyond +Easebourne, on the banks of the Rother, is Woolbeding, amid lush grass +and foliage, as green a spot as any in green England.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MR. LA THANGUE'S HOME</div> + +<p>On the eastern side of the town (with a diversion into Queen Elizabeth's +sombre wood-walk) one may come by the side of the river part of the way +to West Lavington, which stands high on a slope facing the Downs, with +pine woods immediately beneath it, perhaps as fair a site as any church +can claim. The grave of Richard Cobden, the Free Trader, a native of +Heyshott, near by, is in the churchyard. Here, in 1850, Henry Edward +Manning, afterwards Cardinal, preached his last sermon for the Church of +England. It is, indeed, Manning country, for besides being curate and +rector of Woollavington with Graffham (four or five miles to the +south-east) from 1833 until his secession, he was for nine years +Archdeacon of Chichester; he married Miss Sargent, daughter of the late +rector and sister of Mrs. Samuel Wilberforce of Woollavington; and while +rector, he rebuilt both churches. Graffham is interesting also as being +the present home of one of the most truthful of living painters, Mr. +Henry La Thangue, whose scenes of peasants at work (in the manner of +Barbizon) and studies of sunlight spattering through the trees are among +the triumphs of modern English art.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CIDER'S DISAPPEARANCE</div> + +<p>One more village and we will make for the hills. A mile<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> beyond the +eastern gate of Cowdray Park is Lodsworth, still a paradise of apple +orchards, but no longer famous for its cider as once it was. Arthur +Young had the pleasure of tasting some Lodsworth cider of a superior +quality at Lord Egremont's table at the beginning of the last century, +but I doubt if Petworth House honours the beverage to-day. Cider, except +in the cider country, becomes less and less common.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page022.png" id="page022.png"></a><img src="images/page022.png" width='700' height='442' alt="Cowdray" /></p> + +<h4><i>Cowdray.</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>FIRST SIGHT OF THE DOWNS</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The Sussex hills—Gilbert White's praise—Britons, Romans, +Saxons—Charles the Second's ride through Sussex.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Between Midhurst and Chichester, our next centre, rise the Downs, to a +height of between seven hundred and eight hundred feet. Although we +shall often be crossing them again before we leave the county, I should +like to speak of them a little in this place.</p> + +<p>The Downs are the symbol of Sussex. The sea, the Weald, the heather +hills of her great forest district, she shares with other counties, but +the Downs are her own. Wiltshire, Berkshire, Kent and Hampshire, it is +true, have also their turf-covered chalk hills, but the Sussex Downs are +vaster, more remarkable, and more beautiful than these, with more +individuality and charm. At first they have been known to disappoint the +traveller, but one has only to live among them or near them, within the +influence of their varying moods, and they surely conquer. They are the +smoothest things in England, gigantic, rotund, easy; the eye rests upon +their gentle contours and is at peace. They have no sublimity, no +grandeur, only the most spacious repose. Perhaps it is due to this +quality that the Wealden folk, accustomed to be overshadowed by this +unruffled range, are so deliberate in their mental processes and so +averse from speculation or experiment. There is a hypnotism of form: a +rugged peak will alarm the mind where a billowy green undulation will +lull it. The Downs change their complexion, but are never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> other than +soothing and still: no stress of weather produces in them any of that +sense of fatality that one is conscious of in Westmoreland. +Thunder-clouds empurple the turf and blacken the hangers, but they +cannot break the imperturbable equanimity of the line; rain throws over +the range a gauze veil of added softness; a mist makes them more +wonderful, unreal, romantic; snow brings them to one's doors. At sunrise +they are magical, a background for Malory; at sunset they are the lovely +home of the serenest thoughts, a spectacle for Marcus Aurelius. Their +combes, or hollows, are then filled with purple shadow cast by the +sinking sun, while the summits and shoulders are gold.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">GILBERT WHITE IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>Gilbert White has an often-quoted passage on these hills:—"Though I +have now travelled the Sussex downs upwards of thirty years, yet I still +investigate that chain of majestic mountains with fresh admiration year +by year, and I think I see new beauties every time I traverse it. This +range, which runs from Chichester eastward as far as East Bourn, is +about sixty miles in length, and is called the South Downs, properly +speaking, only round Lewes. As you pass along you command a noble view +of the wild, or weald, on one hand, and the broad downs and sea on the +other. Mr. Ray used to visit a family [Mr. Courthope, of Danny] just at +the foot of these hills, and was so ravished with the prospect from +Plumpton Plain, near Lewes, that he mentions those scapes in his <i>Wisdom +of God in the Works of the Creation</i> with the utmost satisfaction, and +thinks them equal to anything he had seen in the finest parts of Europe. +For my own part, I think there is somewhat peculiarly sweet and amusing +in the shapely-figured aspect of the chalk hills in preference to those +of stone, which are rugged, broken, abrupt, and shapeless. Perhaps I may +be singular in my opinion, and not so happy as to convey to you the same +idea; but I never contemplate these mountains without thinking I +perceive somewhat analogous to growth in their gentle swellings and +smooth fungus-like protuberances, their fluted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> sides, and regular +hollows and slopes, that carry at once the air of vegetative dilatation +and expansion:—Or, was there even a time when these immense masses of +calcareous matter were thrown into fermentation by some adventitious +moisture, were raised and leavened into such shapes by some plastic +power; and so made to swell and heave their broad backs into the sky, so +much above the less animated clay of the wild below?"</p> + +<p>The Downs have a human and historic as well as scenic interest. On many +of their highest points are the barrows or graves of our British +ancestors, who, could they revisit the glimpses of the moon, would find +little change, for these hills have been less interfered with than any +district within twice the distance from London. The English dislike of +climbing has saved them. They will probably be the last stronghold of +the horse when petrol has ousted him from every other region.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROMAN AND SAXON</div> + +<p>After the Briton came the Roman, to whose orderly military mind such a +chain of hills seemed a series of heaven-sent earthworks. Every point in +a favourable position was at once fortified by the legionaries. Standing +upon these ramparts to-day, identical in general configuration in spite +of the intervening centuries, one may imagine one's self a Cæsarian +soldier and see in fancy the hinds below running for safety.</p> + +<p>After the Romans came the Saxons, who did not, however, use the heights +as their predecessors had. Yet they left even more intimate traces, for, +as I shall show in a later chapter on <a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">Sussex dialect</a>, the language of +the Sussex labourer is still largely theirs, the farms themselves often +follow their original Saxon disposition, the field names are unaltered, +and the character of the people is of the yellow-haired parent stock. +Sussex, in many respects, is still Saxon. In a poem by Mr. W. G. Hole is +a stanza which no one that knows Sussex can read without visualising +instantly a Sussex hill-side farm:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>The Saxon lies, too, in his grave where the plough-lands swell;</div> +<div class="i2">And he feels with the joy that is Earth's</div> +<div class="i2">The Spring with its myriad births;</div> +<div class="i2"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>And he scents as the evening falls</div> +<div class="i2">The rich deep breath of the stalls;</div> +<div>And he says, "Still the seasons bring increase and joy to the world—It is well!"</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ESCAPE OF CHARLES II.</div> + +<p>Standing on one of these hills above the Hartings one may remember an +event in English history of more recent date than any of the periods +that we have been recalling—the escape of Charles II in 1651. It was +over these Downs that he passed; and it has been suggested that a +traveller wishing for a picturesque route across the Downs might do well +to follow his course.</p> + +<p>According to the best accounts Charles was met, on the evening of +October 13, near Hambledon, in Hampshire (afterwards to be famous as the +cradle of first-class cricket), by Thomas and George Gunter of Racton, +with a leash of greyhounds as if for coursing. The King slept at the +house of Thomas Symonds, Gunter's brother-in-law, in the character of a +Roundhead. The next morning at daybreak, the King, Lord Wilmot and the +two Gunters crossed Broad Halfpenny Down (celebrated by Nyren), and +proceeding by way of Catherington Down, Charlton Down, and Ibsworth +Down, reached Compting Down in Sussex. At Stanstead House Thomas Gunter +left the King, and hurried on to Brighton to arrange for the crossing to +France. The others rode on by way of the hills, with a descent from +Duncton Beacon, until they reached what promised to be the security of +Houghton Forest. There they were panic-stricken nearly to meet Captain +Morley, governor of Arundel Castle, and therefore by no means a King's +man. The King, on being told who it was, replied merrily, "I did not +much like his starched mouchates." This peril avoided, they descended to +Houghton village, where the Arun was crossed, and so to Amberley, where +in Sir John Briscoe's castle the King slept.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> +<div class="sidenote">ROUNDHEADS OUTWITTED</div> + +<p>On Amberley Mount the King's horse cast a shoe, necessitating a drop to +one of the Burphams, at Lee Farm, to have the mishap put right. +Ascending the hills again the fugitives held the high track as far as +Steyning. At Bramber they survived a second meeting with Cromwellians, +three or four soldiers of Col. Herbert Morley of Glynde suddenly +appearing, but being satisfied merely to insult them. At Beeding, George +Gunter rode on by way of the lower road to Brighton, while the King and +Lord Wilmot climbed the hill at Horton, crossing by way of White Lot to +Southwick, where, according to one story, in a cottage at the west of +the Green was a hiding-hole in which the King lay until Captain Nicholas +Tattersall of Brighton was ready to embark him for Fécamp. George +Gunter's own story is, however, that the King rode direct to Brighton. +He reached Fécamp on October 16. Two hours after Gunter left Brighton, +"soldiers came thither to search for a tall black man, six feet four +inches high"—to wit, the Merry Monarch.</p> + +<p>Such is the bare narrative of Charles' Sussex ride. If the reader would +have it garnished and spiced he should turn to the pages of Ainsworth's +<i>Ovingdean Grange</i>, where much that never happened is set forth as +entertainingly (or so I thought when I read it as a boy) as if it were truth.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> That is the story as the Amberley people like to have it, +but another version makes him ride from Hambledon to Brighton in one +day; in which case he may have avoided Amberley altogether.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>CHICHESTER</h3> + +<blockquote><p>William Collins—The Smiths of Chichester—Hardham's snuff—C. R. +Leslie's reminiscence—The headless Ravenswood—Chichester +Cathedral—Roman Chichester—Mr. Spershott's recollections—A +warning to swearers—The prettiest alms-house in England.</p></blockquote> + +<p>I have already quoted some lines by Collins on Otway; it is time to come +to Collins himself.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>When Music, heavenly maid, was young,</div> +<div>While yet in early Greece she sung,</div> +<div>The Passions oft, to hear her shell,</div> +<div>Throng'd around her magic cell—</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The perfect ode which opens with these unforgettable lines belongs to +Chichester, for William Collins was born there on Christmas Day, 1721, +and educated there, at the Prebendal school, until he went to +Winchester. William Collins was the son of the Mayor of Chichester, a +hatter, from whom Pope's friend Caryll bought his hats. I have no wish +to tell here the sad story of Collins' life; it is better to remember +that few as are his odes they are all of gold. He died at Chichester in +1759, and was buried in St. Andrew's Church.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i1">With eyes up-raised, as one inspired,</div> +<div class="i1">Pale Melancholy sat retired;</div> +<div class="i1">And, from her wild sequester'd seat,</div> +<div class="i1">In notes by distance made more sweet,</div> +<div>Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:</div> +<div class="i1">And, dashing soft from rocks around</div> +<div class="i1">Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,</div> +<div class="i1">Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay,</div> +<div class="i2">Round an holy calm diffusing,</div> +<div class="i2">Love of peace, and lonely musing,</div> +<div class="i1">In hollow murmurs died away.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">GEORGE SMITH'S ECLOGUE</div> + +<p>Collins is Chichester's great poet. She had a very agreeable minor poet, +too, in George Smith, one of the Three Smiths—all artists: William, +born in 1707, painter of portraits and of fruit and flower pieces, and +George and John, born in 1713 and 1717, who painted landscapes,—known +collectively as the Smiths of Chichester. I mention them rather on +account of George Smith's poetical experiments than for the brothers' +fame as artists; but there is such a pleasant flavour in one at least of +his <i>Pastorals</i> that I have copied a portion of it. It is called "The +Country Lovers; or, Isaac and Marget going to Town on a Summer's +Morning." The town is probably Chichester—certainly one in Sussex and +near the Downs. Isaac speaks first:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Come! Marget, come!—the team is at the gate!</div> +<div>Not ready yet!—you always make me wait!</div> +</div></div> + +<p>I omit a certain amount of the dialogue which follows, but at last +Marget exclaims:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Well, now I'm ready, long I have not staid.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Isaac.</span></div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>One kiss before we go, my pretty maid.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Marget.</span></div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Go! don't be foolish, Isaac—get away!</div> +<div>Who loiters now?—I thought I could not stay!</div> +<div>There!—that's enough! why, Isaac, sure you're mad!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Isaac.</span></div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>One more, my dearest girl—</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Marget.</span></div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Be quiet, lad.</div> +<div>See both my cap and hair are rumpled o'er!</div> +<div>The tying of my beads is got before!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Isaac.</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>There let it stay, thy brighter blush to show,</div> +<div>Which shames the cherry-colour'd silken bow.</div> +<div>Thy lips, which seem the scarlet's hue to steal,</div> +<div>Are sweeter than the candy'd lemon peel.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Marget.</span></div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Pray take these chickens for me to the cart;</div> +<div>Dear little creatures, how it grieves my heart</div> +<div>To see them ty'd, that never knew a crime,</div> +<div>And formed so fine a flock at feeding time!</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The pretty poem ends with fervid protestations of devotion from Isaac:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>For thee the press with apple-juice shall foam!</div> +<div>For thee the bees shall quit their honey-comb!</div> +<div>For thee the elder's purple fruit shall grow!</div> +<div>For thee the pails with cream shall overflow!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i2">But see yon teams returning from the town,</div> +<div>Wind in the chalky wheel-ruts o'er the down:</div> +<div>We now must haste; for if we longer stay,</div> +<div>They'll meet us ere we leave the narrow way.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Another of Chichester's illustrious sons is Archbishop Juxon, who stood +by the side of Charles I. on the scaffold and bade farewell to him in +the words "You are exchanging from a temporal to an eternal crown—a +good exchange."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HARDHAM'S SNUFF</div> + +<p>Yet another, of a very different type, is John Hardham. "When they +talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff," wrote Goldsmith of Sir +Joshua Reynolds,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Had it not been for Chichester the great painter might never have had +the second of these consolations, for the only snuff he liked was +Hardham's No. 37, and Hardham was a native of Chichester. Before he +became famous as a tobacconist, Hardham was, by night, a numberer of the +pit for Garrick at Drury Lane. One day he happened to blend Dutch and +rappee and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> poured the mixture into a drawer labelled 37. Garrick so +liked the pinch of it which he chanced upon, that he introduced a +reference to its merits in some of his comic parts, with the result that +Hardham's little shop in Fleet Street soon became a resort, and no nose +was properly furnished without No. 37. As Colton wrote, in his +<i>Hypocrisy</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>A name is all. From Garrick's breath a puff</div> +<div>Of praise gave immortality to snuff;</div> +<div>Since which each connoisseur a transient heaven</div> +<div>Finds in each pinch of Hardham's 37.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The wealth that came to the tobacconist he left to the city of +Chichester to relieve it of certain of its poor rates; and the citizens +still magnify Hardham's name. He died in 1772 and had the good sense to +restrict the expense of his funeral to ten pounds.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WILKIE'S BUMPS</div> + +<p>Chichester was the scene of a pleasant incident recorded by Leslie in +his <i>Autobiographical Recollections</i>. He was staying with Wilkie at +Petworth, the guest of their patron, and the patron of so many other +painters, Lord Egremont, of whom we shall learn more when Petworth is +reached. They all drove over to Chichester after a visit to Goodwood. +Lord Egremont, says Leslie, "had some business to transact at +Chichester; but one of his objects was to show us a young girl, the +daughter of an upholsterer, who was devoted to painting, and considered +to be a genius by her friends. She was not at home; but her mother said +she could soon be found, 'if his lordship would have the goodness to +wait a short time.' The young lady soon appeared, breathless and +exhausted with running. Lord Egremont mentioned our names, and she said, +looking up to Wilkie with an expression of great respect, 'Oh, sir! it +was but yesterday I had your head in my hands.' This puzzled him, as he +did not know she was a phrenologist.</p> + +<p>"'And what bumps did you find?' said Lord Egremont.</p> + +<p>"'The organ of veneration, very large,' was her answer; and Wilkie, +making her a profound bow, said:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>"'Madam, I have a great veneration for genius.'</p> + +<p>"She showed us an unfinished picture from <i>The Bride of Lammermoor</i>. The +figure of Lucy Ashton was completed, and, she told us, was the portrait +of a young friend of hers; but Ravenswood was without a head, and this +she explained by saying, 'there are no handsome men in Chichester. But,' +she continued, her countenance brightening, 'the Tenth are expected here +soon.'" (The Tenth was noted for its handsome officers.)</p> + +<p>Leslie does not carry the story farther. Whether poor Ravenswood ever +gained his head; whether if he did so it was a military one, or, as a +last resource, a Chichester one; and where the picture, if completed, +now is, I do not know, nor have I succeeded in discovering any more of +the young lady. But passing through the streets of the town I was +conscious of the absence of the Tenth.</p> + +<p>Chichester is a perfect example of an English rural capital, thronged on +market days with tilt carts, each bringing a farmer or farmer's wife, +and rich in those well-stored ironmongers' shops that one never sees +elsewhere. But it is more than this: it is also a cathedral town, with +the ever present sense of domination by the cloth even when the cloth is +not visible. Chichester has its roughs and its public houses (Mr. Hudson +in his <i>Nature in Downland</i> gives them a caustic chapter); it also has +its race-week every July, and barracks within hail; yet it is always a +cathedral town. Whatever noise may be in the air you know in your heart +that quietude is its true characteristic. One might say that above the +loudest street cries you are continually conscious of the silence of the +close.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page031.png" id="page031.png"></a><img src="images/page031.png" width='552' height='700' alt="Chichester Cathedral" /></p> + +<h4><i>Chichester Cathedral.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">CHICHESTER CATHEDRAL</div> + +<p>Chichester's cathedral is not among the most beautiful or the most +interesting, but there is none cooler. It dates from the eleventh +century and contains specimens of almost every kind of church +architecture; but the spire is comparatively new, having been built in +1866 to take the place of its predecessor, which suddenly dropped like +an extinguisher five years before.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Seen from the Channel it rises, a +friendly landmark (white or gray, according to the clouds), and while +walking on the Downs above or on the plain around, one is frequently +pleased to catch an unexpected glimpse of its tapering beauty. I have +heard it said that Chichester is the only English cathedral that is +visible at sea.</p> + +<p>Within, the cathedral is disappointing, offering one neither richness on +the one hand nor the charm of pure severity on the other. A cathedral +must either be plain or coloured, and Chichester comes short of both +ideals; it has no colour and no purity. Its proportions are, however, +exquisite, and it is impossible to remain here long without passing +under the spell of the stone. Yet had it, one feels, only radiance, how +much finer it would be.</p> + +<p>For the completest contrast to the vastness of the cathedral one may +cross into North Street and enter the portal of the toy church of St. +Olave, which dates from the 14th century, and is remarkable, not only +for its minuteness, but as being one of the churches of Chichester +which, in my experience, is not normally locked and barred.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROMAN CHICHESTER</div> + +<p>That Chichester was built by the Romans in the geometrical Roman way you +may see as you look down from the Bell Tower upon its four main +streets—north, south, east and west—east becoming Stane-street and +running direct to London. Chichester then was Regnum. On the departure +of the Romans, Cissa, son of Ella, took possession, and the name was +changed to Cissa's Ceastre, hence Chichester. Remnants of the old walls +still stand; and a path has been made on the portion running from North +Street down to West Gate.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A CLERICAL STRONGHOLD</div> + +<p>More attractive, because more human, than the cathedral itself are its +precincts: the long resounding cloisters, the still, discreet lanes +populous with clerics, and most of all that little terrace of +ecclesiastical residences parallel with South Street, in the shadow of +the mighty fane, covered with creeping greenness, from wistaria to +ampelopsis, with minute windows,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> inviolable front doors and trim front +gardens, which (like all similar settlements) remind one of alms-houses +carried out to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> the highest power. Surely the best of places in which to +edit Horace afresh or find new meanings in St. Augustine.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page035.png" id="page035.png"></a><img src="images/page035.png" width='499' height='700' alt="Chichester Cross" /></p> + +<h4><i>Chichester Cross.</i></h4> + +<p>There is a tendency for the cathedral to absorb all the attention of the +traveller, but Chichester has other beauties, including the Market +Cross, which is a mere child of stone, dating only from the reign of +Henry VIII.; St. Mary's Hospital in North Street; and the remains of the +monastery of the Grey Friars in the Priory Park. Young Chichester now +plays cricket where of old the monks caught fish and performed their +duties. It was probably on the mound that their Calvary stood; the last +time I climbed it was to watch Bonnor, the Australian giant, practising +in the nets below, too many years ago.</p> + +<p>Like all cathedral towns Chichester has beautiful gardens, as one may +see from the campanile. There are no lawns like the lawns of Bishops, +Deans, and Colleges; and few flower beds more luxuriantly stocked. +Chichester also has a number of grave, solid houses, such as Miss +Austen's characters might have lived in; at least one superb specimen of +the art of Sir Christopher Wren, a masterpiece of substantial red brick; +and a noble inn, the Dolphin, where one dines in the Assembly room, a +relic of the good times before inns became hotels.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SPERSHOTT'S RECOLLECTIONS</div> + +<p>We have some glimpses of old Chichester in the reminiscences (about +1720-1730) of James Spershott, a Chichester Baptist Elder, who died in +1789, aged eighty. I quote a passage here and there from his paper of +recollections printed in the Sussex Archæological Collections:—</p> + +<p>"Spinning of Household Linnen was in use in most Families, also making +their own Bread, and likewise their own Household Physick. No Tea, but +much Industrey and good Cheer. The Bacon racks were loaded with Bacon, +for little Porke was made in these times. The farmers' Wifes and +Daughters were plain in Dress, and made no such gay figures in our +Market as nowadays. At Christmas, the whole Constellation of Pattypans +which adorn'd their Chimney fronts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> were taken down. The Spit, the Pot, +the Oven, were all in use together; the Evenings spent in Jollity, and +their Glass Guns smoking Top'd the Tumbler with the froth of Good +October, till most of them were slain or wounded, and the Prince of +Orange, and Queen Ann's Marlborough, could no longer be resounded...."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE DEATH OF A SWEARER</div> + +<p>Here is Mr. Spershott's account of a Chichester calamity:—"Jno. Page, +Esq., native of this city, coming from London to Stand Candidate Here, a +great number of voters went on Horseback to meet him. Among the rest Mr. +Joshua Lover, a noted School Master, a sober man in the general but of +flighty Passions. As he was setting out, one of his Scollers, Patty +Smith (afterwards my Spouse) asked him for a Coppy, and in haste he +wrote the following:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Extreames beget Extreames, Extreames avoid</div> +<div>Extreames without Extreames are not Enjoyed.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"He set off in High Carrier, and turning down Rooks's Hill before the +Sq<sup>r</sup>., rideing like a madman To and fro, forward and backward Hallooing +among the Company, the Horse at full speed fell with him and kill'd him. +A Caution to the flighty and unsteady; and a verification of his Coppy." +Again: "Robt. Madlock, a most Prophane Swarer, being Employ'd in +Cleaning the outside of the Steeple," fell, owing to a breaking rope, +and soon after died. Mr. Spershott adds: "A warning to Swarers." Another +entry states: "In my younger years there were many very large corpulent +Persons in the City, both of Men and Women. I could now recite by name +between twenty and thirty, the great part of that number so Prodigious +that like other animals Thoroughly fatted, they could hardly move +about."</p> + +<p>One of Chichester's epitaphs runs thus:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Here lies a true soldier, whom all must applaud;</div> +<div>Much hardship he suffer'd at home and abroad;</div> +<div>But the hardest engagement he ever was in,</div> +<div>Was the battle of Self in the conquest of Sin.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> +<div class="sidenote">THE PERFECT ALMSHOUSE</div> + +<p>I have left until the last the prettiest thing in this city of comely +streets and houses—St. Mary's Hospital, at the end of Lion Street (out +of North Street): the quaintest almshouse in the world. The building +stands back, behind the ordinary houses, and is gained by a passage and +a courtyard. You then enter what seems to be a church, for at the far +end is an altar beneath an unmistakably ecclesiastical window. But when +the first feeling of surprise has passed, you discover that there is +only a small chancel at the east end of the building, on either side of +which are little dwellings. Each of these is occupied by a nice little +old woman, who has two rooms, very minute and cosy, with a little supply +of faggots close at hand, and all the dignity of a householder, although +the occupant only of an infinitesimal toy house within a house. How do +they agree, one wonders, these little old ladies of a touchy age under +their great roof?</p> + +<p>Different accounts are given of the origin of St. Mary's Hospital. Mr. +Lower says that it was founded in 1229 for a chaplain and thirteen +bedesmen. In 1562 a warden and five inmates were the prescribed +occupants. Now there are eight sets of rooms, each with its demure +tenant, all of whom troop into the little chapel at fixed hours. Mrs. +Evans, sacristan, who does the honours, would tell me nothing as to the +process of selection by which she and the seven other occupants came to +be living there; all that she could say was that she was very happy to +be a Hospitaller, and that by no possibility could one of the little +domiciles ever fall to me.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page039.png" id="page039.png"></a><img src="images/page039.png" width='700' height='504' alt="The Ruined Nave of Boxgrove" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Ruined Nave of Boxgrove.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>CHICHESTER AND THE HILLS.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Goodwood—The art of being a park—The Cenotaph of Lord +Darnley—Boxgrove—Cowper at Eastham—The Charlton Hunt—A famous +run—Huntsman and Saint—Present day hunting in Sussex—Mr. Knox's +delectable day with his gun—Kingly Bottom—The best white +violets—A demon bowler—Two epitaphs.</p></blockquote> + + +<p>Chichester may have a cathedral and a history, but nine out of ten +strangers know of it only as a station for Goodwood race-course; towards +which, in that hot week at the end of July, hundreds of carriages toil +by the steep road that skirts the Duke of Richmond and Gordon's park.</p> + +<p>Goodwood Park gives me little pleasure. I miss the deer; and when the +first park that one ever knew was Buxted, with its moving antlers above +the brake fern, one almost is compelled to withhold the word park from +any enclosure without them. It is impossible to lose the feeling that +the right place for cattle—even for Alderneys—is the meadow. Cows in a +park<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> are a poor makeshift; parks are for deer. To my eyes Goodwood +House has a chilling exterior; the road to the hill-top is steep and +lengthy; and when one has climbed it and crossed the summit wood, it is +to come upon the last thing that one wishes to find in the heart of the +country, among rolling Downs, sacred to hawks and solitude—a Grand +Stand and the railings of a race-course! Race-courses are for the +outskirts of towns, as at Brighton and Lewes; or for hills that have no +mystery and no magic, like the heights of Epsom; or for such mockeries +of parks as Sandown and Kempton. The good park has many deer and no +race-course.</p> + +<p>And yet Goodwood is superb, for it has some of the finest trees in +Sussex within its walls, including the survivors of a thousand cedars of +Lebanon planted a hundred and fifty years ago; and with every step +higher one unfolds a wider view of the Channel and the plain. Best of +these prospects is, perhaps, that gained from Carne's seat, as the +Belvedere to the left of the road to the racecourse is called; its name +deriving from an old servant of the family, whose wooden hut was +situated here when Carne died, and whose name and fame were thus +perpetuated. The stones of the building were in part those of old Hove +church, near Brighton, then lately demolished.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CENOTAPH OF DARNLEY</div> + +<p>In Goodwood House, which is shown on regular days, are fine Vandycks and +Lelys, relics of the two Charles', and above all the fascinatingly +absorbing "Cenotaph of Lord Darnley," a series of scenes in the life of +that ill-fated husband. It may be said that among all the treasures of +Sussex there is nothing quite so interesting as this.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page041.png" id="page041.png"></a><img src="images/page041.png" width='647' height='700' alt="Boxgrove Priory Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Boxgrove Priory Church.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">BOXGROVE</div> + +<p>Leaving Chichester by East Street (or Stane Street, the old Roman road +to London) one comes first to West Hampnett, famous as the birthplace, +in 1792, of Frederick William Lillywhite, the "Nonpareil" bowler, whom +we shall meet again at Brighton. A mile and a half beyond is Halnaker, +midway between two ruins, those of Halnaker House to the north and +Boxgrove Priory to the south. Of the remains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> of Halnaker House, a Tudor +mansion, once the home of the De la Warrs, little may now be seen; but +Boxgrove is still very beautiful, as Mr. Griggs' drawings prove. The +Priory dates from the reign of Henry I., when it was founded very +modestly for three Benedictine monks, a number which steadily grew. +Seven Henries later came its downfall, and now nothing remains but some +exquisite Norman arches and a few less perfect fragments. Boxgrove +church is an object of pilgrimage for antiquaries and architects, the +vaulting being peculiarly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> interesting. At the Halnaker Arms in 1902 was +a landlady whom few cooks could teach anything in the matter of pastry.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE EARTHAM DILLETANTE</div> + +<p>The next village on Stane Street, or rather a little south of it, about +two miles beyond Halnaker, is Eartham; which brings to mind William +Hayley, the friend and biographer of Cowper and the author of <i>The +Triumphs of Temper</i>, perhaps the least read of any book that once was +popular. Hayley succeeded his father as squire of Eartham; here he +entertained Cowper and other friends; here Romney painted. When need +came for retrenchment, Hayley let Eartham to Huskisson, the statesman, +and moved to Felpham, on the coast, where we shall meet with him again. +Cowper's occupations upon this charming Sussex hillside are recorded in +Hayley's account of the visit: "<i>Homer</i> was not the immediate object of +our attention while Cowper resided at Eartham. The morning hours that we +could bestow on books were chiefly devoted to a complete revisal and +correction of all the translations, which my friend had finished, from +the Latin and Italian poetry of Milton; and we generally amused +ourselves after dinner in forming together a rapid metrical version of +Andreini's <i>Adamo</i>. But the constant care which the delicate health of +Mrs. Unwin required rendered it impossible for us to be very assiduous +in study, and perhaps the best of all studies was to promote and share +that most singular and most exemplary tenderness of attention with which +Cowper incessantly laboured to counteract every infirmity, bodily and +mental, with which sickness and age had conspired to load this +interesting guardian of his afflicted life.... The air of the south +infused a little portion of fresh strength into her shattered frame, and +to give it all possible efficacy, the boy, whom I have mentioned, and a +young associate and fellow student of his, employed themselves regularly +twice a day in drawing this venerable cripple in a commodious +garden-chair round the airy hill of Eartham. To Cowper and to me it was +a very pleasing spectacle to see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> benevolent vivacity of blooming +youth thus continually labouring for the ease, health, and amusement of +disabled age."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">COWPER IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>The poet and Mrs. Unwin, after much trepidation and doubt, had left +Weston Underwood on August 1, 1792; they slept at Barnet the first +night, Ripley the next, and were at Eartham by ten o'clock on the third. +They stayed till September. Cowper describes Hayley's estate as one of +the most delightful pleasure grounds in the world. "I had no conception +that a poet could be the owner of such a paradise, and his house is as +elegant as his scenes are charming." The poet, apart from his rapid +treatment of <i>Adamo</i>, did not succeed independently in attaining to +Hayley's fluency among these surroundings. "I am in truth so +unaccountably local in the use of my pen," he wrote to Lady Hesketh, +"that, like the man in the fable, who could leap well nowhere but at +Rhodes, I seem incapable of writing at all except at Weston." Hence the +only piece that he composed in our county was the epitaph on Fop, a dog +belonging to Lady Throckmorton. But while he was at Eartham Romney drew +his portrait in crayons.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page043.png" id="page043.png"></a><img src="images/page043.png" width='700' height='371' alt="Boxgrove from the South" /></p> + +<h4><i>Boxgrove from the South.</i></h4> + +<p>Cowper always looked back upon his visit with pleasure, but, as he +remarked, the genius of Weston Underwood suited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> him better—"It has an +air of snug concealment in which a disposition like mine feels itself +peculiarly gratified; whereas now I see from every window woods like +forests and hills like mountains—a wilderness, in short, that rather +increases my natural melancholy.... Accordingly, I have not looked out +for a house in Sussex, nor shall."</p> + +<p>The simplest road from Chichester to the Downs is the railway. The +little train climbs laboriously to Singleton, and then descends to +Cocking and Midhurst. By leaving it at Singleton one is quickly in the +heart of this vast district of wooded hills, sometimes wholly forested, +sometimes, as in West Dean park, curiously studded with circular clumps +of trees.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CHARLTON HUNT</div> + +<p>The most interesting spot to the east of the line is Charlton, once so +famous among sporting men, but now, alas, unknown. For Charlton was of +old a southern Melton Mowbray, the very centre of the aristocratic +hunting county. The Charlton Hunt had two palmy periods: before the Duke +of Monmouth's rebellion, and after the accession of William III. +Monmouth and Lord Grey kept two packs, the Master being Squire Roper. +With the fall of Monmouth Roper fled to France, to hunt at Chantilly, +but on the accession of William III. he returned to Sussex, the hounds +resumed their old condition, and the Charlton pack became the most +famous in the world. On the death of Mr. Roper—in the hunting field, in +1715, at the age of eighty-four—the Duke of Bolton took the Mastership, +which he held until the charms of Miss Fenton the actress (the Polly +Peachum of <i>The Beggars' Opera</i>) lured him to the tents of the women. +Then came the glorious reign of the second Duke of Richmond, when sport +with the Charlton was at its height. The Charlton Hunt declined upon his +death, in 1750, became known as the Goodwood Hunt, and wholly ceased to +be at the beginning of the last century.</p> + +<p>The crowning glory of the Charlton Hunt was the run of Friday, January +26, 1738, which is thus described in an old manuscript:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">A FAMOUS RUN</div> + +<blockquote><p class="center">A FULL AND IMPARTIAL ACCOUNT OF THE REMARKABLE CHASE AT CHARLTON, +ON FRIDAY, 26TH JANUARY, 1738.</p> + +<p>It has long been a matter of controversy in the hunting world to +what particular country or set of men the superiority belonged. +Prejudices and partiality have the greatest share in their +disputes, and every society their proper champion to assert the +pre-eminence and bring home the trophy to their own country. Even +Richmond Park has the Dymoke. But on Friday, the 26th of January, +1738, there was a decisive engagement on the plains of Sussex, +which, after ten hours' struggle, has settled all further debate +and given the brush to the gentlemen of Charlton.</p> + +<p class="center">PRESENT IN THE MORNING:—</p> + +<p>The Duke of Richmond, Duchess of Richmond, Duke of St Alban's, the +Lord Viscount Harcourt, the Lord Henry Beauclerk, the Lord +Ossulstone, Sir Harry Liddell, Brigadier Henry Hawley, Ralph +Jennison, master of His Majesty's Buck Hounds, Edward Pauncefort, +Esq., William Farquhar, Esq., Cornet Philip Honywood, Richard +Biddulph, Esq., Charles Biddulph, Esq., Mr. St. Paul, Mr. Johnson, +Mr. Peerman, of Chichester; Mr. Thomson, Tom Johnson, Billy Ives, +Yeoman Pricker to His Majesty's Hounds; David Briggs and Nim Ives, +Whippers-in.</p> + +<p>At a quarter before eight in the morning the fox was found in +Eastdean Wood, and ran an hour in that cover; then into the Forest, +up to Puntice Coppice through Heringdean to the Marlows, up to +Coney Coppice, back to the Marlows, to the Forest West Gate, over +the fields to Nightingale Bottom, to Cobden's at Draught, up his +Pine Pit Hanger, where His Grace of St. Alban's got a fall; through +My Lady Lewknor's Puttocks, and missed the earth; through Westdean +Forest to the corner of Collar Down (where Lord Harcourt blew his +first horse), crossed the Hackney-place down the length of Coney +Coppice, through the Marlows to Heringdean, into the Forest and +Puntice Coppice, Eastdean Wood, through the Lower Teglease across +by Cocking Course down between Graffham and Woolavington, through +Mr. Orme's Park and Paddock over the Heath to Fielder's Furzes, to +the Harlands, Selham, Ambersham, through Todham Furzes, over Todham +Heath, almost to Cowdray Park, there turned to the limekiln at the +end of Cocking Causeway, through Cocking Park and Furzes; there +crossed the road and up the hills between Bepton and Cocking. Here +the unfortunate Lord Harcourt's second horse felt the effects of +long legs and a sudden steep; the best thing that belonged to him +was his saddle, which My Lord had secured; but, by bleeding and +Geneva (contrary to Act of Parliament) he recovered, and with some +difficulty was got home. Here Mr. Farquhar's humanity claims your +regard, who kindly sympathised with My Lord in his misfortunes, and +had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> power to go beyond him. At the bottom of Cocking Warren +the hounds turned to the left across the road by the barn near +Heringdean, then took the side near to the north-gate of the Forest +(Here General Hawley thought it prudent to change his horse for a +true-blue that staid up the hills). Billy Ives likewise took a +horse of Sir Harry Liddell's, went quite through the Forest and run +the foil through Nightingale Bottom to Cobden at Draught, up his +Pine Pit Hanger to My Lady Lewknor's Puttocks, through every mews +she went in the morning; went through the Warren above Westdean +(where we dropt Sir Harry Liddell) down to Benderton Farm (here +Lord Harry sank), through Goodwood Park (here the Duke of Richmond +chose to send three lame horses back to Charlton, and took Saucy +Face and Sir William, that were luckily at Goodwood; from thence, +at a distance, Lord Harry was seen driving his horse before him to +Charlton). The hounds went out at the upper end of the Park over +Strettington-road by Sealy Coppice (where His Grace of Richmond got +a summerset), through Halnaker Park over Halnaker Hill to Seabeach +Farm (here the Master of the Stag Hounds, Cornet Honywood, Tom +Johnson, and Nim Ives were thoroughly satisfied), up Long Down, +through Eartham Common fields and Kemp's High Wood (here Billy Ives +tried his second horse and took Sir William, by which the Duke of +St. Alban's had no great coat, so returned to Charlton). From +Kemp's High Wood the hounds took away through Gunworth Warren, +Kemp's Rough Piece, over Slindon Down to Madehurst Parsonage (where +Billy came in with them), over Poor Down up to Madehurst, then down +to Houghton Forest, where His Grace of Richmond, General Hawley, +and Mr. Pauncefort came in (the latter to little purpose, for, +beyond the Ruel Hill, neither Mr. Pauncefort nor his horse Tinker +cared to go, so wisely returned to his impatient friends), up the +Ruel Hill, left Sherwood on the right hand, crossed Ofham Hill to +Southwood, from thence to South Stoke to the wall of Arundel River, +where the glorious 23 hounds put an end to the campaign, and killed +an old bitch fox, ten minutes before six. Billy Ives, His Grace of +Richmond, and General Hawley were the only persons in at the death, +to the immortal honour of 17 stone, and at least as many campaigns.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHNSON THE EXEMPLAR</div> + +<p>In Singleton church is a record of the Charlton Hunt in the shape of a +memorial to one of the huntsmen, the moral of which seems to be that we +must all be huntsmen too:—</p> + +<p class="center"><br />"Near this place lies interred<br /> +<span class="smcap">Thomas Johnson</span>,<br /> +who departed this life at Charlton,<br /> +December 20th, 1774.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>"From his early inclination to fox-hounds, he soon became an experienced +huntsman. His knowledge in the profession, wherein he had no superior, +and hardly an equal, joined to his honesty in every other particular, +recommended him to the service, and gained him the approbation, of +several of the nobility and gentry. Among these were the Lord <span class="smcap">Conway</span>, +Earl of <span class="smcap">Cardigan</span>, the Lord <span class="smcap">Gower</span>, the Duke of <span class="smcap">Marlborough</span>, the Hon. M. +<span class="smcap">Spencer</span>. The last master whom he served, and in whose service he died, +was <span class="smcap">Charles</span>, Duke of <span class="smcap">Richmond</span>, <span class="smcap">Lennox</span>, and <span class="smcap">Aubigny</span>, who erected this +monument in memory of a good and faithful servant, as a reward to the +deceased, and an incitement to the living.</p> + +<p>'Go, and do thou likewise.' (St. Luke, x. 37).</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'Here Johnson lies; what human can deny</div> +<div>Old Honest Tom the tribute of a sigh?</div> +<div>Deaf is that ear which caught the opening sound;</div> +<div>Dumb that tongue which cheer'd the hills around.</div> +<div>Unpleasing truth: Death hunts us from our birth</div> +<div>In view, and men, like foxes, take to earth.'"</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SUSSEX PACKS</div> + +<p>A few words on the packs of Sussex at the present time may be +interesting in this connection. Chief is the Southdown Fox Hounds, a +very fine, fast pack brought to a high state of perfection by the late +master, the Hon. Charles Brand. They hunt the open and hill country +between the Adur and Cuckmere, between Haywards Heath and the sea. In +the north are the Crawley and Horsham Fox Hounds, which have large +woodlands, high hedges, and some stiff ploughed soil to their less easy +lot. The hounds are bigger and heavier than the South Downers. Smaller +packs are Lord Leconfield's Fox Hounds, which have the Charlton country; +the Eastbourne Fox Hounds, to which the East Sussex Fox Hounds allotted +a share of the western part of their country east of the Cuckmere; and +the Burstow and Eridge packs. Of Harriers, the best are the Brighton +Harriers, so long hunted by Mr. Hugh Gorringe of Kingston-by-Sea, a very +smart pack lately covering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> the ground between the Adur and Falmer, and +now adding the Brookside Harriers' country to their own domain, the two +packs having been amalgamated. In the east are the Bexhill Harriers and +the Hailsham Harriers; and in the west the South Coast Harriers, for the +Chichester country. Sussex, in addition to possessing the Warnham +Staghounds, is much raided by the Surrey Staghounds. The Crowhurst Otter +Hounds also visit the Sussex streams now and then. Foot Beagles may be +numerous but I know only of the Brighton pack.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MR. KNOX'S SETTER</div> + +<p>And here let me give Mr. Knox's description of a day's shooting, in the +gentlemanly way, on the Sussex Downs, following, in his <i>Ornithological +Rambles</i>, upon some remarks on the battue. "How different is the pursuit +of the pheasant with the aid of spaniels in the thick covers of the +weald, or tracking him with a single setter among some of the wilder +portions of the forest range!—intently observing your dog and +anticipating the wily artifices of some old cock, with spurs as long as +a dragon's, who will sometimes lead you for a mile through bog, brake, +fern, and heather, before the sudden drop of your staunch companion, and +a rigidity in all his limbs, satisfy you that you have at last compelled +the bird to squat under that wide holly-bush, from whence you kick him +up, and feel some little exultation as you bring him down with a +snap-shot, having only caught a glimpse of him through the evergreen +boughs, as he endeavoured to escape by a rapid flight at the opposite +side of the tree.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SUSSEX BAG</div> + +<p>"And then the woodcock-shooting in November—I must take you back once +more to my favourite Downs. With the first full moon during that month, +especially if the wind be easterly or the weather calm, arrive flights +of woodcocks, which drop in the covers, and are dispersed among the +bushy valleys, and even over the heathery summits of the hills. If it +should happen to be a propitious year for beech-mast—the great +attraction to pheasants on the Downs, as is the acorn in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> weald—you +may procure partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits in perhaps equal +proportions, with half a dozen woodcocks to crown the bag.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page049.png" id="page049.png"></a><img src="images/page049.png" width='700' height='618' alt="East Lavant" /></p> + +<h4><i>East Lavant.</i></h4> + +<p>"The extensive, undulating commons and heaths dotted with broken patches +of Scotch firs and hollies on the ferruginous sand north of the Downs, +afford—where the manorial rights are enforced—still greater variety of +sport. On this wild ground, accompanied by my spaniels and an old +retriever, and attended only by one man, to carry the game, I have +enjoyed as good sport as mortal need desire on this side of the Tweed. +Here is a rough sketch of a morning's work.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PARTRIDGE AND WOODCOCK</div> + +<p>"Commencing operations by walking across a turnip-field, two or three +coveys spring wildly from the farther end, and fly, as I expect, to the +adjoining common, where they are marked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> down on a brow thickly clothed +with furze. Marching towards them with spaniels at heel, up jumps a hare +under my nose, then another, then a rabbit. I reload rapidly, and on +reaching the gorse 'put in' the dogs. Whirr! there goes a partridge! The +spaniels drop to the report of my gun, but the fluttering wings of the +dying bird rouse two of his neighbours before I am ready, and away they +fly, screaming loudly. The remainder are flushed in detail and I succeed +in securing the greater part of them. Now for the next covey. They were +marked down in that little hollow where the heather is longer than +usual—a beautiful spot! But before I reach it, up they all spring in an +unexpected quarter; that cunning old patriarch at their head had +cleverly called them together to a naked part of the hill from whence he +could observe my manœuvres, and a random shot sent after him with +hearty good will proved totally ineffective.</p> + +<p>"Now the spaniels are worming through the thick sedges on either side of +the brook which intersects the moor, and by their bustling anxiety it is +easy to see that game is afoot. Keeping well in front of them, I am just +in time for a satisfactory right and left at two cock pheasants, which +they had hunted down to the very edge of the water before they could +persuade them to take wing. Now for that little alder coppice at the +further end of the marshy swamp. Hark to that whipping sound so +different from the rush of the rising pheasant or the drumming flight of +the partridge! I cannot see the bird, but I know it is a woodcock. This +must be one of his favourite haunts, for I perceive the tracks of his +feet and the perforations of his bill in every direction on the black +mud around. Mark! again. A second is sprung, and as he flits between the +naked alders a snap-shot stops his career. I now emerge at the farther +end, just where the trees are thinner than elsewhere. A wisp of snipes +utter their well-known cry and scud over the heath; one of these is +secured. The rest fly towards a little pool of dark water lying at a +considerable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> distance from the common, a well-known rendezvous for +those birds. Cautiously approaching, down wind, I reach the margin. Up +springs a snipe; but just as my finger is on the trigger, and when too +late to alter my intention, a duck and mallard rise from among the +rushes and wheel round my head. One barrel is fortunately left, and the +drake comes tumbling to the ground. Three or four pheasants, another +couple of woodcocks, a few more snipes, a teal or two, and half a dozen +rabbits picked up at various intervals, complete the day's sport, and I +return home, better pleased with myself and my dogs than if we had +compassed the destruction of all the hares in the county, or assisted at +the immolation of a perfect hecatomb of pheasants."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">KINGLY BOTTOM</div> + +<p>Kingly Bottom is the most interesting spot to the west of Singleton. One +may reach it either through Chilgrove, or by walking back towards +Chichester as far as Binderton House, turning then to the right and +walking due west for a couple of miles. Report says that the yews in +Kingly Bottom, or Kingly Vale, mark a victory of Chichester men over a +party of marauding Danes in 900, and that the dead were buried beneath +the barrows on the hill. The story ought to be true. The vale is +remarkable for its grove of yews, some of enormous girth, which extends +along the bottom to the foot of the escarpment. The charge that might be +brought against Sussex, that it lacks sombre scenery and the elements of +dark romance, that its character is too open and transparent, would be +urged to no purpose in Kingly Vale, which, always grave and silent, is +transformed at dusk into a sinister and fantastic forest, a home for +witchcraft and unquiet spirits.</p> + +<p>So it seems to me; but among the verses of Bernard Barton, the Quaker +poet and the friend of Charles Lamb, I lately chanced upon a sonnet +"written on hearing it remarked that the scenery [of Kingly Bottom] was +too gloomy to be termed beautiful; and that it was also associated with +dolorous recollections of Druidical sacrifices." In this poem Barton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +takes a surprisingly novel line. "Nay, nay, it is not gloomy" he begins, +and the end is thus:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Nor fancy Druid rites have left a stain</div> +<div class="i1">Upon its gentle beauties:—loiter there</div> +<div class="i1">In a calm summer night, confess how fair</div> +<div>Its moonlight charms, and thou wilt learn how vain</div> +<div>And transitory Superstition's reign</div> +<div class="i1">Over a spot which gladsome thoughts may share.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The ordinary person, not a poet, would, I fear, prefer to think of +Kingly Bottom's Druidical past.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE MARDEN VIOLETS</div> + +<p>The last time I was in Kingly Bottom—it was in April—after leaving the +barrows on the summit of the Bow Hill, above the Vale, I walked by +devious ways to East Marden, between banks thick with the whitest and +sweetest of sweet white violets. East Marden, however, has no inn and is +therefore not the best friend of the traveller; but it has the most +modest and least ecclesiastical-looking church in the world, and by +seeking it out I learned two secrets: the finest place for white violets +and the finest place to keep a horse. There is no riding country to +excel this hill district between Singleton and the Hampshire border.</p> + +<p>At the neighbouring village of Stoughton, whither I meant to walk (since +an inn is there) was born, in 1783, the terrible George Brown—Brown of +Brighton—the fast bowler, whose arm was as thick as an ordinary man's +thigh. He had two long stops, one of whom padded his chest with straw. A +long stop once held his coat before one of Brown's balls, but the ball +went through it and killed a dog on the other side. Brown could throw a +4½ oz. ball 137 yards, and he was the father of seventeen children. +He died at Sompting in 1857.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CHURCHYARD POETRY</div> + +<p>Of Racton, on the Hampshire border, and its association with Charles +II., I have already spoken. Below, it is Westbourne, a small border +village in whose churchyard are two pleasing epitaphs. Of Jane, wife of +Thomas Curtis, who died in 1719, it is written:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>She was like a lily fresh and green,</div> +<div>Soon cast down and no more seen.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>and of John Cook:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Pope said an honest man</div> +<div>Is the noblest work of God.</div> +<div>If Pope's assertion be from error clear,</div> +<div>One of God's noblest works lies buried here.</div> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page054.png" id="page054.png"></a><img src="images/page054.png" width='700' height='506' alt="Bosham" /></p> + +<h4><i>Bosham.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>CHICHESTER AND THE PLAIN</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Bosham and history—An expensive pun—The Bosham bells—Chidham +wheat—The Manhood peninsula—Selsey's adders—Selsey Bill—St. +Wilfrid and the Sussex heathen—Pagham Harbour in its palmy +days—Bognor—Felpham's great rider—Mr. Hayley and Mrs. Opie—An +epitaph and a poem—A fairy's funeral—William Blake in Sussex—The +trial of a traitor.</p></blockquote> + + +<p>On leaving Chichester West Street becomes the Portsmouth Road and passes +through Fishbourne, a pleasant but dusty village. A mile or so beyond, +and a little to the south, is Bosham, on one of the several arms of +Chichester Harbour, once of some importance but now chiefly mud. Bosham +is the most interesting village in what may be called the Selsey +peninsula. Yet how has its glory diminished! What is now a quiet abode +of fishermen and the tarrying-place of yachtsmen and artists (there are +few Royal Academy exhibitions without the spire of Bosham church) has +been in its time a very factory of history.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> Vespasian's camp was hard +by, and it is possible that certain Roman remains that have been found +here were once part of his palace. Bosham claims to be the scene of +Canute's encounter with the encroaching tide; which may be the case, +although one has always thought of the king rebuking his flatterers +rather by the margin of the ocean itself than inland at an estuary's +edge. But beyond question Canute had a palace here, and his daughter was +buried in the church.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A COSTLY PUN</div> + +<p>Earl Godwin, father of Harold, last of the Saxons, dwelt here also. "Da +mihi basium"—give me a kiss—he is fabled to have said to Archbishop +Aethelnoth, and on receiving it to have taken the salute as acquiescence +in the request—"Da mihi Bosham": probably the earliest and also the +most expensive recorded example in England of this particular form of +humour.</p> + +<p>It was from Bosham that Harold sailed on that visit to the Duke of +Normandy which resulted in the battle of Hastings. In the Bayeux +tapestry he may be seen riding to Bosham with his company, and also +putting up prayers for the success of his mission. Of this success we +shall see more when we come to Battle. Bosham furthermore claims Hubert +of Bosham, the author of the <i>Book of Becket's Martyrdom</i>, who was with +Saint Thomas of Canterbury when the assassins stabbed him to the death.</p> + +<p>The church is of great age; it is even claimed that the tower is the +original Saxon. The circumstance that in the representation of the +edifice in the Bayeux tapestry there is no tower has been urged against +this theory, although architectural realism in embroidery has never been +very noticeable. The bells (it is told) were once carried off in a +Danish raid; but they brought their captors no luck—rather the reverse, +since they so weighed upon the ship that she sank. When the present +bells ring, the ancient submerged peal is said to ring also in sympathy +at the bottom of the Channel—a pretty habit, which would suggest that +bell metal is happily and wisely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> superior to changes of religion, were +it not explained by the unromantic principles of acoustics.</p> + +<p>A heavy pole, known as the staff of Bevis of Southampton (and Arundel), +was of old kept in Bosham church.</p> + +<p>At high water Bosham is the fair abode of peace. When every straggling +arm of the harbour is brimming full, when their still surfaces reflect +the sky with a brighter light, and the fishing boats ride erect, Bosham +is serenely beautiful and restful. But at low tide she is a slut: the +withdrawing floods lay bare vast tracts of mud; the ships heel over into +attitudes disreputably oblique; stagnation reigns.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CHIDHAM WHEAT</div> + +<p>Chidham, by Bosham, is widely famous for its wheat. Chidham White, or +Hedge, wheat was first produced a little more than a century ago by Mr. +Woods, a farmer. He noticed one afternoon (probably on a Sunday, when +farmers are most noticing) an unfamiliar patch of wheat growing in a +hedge. It contained thirty ears, in which were fourteen hundred corns. +Mr. Woods carefully saved it and sowed it. The crop was eight pounds and +a half. These he sowed, and the crop was forty eight gallons. Thus it +multiplied, until the time came to distribute it to other farmers at a +high price. The cultivation of Chidham wheat by Mr. Woods at one side of +the county, synchronised with the breeding of the best Southdown sheep +by John Ellman at the other, as we shall see later.</p> + +<p>South of Chichester stretches the Manhood peninsula, of which Selsey is +the principal town: the part of Sussex most neglected by the traveller. +In a county of hills the stranger is not attracted by a district that +might almost have been hewn out of Holland. But the ornithologist knows +its value, and in a world increasingly bustling and progressive there is +a curious fascination in so remote and deliberate a region, over which, +even in the finest weather and during the busiest harvest, a suggestion +of desolation broods. Nothing, one feels, can ever introduce Success +into this plain, and so thinking, one is at peace.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE MONOTONY OF MANHOOD</div> + +<p>A tramway between Chichester and Selsey has to some extent opened up the +east side of the peninsula, but the west is still remote and will +probably remain so. The country is, however, not interesting: a dead +level of dusty road and grass or arable land, broken only by hedges, +dykes, white cottages, and the many homesteads within their ramparts of +wind-swept elms. Wheat and oats are the prevailing crops, still for the +most part cut and bound by hand. Of the villages in the centre of the +peninsula Sidlesham is the most considerable, with its handsome square +church tower and its huge red tide-mill, now silent and weather-worn, +standing mournfully at the head of the dry harbour of Pagham, whose +waters once turned its wheels. On the west, on the shores of the Bosham +estuary, or Chichester Harbour, are the sleepy amphibious villages of +Appledram, famous once for its salt and its smugglers, Birdham, and +Earnley. Let no one be tempted to take a direct line across the fields +from Selsey to Earnley, for dykes and canals must effectually stop him. +Indeed, cross country walking in this part of the country is practically +an impossibility, except by continuous deviations and doublings. In +attempting one day to reach Earnley from Selsey in this way (after +giving up the beach in despair), I came upon several adders, and I once +found one crossing a road absolutely in Selsey.</p> + +<p>Selsey is a straggling white village, or town, over populous with +visitors in summer, empty, save for its regular inhabitants, in winter. +The oldest and truest part of Selsey is a fishing village on the east +shore of the Bill, a little settlement of tarred tenements and lobster +pots. Selsey church, now on the confines of the town, once stood a mile +or more away; whither it was removed (the stones being numbered) and, +like Temple Bar, again set up. The chancel was, however, not removed, +but left desolate in the fields.</p> + +<p>Selsey Bill is a tongue of land projecting into a shallow sea. A +lighthouse being useless to warn strange mariners of the sandbanks of +this district, a lightship known as the Owers flashes its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> rays far out +in the channel. The sea has played curious pranks on the Selsey coast. +Beneath the beach and a large tract of the sea now lies what was once, +four hundred years ago, a park of deer, which in its most prosperous day +extended for miles. The shallow water covering it is still called the +park by the fishermen, who drop their nets where the bucks and does of +Selsey were wont to graze.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX REPELS ST. WILFRID</div> + +<p>But the sea has obliterated more than the pasturage of the deer; a mile +distant from the present shore stood the first monastery erected in +Sussex after Wilfrid's conversion of the South Saxons to Christianity. +Although Saint Wilfrid eventually found a home in Sussex and worked hard +among its people, his first attempt to bring Christianity to the county +was, according to his friend Edda's <i>Vita Wilfridi</i>, ill-starred. I +quote the story:—</p> + +<p>"A great gale blowing from the South-east, the swelling waves threw them +on the unknown coast of the South Saxons. The sea too left the ship and +men, and retreating from the land and leaving the shore uncovered, +retired into the depths of the abyss.</p> + +<p>"And the heathen, coming with a great army, intended to seize the ship, +to divide the spoil of money, to take them captives forthwith, and to +put to the sword those who resisted. To whom our great bishop spoke +gently and peaceably, offering much money, wishing to redeem their +souls.</p> + +<p>"But they with stern and cruel hearts like Pharaoh would not let the +people of the Lord go, saying proudly that, 'All that the sea threw on +the land became as much theirs as their own property.'</p> + +<p>"And the idolatrous chief priest of the heathen, standing on a lofty +mound, strove like Balaam to curse the people of God, and to bind their +hands by his magic arts.</p> + +<p>"Then one of the bishop's companions hurled, like David, a stone, +blessed by all the people of God, which struck the cursing magician in +the forehead and pierced his brain, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> an unexpected death surprised, +as it did Goliath, falling back a corpse in sandy places.</p> + +<p>"The heathen therefore preparing to fight, vainly attacked the people of +God. But the Lord fought for the few, even as Gideon by the command of +the Lord, with 300 warriors slew at one attack 12,000 of the Midianites.</p> + +<p>"And so the comrades of our holy bishop, well-armed and brave, though +few in number (they were 120 men, the number of the years of Moses), +determined and agreed that none should turn his back in flight from the +other, but would either win death with glory, or life with victory (for +both alike are easy to the Lord). So S. Wilfrith with his clerk fell on +his knees, and lifting his hands to Heaven again sought help from the +Lord. For, as Moses triumphed when Hur and Aaron supported his hands, by +frequently imploring the protection of the Lord, when Joshua the son of +Nun was fighting with the people of God against Amalek, thus these few +Christians after thrice repulsing the fierce and untamed heathen, routed +them with great slaughter, with a loss strange to say of only five on +their side.</p> + +<p>"And their great priest (Wilfrith) prayed to the Lord his God, who +immediately ordered the sea to return a full hour before its wont. So +that when the heathen, on the arrival of their king, were preparing for +a fourth attack with all their forces, the rising sea covered with its +waves the whole of the shore, and floated the ship, which sailed into +the deep. But, greatly glorified by God, and returning Him thanks, with +a South wind they reached Sandwich, a harbour of safety."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN WESLEY'S TESTIMONY</div> + +<p>The Sussex people, it would seem, do not take kindly to missionaries, +for John Wesley records that he had less success in this county than in +all England.</p> + +<p>Between Selsey and Bognor lies Pagham, famous in the pages of Knox's +<i>Ornithological Rambles</i>, but otherwise unknown. Of the lost glories of +Pagham, which was once a harbour, but is now dry, let Mr. Knox +speak:—"Here in the dead long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> summer days, when not a breath of air +has been stirring, have I frequently remained for hours, stretched on +the hot shingle, and gazed at the osprey as he soared aloft, or watched +the little islands of mud at the turn of the tide, as each gradually +rose from the receding waters, and was successively taken possession of +by flocks of sandpipers and ring-dotterels, after various +circumvolutions on the part of each detachment, now simultaneously +presenting their snowy breasts to the sunshine, now suddenly turning +their dusky backs, so that the dazzled eye lost sight of them from the +contrast; while the prolonged cry of the titterel,<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and the melancholy +note of the peewit from the distant swamp, have mingled with the scream +of the tern and the taunting laugh of the gull.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PAGHAM'S LOST GLORIES</div> + +<p>"Here have I watched the oyster-catcher, as he flew from point to point, +and cautiously waded into the shallow water; and the patient heron, that +pattern of a fisherman, as with retracted neck, and eyes fixed on +vacancy, he has stood for hours without a single snap, motionless as a +statue. Here, too, have I pursued the guillemot, or craftily endeavoured +to cut off the retreat of the diver, by mooring my boat across the +narrow passage through which alone he could return to the open sea +without having recourse to his reluctant wings. Nor can I forget how +often, during the Siberian winter of 1838, when 'a whole gale,' as the +sailors have it, has been blowing from the north-east, I used to take up +my position on the long and narrow ridge of shingle which separated this +paradise from the raging waves without, and sheltered behind a hillock +of seaweed, with my long duck-gun and a trusty double, or half buried in +a hole in the sand, I used to watch the legions of water-birds as they +neared the shore, and dropped distrustfully among the breakers, at a +distance from the desired haven, until, gaining confidence from +accession of numbers, some of the bolder spirits—the pioneers of the +army—would flap their wings, rise from the white waves, and make for +the calm water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Here they come! I can see the pied golden-eye +pre-eminent among the advancing party; now the pochard, with his +copper-coloured head and neck, may be distinguished from the darker +scaup-duck; already the finger is on the trigger, when, perhaps, they +suddenly veer to the right and left, far beyond the reach of my longest +barrel or, it may be, come swishing overhead, and leave a companion or +two struggling on the shingle or floating on the shallow waters of the +harbour."</p> + +<p>Pagham Harbour is now reclaimed, and where once was mud, or, at high +tide, shallow water, is rank grass and thistles. One ship that seems to +have waited a little too long before making for the open sea again, now +lies high and dry, a forlorn hulk. Pagham church is among the airiest +that I know, with a shingle spire, the counterpart of Bosham's on the +other side of the peninsula.</p> + +<p>The walk from Pagham to Bognor, along the sand, is uninspiring and not +too easy, for the sand can be very soft. About a mile west of Bognor one +is driven inland, just after passing as perfect an example of the simple +yet luxurious seaside home as I remember to have seen: all on one floor, +thatched, shaded by trees, surrounded by its garden and facing the +Channel.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">EARLY BOGNOR</div> + +<p>Among the unattractive types of town few are more dismal than the +watering-place <i>manqué</i>. Bognor must, I fear, come under this heading. +Its reputation, such as it is, was originally made by Princess +Charlotte, daughter of George III., who found the air recuperative, and +who was probably not unwilling to lend her prestige to a resort, as her +brother George was doing at Brighton, and her sister Amelia had done at +Worthing. But before the Princess Charlotte Sir Richard Hotham, the +hatter, had come, determined at any cost to make the town popular. One +of his methods was to rename it Hothampton. His efforts were, however, +only moderately successful, and he died in 1799, leaving to what +Horsfield calls "his astonished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> heirs" only <i>£</i>8,000 out of a great +fortune. The name Hothampton soon vanished.</p> + +<p>The local authorities of Bognor seem to be keenly alive to the value of +enterprise, for their walls are covered with instructions as to what may +or may not be done in the interests of cleanliness and popularity; a new +sea-wall has been built; receptacles for waste paper continually +confront one, and deck chairs at twopence for three hours are +practically unavoidable. And yet Bognor remains a dull place, once the +visitor has left his beach abode—tent or bathing box, whichever it may +be. It seems to be a town without resources. But it has the interest, +denied one in more fashionable watering-places, of presenting old and +new Bognor at the same moment; not that old Bognor is really old, but it +is instructive to see the kind of crescent which was considered the last +word in architectural enterprise when our great-grandmothers were young +and would take the sea air.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A POET ON HORSEBACK</div> + +<p>From Bognor it is a mere step to Felpham, a village less than a mile to +the east. Whether or not one goes there to-day is a matter of taste; but +a hundred years ago to omit a visit was to confess one's-self a boor, +for William Hayley, the poet and friend of genius, lived there, and his +castellated stucco house became a shrine. At that day it seems to have +been no uncommon sight for the visitor to Bognor to be refreshed by the +spectacle of the poet falling from his horse. According to his +biographer, Cowper's Johnny of Norfolk, Hayley descended to earth almost +as often as Alice's White Knight, partly from the high spirit of his +steed, and partly from a habit which he never abandoned of wearing +military spurs and carrying an umbrella. The memoir of the poet contains +this agreeable passage: "The Editor was once riding gently by his side, +on the stony beach of Bognor, when the wind suddenly reversed his +umbrella as he unfolded it; his horse, with a single but desperate +plunge, pitched him on his head in an instant.... On another occasion, +on the same visit ... he was tost into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> the air on the Downs, at the +precise moment when an interested friend whom they had just left, being +apprehensive of what would happen, was anxiously viewing him from his +window, through a telescope." Those who look through telescopes are +rarely so fortunate. It is odd that Hayley, a delicate and heavy man +suffering from hip-disease, should have taken so little hurt. Although +he had a covered passage for horse exercise in the grounds of his villa, +no amount of practice seems to have improved his seat. This covered way +has been removed, but a mulberry tree planted by Hayley still +flourishes.</p> + +<p>Whenever Hayley was ill he became an object of intense interest to +visitors at Bognor. Binsted's Library in the town exhibited a daily +bulletin; and in 1819 the Prince and Princess of Saxe-Coburg called upon +him, while the Princess of Hesse Homburg on her return sent a +prescription from Germany.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HAYLEY HOUR BY HOUR</div> + +<p>Mrs. Opie, the novelist, who stayed with Mr. Hayley every summer, and +also served as a magnet to devout sojourners at Bognor, has left an +account of the poet's habits which is vastly more entertaining than his +poetry. He rose at six or earlier and at once composed some devotional +verse. At breakfast, he read to Mrs. Opie; afterwards Mrs. Opie read to +him. At eleven they drank coffee, and before he dressed for dinner, a +very temperate meal, Mrs. Opie sang. After dinner there was more reading +aloud, the matter being either manuscript compositions of Mr. Hayley's, +or modern publications. Mr. Hayley took cocoa and Mrs. Opie tea, and +afterwards Mrs. Opie read aloud or sang. At nine, the servants came to +prayers, which were original compositions of Mr. Hayley's, read by him +in a very impressive manner, and before bed, Mrs. Opie sang one of Mr. +Hayley's hymns.</p> + +<p>Hayley's grave is at Felpham, and his epitaph by Mrs. Opie may be read +by the industrious on the wall of the church. Among the many epitaphs on +his neighbours by Hayley him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>self, who had a special knack of mortuary +verse, is this on a Felpham blacksmith:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>My sledge and hammer lie reclined;</div> +<div>My bellows too have lost their wind;</div> +<div>My fire's extinct; my forge decay'd,</div> +<div>And in the dust my vice is laid;</div> +<div>My coal is spent, my iron gone;</div> +<div>The nails are driven—my work is done.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The last verses that Hayley wrote have more charm and delicacy than +perhaps anything else among his works:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ye gentle birds that perch aloof,</div> +<div>And smooth your pinions on my roof,</div> +<div>Preparing for departure hence</div> +<div>Ere winter's angry threats commence;</div> +<div>Like you, my soul would smooth her plume</div> +<div>For longer flights beyond the tomb.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>May God, by whom is seen and heard</div> +<div>Departing man and wandering bird,</div> +<div>In mercy mark us for his own,</div> +<div>And guide us to the land unknown.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">A FAIRY'S FUNERAL</div> + +<p>But it is not Hayley that gives its glory to Felpham. The glory of +Felpham is that William Blake was happy there for nearly three years. It +was at Felpham that he saw the fairy's funeral. "Did you ever see a +fairy's funeral, ma'am?" he asked a visitor. "Never, sir!" "I have!... I +was walking alone in my garden; there was great stillness among the +branches and flowers, and more than common sweetness in the air; I heard +a low and pleasant sound, and I knew not whence it came. At last I saw +the broad leaf of a flower move, and underneath I saw a procession of +creatures, of the size and colour of green and grey grasshoppers, +bearing a body laid out on a rose-leaf, which they buried with songs, +and then disappeared. It was a fairy's funeral!"</p> + +<p>Blake settled at Felpham to be near Hayley, for whom he had a number of +commissions to execute. He engraved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> illustrations to Hayley's works, +and painted eighteen heads for Hayley's library—among them, +Shakespeare, Homer, and Hayley himself; but all have vanished, the +present owner knows not where.</p> + +<p>In some verses which Blake addressed to Anna Flaxman, the wife of the +sculptor, in September, 1800, a few days before moving from London to +the Sussex coast, he says:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>This song to the flower of Flaxman's joy;</div> +<div>To the blossom of hope, for a sweet decoy;</div> +<div>Do all that you can and all that you may</div> +<div>To entice him to Felpham and far away.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Away to sweet Felpham, for Heaven is there;</div> +<div>The ladder of Angels descends through the air,</div> +<div>On the turret its spiral does softly descend,</div> +<div>Through the village then winds, at my cot it does end.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PROPHETS AT FELPHAM</div> + +<p>Blake's house still stands, a retired, thatched cottage, facing the sea, +but some distance from it. In a letter to Flaxman a little later, he +says, "Felpham is a sweet place for study, because it is more spiritual +than London. Heaven opens here on all sides its golden gates; the +windows are not obstructed by vapours; voices of celestial inhabitants +are more distinctly heard, their forms more distinctly seen; and my +cottage is also a shadow of their houses." Beside the sea Blake communed +with the spirits of Dante and Homer, Milton and the Hebrew Prophets.</p> + +<p>Blake's sojourn at Felpham ended in 1803. A grotesque and annoying +incident marred its close, the story of which, as told by the poet in a +letter to Mr. Butler, certainly belongs to the history of Sussex. It +should, however, first be stated that an ex-soldier in the Royal +Dragoons, named John Scholfield, had accused Blake of uttering seditious +words. The letter runs:—"His enmity arises from my having turned him +out of my garden, into which he was invited as an assistant by a +gardener at work therein, without my knowledge that he was so invited. I +desired him, as politely as possible, to go out of the garden;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> he made +me an impertinent answer. I insisted on his leaving the garden; he +refused. I still persisted in desiring his departure. He then threatened +to knock out my eyes, with many abominable imprecations, and with some +contempt for my person; it affronted my foolish pride. I therefore took +him by the elbows, and pushed him before me until I had got him out. +There I intended to have left him; but he, turning about, put himself +into a posture of defiance, threatening and swearing at me. I, perhaps +foolishly and perhaps not, stepped out at the gate, and, putting aside +his blows, took him again by the elbows, and, keeping his back to me, +pushed him forward down the road about fifty yards—he all the while +endeavouring to turn round and strike me, and raging and cursing, which +drew out several neighbours. At length when I had got him to where he +was quartered, which was very quickly done, we were met at the gate by +the master of the house—the Fox Inn—(who is the proprietor of my +cottage) and his wife and daughter, and the man's comrade, and several +other people. My landlord compelled the soldiers to go indoors, after +many abusive threats against me and my wife from the two soldiers; but +not one word of threat on account of sedition was uttered at that time."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WILLIAM BLAKE, TRAITOR</div> + +<p>As a result, Blake was haled before the magistrates and committed for +trial. The trial was held in the Guildhall at Chichester, on January +11th, 1804. Hayley, in spite of having been thrown from his horse on a +flint with, says Gilchrist, Blake's biographer, "more than usual +violence" was in attendance to swear to the poet's character, and +Cowper's friend Rose, a clever barrister, had been retained. According +to the report in the County paper, "William Blake, an engraver at +Felpham, was tried on a charge exhibited against him by two soldiers for +having uttered seditious and treasonable expressions, such as 'd—n the +king, d—n all his subjects, d—n his soldiers, they are all slaves; +when Buonaparte comes, it will be cut-throat for cut-throat, and the +weakest must go to the wall; I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> will help him; &c., &c.'" Blake +electrified the court by calling out "False!" in the midst of the +military evidence, the invented character of which was, however, so +obvious that an acquittal resulted. "In defiance of all decency," the +spectators cheered, and Hayley carried off the sturdy Republican (as he +was at heart) to Mid Lavant, to sup at Mrs. Poole's.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BLAKE'S FLASHING EYE</div> + +<p>Mr. Gilchrist found an old fellow who had been present at the trial, +drawn thither by the promise of seeing the great man of the +neighbourhood, Mr. Hayley. All that he could remember was Blake's +flashing eye.</p> + +<p>The Fox Inn, by the way, is still as it was, but the custom, I fancy, +goes more to the Thatched House, which adds to the charms of refreshment +a museum containing such treasures as a petrified cocoanut, the skeleton +of a lobster twenty-eight years old, and a representation of Moses in +the bulrushes.</p> + +<p>A third and fourth great man, of a different type both from Hayley and +Blake, met at Felpham in 1819. One was Cyril Jackson, Dean of Christ +Church, who, lying on his death-bed in the Manor House, was visited by +the other—his old pupil, the First Gentleman in Europe.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The Sussex provincial name for the whimbrel.</p></div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page068.png" id="page068.png"></a><img src="images/page068.png" width='700' height='529' alt="Arundel" /></p> + +<h4><i>Arundel.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>ARUNDEL AND NEIGHBOURHOOD</h3> + +<blockquote><p>A feudal town—Castles ruined and habitable—The old religion and +the new—Bevis of Southampton—Lord Thurlow lays an egg—A noble +park—A song in praise of Sussex—The father of cricket.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Seen from the river or from the east side of the Arun valley, Arundel is +the most imposing town in Sussex. Many are larger, many are equally old, +or older; but none wears so unusual and interesting an air, not even +Lewes among her Downs.</p> + +<p>Arundel clings to the side of a shaggy hill above the Arun. Castle, +cathedral, church—these are Arundel; the town itself is secondary, +subordinate, feudal. The castle is what one likes a castle to be—a mass +of battlemented stone, with a keep, a gateway, and a history, and yet +more habitable than ever. So many of the rich make no effort to live in +their ancestral halls; and what might be a home, carrying on the +tradition of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> ages, is so often only a mere show, that to find an +historic castle like Arundel still lived in is very gratifying. In +Sussex alone are several half-ruined houses that the builders could +quickly make habitable once more. Arundel Castle, in spite of time and +the sieges of 1102, 1139, and 1643, is both comfortable and modern; +Arundel still depends for her life upon the complaisance of her +over-lord.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MODERN MEDIEVALISM</div> + +<p>I know of no town with so low a pulse as this precipitous little +settlement under the shadow of Rome and the Duke. In spite of picnic +parties in the park, in spite of anglers from London, in spite of the +railway in the valley, Arundel is still medieval and curiously foreign. +On a very hot day, as one climbs the hill to the cathedral, one might be +in old France, and certainly in the Middle Ages.</p> + +<p>Time's revenges have had their play in this town. Although the church is +still bravely of the establishment, half of it is closed to the Anglican +visitor (the chancel having been adjudged the private property of the +Dukes of Norfolk), and the once dominating position of the edifice has +been impaired by the proximity of the new Roman Catholic church of St. +Philip Neri, which the present Duke has been building these many years. +Within, it is finished, a very charming and delicate feat in stone; but +the spire has yet to come. The old Irish soldier, humorous and +bemedalled, who keeps watch and ward over the fane, is not the least of +its merits.</p> + +<p>Although the chancel of the parish church has been closed, permission to +enter may occasionally be obtained. It is rich in family tombs of great +interest and beauty, including that of the nineteenth Earl of Arundel, +the patron of William Caxton. In the siege of Arundel Castle in 1643, +the soldiers of the parliamentarians, under Sir William Waller, fired +their cannon from the church tower. They also turned the church into a +barracks, and injured much stone work beyond repair. A fire beacon +blazed of old on the spire to serve as a mark for vessels entering Littlehampton harbour.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>Bevis of Southampton, the giant who, when he visited the Isle of Wight, +waded thither, was a warder at Arundel Castle; where he ate a whole ox +every week with bread and mustard, and drank two hogsheads of beer. +Hence "Bevis Tower." His sword Morglay is still to be seen in the +armoury of the castle; his bones lie beneath a mound in the park; and +the town was named after his horse. So runs a pretty story, which is, +however, demolished with the ruthlessness that comes so easily to the +antiquary and philologist. Bevis Tower, science declares, was named +probably after another Bevis—there was one at the Battle of Lewes, who +took prisoner Richard, King of the Romans, and was knighted for +it—while Arundel is a corruption of "hirondelle," a swallow. Mr. Lower +mentions that in recent times in Sussex "Swallow" was a common name in +stables, even for heavy dray horses. But before accepting finally the +swallow theory, we ought to hear what Fuller has to say:—"Some will +have it so named from <i>Arundel</i> the <i>Horse</i> of <i>Beavoice</i>, the great +<i>Champion</i>. I confess it is not without precedence in <i>Antiquity</i> for +<i>Places</i> to take <i>names</i> from <i>Horses</i>, meeting with the <i>Promontory +Bucephalus</i> in Peloponesus, where some report the <i>Horse</i> of <i>Alexander</i> +buried, and Bellonius will have it for the same cause called <i>Cavalla</i> +at this day. But this <i>Castle</i> was so called long before that <i>Imaginary +Horse</i> was <i>foled</i>, who cannot be fancied elder than his Master +Beavoice, flourishing after the Conquest, long before which <i>Arundel</i> +was so called from the river <i>Arund</i> running hard by it."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LORD THURLOW LAYS AN EGG</div> + +<p>The owls that once multiplied in the keep have now disappeared. They +were established there a hundred years or so ago by the eleventh Duke, +and certain of them were known by the names of public men. "Please, your +Grace, Lord Thurlow has laid an egg," is an historic speech handed down +by tradition. Lord Thurlow, the owl in question, died at a great age in +1859.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page071.png" id="page071.png"></a><img src="images/page071.png" width='513' height='700' alt="The Arun at North Stoke" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Arun at North Stoke.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">ARUNDEL PARK</div> + +<p>To walk through Arundel Park is to receive a vivid <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>impression of the +size and richness of our little isolated England. Two or three great +towns could be hidden in it unknown to each other. Valley succeeds to +valley; new herds of deer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> come into sight at almost every turn; as far +as the eye can see the grass hills roll away. Those accustomed to parks +whose deer are always huddled close and whose wall is never distant, are +bewildered by the vastness of this enclosure. Yet one has also the +feeling that such magnificence is right: to so lovely a word as Arundel, +to the Premier Duke and Hereditary Earl Marshal of England, should +fittingly fall this far-spreading and comely pleasaunce. Had Arundel +Park been small and empty of deer what a blunder it would be.</p> + +<p>Walking west of Arundel through the vast Rewell Wood, we come suddenly +upon Punch-bowl Green, and open a great green valley, dominated by the +white façade of Dale Park House, below Madehurst, one of the most remote +of Sussex villages.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SLINDON</div> + +<p>By keeping due west for another mile Slindon is reached. This village is +one of the Sussex backwaters, as one might say. It lies on no road that +any one ever travels except for the purpose of going to Slindon or +coming from it; and those that perform either of these actions are few. +Yet all who have not seen Slindon are by so much the poorer, for Slindon +House is nobly Elizabethan, with fine pictures and hiding-places, and +Slindon beeches are among the aristocracy of trees. And here I should +like to quote a Sussex poem of haunting wistfulness and charm, which was +written by Mr. Hilaire Belloc, who once walked to Rome and is an old +dweller at Slindon:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SOUTH COUNTRY SONG</div> + +<p class="center">THE SOUTH COUNTRY.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>When I am living in the Midlands,</div> +<div class="i1">That are sodden and unkind,</div> +<div>I light my lamp in the evening:</div> +<div class="i1">My work is left behind;</div> +<div>And the great hills of the South Country</div> +<div class="i1">Come back into my mind.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The great hills of the South Country</div> +<div class="i1">They stand along the sea:</div> +<div>And it's there walking in the high woods</div> +<div class="i1">That I could wish to be,</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>And the men that were boys when I was a boy</div> +<div class="i1">Walking along with me.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The men that live in North England</div> +<div class="i1">I saw them for a day:</div> +<div>Their hearts are set upon the waste fells,</div> +<div class="i1">Their skies are fast and grey:</div> +<div>From their castle-walls a man may see</div> +<div class="i1">The mountains far away.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The men that live in West England</div> +<div class="i1">They see the Severn strong,</div> +<div>A-rolling on rough water brown</div> +<div class="i1">Light aspen leaves along.</div> +<div>They have the secret of the Rocks,</div> +<div class="i1">And the oldest kind of song.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>But the men that live in the South Country</div> +<div class="i1">Are the kindest and most wise,</div> +<div>They get their laughter from the loud surf,</div> +<div class="i1">And the faith in their happy eyes</div> +<div>Comes surely from our Sister the Spring,</div> +<div class="i1">When over the sea she flies;</div> +<div>The violets suddenly bloom at her feet,</div> +<div class="i1">She blesses us with surprise.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I never get between the pines,</div> +<div class="i1">But I smell the Sussex air,</div> +<div>Nor I never come on a belt of sand</div> +<div class="i1">But my home is there;</div> +<div>And along the sky the line of the Downs</div> +<div class="i1">So noble and so bare.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>A lost thing could I never find,</div> +<div class="i1">Nor a broken thing mend;</div> +<div>And I fear I shall be all alone</div> +<div class="i1">When I get towards the end.</div> +<div>Who will there be to comfort me,</div> +<div class="i1">Or who will be my friend?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I will gather and carefully make my friends</div> +<div class="i1">Of the men of the Sussex Weald,</div> +<div>They watch the stars from silent folds,</div> +<div class="i1">They stiffly plough the field.</div> +<div>By them and the God of the South Country</div> +<div class="i1">My poor soul shall be healed.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>If I ever become a rich man,</div> +<div class="i1">Or if ever I grow to be old,</div> +<div>I will build a house with deep thatch</div> +<div class="i1">To shelter me from the cold,</div> +<div>And there shall the Sussex songs be sung</div> +<div class="i1">And the story of Sussex told.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I will hold my house in the high wood</div> +<div class="i1">Within a walk of the sea,</div> +<div>And the men who were boys when I was a boy</div> +<div class="i1">Shall sit and drink with me.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">NEWLAND, NYREN, AND SILVER BILLY</div> + +<p>Richard Newland, the father of serious cricket, came from this parish. +He was born in 1718, or thereabouts, and in 1745 he made 88 for England +against Kent. He was left-handed, and the finest bat ever seen in those +days. He taught Richard Nyren, of Hambledon, all the skill and judgment +that that noble general possessed; Nyren communicated his knowledge to +the Hambledon eleven, and the game was made. An interest in historical +veracity compels me to add that William Beldham—Silver Billy—talking +to Mr. Pycroft, discounted some of Nyren's praise. "Cricket," he said, +"was played in Sussex very early, before my day at least [he was born in +1766]; but that there was no good play I know by this, that Richard +Newland, of Slindon in Sussex, as you say, sir, taught old Richard +Nyren, and that no Sussex man could be found to play Newland. Now a +second-rate man of our parish beat Newland easily; so you may judge what +the rest of Sussex then were." But this is disregarding the +characteristic uncertainty of the game.</p> + +<p>If one would spend a day far from mankind, on high ground, there is no +better way than to walk from Arundel through Houghton Forest (where, as +we have seen, Charles II. avoided the Governor) to Cocking.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>LITTLEHAMPTON</h3> + +<blockquote><p>A children's paradise—Wind-swept villages—Cary and +Coleridge—Sussex folklore—Climping—Richard Jefferies and +Sussex—John Taylor the Water Poet—Highdown Hill—A miller in love +with death—A digression on mills and millers—Treason at +Patching—A wife in a thousand—A Sussex truffler—The Palmer +triplets.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Littlehampton is favoured in having both sea and river. It also has +lawns between the houses and the beach, as at Dieppe, and is as nearly a +children's paradise as exists. The sea at low tide recedes almost beyond +the reach of the ordinary paddler, which is as it should be except for +those that would swim. A harbour, a pier, a lighthouse, a windmill—all +these are within a few yards of each other. On the neighbouring beach, +springing from the stones, you find the yellow-horned poppy, beautiful +both in flower and leaf, and the delicate tamarisk makes a natural hedge +parallel with the sea, to Worthing on the one side, and to Bognor on the +other.</p> + +<p>The little villages in the flats behind the eastern tamarisk +hedge—Rustington, Preston, Ferring, are, in summer, veritable sun +traps, with their white walls dazzling in radiance. Such trees as grow +about here all bow to the north-east, bent to that posture by the +prevailing south-west winds. A Sussex man, on the hills or south of +them, lost at night, has but to ascertain the outline of a tree, and he +may get his bearings. If he cannot see so much as that he has but to +feel the bark for lichen, which grows on the north east, or lee, side.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>It was at Littlehampton in September, 1817, that Coleridge met Cary, the +translator of Dante. Cary was walking on the beach, reciting Homer to +his son. Up came a noticeable man with large grey eyes: "Sir, yours is a +face I should know. I am Samuel Taylor Coleridge."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A CHURCH DUEL</div> + +<p>The county paper for February 27, 1796, has this paragraph: "On Monday +last a duel was fought betwixt Mr. R——n and Lieut. B——y, both of +Littlehampton, in a field near that place, which, after the discharge of +each a pistol, terminated without bloodshed. The dispute, we understand, +originated about a pew in the parish church."</p> + +<p>A local proverb says that if you eat winkles in March it is as good as a +dose of medicine; which reminds me that Sussex has many wise sayings of +its own. Here is a piece of Sussex counsel in connection with the +roaring month:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i4">If from fleas you would be free,</div> +<div>On the first of March let all your windows closed be.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>I quote two other rhymes:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>If you would wish your bees to thrive</div> +<div>Gold must be paid for every hive;</div> +<div>For when they're bought with other money</div> +<div>There will be neither swarm nor honey.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The first butterfly you see,</div> +<div>Cut off his head across your knee,</div> +<div>Bury the head under a stone</div> +<div>And a lot of money will be your own.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>On Whit Sunday the devout Sussex man eats roast veal and gooseberry +pudding. A Sussex child born on Sunday can neither be hanged nor +drowned.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"CLIMPING FOR PERFECTION"</div> + +<p>West of Littlehampton is an architectural treasure, in the shape of +Climping church, which no one should miss. The way is over the ferry and +along the road to the first signboard, when one strikes northward +towards Ford, and comes suddenly upon this squat and solid fane. A Saxon +church stood here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> built by the Prioress of Leominster, before the +Conquest: to Roger de Montgomerie was the manor given by the Conqueror, +as part of the earldom of Arundel and Chichester, together with +Atherington manor, much of which is now, like Selsey's park, under the +Channel. De Montgomerie gave Climping manor to the nuns of Almanesches, +by whom the present Norman fortress-tower (with walls 4¼ feet thick) +was added, and in 1253 John de Climping, the vicar, rebuilt the +remainder. The church is thus six and a half centuries old, and parts of +it are older. "Bosham, for antiquity; Boxgrove, for beauty; and +Climping, for perfection" is the dictum of an antiquary quoted by the +present vicar in a little pamphlet-history of his parish. As regards the +Norman doorway, at any rate, he is right: there is nothing in Sussex to +excel that; while in general architectural attraction the building is of +the richest. It is also a curiously homely and ingratiating church.</p> + +<p>One of the new windows, representing St. Paul, has a peculiar interest, +as the vicar tells us:—"St. Paul was a prisoner at Rome shortly after +Caractacus, the British Chief, whose daughter, Claudia, married Pudens, +both friends of the Apostle (2 Tim. iv. 21). Pudens afterwards commanded +the Roman soldiers stationed at Regnum (Chichester), and if St. Paul +came to Britain, at Claudia's request (as ancient writers testify), he +certainly would visit Sussex. How close this brings us here in Sussex to +the Bible story!"</p> + +<p>At Baylies Court, now a farmhouse, the Benedictine monks of Seez, also +protégés of Robert de Montgomerie, had their chapel, remains of which +are still to be seen.</p> + +<p>Climping, which otherwise lives its own life, is the resort of golfers +(who to the vicar's regret play all Sunday and turn Easter Day into "a +Heathen Festival") and of the sportsmen of the Sussex Coursing Club, who +find that the terrified Climping hare gives satisfaction beyond most in +the county.</p> + +<p>Of Ford, north of Climping, there is nothing to say, except that popular +rumour has it that its minute and uninteresting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> church (the antithesis +of Climping) was found one day by accident in a bed of nettles.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JEFFERIES IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>A good eastern walk from Littlehampton takes one by the sea to Goring, +and then inland over Highdown Hill to Angmering, and so to Littlehampton +again or to Arundel, our present centre. Goring touches literature in +two places. The great house was built by Sir Bysshe Shelley, grandfather +of the poet; and in the village died, in 1887, Richard Jefferies, author +of <i>The Story of My Heart</i>, after a life of ill-health spent in the +service of nature. Many beautiful and sympathetic descriptions of Sussex +are scattered about in Jefferies' books of essays, notably, "To +Brighton," "The South Down Shepherd," and "The Breeze on Beachy Head" in +<i>Nature near London</i>; "Clematis Lane," "Nature near Brighton," "Sea, Sky +and Down," and "January in the Sussex Woods" in <i>The Life of the +Fields</i>; "Sunny Brighton" in <i>The Open Air</i>, and "The Country-Side, +Sussex" and "Buckhurst Park" in <i>Field and Hedgerow</i>. Jefferies had a +way of blending experiences and concealing the names of places, which +makes it difficult to know exactly what part of Sussex he is describing; +but I think I could lead anyone to Clematis Lane. I might, by the way, +have remarked of South Harting that the luxuriance of the clematis in +its hedges is unsurpassed.</p> + +<p>John Taylor, the water poet, has a doggerel narrative entitled "A New +Discovery by Sea with a Wherry from London to Salisbury," 1623, wherein +he mentions a woful night with fleas at Goring, and pens a couplet +worthy to take a place with the famous description of a similar +visitation in <i>Eothen</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Who in their fury nip'd and skip'd so hotly,</div> +<div>That all our skins were almost turned to motley.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN TAYLOR AND THE CONSTABLE</div> + +<p>Taylor gives us in the same record a pleasant picture of the Sussex +constable in 1623:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>The night before a Constable there came,</div> +<div>Who asked my trade, my dwelling, and my name,</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>My businesse, and a troupe of questions more,</div> +<div>And wherefore we did land vpon that shore?</div> +<div>To whom I fram'd my answers true and fit,</div> +<div>(According to his plenteous want of wit)</div> +<div>But were my words all true or if I ly'd</div> +<div>With neither I could get him satisfi'd.</div> +<div>He ask'd if we were Pyrats? We said No,</div> +<div>(<i>As if we had we would haue told him so</i>)</div> +<div>He said that Lords sometimes would enterprise</div> +<div>T' escape and leaue the Kingdome in disguise:</div> +<div>But I assur'd him on my honest word</div> +<div>That I was no disguisèd Knight or Lord.</div> +<div>He told me then that I must goe sixe miles</div> +<div>T' a Justice there, Sir John or else Sir Giles:</div> +<div>I told him I was lothe to goe so farre,</div> +<div>And he told me he would my journey barre.</div> +<div>Thus what with Fleas and with the seuerall prates</div> +<div>Of th' officer, and his <i>Ass</i>-sociats</div> +<div>We arose to goe, but Fortune bade us stay:</div> +<div>The Constable had stolne our oares away,</div> +<div>And borne them thence a quarter of a mile</div> +<div>Quite through a Lane beyond a gate and stile;</div> +<div>And hid them there to hinder my depart,</div> +<div>For which I wish'd him hang'd with all my heart.</div> +<div>A plowman (for us) found our Oares againe,</div> +<div>Within a field well fil'd with Barley Graine.</div> +<div>Then madly, gladly, out to sea we thrust,</div> +<div>'Gainst windes and stormes, and many a churlish Gust,</div> +<div>By <i>Kingston</i> Chappelle and by <i>Rushington</i>,</div> +<div>By <i>Little-Hampton</i> and by <i>Middleton</i>.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE MILLER AND SWEET DEATH</div> + +<p>Highdown, above Goring, is a good hill in itself, conical in shape, as a +hill should be according to the exacting ideas of childhood, with a +sweeping view of the coast and the Channel; but its fame as a resort of +holiday makers comes less from its position and height than from the +circumstance that John Oliver is buried upon it. John Oliver was the +miller of Highdown Hill. When not grinding corn he seems to have busied +himself with thoughts upon the necessary end of all things, to such an +extent that his meditations on the subject gradually became<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> a mania. +His coffin was made while he was still a young man, and it remained +under his bed until its time was ripe, fitted—to bring it to a point of +preparedness unusual even with the Chinese, those masters of +anticipatory obsequies—with wheels, which the miller, I doubt not, +regularly oiled. John Oliver did not stop there. Having his coffin +comfortably at hand, he proceeded to erect his tomb. This was built in +1766, with tedious verses upon it from the miller's pen; while in an +alcove near the tomb was a mechanical arrangement of death's-heads which +might keep the miller's thoughts from straying, when, as with Dr. +Johnson's philosopher, cheerfulness would creep in.</p> + +<p>The miller lived in the company of his coffin, his tomb, and his +<i>mementi mori</i>, until 1793, when at the age of eighty-four his hopes +were realised. Those who love death die old.</p> + +<p>Between two and three thousand persons attended the funeral; no one was +permitted to wear any but gay clothes; and the funeral sermon was read +by a little girl of twelve, from the text, Micah vii. 8, 9.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A DIGRESSION ON MILLS</div> + +<p>The mill of John Oliver has vanished, nothing but a depression in the +turf now indicating where its foundations stood. Too many Sussex +windmills have disappeared. Clayton still has her twain, landmarks for +many miles—I have seen them on exceptionally clear days from the +Kentish hills—and other windmills are scattered over the county; but +many more than now exist have ceased to be, victims of the power of +steam. There is probably no contrast æsthetically more to the +disadvantage of the modern substitute than that of the steam mill of +to-day with the windmill of yesterday. The steam mill is always ugly, +always dusty, always noisy, usually in a town. The windmill stands high +and white, a thing of life and radiance and delicate beauty, surrounded +by grass, in communion with the heavens. Such noise as it has is +elemental, justifiable, like a ship's cordage in a gale. No one would +paint a steam mill; a picture with a windmill can hardly be a failure. +Constable, who knew everything about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> the magic of windmills, painted +several in Sussex—one even at Brighton.</p> + +<p>Brighton now has but one mill. There used to be many: one in the West +Hill road, a comelier landmark than the stucco Congregational tower that +has taken its place close by and serves as the town's sentinel from +almost every point of approach. In 1797 a miller near Brighton +anticipated American enterprise by moving his mill bodily to a place two +miles distant by the help of eighty oxen.</p> + +<p>Another weakness of steam mills is that they are apparently without +millers—at least there is no unmistakable dominating presence in a +white hat, to whom one can confidently apply the definite article, as in +the mill on the hill. Millers' men there are in plenty, but the miller +is lacking. This is because steam mills belong to companies. Thus, with +the passing of the windmill we lose also the miller, that notable figure +in English life and tradition; always jolly, if the old songs are true; +often eccentric, as the story of John Oliver has shown; and usually a +character, as becomes one who lives by the four winds, or by water—for +the miller of tradition was often found in a water-mill too. The +water-miller's empire has been threatened less than that of the +windmill, for there is no sudden cessation of water power as of wind +power. Sussex still has many water-mills—cool and splashing homes of +peaceful bustle. Long may they endure.</p> + +<p>Highdown Hill has other associations. In 1812 the Gentlemen of the Weald +met the Gentlemen of the Sea-coast at cricket on its dividing summit. +The game, which was for one hundred guineas, was a very close thing, the +Gentlemen of the Weald winning by only seven runs. Among the Gentlemen +of the Sea-coast was Mr. Osbaldeston, while the principal Gentleman of +the Weald was Mr. E. H. Budd.</p> + +<p>A mile north of Highdown Hill, in a thickly wooded country, are Patching +and Clapham; Patching celebrated for its pond, which washes the +high-road to Arundel, and Clapham for its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> woods. Three hundred and more +years ago Patching Copse was the scene of a treasonable meeting between +William Shelley, an ancestor of the poet, one branch of whose family +long held Michelgrove (where Henry VIII. was entertained by our +plotter's grandfather), and Charles Paget: sturdy Roman Catholics both, +who thus sought each other out, on the night of September 16, 1583, to +confer as to the possibility of invading England, deposing Elizabeth, +and setting Mary Queen of Scots upon the throne. Nothing came of the +plot save the imprisonment of Shelley (who was condemned to death but +escaped the sentence) and the flight of Paget, to hatch further treason +abroad.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PERFECT WIFE</div> + +<p>The last Shelley to hold Michelgrove, now no more, was Sir John, who, +after it had been in the family for three hundred and fifty years, sold +it in 1800. This was the Sir John Shelley who composed the following +epitaph in Clapham church (one of Sir Gilbert Scott's restorations) to +commemorate the very remarkable virtues of his lady—untimely snatched +from his side:—</p> + +<p class="center">Here Lyeth the Body of Wilhelmina Shelley<br /> +who departed this Life the 21st of March 1772y<br /> +Aged Twenty three years.</p> + +<p class="center">She was a pattern for the World to follow:y<br /> +Such a being both in form and mind perhaps never existed before.y<br /> +A most dutiful, affectionate, and Virtuous Wife,y<br /> +A most tender and Anxious parent,y<br /> +A most sincere and constant Friend,<br /> +A most amiable and elegant companion;<br /> +Universally Benevolent, generous, and humane;<br /> +The Pride of her own Sex,<br /> +The admiration of ours.<br /> +She lived universally belov'd, and admir'd<br /> +She died as generally rever'd, and regretted,<br /> +A loss felt by all who had the happiness of knowing Her,<br /> +By none to be compar'd to <i>that</i> of her disconsolate, affectionate, Loving,<br /> +& in this World everlastingly Miserable Husband,<br /> +Sir JOHN SHELLEY,<br /> +Who has caused this inscription to be Engrav'd.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>Horsfield tells us that "the beechwoods in this parish [Patching] and +its immediate neighbourhood are very productive of the Truffle +(<i>Lycoperdon tuber</i>). About forty years ago William Leach came from the +West Indies, with some hogs accustomed to hunt for truffles, and +proceeding along the coast from the Land's End, in Cornwall, to the +mouth of the River Thames, determined to fix on that spot where he found +them most abundant. He took four years to try the experiment, and at +length settled in this parish, where he carried on the business of +truffle-hunter till his death."</p> + +<p>Angmering, which we may take on our return to Arundel, is a typically +dusty Sussex village, with white houses and thatched roofs, and a rather +finer church than most. On our way back to Arundel, in the middle of a +wood, a little more than a mile from Angmering, to the west, we come +upon an interesting relic of a day when tables bore nobler loads than +now they do: a decoy pond formed originally to supply wild duck to the +kitchen of Arundel Castle, but now no longer used. The long tapering +tunnels of wire netting, into which the tame ducks of the decoy lured +their wild cousins, are still in place, although the wire has largely +perished.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PALMER TRIPLETS</div> + +<p>At an old house near the Decoy (now converted into cottages), which any +native will gladly and amusedly point out, lived, in the reign of Henry +VIII., Lady Palmer, the famous mother of the Palmer triplets, who were +distinguished from other triplets, not only by being born each on a +successive Sunday but by receiving each the honour of knighthood. The +curious circumstances of their birth seem to be well attested.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page084.png" id="page084.png"></a><img src="images/page084.png" width='700' height='556' alt="Gateway, Amberley Castle" /></p> + +<h4><i>Gateway, Amberley Castle.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>AMBERLEY AND PARHAM</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Sussex fish—A straw-blown village—A painter of Sussex light—A +castle only in name—Parham's treasures—The Parham +heronry—Storrington and the sagacious Jack Pudding—A Sussex +audience.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX FISH</div> + +<p>Five miles to the north of Arundel by road (over the Arun at Houghton's +ancient bridge, restored by the bishops of Chichester in the fifteenth +century), and a few minutes by rail, is Amberley, the fishing metropolis +of Sussex, where, every Sunday in the season, London anglers meet to +drop their lines in friendly rivalry. "Amerley trout" (as Walton calls +them) and Arundel mullet are the best of the Arun's treasures; and this +reminds me of Fuller's tribute to Sussex fish, which may well be quoted +in this watery neighbourhood: "Now, as this County is eminent for both +<i>Sea</i> and <i>River-</i>fish, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>namely, an <i>Arundel Mullet</i>, a <i>Chichester +Lobster</i>, a <i>Shelsey Cockle</i>, and an <i>Amerly Trout</i>; so <i>Sussex</i> +aboundeth with more <i>Carpes</i> than any other of this Nation. And though +not so great as <i>Jovius</i> reporteth to be found in the <i>Lurian Lake</i> in +<i>Italy</i>, weighing more than fifty pounds, yet those generally of great +and goodly proportion. I need not adde, that <i>Physicians</i> account the +galls of <i>Carpes</i>, as also a stone in their heads, to be <i>Medicinable</i>; +only I will observe that, because <i>Jews</i> will not eat <i>Caviare</i> made of +<i>Sturgeon</i> (because coming from a fish wanting Scales, and therefore +forbidden in the <i>Levitical Law</i>); therefore the <i>Italians</i> make greater +profit of the <i>Spaun</i> of <i>Carps</i>, whereof they make a <i>Red Caviare</i>, +well pleasing the <i>Jews</i> both in <i>Palate</i> and <i>Conscience</i>. All I will +adde of <i>Carps</i> is this, that <i>Ramus</i> himself doth not so much redound +in <i>Dichotomies</i> as they do; seeing no one bone is to be found in their +body, which is not <i>forked</i> or divided into two parts at the end +thereof."</p> + +<p>Amberley proper, as distinguished from Amberley of the anglers, is a +mile from the station and is built on a ridge. The castle is the extreme +western end of this ridge, the north side of which descends +precipitously to the marshy plain that extends as far as Pulborough. +Standing on the castle one sees Pulborough church due north—height +calling unto height. The castle is now a farm; indeed, all Amberley is a +huge stockyard, smelling of straw and cattle. It is sheer Sussex—chalky +soil, whitewashed cottages, huge waggons; and one of the best of Sussex +painters, and, in his exquisite modest way, of all painters living, +dwells in the heart of it—Edward Stott, who year after year shows +London connoisseurs how the clear skin of the Sussex boy takes the +evening light; and how the Southdown sheep drink at hill ponds beneath a +violet sky; and that there is nothing more beautiful under the stars +than a whitewashed cottage just when the lamp is lit.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">AMBERLEY AND PARHAM</div> + +<p>Amberley has no right to lay claim to a castle, for the old ruins are +not truly, as they seem, the remains of a castellated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> stronghold, but +of a crenellated mansion. John Langton, Bishop of Chichester in the +fourteenth century, was the first builder. Previously the Church lands +here had been held very jealously, and in 1200 we find Bishop Gilbert de +Leofard twice excommunicating, and as often absolving, the Earl of +Arundel for poaching (as he termed it) in Houghton Forest. The Church +lost Amberley in the sixteenth century. William Rede, who succeeded +Langton to both house and see, wishing to feel secure in his home, +craved permission to dig a moat around it and to render it both hostile +and defensive. Hence its lion-like mien; but it has known no warfare, +and the castle's mouldering walls now give what assistance they can in +harbouring live stock. Twentieth-century sheds lean against +fourteenth-century masonry; faggots are stored in the moat; lawn tennis +is played in the courtyard; and black pigeons peep from the slits cut +for arquebusiers.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page087.png" id="page087.png"></a><img src="images/page087.png" width='526' height='700' alt="Amberley Castle" /></p> + +<h4><i>Amberley Castle.</i></h4> + +<p>Amberley Castle only once intrudes itself in history: Charles II., +during his flight in 1651, spent a night there under the protection of +Sir John Briscoe, as we saw in <a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III.</a></p> + +<p>In winter, if you ask an Amberley man where he dwells, he says, +"Amberley, God help us." In summer he says, "Amberley—where <i>would</i> you +live?"</p> + +<p>From Amberley to Parham one keeps upon the narrow ridge for a mile or +so, branching off then to the left. Parham's advance guard is seen all +the way—a clump of fir trees, indicating that the soil there changes to +sand.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A NOBLE DAME</div> + +<p>For two possessions is Parham noted: a heronry in the park, and in the +house a copy of Montaigne with Shakespeare's autograph in it. The house, +a spreading Tudor mansion, is the seat of Lord Zouche, a descendant of +the traveller, Robert Curzon, who wrote <i>The Monasteries of the Levant</i>, +that long, leisurely, and fascinating narrative of travel. In addition +to Montaigne, it enshrines a priceless collection of armour, of +incunabula and Eastern MSS. Among the pictures are full lengths of Sir +Philip Sidney and Lady Sidney, and that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> Penelope D'Arcy—one of Mr. +Hardy's "Noble Dames"—who promised to marry three suitors in turn and +did so. We see her again at Firle Place.</p> + +<p>A hiding hole for priests and other refugees is in the long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> gallery, +access to it being gained through a window seat. There was hidden +Charles Paget after the Babington conspiracy.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PARHAM HERONS</div> + +<p>Parham Park has deer and a lake and an enchanted forest of sombre trees. +On the highest ground in this forest is the clump of firs in which the +famous herons build. The most interesting time to visit the heronry is +in the breeding season, for then one sees the lank birds continually +homing from the Amberley Wild Brooks with fishes in their bills and long +legs streaming behind. The noise is tremendous, beyond all rookeries. +Mr. Knox's <i>Ornithological Rambles</i>, from which I have already quoted +freely, has this passage: "The herons at Parham assemble early in +February, and then set about repairing their nests, but the trees are +never entirely deserted during the winter months; a few birds, probably +some of the more backward of the preceding season, roosting among their +boughs every night. They commence laying early in March, and the greater +part of the young birds are hatched during the early days of April. +About the end of May they may be seen to flap out of their nests to the +adjacent boughs, and bask for hours in the warm sunshine; but although +now comparatively quiet during the day, they become clamorous for food +as the evening approaches, and indeed for a long time appear to be more +difficult to wean, and less able to shift for themselves, than most +birds of a similar age. They may be observed, as late as August, still +on the trees, screaming for food, and occasionally fed by their parents, +who forage for them assiduously; indeed, these exertions, so far from +being relaxed after the setting of the sun, appear to be redoubled +during the night; for I have frequently disturbed herons when riding by +moonlight among the low grounds near the river, where I have seldom seen +them during the day, and several cottagers in the neighbourhood of +Parham have assured me that their shrill cry may be heard at all hours +of the night, during the summer season, as they fly to and fro overhead, +on their passage between the heronry and the open country.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page089.png" id="page089.png"></a><img src="images/page089.png" width='582' height='700' alt="Amberley Castle, entrance to Churchyard" /></p> + +<h4><i>Amberley Castle, entrance to Churchyard.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">MANY MIGRATIONS</div> + +<p>"The history or genealogy of the progenitors of this colony is +remarkable. They were originally brought from Coity Castle, in Wales, by +Lord Leicester's steward, in James the First's time, to Penshurst, in +Kent, the seat of Lord de Lisle, where their descendants continued for +more than two hundred years; from thence they migrated to Michelgrove, +about seventy miles from Penshurst and eight from Parham; here they +remained for nearly twenty years, until the proprietor of the estate +disposed of it to the late Duke of Norfolk, who,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> having purchased it, +not as a residence, but with the view of increasing the local property +in the neighbourhood of Arundel, pulled down the house, and felled one +or two of the trees on which the herons had constructed their nests. The +migration commenced immediately, but appears to have been gradual; for +three seasons elapsed before all the members of the heronry had found +their way over the Downs to their new quarters in the fir-woods of +Parham. This occurred about seventeen years ago [written c. 1848]."</p> + +<p>Sussex, says Mr. Borrer, author of <i>The Birds of Sussex</i>, has two other +large heronries—at Windmill Hill Place, near Hailsham, and Brede, near +Winchelsea—and some smaller ones, one being at Molecomb, above +Goodwood.</p> + +<p>Betsy's Oak in Parham Park is said to be so called because Queen +Elizabeth sat beneath it. But another and more probable legend calls it +Bates's Oak, after Bates, an archer at Agincourt in the retinue of the +Earl of Arundel (and in <i>Henry V.</i>). Good Queen Bess, however, dined in +the hall of Parham House in 1592. At Northiam, in East Sussex, we shall +come (not to be utterly baulked) to a tree under which she truly did sit +and dine too.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JACK PUDDING'S WISDOM</div> + +<p>Beyond Parham, less than two miles to the east, is Storrington, a quiet +Sussex village far from the rail and the noise of the world, with the +Downs within hail, and fine sparsely-inhabited country between them and +it to wander in. The church is largely modern. I find the following +sententious paragraph in the county paper for 1792:—"This is an age of +<i>Sights</i> and <i>polite entertainment</i> in the country as well as in the +city.—The little town of <i>Storrington</i> has lately been visited by a +<i>Company of Comedians</i>,—<i>a Mountebank Doctor</i>,—and a <i>Puppet Show</i>. +One day the Doctor's <i>Jack Pudding</i> finding the shillings come in but +slowly, exclaimed to his Master, 'Gad, Sir, it is not worth <i>our</i> while +to stay here any longer, <i>players</i> have got all the <i>gold</i>, <i>we</i> all the +<i>silver</i>, and <i>Punch</i> all the <i>copper</i>, so, like sagacious locusts, let +us migrate from the place we helped to impoverish."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page091.png" id="page091.png"></a><img src="images/page091.png" width='700' height='654' alt="Amberley Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Amberley Church.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">A TRAVELLING CIRCUS</div> + +<div class="sidenote">A TIME-HONOURED JOKE</div> + +<p>This reminds me that I saw recently at Petworth, whither we are now +moving, a travelling circus whose programme included a comic interlude +that cannot have received the slightest modification since it was first +planned, perhaps hundreds of years ago. It was sheer essential elemental +horse-play straight from Bartholomew Fair, and the audience received it +with rapture that was vouchsafed to nothing else. The story would be too +long to tell; but briefly, it was a dumb show representation of the +visit of a guest (the clown) to a wife, unknown to her husband. The +scenery consisted of a table, a large chest, a heap of straw and a huge +barrel. The fun consisted in the clown, armed with a bladder on a +string, hiding in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> barrel, from which he would spring up and deliver +a sounding drub upon the head of whatever other character—husband or +policeman—might be passing, to their complete perplexity. They were, of +course, incapable of learning anything from experience. At other times +he hid himself or others in the straw, in the chest, or under the table. +When, in a country district such as this, one hears the laughter that +greets so venerable a piece of pantomime, one is surprised that circus +owners think it worth while to secure novelties at all. The primitive +taste of West Sussex, at any rate, cannot require them.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page093.png" id="page093.png"></a><img src="images/page093.png" width='672' height='700' alt="Pulborough Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Pulborough Church.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>PETWORTH</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Pulborough and its past—Stopham—Fittleworth—The natural +advantages of the Swan—Petworth's feudal air—An historical +digression naming many Percies—The third Earl of Egremont—The +Petworth pictures—Petworth Park—Cobbett's opinion—The +vicissitudes of the Petworth ravens—Tillington's use to business +men—A charming epitaph—Noah Mann of the Hambledon Club.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Petworth is not on the direct road to Horsham, which is our next centre, +but it is easily gained from Arundel by rail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> (changing at Pulborough), +or by road through Bury, Fittleworth, and Egdean.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">AN ANCIENT FORTRESS</div> + +<p>Pulborough is now nothing: once it was a Gibraltar, guarding Stane +Street for Rome. The fort was on a mound west of the railway, +corresponding with the church mound on the east. Here probably was a +catapulta and certainly a vigilant garrison. Pulborough has no invader +now but the floods, which every winter transform the green waste at her +feet into a silver sea, of which Pulborough is the northern shore and +Amberley the southern. The Dutch <i>polder</i> are not flatter or greener +than are these intervening meadows. The village stands high and dry +above the water level, extended in long line quite like a seaside town. +Excursionists come too, as to a watering place, but they bring rods and +creels and return at night with fish for the pan.</p> + +<p>Between Pulborough and Petworth lie Stopham and Fittleworth, both on the +Rother, which joins the Arun a little to the west of Pulborough. Stopham +has the most beautiful bridge in Sussex, dating from the fourteenth +century, and a little church filled with memorials of the Bartelott +family. One of Stopham's rectors was Thomas Newcombe, a descendant of +the author of <i>The Faerie Queene</i>, the friend of the author of <i>Night +Thoughts</i>, and the author himself of a formidable poem in twelve books, +after Milton, called <i>The Last Judgment</i>.</p> + +<p>Fittleworth has of late become an artists' Mecca, partly because of its +pretty woods and quaint architecture, and partly because of the warm +welcome that is offered by the "Swan," which is probably the most +ingeniously placed inn in the world. Approaching it from the north it +seems to be the end of all things; the miles of road that one has +travelled apparently have been leading nowhere but to the "Swan." +Runaway horses or unsettled chauffeurs must project their passengers +literally into the open door. Coming from the south, one finds that the +road narrows by this inn almost to a lane, and the "Swan's"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> hospitable +sign, barring the way, exerts such a spell that to enter is a far +simpler matter than to pass.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page095.png" id="page095.png"></a><img src="images/page095.png" width='592' height='700' alt="At Pulborough" /></p> + +<h4><i>At Pulborough.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">AN IRRESISTIBLE INN</div> + +<p>The "Swan" is a venerable and rambling building, stretching itself +lazily with outspread arms; one of those inns (long may they be +preserved from the rebuilders!) in which one stumbles up or down into +every room, and where eggs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> bacon have an appropriateness that make +them a more desirable food than ambrosia. The little parlour is +wainscoted with the votive paintings—a village Diploma Gallery—of +artists who have made the "Swan" their home.</p> + +<p>Fittleworth has a dual existence. In the south it is riparian and low, +much given to anglers and visitors. In the north it is high and sandy, +with clumps of firs, living its own life and spreading gorse-covered +commons at the feet of the walker. Between its southern border and +Bignor Park is a superb common of sand and heather, an inland paradise +for children.</p> + +<p>Petworth station and Petworth town are far from being the same thing, +and there are few more fatiguing miles than that which separates them. A +'bus, it is true, plies between, but it is one of those long, close +prisons with windows that annihilate thought by their shattering +unfixedness. Petworth's spire is before one all the way, Petworth itself +clustering on the side of the hill, a little town with several streets +rather than a great village all on one artery. I say several streets, +but this is dead in the face of tradition, which has a joke to the +effect that a long timber waggon once entered Petworth's single, +circular street, and has never yet succeeded in emerging. I certainly +met it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SHADOW OF THE PEER</div> + +<p>The town seems to be beneath the shadow of its lord even more than +Arundel: it is like Pompeii, with Vesuvius emitting glory far above. One +must, of course, live under the same conditions if one is to feel the +authentic thrill; the mere sojourner cannot know it. One wonders, in +these feudal towns, what it would be like to leave democratic London or +the independence of one's country fastness, and pass for a while beneath +the spell of a Duke of Norfolk, or a Baron Leconfield—a spell possibly +not consciously cast by them at all, but existing none the less, largely +through the fostering care of the townspeople on the rent-roll, largely +through the officers controlling the estates; at any rate unmistakable, +as present in the very air of the streets as is the presage of a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>thunderstorm. Surely, to be so dominated, without actual influence, +must be very restful. Petworth must be the very home of low-pulsed +peace; and yet a little oppressive too, with the great house and its +traditions at the top of the town—like a weight on the forehead. I +should not like to make Petworth my home, but as a place of pilgrimage, +and a stronghold of architectural taste, it is almost unique.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page097.png" id="page097.png"></a><img src="images/page097.png" width='700' height='512' alt="Stopham Bridge" /></p> + +<h4><i>Stopham Bridge.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">PETWORTH'S HISTORY</div> + +<div class="sidenote">HOTSPUR'S DESCENDANTS</div> + +<p>In the Domesday Book Petworth is called Peteorde. It was rated at 1,080 +acres, and possessed a church, a mill worth a sovereign, a river +containing 1,620 eels, and pannage for 80 hogs. In the time of the +Confessor the manor was worth <i>£</i>18; a few years later the price went down +to ten shillings. Robert de Montgomerie held Petworth till 1102, when he +defied the king and lost it. Adeliza, widow of Henry I., having a +brother Josceline de Louvaine whom she wished to benefit, Petworth was +given to him. Josceline married Agnes, daughter of William de Percy, the +descendant of one of the Conqueror's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> chief friends, and, doing so, took +his name. In course of time came Harry Hotspur, whose sword, which he +swung at the Battle of Shrewsbury, is kept at Petworth House. The second +Earl was his son, also Henry, who fought at Chevy Chase; he was not, +however, slain there, as the balladmonger says, but at St. Albans. +Henry, the third Earl, fell at Towton; Henry, the fourth Earl, was +assassinated at Cock Lodge, Thirsk; Henry, the fifth Earl, led a +regiment at the Battle of the Spurs; Henry, the sixth Earl, fell in love +with Anne Boleyn, but had the good sense not to let Henry the Eighth see +it. Thomas, his brother, was beheaded for treason; Thomas, the seventh +Earl, took arms against Queen Elizabeth, and was beheaded in Scotland; +Henry, the eighth Earl, attempted to liberate Mary Queen of Scots, and +was imprisoned in the Tower, where he slew himself; Henry, the ninth +Earl, was accused of assisting Guy Fawkes and locked up for fifteen +years. He was set at liberty only after paying <i>£</i>30,000, and promising +never to go more than thirty miles from Petworth House. This kept him +out of London.</p> + +<p>The last two noble Earls of Northumberland were Algernon, Lord High +Admiral of England, who married Lady Anna Cecil, and planted an oak in +the Park (it is still there) to commemorate the union; and Josceline, +eleventh Earl, who died in 1670, leaving no son. He left, however, a +daughter, a little Elizabeth, Baroness Percy, who had countless suitors +and was married three times before she was sixteen. Her third husband +was Charles Seymour, sixth Duke of Somerset, who became in time the +father of thirteen children. Of these all died save three girls, and a +boy, Algernon, who became seventh Duke of Somerset. Through one of the +daughters, Catherine, who married Sir William Wyndham, the estates fell +to the present family. The next important Lord of Petworth was George +O'Brien Wyndham, third Earl of Egremont, the friend of art and +agriculture, who collected most of the pictures. The present owner is +the third Baron Leconfield.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page099.png" id="page099.png"></a><img src="images/page099.png" width='700' height='502' alt="The Rother at Fittleworth" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Rother at Fittleworth.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">THE EARL AND THE HOUSEMAID</div> + +<p>C. R. Leslie, who painted more than one picture in the Petworth gallery, +has much to say in his <i>Autobiographical Recollections</i> of its noble +founder the third Earl, his generosity, courtesy, kindly thoughtfulness, +and extreme modesty of bearing. One story contains half his biography. I +give it in Leslie's words. After referring to his Lordship's +men-servants and their importance in the house, the painter continues: +"His own dress, in the morning, being very plain, he was sometimes by +strangers mistaken for one of them. This happened with a maid of one of +his lady guests, who had not been at Petworth before. She met him, +crossing the hall, as the bell was ringing for the servants' dinner, and +said: 'Come, old gentleman, you and I will go to dinner together, for I +can't find my way in this great house.' He gave her his arm, and led her +to the room where the other maids were assembled at their table, and +said: 'You dine here, I don't dine till seven o'clock.'"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PETWORTH PICTURES</div> + +<p>On certain days in the week visitors are allowed to walk through the +galleries of Petworth House. The parties are shown by a venerable +servitor into the audit room, a long bare apartment furnished with a +statue and the heads of stags; and at the stroke of the hour a +commissionaire appears at the far door and leads the way to the office, +where a visitors' book is signed. Then the real work of the day begins, +and for fifty-five minutes one passes from Dutch painters to Italian, +from English to French: amid boors by Teniers, beauties by Lely, +landscapes by Turner, carvings by Grinling Gibbons. The commissionaire +knows them all. The collection is a fine one, but the lighting is bad, +and the conditions under which it is seen are not favourable to the +intimate appreciation of good art. One finds one's attention wandering +too often from the soldier with his little index rattan to the deer on +the vast lawn that extends from the windows to the lake—the lake that +Turner painted and fished in. Hobbemas, Vandycks, Murillos—what are +these when the sun shines and the ceaseless mutations of a herd of deer +render the middle distance fascinating? Among the more famous pictures +is a Peg Woffington by Hogarth, not here "dallying and dangerous," but +demure as a nun; also the "Modern Midnight Conversation" from the same +hand; three or four bewitching Romneys; a room full of beauties of the +Court of Queen Anne; Henry VIII by Holbein; a wonderful Claude Lorraine; +a head of Cervantes attributed to Velasquez; and four views of the +Thames by Turner. Hazlitt, in his <i>Sketches of the Picture Galleries of +England</i>, says of this collection:—"We wish our readers to go to +Petworth ... where they will find the coolest grottoes and the finest +Vandykes in the world."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A PICTORAL PARK</div> + +<p>Lord Leconfield's park has not the remarkable natural formation of the +Duke of Norfolk's, nor the superb situation of the Duke of Richmond and +Gordon's, with its Channel prospects, but it is immense and imposing. +Also it is unreal: it is like a park in a picture. This effect may be +largely due<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> to the circumstance that <i>fêtes</i> in Petworth Park have been +more than once painted; but it is due also, I think, to the shape and +colour of the house, to the lake, to the extent of the lawn, to the +disposition of the knolls, and to the deer. A scene-painter, bidden to +depict an English park, would produce (though he had never been out of +the Strand) something very like Petworth. It is the normal park of the +average imagination on a large scale.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page101.png" id="page101.png"></a><img src="images/page101.png" width='654' height='700' alt="Almshouse at Petworth" /></p> + +<h4><i>Almshouse at Petworth.</i></h4> + +<p>Cobbett wrote thus of Petworth:—"The park is very fine, and consists of +a parcel of those hills and dells which nature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> formed here when she was +in one of her most sportive moods. I have never seen the earth flung +about in such a wild way as round about Hindhead and Blackdown, and this +park forms a part of this ground. From an elevated part of it, and, +indeed, from each of many parts of it, you see all around the country to +the distance of many miles. From the south-east to the north-west the +hills are so lofty and so near that they cut the view rather short; but +for the rest of the circle you can see to a very great distance. It is, +upon the whole, a most magnificent seat, and the Jews will not be able +to get it from the <i>present</i> owner, though if he live many years they +will give even him a <i>twist</i>."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE YOUNG RAVENS</div> + +<p>On an eminence in the west is a tower (near a clump where ravens build), +from which the other parks of this wonderful park-district of Sussex may +be seen: Cowdray to the west, the highest points of Goodwood to the +south-west, the highest points of Arundel to the south-east, and +Parham's dark forest more easterly still. Mr. Knox's account of the +vicissitudes of the Petworth ravens sixty years ago is as interesting as +any history of equal length on the misfortunes of man. Their sufferings +at the hands of keepers and schoolboys read like a page of Foxe. The +final disaster was the spoliation of their nest by a boy, who removed +all four of the children, or "squabs" as he called them. Mr. Knox, who +used to come every day to examine them through his glass, was in +despair, until after much meditation he thought of an expedient. Seeking +out the boy he persuaded him to give up the one "squab" whose wings had +not yet been clipped, and this the ornithologist carried to the clump +and deposited in the ruined nest. The next morning the old birds were to +be seen, just as of old, and that was their last molestation.</p> + +<p>Just under the park on the road to Midhurst is Tillington, a little +village with a rather ornamental church, which dates from 1807. There is +nothing to say of Tillington, but I should like to quote a pretty +sentence from Horsfield's <i>History of</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> <i>Sussex</i> concerning the monuments +in the church, in a kind of writing of which we have little +to-day:—"And as the volume, for which this has been written, is likely +to fall chiefly into the hands of men who are occupied almost solely +with the cares and business of this life, this slight reference is made +to the monuments of the dead in order that, should the reader of this +book find, in the present dearth of honesty, of faithfulness, of +disinterested valour and of loyalty, an aching want in his spirit for +such high qualities, let him hence be taught where to go—let him learn +that, though they are rarely found in the busy haunts of men, they are +still preserved and have their home around the sanctuary of the altar of +his God."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A TREASURY OF ARCHITECTURE</div> + +<p>Petworth should be visited by all young architects; not for the mansion +(except as an object-lesson, for it is like a London terrace), but for +the ordinary buildings in the town. It is a paradise of old-fashioned +architecture. The church is hideous; the new hotel, the "Swan," might be +at Balham; but the old part of the town is perfect. There is an +almshouse (which Mr. Griggs has drawn), in which in its palmy days a +Lady Bountiful might have lived; even the workhouse has charms—it is +the only pretty workhouse I remember: with the exception, perhaps, of +Battle, but that is, however, self-conscious.</p> + +<p>Petworth has known, at any rate, one poet. In the churchyard was once +this epitaph, now perhaps obliterated, from a husband's hand:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"She was! She was! She was, what?</div> +<div>She was all that a woman should be, she was that."</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">NOAH MANN</div> + +<p>In a book which takes account of Sussex men and women of the past, it is +hard to keep long from cricket. To the north of Petworth, whither we now +turn, is Northchapel, where was born and died one of the great men of +the Hambledon Club, Noah Mann, who once made ten runs from one hit, and +whose son was named Horace, after the cricketing baronet of the same +name, by special permission. "Sir Horace, by this simple act<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> of +graceful humanity, hooked for life the heart of poor Noah Mann," says +Nyren; "and in this world of hatred and contention, the love even of a +dog is worth living for."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page104.png" id="page104.png"></a><img src="images/page104.png" width='700' height='536' alt="Petworth Churchyard" /></p> + +<h4><i>Petworth Churchyard.</i></h4> + +<p>This is Nyren's account of Noah Mann:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">GEORGE LEAR'S STRATEGY</div> + +<p>"He was from Sussex, and lived at Northchapel, not far from Petworth. He +kept an inn there, and used to come a distance of at least twenty miles +every Tuesday to practise. He was a fellow of extraordinary activity, +and could perform clever feats of agility on horseback. For instance, +when he has been seen in the distance coming up the ground, one or more +of his companions would throw down handkerchiefs, and these he would +collect, stooping from his horse while it was going at full speed. He +was a fine batter, a fine field, and the swiftest runner I ever +remember: indeed, such was his fame for speed, that whenever there was a +match going forward, we were sure to hear of one being made for Mann to +run against some noted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> competitor; and such would come from the whole +country round. Upon these occasions he used to tell his friends, 'If, +when we are half-way, you see me alongside of my man, you may always bet +your money upon me, for I am sure to win.' And I never saw him beaten. +He was a most valuable fellow in the field; for besides being very sure +of the ball, his activity was so extraordinary that he would dart all +over the ground like lightning. In those days of fast bowling, they +would put a man behind the long-stop, that he might cover both long-stop +and slip; the man always selected for this post was Noah. Now and then +little George Lear (whom I have already described as being so fine a +long-stop), would give Noah the wink to be on his guard, who would +gather close behind him: then George would make a slip on purpose, and +let the ball go by, when, in an instant, Noah would have it up, and into +the wicket-keeper's hands, and the man was put out. This I have seen +done many times, and this nothing but the most accomplished skill in +fielding could have achieved....</p> + +<p>"At a match of the Hambledon Club against All England, the club had to +go in to get the runs, and there was a long number of them. It became +quite apparent that the game would be closely fought. Mann kept on +worrying old Nyren to let him go in, and although he became quite +indignant at his constant refusal, our General knew what he was about in +keeping him back. At length, when the last but one was out, he sent Mann +in, and there were then ten runs to get. The sensation now all over the +ground was greater than anything of the kind I ever witnessed before or +since. All knew the state of the game, and many thousands were hanging +upon this narrow point. There was Sir Horace Mann, walking about outside +the ground, cutting down the daisies with his stick—a habit with him +when he was agitated; the old farmers leaning forward upon their tall +old staves, and the whole multitude perfectly still. After Noah had had +one or two balls, Lumpy tossed one a little too far, when our fellow got +in, and hit it out in his grand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> style. Six of the ten were gained. +Never shall I forget the roar that followed this hit. Then there was a +dead stand for some time, and no runs were made; ultimately, however, he +gained them all, and won the game. After he was out, he upbraided Nyren +for not putting him in earlier. 'If you had let me go in an hour ago' +(said he), 'I would have served them in the same way.' But the old +tactician was right, for he knew Noah to be a man of such nerve and +self-possession, that the thought of so much depending upon him would +not have the paralysing effect that it would upon many others. He was +sure of him, and Noah afterwards felt the compliment. Mann was short in +stature, and, when stripped, as swarthy as a gipsy. He was all muscle, +with no incumbrance whatever of flesh; remarkably broad in the chest, +with large hips and spider legs; he had not an ounce of flesh about him, +but it was where it ought to be. He always played without his hat (the +sun could not affect <i>his</i> complexion), and he took a liking to me as a +boy, because I did the same."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A LURGASHALL SATIRIST</div> + +<p>Lurgashall, on the road to Northchapel, is a pleasant village, with a +green, and a church unique among Sussex churches by virtue of a curious +wooden gallery or cloister, said to have been built as a shelter for +parishioners from a distance, who would eat their nuncheon there. The +church, which has distinct Saxon remains, once had for rector the +satirical James Bramston, author of "The Art of Politics" and "The Man +of Taste," two admirable poems in the manner of Pope. This is his +unimpeachable advice to public speakers:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Those who would captivate the well-bred throng,</div> +<div>Should not too often speak, nor speak too long:</div> +<div>Church, nor Church Matters ever turn to Sport,</div> +<div>Nor make <i>St. Stephen's Chappell, Dover-Court</i>.</div> +</div></div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>BIGNOR</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Burton and the sparrowhawk—James Broadbridge—The quaintest of +grocer's shops—A transformation scene—The Roman +pavement—Charlotte Smith the sonneteer—Parson Dorset's +advice—Humility at West Burton—Bury's Amazons.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Two miles due south from Petworth is Burton Park, a modest sandy +pleasaunce, with some beautiful deer, an ugly house, and a church for +the waistcoat pocket, which some American relic hunter will assuredly +carry off unless it is properly chained.</p> + +<p>Mr. Knox has an interesting anecdote of a sparrowhawk at Burton. "In +May, 1844," he writes, "I received from Burton Park an adult male +sparrowhawk in full breeding plumage, which had killed itself, or rather +met its death, in a singular manner. The gardener was watering plants in +the greenhouse, the door being open, when a blackbird dashed in +suddenly, taking refuge between his legs, and at the same moment the +glass roof above his head was broken with a loud crash, and a hawk fell +dead at his feet. The force of the swoop was so great that for a moment +he imagined a stone hurled from a distance to have been the cause of the +fracture."</p> + +<p>At Duncton, the neighbouring village, under the hill, James Broadbridge +was born in 1796—James Broadbridge, who was considered the best +all-round cricketer in England in his day. He had a curious hit to +square-leg between the wicket and himself, and he was the first of whom +it was said that he could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> do anything with the ball except make it +speak. In order to get practice with worthy players he would walk from +Duncton to Brighton, just as Lambert would walk from Reigate to London, +or Noah Mann ride to Hambledon from Petworth. Jim Broadbridge's first +great match was in 1815, for Sussex against the Epsom Club, including +Lambert and Lord Frederick Beauclerk, for a Thousand Guineas. +Broadbridge, after his wont, walked from Duncton to Brighton in the +morning, and he looked so much like a farmer and so little like a +cricketer that there was some opposition to his playing. But he bowled +out three and caught one and Sussex won the money.</p> + +<p>Above Duncton rises Duncton Down, which is eight hundred and +thirty-seven feet high, one of our mountains. But we are not to climb it +just now, having business in the weald some four miles away to the east, +past Barlavington and Sutton, at Bignor.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE OLDEST GROCER'S SHOP</div> + +<p>Admirers of yew trees should make a point of visiting Bignor churchyard. +The village has also what is probably the quaintest grocer's shop in +England; certainly the completest contrast that imagination could devise +to the modern grocer's shop of the town, plate-glassed, illumined and +stored to repletion. It is close to the yew-shadowed church, and is +gained by a flight of steps. I should not have noticed it as a shop at +all, but rather as a very curious survival of a kindly and attractive +form of architecture, had not a boy, when asked the way to the Roman +pavement, which is Bignor's glory, mentioned "the grocer's" as one of +the landmarks. One's connotation of "grocer" excluding diamond panes, +oak timbers, difficult steps, and reverend antiquity, I was like to lose +the way in earnest, had not a customer emerged opportunely from the +crazy doorway with a basket of goods. It was natural for the boy, whose +pennies had gone in oranges and sweets, to lay the emphasis on the +grocery; but the house externally is the only one of its kind within +miles.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A ROMAN VILLA</div> + +<p>In some respects there is no more interesting spot in Sussex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> than the +mangold field on Mr. Tupper's farm that contains the Roman pavements. +Approaching this scene of alien treasure one observes nothing but the +mangolds; here and there a rough shed as if for cattle; and Mr. Tupper, +the grandson of the discoverer of the mosaics, at work with his hoe. +This he lays on one side on the arrival of a visitor, taking in his hand +instead a large key. So far, we are in Sussex pure and simple; mangolds +all around, cattle sheds in front, a Sussex farmer for a companion, the +sky of Sussex over all, and the twentieth century in her nonage. Mr. +Tupper turns the key, throws open the creaking door—and nearly two +thousand years roll away. We are no longer in Sussex but in the province +of the Regni; no longer at Bignor but Ad Decimum, or ten miles from +Regnum (or Chichester) on Stane Street, the direct road to Londinum, in +the residence of a Roman Colonial governor of immense wealth, probably +supreme in command of the province.</p> + +<p>The fragments of pavement that have been preserved are mere indications +of the splendour and extent of the building, which must have covered +some acres—a welcome and imposing sight as one descended Bignor Hill by +Stane Street, with its white walls and columns rising from the dark +weald. The pavement in the first shed which Mr. Tupper unlocks has the +figure of Ganymede in one of its circular compartments; and here the +hot-air pipes, by which the villa was heated, may be seen where the +floor has given way. A head of Winter in another of the sheds is very +fine; but it is rather for what these relics stand for, than any +intrinsic beauty, that they are interesting. They are perfect symbols of +a power that has passed away. Nothing else so brings back the Roman +occupation of Sussex, when on still nights the clanking of armour in the +camp on the hill-top could be heard by the trembling Briton in the Weald +beneath; or by day the ordered sounds of marching would smite upon his +ears, and, looking fearfully upwards, he would see a steady file of +warriors descending the slope. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> never see a Sussex hill crowned by a +camp, as at Wolstonbury, without seeing also in imagination a flash of +steel. Perhaps one never realises the new terror which the Romans must +have brought into the life of the Sussex peasant—a terror which utterly +changed the Downs from ramparts of peace into coigns of minatory +advantage, and transformed the gaze of security, with which their grassy +contours had once been contemplated, into anxious glances of dismay and +trepidation—one never so realises this terror as when one descends +Ditchling Beacon by the sunken path which the Romans dug to allow a +string of soldiers to drop unperceived into the Weald below. That +semi-subterranean passage and the Bignor pavements are to me the most +vivid tokens of the Roman rule that England possesses.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PARSON DORSET</div> + +<p>Charlotte Smith, the sonneteer and novelist, was the daughter of +Nicholas Turner, of Bignor Park, which contains, I think, the plainest +house I ever saw in the country. Charlotte Smith, who was all her life +very true to Sussex both in her work and in her homes—she was at school +at Chichester, and lived at Woolbeding and Brighton—was born in 1749. A +century ago her name was as well known as that of Mrs. Hemans was later. +To-day it is unknown, and her poems and novels are unread, nor will +they, I fear, be re-discovered. Her sister, Catherine Turner, afterwards +Mrs. Dorset, was the author of <i>The Peacock at Home</i>, a very popular +book for children at the beginning of the last century, suggested by +Roscoe's <i>Butterfly's Ball</i>. Mrs. Dorset, by the way, married a son of +the vicar of Walberton and Burlington, whose curious head-dress gave to +an odd-looking tree on Bury hill the name of Parson Dorset's wig—for +the parson was known by his eccentricities far from home. The old story +of advice to a flock: "Do as I say, not as I do," is told also of him.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">VILLAGE HUMILITY</div> + +<p>The little village of West Burton, east of Bignor, is associated in my +mind with an expression of the truest humility. A kindly villager had +given me a glass of water, and I unfolded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> my map and spread it on her +garden wall to consult while I drank. "Why," she said, "you don't mean +to say a little place like West Burton is marked on a map." This is the +very antipodes of the ordinary provincial pride, which would have the +world's axis project from the ground hard by the village pump. But pride +of place is not, I think, a Sussex characteristic.</p> + +<p>Bury, the next hamlet in the east, under the hills, has curious cricket +traditions. In June, 1796, the married women of Bury beat the single +women by 80 runs, and thereupon, uniting forces, challenged any team of +women in the county. Not only did the women of Bury shine at cricket, +but in a Sussex paper for 1791 I find an account of two of Bury's +daughters assuming the names of Big Ben and Mendoza and engaging in a +hardly contested prize fight before a large gathering. Big Ben won.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page112.png" id="page112.png"></a><img src="images/page112.png" width='700' height='505' alt="The Causeway, Horsham" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Causeway, Horsham.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>HORSHAM</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Horsham stone—Horsham and history—- Pressing to death—Juvenile +hostility to statues—Horsham's love of pleasure—Percy Bysshe +Shelley's boyhood—a letter of invitation—Sedition in Sussex—a +Slinfold epitaph—Rudgwick's cricket poet—Warnham pond—Stane +Street—Cobbett at Billingshurst—The new Christ's Hospital.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Horsham is the capital of West Sussex: a busy agricultural town with +horse dealers in its streets, a core of old houses, and too many that +are new. There is in England no more peaceful and prosperous row of +venerable homes than the Causeway, joining Carfax and the church, with +its pollarded limes and chestnuts in line on the pavement's edge, its +graceful gables, jutting eaves, and glimpses of green gardens through +the doors and windows. The sweetest part of Horsham is there. Elsewhere +the town bustles. (I should, however, mention the very picturesque +house—now cottages—on the left of the road as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> one leaves the station: +as fine a mass of timbers, gables, and oblique lines as one could wish, +making an effect such as time alone can give. The days of such relics +are numbered.)</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HORSHAM STONE</div> + +<p>Horsham not only has beautiful old houses of its own, but it has been +the cause of beautiful old houses all over the county; since nothing so +adds to the charm of a building as a roof of Horsham stone, those large +grey flat slabs on which the weather works like a great artist in +harmonies of moss, lichen, and stain. No roofing so combines dignity and +homeliness, and no roofing except possibly thatch (which, however, is +short-lived) so surely passes into the landscape. But Horsham stone is +no longer used. It is to be obtained for a new house only by the +demolition of an old; and few new houses have rafters sufficiently +stable to bear so great a weight. Our ancestors built for posterity: we +build for ourselves. Our ancestors used Sussex oak where we use fir.</p> + +<p>Not only is Horsham stone on the roofs of the neighbourhood: it is also +on the paths, so that one may step from flag to flag for miles, dryshod, +or at least without mud.</p> + +<p>Horsham's place in history is unimportant: but indirectly it played its +part in the fourteenth century, by supplying the War Office of that era +with bolts for cross bows, excellent for slaying Scots and Frenchmen. +The town was famous also for its horseshoes. In the days of Cromwell we +find Horsham to have been principally Royalist; one engagement with +Parliamentarians is recorded in which it lost three warriors to +Cromwell's one. In the reign of William III. a young man claiming to be +the Duke of Monmouth, and travelling with a little court who addressed +him as "Your Grace," turned the heads of the women in many an English +town—his good looks convincing them at once, as the chronicler says, +that he was the true prince. Justices sitting at Horsham, however, +having less susceptibility to the testimony of handsome features, found +him to be the son of an innkeeper named Savage, and imprisoned him as a +vagrant and swindler.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PRESSING TO DEATH</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>Horsham was the last place in which pressing to death was practised. The +year was 1735, and the victim a man unknown, who on being charged with +murder and robbery refused to speak. Witnesses having been called to +prove him no mute, this old and horrible sentence, proper (as the law +considered) to his offence and obstinacy, was passed upon him. The +executioner, the story goes, while conveying the body in a wheelbarrow +to burial, turned it out in the roadway at the place where the King's +Head now stands, and then putting it in again, passed on. Not long +afterwards he fell dead at this spot.</p> + +<p>The church of St. Mary, which rises majestically at the end of the +Causeway, has a slender shingled spire that reaches a great height—not +altogether, however, without indecision. There is probably an altitude +beyond which shingles are a mistake: they are better suited to the more +modest spire of the small village. The church is remarkable also for +length of roof (well covered with Horsham stone), and it is altogether a +singularly commanding structure. Within is an imposing plainness. The +stone effigy of a knight in armour reclines just to the south of the +altar: son of a branch of the Braose family—of Chesworth, hard by, now +in ruins—of whose parent stock we shall hear more when we reach +Bramber. The knight, Thomas, Lord Braose, died in 1395. The youth of +Horsham, hostile invincibly, like all boys, to the stone nose, have +reduced that feature to the level of the face; or was it the work of the +Puritans, who are known to have shared in the nasal objection? South of +the churchyard is the river, from the banks of which the church would +seem to be all Horsham, so effectually is the town behind it blotted out +by its broad back. On the edge of the churchyard is perhaps the smallest +house in Sussex: certainly the smallest to combine Gothic windows with +the sale of ginger-beer.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SCHOOL OF CHAMPIONS</div> + +<p>Horsham seems always to have been fond of pleasure. Within iron railings +in the Carfax, in a trim little enclosure of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> turf and geraniums, is the +ancient iron ring used in the bull-baiting which the inhabitants +indulged in and loved until as recently as 1814. That the town is still +disposed to entertainment, although of a quieter kind, its walls +testify; for the hoardings are covered with the promise of circus or +conjuror, minstrels or athletic sports, drama or lecture. In July, when +I was there last, Horsham was anticipating a <i>fête</i>, in which a mock +bull-fight and a battle of confetti were mere details; while it was +actually in the throes of a fair. The booths filled an open space to the +west of the town known as the Jew's Meadow, and among the attractions +was Professor Adams with his "school of undefeated champions." The +plural is in the grand manner, giving the lie to Cashel Byron's pathetic +plaint:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>It is a lonely thing to be a champion.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Avoiding Professor Adams, and walking due west, one comes after a couple +of miles to Broadbridge Heath, where is Field Place, the birthplace of +the greatest of Sussex poets, and perhaps the greatest of the county's +sons—Percy Bysshe Shelley. The author of <i>Adonais</i> was born in a little +bedroom with a south aspect on August 4, 1792. His father's mother, +<i>née</i> Michell, was the daughter of a late vicar of Horsham and member of +an old Sussex family; another Horsham cleric, the Rev. Thomas Edwards, +gave the boy his first lessons. Field Place is still very much what it +was in Shelley's early days—the only days it was a home to him. It +stands low, in a situation darkened by the surrounding trees, a rambling +house neither as old as one would wish for æsthetic reasons nor as new +as comfort might dictate. There is no view. In the garden one may in +fancy see again the little boy, like all poetic children, "deep in his +unknown day's employ." Indeed, like all children, might be said, for is +not every child a poet for a little while? In the <i>Life of Shelley</i> by +his cousin Thomas Medwin is printed the following letter to a friend at +Horsham, written when he was nine, which I quote not for any particular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +intrinsic merit, but because it helps to bring him before us in his +Field Place days, of which too little is known:—</p> + +<p class="right">"<i>Monday, July 18, 1803.</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">"Miss Kate,</span> + + <br /> +<span class="smcap">"Horsham,</span> <br /> +<span class="smcap">"Sussex.</span> </p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Kate</span>,—We have proposed a day at the pond next Wednesday, and if +you will come to-morrow morning I would be much obliged to you, and if +you could any how bring Tom over to stay all the night, I would thank +you. We are to have a cold dinner over at the pond, and come home to eat +a bit of roast chicken and peas at about nine o'clock. Mama depends upon +your bringing Tom over to-morrow, and if you don't we shall be very much +disappointed. Tell the bearer not to forget to bring me a fairing, which +is some ginger-bread, sweetmeat, hunting-nuts, and a pocket-book. Now I +end.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"I am not + + <br /> +"Your obedient servant, <br /> +<span class="smcap">"P. B. Shelley.</span>" </p> + +<div class="sidenote">SHELLEY IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>We are proud to call Shelley the Sussex poet, but he wrote no Sussex +poems, and a singularly uncongenial father (for the cursing of whom and +the King the boy was famous at Eton) made him glad to avoid the county +when he was older. It was, however, to a Sussex lady, Miss Hitchener of +Hurstpierpoint, that Shelley, when in Ireland in 1812, forwarded the box +of inflammatory matter which the Custom House officers +confiscated—copies of his pamphlet on Ireland and his "Declaration of +Rights" broadside, which Miss Hitchener was to distribute among Sussex +farmers who would display them on their walls. These were the same +documents that Shelley used to put in bottles and throw out to sea, +greatly to the perplexity of the spectators and not a little to the +annoyance of the Government. Miss Hitchener, as well as the +revolutionary, was kept under surveillance, as we learn from the letter +from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>Postmaster-General of the day, Lord Chichester:—"I return the +pamphlet declaration. The writer of the first is son of Mr. Shelley, +member for the Rape of Bramber, and is by all accounts a most +extraordinary man. I hear he has married a servant, or some person of +very low birth; he has been in Ireland for some time, and I heard of his +speaking at the Catholic Convention. Miss Hitchener, of Hurstpierpoint, +keeps a School there, and is well spoken of; her Father keeps a Publick +House in the Neighbourhood, he was originally a Smuggler and changed his +name from Yorke to Hitchener before he took the Public House. I shall +have a watch upon the daughter and discover whether there is any +Connection between her and Shelley."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"THE SUSSEX MUSE"</div> + +<p>There Shelley's connection with Sussex may be said to end. Yet a poet, +whether he will or no, is shaped by his early surroundings. In some +verses by Mr. C. W. Dalmon called "The Sussex Muse," I find the +influence of Shelley's surroundings on his mind happily recorded:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"When Shelley's soul was carried through the air</div> +<div>Toward the manor house where he was born,</div> +<div class="i1">I danced along the avenue at Denne,</div> +<div>And praised the grace of Heaven, and the morn</div> +<div class="i1">Which numbered with the sons of Sussex men</div> +<div class="i3">A genius so rare!</div> +<div>So high an honour and so dear a birth,</div> +<div class="i1">That, though the Horsham folk may little care</div> +<div class="i1">To laud the favour of his birthplace there,</div> +<div>My name is bless'd for it throughout the earth.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I taught the child to love, and dream, and sing</div> +<div>Of witch, hobgoblin, folk and flower lore;</div> +<div class="i1">And often led him by the hand away</div> +<div>Into St. Leonard's Forest, where of yore</div> +<div class="i1">The hermit fought the dragon—to this day,</div> +<div class="i4">The children, ev'ry Spring,</div> +<div>Find lilies of the valley blowing where</div> +<div class="i1">The fights took place. Alas! they quickly drove</div> +<div class="i1">My darling from my bosom and my love,</div> +<div>And snatched my crown of laurel from his hair."</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page118.png" id="page118.png"></a><img src="images/page118.png" width='652' height='700' alt="Cottages at Slinfold" /></p> + +<h4><i>Cottages at Slinfold.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">SLINFOLD</div> + +<p>Two miles south-west of Field Place, by a footpath which takes us beside +the Arun, here a narrow stream, and a deserted water mill, we come to +the churchyard of Slinfold, a little quiet village with a church of +almost suburban solidity and complete want of Sussex feeling. James +Dallaway, the historian of Western Sussex, was rector here from 1803 to +1834. He lived, however, at Leatherhead, Slinfold being a sinecure. A +Slinfold epitaph on an infant views bereavement with more philosophy +than is usual: in conclusion calling upon Patience thus to comfort the +parents:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>Teach them to praise that God with grateful mind</div> +<div>For babes that yet may come, for one still left behind.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>A quarter of a mile west is Stane Street, striking London-wards from +Billingshurst, and we may follow it for a while on our way to Rudgwick, +near the county's border. We leave the Roman road (which once ran as +straight as might be as far as Billingsgate, but is now diverted and +lost in many spots) at the drive to Dedisham, on the left, and thus save +a considerable corner. Dedisham, in its hollow, is an ancient +agricultural settlement: a farm and feudatory cottages in perfect +completeness, an isolated self-sufficing community, lacking nothing—not +even the yellow ferret in the cage. The footpath beyond the homestead +crosses a field where we find the Arun once again—here a stream winding +between steep banks, sure home of kingfisher and water-rats.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">RUDGWICK</div> + +<p>Rudgwick, which is three miles farther west along the hard high road, is +a small village on a hill, with the most comfortable looking +church-tower in Sussex hiding behind the inn and the general shop. In +the churchyard lies a Frusannah—a name new to me.</p> + +<p>Rudgwick was the birthplace, in 1717, of Reynell Cotton, destined to be +the author of the best song in praise of cricket. He entered Winchester +College in 1730, took orders and became master of Hyde Abbey school in +the same city, and died in 1779. Nyren prints his song in full. This is +the heart of it:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>The wickets are pitch'd now, and measur'd the ground,</div> +<div>Then they form a large ring, and stand gazing around,</div> +<div>Since <span class="smcap">Ajax</span> fought <span class="smcap">Hector</span>, in sight of all <span class="smcap">Troy</span>,</div> +<div>No contest was seen with such fear and such joy.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ye bowlers, take heed, to my precepts attend,</div> +<div>On you the whole fate of the game must depend;</div> +<div>Spare your vigour at first, nor exert all your strength,</div> +<div>But measure each step, and be sure pitch a length.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>Ye fieldsmen, look sharp, lest your pains ye beguile;</div> +<div>Move close, like an army, in rank and in file,</div> +<div>When the ball is return'd, back it sure, for I trow</div> +<div>Whole states have been ruin'd by one overthrow.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ye strikers, observe when the foe shall draw nigh,</div> +<div>Mark the bowler advancing with vigilant eye:</div> +<div>Your skill all depends upon distance and sight,</div> +<div>Stand firm to your scratch, let your bat be upright.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Further west is Loxwood, on the edge of a little-known tract of country, +untroubled by railways, the most unfamiliar village in which is perhaps +Plaistow. Plaistow is on the road to nowhere and has not its equal for +quietude in England. It is a dependency of Kirdford, whence comes the +Petworth marble which we see in many Sussex churches. Shillinglee Park, +the seat of the Earl of Winterton, is hard by.</p> + +<p>From these remote parts one may return to Horsham by way of Warnham, on +whose pond Shelley as a boy used to sail his little boat, and where +perhaps he gained that love of navigation which never left him and +brought about his death. Warnham, always a cricketing village, until +lately supplied the Sussex eleven with dashing Lucases; but it does so +no more.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">STANE STREET</div> + +<p>Before passing to the east of Horsham, something ought to be said of one +at least of the villages of the south-west, namely, Billingshurst, on +Stane Street, once an important station between Regnum and Londinum, or +Chichester and London, as we should now say. It has been conjectured +that Stane Street (which we first saw at Chichester under the name of +East Street, and again as it descended Bignor hill in the guise of a +bostel) was constructed by Belinus, a Roman engineer, who gave to the +woods through which he had to cut his way in this part of Sussex the +name, Billingshurst, and to the gate by which London was entered, +Billingsgate.</p> + +<p>Billingshurst's place in literature was made by William Cobbett, for it +was here that he met the boy in a smock frock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> who recalled to his mind +so many of his deeds of Quixotry. The incident is described in the +<i>Rural Rides</i>:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">COBBETT AND THE LITTLE CHAP</div> + +<p>"This village is seven miles from Horsham, and I got here to breakfast +about seven o'clock. A very pretty village, and a very nice breakfast, +in a very neat little parlour of a very decent public-house. The +landlady sent her son to get me some cream, and he was just such a chap +as I was at his age, and dressed just in the same sort of way, his main +garment being a blue smock-frock, faded from wear, and mended with +pieces of <i>new</i> stuff, and, of course, not faded. The sight of this +smock-frock brought to my recollection many things very dear to me. This +boy will, I daresay, perform his part at Billingshurst, or at some place +not far from it. If accident had not taken me from a similar scene, how +many villains and fools, who have been well teased and tormented, would +have slept in peace at night, and have fearlessly swaggered about by +day!</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page121.png" id="page121.png"></a><img src="images/page121.png" width='700' height='462' alt="Rudgwick" /></p> + +<h4><i>Rudgwick.</i></h4> + +<p>"When I look at this little chap—at his smock-frock, his nailed shoes, +and his clean, plain, coarse shirt, I ask myself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> will anything, I +wonder, ever send this chap across the ocean to tackle the base, +corrupt, perjured Republican Judges of Pennsylvania? Will this little +lively, but, at the same time, simple boy, ever become the terror of +villains and hypocrites across the Atlantic? What a chain of strange +circumstances there must be to lead this boy to thwart a miscreant +tyrant like M'keen, the Chief Justice, and afterwards Governor, of +Pennsylvania, and to expose the corruptions of the band of rascals, +called a 'Senate and a House of Representatives,' at Harrisburgh, in +that state!"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A VILLAGE DISPUTE</div> + +<p>Billingshurst church has an interesting ceiling, an early brass (to +Thomas and Elizabeth Bartlet), and the record of one of those disputes +over pews which add salt to village life and now and then, as we saw at +Littlehampton, lead to real trouble. The verger (if he be the same) will +tell the story, the best part of which describes the race which was held +every Sunday for certain seats in the chancel, and the tactical +"packing" of the same by the winning party. In the not very remote past +a noble carved chair used to be placed in one of the galleries for the +schoolmaster, and there would he sit during service surrounded by his +boys.</p> + +<p>One returns to Horsham from Billingshurst through Itchingfield, where +the new Christ's Hospital has been built in the midst of green fields: a +glaring red-brick settlement which the fastidiously urban ghost of +Charles Lamb can now surely never visit. "Lamb's House," however, is the +name of one of the buildings; and Time the Healer, who can do all +things, may mellow the new school into Elian congeniality.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>ST. LEONARD'S FOREST</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Recollections of the Forest—Leonardslee—Michael Drayton and the +iron country—Thomas Fuller on great guns—The serpent of St. +Leonard's Forest—The Headless Horseman—Sussex and nightingales.</p></blockquote> + +<p>To the east of Horsham spreads St. Leonard's Forest, that vast tract of +moor and preserve which, merging into Tilgate Forest, Balcombe Forest, +and Worth Forest, extends a large part of the way to East Grinstead.</p> + +<p>Only on foot can we really explore this territory; and a compass as well +as a good map is needed if one is to walk with any decision, for there +are many conflicting tracks, and many points whence no broad outlook is +possible. Remembering old days in St. Leonard's Forest, I recall, in +general, the odoriferous damp open spaces of long grass, suddenly +lighted upon, over which silver-washed fritillaries flutter; and, in +particular, a deserted farm, in whose orchard (it must have been late +June) was a spreading tree of white-heart cherries in full bearing. One +may easily, even a countryman, I take it, live to a great age and never +have the chance of climbing into a white-heart cherry tree and eating +one's fill. Certainly I have never done it since; but that day gave me +an understanding of blackbirds' temptations that is still stronger than +the desire to pull a trigger. The reader must not imagine that St. +Leonard's Forest is rich in deserted farms with attractive orchards. I +have found no other, and indeed it is notably a place in which the +explorer should be accompanied by provisions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">LEONARDSLEE</div> + +<p>To take train to Faygate and walk from that spot is the simplest way, +although more interesting is it perhaps to come to Faygate at the end of +the day, and, gaining permission to climb the Beacon Tower on the hill, +in the Holmbush estate, retrace one's steps in vision from its summit. +In this case one would walk from Horsham to Lower Beeding, then strike +north over Plummer's Plain. This route leads by Coolhurst and through +Manning Heath, just beyond which, by following the south, that runs for +a mile, one could see Nuthurst. Lower Beeding is not in itself +interesting; but close at hand is Leonardslee, the seat of Sir Edmund +Loder, which is one of the most satisfying estates in the county. North +and south runs a deep ravine, on the one side richly wooded, and on the +other, the west, planted with all acclimatisable varieties of Alpine +plants and flowering shrubs. The chain of ponds at the bottom of the +ravine forms one of the principal sources of the Adur. In an enclosure +among the woods the kangaroo has been acclimatised; and beavers are +given all law.</p> + +<p>North of Plummer's Plain, in a hollow, are two immense ponds, Hammer +Pond and Hawkin's Pond, our first reminder that we are in the old iron +country. St. Leonard's Forest, and all the forests on this the forest +ridge of Sussex, were of course maintained to supply wood with which to +feed the furnaces of the iron masters—just as the overflow of these +ponds was trained to move the machinery of the hammers for the breaking +of the iron stone. The enormous consumption of wood in the iron +foundries was a calamity seriously viewed by many observers, among them +Michael Drayton, of the <i>Poly Olbion</i>, who was, however, distressed less +as a political economist than as the friend of the wood nymphs driven by +the encroaching and devastating foundrymen from their native sanctuaries +to the inhospitable Downs. Thus he writes, illustrating Lamb's criticism +of him that in this work he "has animated hills and streams with life +and passion above the dreams of old mythology":—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i10"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>The daughters of the Weald</div> +<div>(That in their heavy breasts had long their griefs concealed),</div> +<div>Foreseeing their decay each hour so fast come on,</div> +<div>Under the axe's stroke, fetched many a grievous groan.</div> +<div>When as the anvil's weight, and hammer's dreadful sound,</div> +<div>Even rent the hollow woods and shook the queachy ground;</div> +<div>So that the trembling nymphs, oppressed through ghastly fear,</div> +<div>Ran madding to the downs, with loose dishevelled hair.</div> +<div>The Sylvans that about the neighbouring woods did dwell,</div> +<div>Both in the tufty frith and in the mossy fell,</div> +<div>Forsook their gloomy bowers, and wandered far abroad,</div> +<div>Expelled their quiet seats, and place of their abode,</div> +<div>When labouring carts they saw to hold their daily trade,</div> +<div>Where they in summer wont to sport them in the shade.</div> +<div>"Could we," say they, "suppose that any would us cherish</div> +<div>Which suffer every day the holiest things to perish?</div> +<div>Or to our daily want to minister supply?</div> +<div>These iron times breed none that mind posterity.</div> +<div>'Tis but in vain to tell what we before have been,</div> +<div>Or changes of the world that we in time have seen;</div> +<div>When, now devising how to spend our wealth with waste,</div> +<div>We to the savage swine let fall our larding mast,</div> +<div>But now, alas! ourselves we have not to sustain,</div> +<div>Nor can our tops suffice to shield our roots from rain.</div> +<div>Jove's oak, the warlike ash, veined elm, the softer beech,</div> +<div>Short hazel, maple plain, light asp, the bending wych,</div> +<div>Tough holly, and smooth birch, must altogether burn;</div> +<div>What should the builder serve, supplies the forger's turn,</div> +<div>When under public good, base private gain takes hold,</div> +<div>And we, poor woful woods, to ruin lastly sold."</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">GREAT GUNS</div> + +<p>We shall learn later more of this old Sussex industry, but here, in the +heart of St. Leonard's Forest, I might quote also what another old +author, with less invention, says of it. Under the heading of Sussex +manufactures, Thomas Fuller writes, in the <i>Worthies</i>, of great guns:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"It is almost incredible how many are made of the Iron in this County. +Count <i>Gondomer</i> well knew their goodness, when of King James he so +often begg'd the boon to transport them. A Monke of Mentz (some three +hundred years since)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> is generally reputed the first Founder of them. +Surely <i>ingenuity</i> may seem <i>transpos'd</i>, and to have <i>cross'd her +hands</i>, when about the same time a Souldier found out Printing; and it +is questionable which of the two Inventions hath done more good, or more +harm. As for Guns, it cannot be denied, that though most behold them as +<i>Instruments of cruelty</i>; partly, because subjecting <i>valour</i> to +<i>chance</i>; partly, because <i>Guns give no quarter</i> (which the Sword +sometimes doth); yet it will appear that, since their invention, Victory +hath not stood so long a Neuter, and hath been determined with the loss +of fewer lives. Yet do I not believe what Souldiers commonly say, 'that +<i>he was curs'd in his Mother's belly, who is kill'd with a Cannon</i>,' +seeing many prime persons have been slain thereby."</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX IRON WORKS</div> + +<p>Cannon were not, of course, the only articles which the old Sussex +ironmasters contrived. The old railings around St. Paul's were cast in +Sussex; and iron fire-backs were turned out in great numbers. These are +still to be seen in a few of the older Sussex cottages in their original +position. Most curiosity dealers in the country have a few fire-backs on +sale. Iron tombstones one meets with too in a few of the churches and +churchyards in the iron district. There are several at Wadhurst, for +example.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE "LAND SERPENT"</div> + +<p>I have seen grass snakes in plenty in St. Leonard's Forest, and was once +there with a botanist who, the day being fine, killed a particularly +beautiful one; but the Forest is no longer famous, as once it was, for +really alarming reptiles. The year 1614 was the time. A rambler in the +neighbourhood, in August of that year, ran the risk of meeting something +worth running away from; just as John Steel, Christopher Holder, and a +widow woman did. Their story may be read in the Harleian Miscellany. +<i>True and Wonderful</i> is the title of the narrative, <i>A Discourse +relating a strange and monstrous Serpent (or Dragon) lately discovered, +and yet living, to the great Annoyance and divers Slaughters both of Men +and Cattell, by his strong and violent Poyson: In Sussex, two Miles +from</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> <i>Horsam, in a Woode called St. Leonard's Forrest, and thirtie Miles +from London, this present Month of August, 1614. With the true +Generation of Serpents.</i> The discourse runs thus:—"In Sussex, there is +a pretty market-towne, called Horsam, neare unto it a forrest, called +St. Leonard's Forrest, and there, in a vast and unfrequented place, +heathie, vaultie, full of unwholesome shades, and over-growne hollowes, +where this serpent is thought to be bred; but, wheresoever bred, +certaine and too true it is, that there it yet lives. Within three or +four miles compasse, are its usual haunts, oftentimes at a place called +Faygate, and it hath been seene within halfe a mile of Horsam; a wonder, +no doubt, most terrible and noisome to the inhabitants thereabouts. +There is always in his tracke or path left a glutinous and slimie matter +(as by a small similitude we may perceive in a snaile's) which is very +corrupt and offensive to the scent; insomuch that they perceive the air +to be putrified withall, which must needes be very dangerous. For though +the corruption of it cannot strike the outward part of a man, unless +heated into his blood; yet by receiving it in at any of our breathing +organs (the mouth or nose) it is by authoritie of all authors, writing +in that kinde, mortall and deadlie, as one thus saith:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"<i>Noxia serpentum est admixto sanguine pestis.</i>—<span class="smcap">Lucan</span>.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"This serpent (or dragon, as some call it) is reputed to be nine feete, +or rather more, in length, and shaped almost in the forme of an axeltree +of a cart; a quantitie of thickness in the middest, and somewhat smaller +at both endes. The former part, which he shootes forth as a necke, is +supposed to be an elle long; with a white ring, as it were, of scales +about it. The scales along his backe seem to be blackish, and so much as +is discovered under his bellie, appeareth to be red; for I speak of no +nearer description than of a reasonable ocular distance. For coming too +neare it, hath already beene too dearely payd for, as you shall heare +hereafter.</p> + +<p>"It is likewise discovered to have large feete, but the eye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> may be +there deceived; for some suppose that serpents have no feete, but glide +upon certain ribbes and scales, which both defend them from the upper +part of their throat unto the lower part of their bellie, and also cause +them to move much the faster. For so this doth, and rids way (as we call +it) as fast as a man can run. He is of countenance very proud, and at +the sight or hearing of men or cattel, will raise his necke upright, and +seem to listen and looke about, with great arrogancy. There are likewise +on either side of him discovered, two great bunches so big as a large +foote-ball, and (as some thinke) will in time grow to wings; but God, I +hope, will (to defend the poor people in the neighbourhood) that he +shall be destroyed before he grow so fledge.</p> + +<p>"He will cast his venome about four rodde from him, as by woefull +experience it was proved on the bodies of a man and a woman comming that +way, who afterwards were found dead, being poysoned and very much +swelled, but not prayed upon. Likewise a man going to chase it, and as +he imagined, to destroy it with two mastive dogs, as yet not knowing the +great danger of it, his dogs were both killed, and he himselfe glad to +returne with hast to preserve his own life. Yet this is to be noted, +that the dogs were not prayed upon, but slaine and left whole: for his +food is thought to be, for the most part, in a conie-warren, which he +much frequents; and it is found much scanted and impaired in the +encrease it had woont to afford.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SIGNED AND WITNESSED</div> + +<p>"These persons, whose names are hereunder printed, have seene this +serpent, beside divers others, as the carrier of Horsam, who lieth at +the White Horse in Southwarke, and who can certifie the truth of all +that has been here related.</p> + +<p class="right">John Steele. <br /> +Christopher Holder. <br /> +And a Widow Woman<br /> +dwelling nere Faygate." </p> + +<p>It would be very interesting to know what John Steele,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> Christopher +Holder, and the widow woman really saw. Such a story must have had a +basis of some kind. A printed narrative such as this would hardly have +proceeded from a clear sky.</p> + +<p>St. Leonard's Forest has another familiar; for there the headless +horseman rides, not on his own horse, but on yours, seated on the +crupper with his ghostly arms encircling your waist. His name is +Powlett, but I know no more, except that his presence is an additional +reason why one should explore the forest on foot.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX NIGHTINGALES</div> + +<p>Sussex, especially near the coast, is naturally a good nightingale +country. Many of the birds, pausing there after their long journey at +the end of April, do not fly farther, but make their home where they +first alight. I know of one meadow and copse under the north escarpment +of the Downs where three nightingales singing in rivalry in a triangle +(the perfect condition) can be counted upon in May, by night, and often +by day too, as surely as the rising and setting of the sun. But in St. +Leonard's Forest the nightingale never sings. American visitors who, as +Mr. John Burroughs once did, come to England in the spring to hear the +nightingale, must remember this.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>WEST GRINSTEAD, COWFOLD AND HENFIELD</h3> + +<blockquote><p>"The Rape of the Lock"—Knepp castle—The Cowfold +brass—Carthusians in Sussex—The Oakendene cricketers—Fourteen +Golden Orioles on Henfield common—A Henfield botanist—Dr. Thomas +Stapleton's merits—A good epitaph—Sussex humour.</p></blockquote> + +<p>West Grinstead is perhaps the most remarkable of the villages on the +line from Horsham to Steyning, by reason of its association with +literature, <i>The Rape of the Lock</i> having been to a large extent +composed beneath a tree in the park. Yet as one walks through this broad +expanse of brake-fern, among which the deer are grazing, with the line +of the Downs, culminating in Chanctonbury Ring, in view, it requires a +severe effort to bring the mind to the consideration of Belinda's loss +and all the surrounding drama of the toilet and the card table. If there +is one thing that would not come naturally to the memory in West +Grinstead park, it is the poetry of Pope.</p> + +<p>The present house, the seat of the Burrells, was built in 1806. It was +in the preceding mansion that John Caryll, Pope's friend, made his home, +moving hither from West Harting, as we have seen. Caryll suggested to +Pope the subject of <i>The Rape of the Lock</i>, the hero of which was his +cousin, Lord Petre. The line:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>This verse to Caryll, Muse, is due,</div> +</div></div> + +<p>is the poet's testimony and thanks. John Gay, who found life a jest, has +also walked amid the West Grinstead bracken.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>West Grinstead church is isolated in the fields, a curiously pretty and +cheerful building, with a very charming porch and a modest shingled +spire rising from its midst. Brasses to members of the Halsham family +are within, and a monument to Captain Powlett, whose unquiet ghost, +hunting without a head, we have just met. Hard by the church is one of +the most attractive and substantial of the smaller manor houses of +Sussex, square and venerable and well-roofed with Horsham stone.</p> + +<p>A mile to the west, in a meadow by the Worthing road, stands the forlorn +fragment of the keep which is all that remains of the Norman stronghold +of Knepp. For its other stones you must seek the highways, the +road-menders having claimed them a hundred years ago. William de Braose, +whom we shall meet at Bramber, built it; King John more than once was +entertained in it; and now it is a ruin. Yet if Knepp no longer has its +castle, it has its lake—the largest in the county, a hundred acres in +extent, a beautiful sheet of water the overflow of which feeds the Adur.</p> + +<p>Within a quarter of a mile of the ruin is the new Knepp Castle, which +was built by Sir Charles Merrik Burrell, son of Sir William Burrell, the +antiquary, whose materials for a history of Sussex on a grand scale, +collected by him for many years, are now in the British Museum. But +Knepp Castle, the new, with all its Holbeins, was destroyed by fire this +1904.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE NELOND BRASS</div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE COWL IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>To the east of the line lies Cowfold, balancing West Grinstead, a +village ranged on either side of a broad road. It is famous chiefly for +possessing, in its very pretty church, the Nelond brass, being the +effigy of Thomas Nelond, Prior of Lewes, who died in 1433. Few brasses +are finer or larger; in length it is nearly ten feet, its state is +practically perfect, and pilgrims come from all quarters to rub it. John +Nelond, in the dress of a Cluniac monk, stands with folded hands beneath +an arch, protected by the Virgin and Child, St. Pancras, and St. Thomas +à Becket. This splendid relic would, perhaps, were ours an ideal +community, be handed over to the keeping of the Carthusian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> monks near +by, in the Monastery of St. Hugh, the commanding building to the south +of Cowfold, whose spire is to the Weald what that of Chichester +Cathedral is to the plain between the Downs and the sea, and whose +Angelus may be heard, on favourable evenings, for many miles. The +Carthusian monks of St. Hugh's lend a very foreign air to the village +when they walk through it. Visitors are encouraged to call at the +porter's gate and explore this huge settlement—often in the very +competent care of an Irish brother; while to suffer an accident anywhere +in the neighbourhood is to be certain of a cordial glass of the +monastery's own Chartreuse.</p> + +<p>It was at Brook Hill, just to the north of Cowfold, that William Borrer, +the ornithologist and the author of <i>The Birds of Sussex</i>, lived and +made many of his interesting observations.</p> + +<p>Near Cowfold is Oakendene, a stronghold of cricket at the beginning of +the last century. William Wood was the greatest of the Oakendene men. He +was the best bowler in Sussex, the art having been acquired as he walked +about his farm with his dog, when he would bowl at whatever he saw and +the dog would retrieve the ball. Borrer of Ditchling, Marchant of Hurst, +Voice of Hand Cross, and Vallance of Brighton, also belonged to the +Oakendene club. Borrer and Vallance played for Brighton against +Marylebone, at Lord's, in 1792, and, when all the betting was against +them, including gold rings and watches, won the match in the second +innings by making respectively 60 and 68 not out. Another player in that +match was Jutten, the fast bowler, who when things were going against +him bowled at his man and so won by fear what he could not compass by +skill. There are too many Juttens on village greens.</p> + +<p>Five miles south of Cowfold is Henfield, separated from Steyning, in the +south-west, by the low-lying meadows through which the Adur runs and +which in winter are too often a sheet of water.</p> + +<p>Henfield consists of the usual street, and a quiet, retired<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> common, +flat and marshy, with a flock of geese, some Scotch firs, and a fine +view of Wolstonbury rising in the east. It was on Henfield common that +Mr. Borrer once saw fourteen Golden Orioles on a thorn bush. Adventures +are to the adventurous, birds to the ornithologist; most of us have +never succeeded in seeing even one Oriole.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">STAPLETON'S MERITS</div> + +<p>William Borrer, the botanist, uncle of the ornithologist, was born in +Henfield and is buried there. In his Henfield garden, in 1860, as many +as 6,600 varieties of plants were growing. Beyond a small memoir on +Lichens, written in conjunction with Dawson Turner, he left no book. +Another illustrious son of Henfield was Dr. Thomas Stapleton, once Canon +of Chichester and one of the founders of the Catholic College of Douay, +of whom it was written, somewhat ambiguously, that he "was a man of mild +demeanour and unsuspected integrity." Fuller has him characteristically +touched off in the <i>Worthies</i>:—"He was bred in New Colledge in Oxford, +and then by the Bishop (Christopherson, as I take it) made Cannon of +Chichester, which he quickly quitted in the first of Queen <i>Elizabeth</i>. +Flying beyond the Seas, he first fixed at <i>Douay</i>, and there commendably +performed the office of <i>Catechist</i>, which he discharged to his +commendation.</p> + +<p>"Reader, pardon an Excursion caused by just <i>Grief</i> and <i>Anger</i>. Many, +counting themselves Protestants in England, do slight and neglect that +<i>Ordinance</i> of <i>God</i>, by which their Religion was <i>set up</i>, and <i>gave +Credit</i> to it in the first <i>Reformation</i>; I mean, CATECHISING. Did not +our <i>Saviour</i> say even to Saint <i>Peter</i> himself, 'Feed my Lambs, feed my +Sheep'? And why <i>Lambs</i> first? 1. Because they were <i>Lambs</i> before they +were <i>Sheep</i>. 2. Because, if they be not fed whilst <i>Lambs</i> they could +never be <i>Sheep</i>. 3. Because <i>Sheep</i> can in some sort feed themselves; +but <i>Lambs</i> (such their tenderness) must either be <i>fed</i> or <i>famished</i>. +Our Stapleton was excellent at this <i>Lamb-feeding</i>."</p> + +<p>An epitaph in Henfield Church is worth copying for its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> quaint mixture +of mythology and theology. It bears upon the death of a lad, Meneleb +Raynsford, aged nine, who died in 1627:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Great Jove hath lost his Gannymede, I know,</div> +<div>Which made him seek another here below—</div> +<div>And finding none—not one—like unto this,</div> +<div>Hath ta'en him hence into eternal bliss.</div> +<div>Cease, then, for thy dear Meneleb to weep,</div> +<div>God's darling was too good for thee to keep:</div> +<div>But rather joy in this great favour given,</div> +<div>A child on earth is made a saint in heaven.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Three miles east of Henfield, and a little to the north, is a farm the +present tenant of which has made an interesting experiment. He found in +the house an old map of the county, and identifying his own estate, +discovered a large sheet of water marked on it. On examining the site he +saw distinct traces of this ancient lake, and at once set about building +a dam to restore it. Water now, once again, fills the hollow, completely +transforming this part of the country, and bringing into it wild duck +and herons as of old. The lake is completely hidden from the +neighbouring roads and is accessible only by field paths, but it is well +worth finding.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A WOODCOCK ON AN OAK</div> + +<p>There once hung in the parlour of Henfield's chief inn—I wonder if it +is there still—a rude etching of local origin, rather in the manner of +Buss's plates to <i>Pickwick</i>, representing an inn kitchen filled with a +jolly company listening uproariously to a fat farmer by the fire, who, +with arm raised, told his tale. Underneath was written, "Mr. West +describing how he saw a woodcock settle on an oak"—a perfect specimen of the Sussex joke.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page135.png" id="page135.png"></a><img src="images/page135.png" width='700' height='552' alt="Church Street, Steyning" /></p> + +<h4><i>Church Street, Steyning.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>STEYNING AND BRAMBER</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Saint Cuthman and his mother—Steyning's architecture—Steyning's +wise passiveness—Bramber castle—A corrupt pocket borough—A +Taxidermist-humorist—Joseph Poorgrass in Sussex—The widow of +Beeding and the Romney—A digression on curio-hunting.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Of great interest and antiquity is Steyning, the little grey and red +town which huddles under the hill four miles to Henfield's south-west.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ADVENTURES OF CUTHMAN</div> + +<p>The beginnings of Steyning are lost in the distance. Its church was +founded, probably in the eighth century, by St. Cuthman, an early +Christian whose adventures were more than usually quaint. He began by +tending his father's sheep, with which occupation his first miracle was +associated. Being called one day to dinner, and having no one to take +his place as shepherd, he drew a circle round the flock with his crook,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +and bade the sheep, in the name of the Lord, not to stray beyond it. The +sheep obeyed, and thenceforward on repeating the same manœuvre he +left them with an easy mind. In course of time his father died, and +Cuthman determined to travel; intense filial piety determined him to +take his aged mother with him. In order to do this he constructed a +wheelbarrow couch, which he partly supported by a cord over his +shoulders. Thus united, mother and son fared forth into the cold world; +which was, however, warmed for them by the watchful interest taken in +Cuthman by a vigilant Providence. One day, for example, the cord of the +barrow broke in a hayfield, where Cuthman, who supplied its place by +elder twigs, was the subject of much ridicule among the haymakers. +Immediately a heavy storm broke over the field, destroying the crop; and +not only then, but ever afterwards in the same field—possibly to this +day—has haymaking been imperilled by a similar storm. So runs the +legend.</p> + +<p>The second occasion on which the cord broke and let down Cuthman's +mother was at Steyning. Cuthman took the incident as a divine intimation +that the time had come to settle, and he thereupon first built for his +mother and himself a hut and afterwards a church. The present church +stands on its site. Cuthman was buried there. So, also, was Ethelwulf, +father of Alfred the Great, whose body afterwards was moved to +Winchester. Alfred the Great had estates at Steyning, as elsewhere in +Sussex.</p> + +<p>While Cuthman was building his church a beam shifted, making a vast +amount of new labour necessary. But as the Saint sorrowfully was +preparing to begin again, a stranger appeared, who pointed out how the +mischief could be repaired in a more speedy manner and with less toil. +Cuthman and his men followed his instructions, and all was quickly well +again. Cuthman thereupon fell on his knees and asked the stranger who he +was. "I am He in whose name thou buildest this temple," he replied, and vanished.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page138.png" id="page138.png"></a><img src="images/page138.png" width='700' height='394' alt="Steyning Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Steyning Church.</i></h4> + +<p>The present church, which stands on the site of St. Cuthman's, is only a +reminder of what it must have been in its best days. When one faces the +curiously chequered square tower, an impression of quiet dignity is +imparted; but a broadside view is disappointing by reason of the high +deforming roof, giving an impression as of a hunched back. (One sees the +same effect at Udimore, in the east of Sussex.) Within are two rows of +superb circular arches, with zigzag mouldings, on massive columns.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">STEYNING AND HISTORY</div> + +<p>Steyning has an importance in English history that is not generally +credited to it. Edward the Confessor gave a great part of the land to +the Abbey at Fécamp, whose church is, or was, the counterpart of +Steyning's. These possessions Harold took away, an act that, among +others, decided William, Duke of Normandy, upon his assailing, and +conquering, course. Steyning should be proud. To have brought the +Conqueror over is at least as worthy as to have come over with him, and +far more uncommon.</p> + +<p>In Church Street stands Brotherhood Hall, a very charming ancient +building, long used as a Grammar School, flanked by overhanging houses, +which, though less imposing, are often more quaint and ingratiating. +Most of Steyning, indeed, is of the past, and the spirit of antiquity is +visibly present in its streets.</p> + +<p>The late Louis Jennings, in his <i>Rambles among the Hills</i>, was +fascinated by the placid air of this unambitious town—as an American +might be expected to be in the uncongenial atmosphere of age and +serenity. "One almost expects," he wrote, "to see a fine green moss all +over an inhabitant of Steyning. One day as I passed through the town I +saw a man painting a new sign over a shop, a proceeding that so aroused +my curiosity that I stood for a minute or two to look on. The painter +filled in one letter, gave a huge yawn, looked up and down two or three +times as if he had lost something, and finally descended from his perch +and disappeared. Five weeks later I passed that way again, and it is a +fact that the same man was at work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> on the same sign. Perhaps when the +reader takes the walk I am about to recommend to his attention—a walk +which comprises some of the finest scenery in Sussex—that sign will be +finished, and the accomplished artist will have begun another; but I +doubt it. There is plenty of time for everything in Steyning." I am told +that Steyning was incensed when this criticism was printed (there was +even talk of an action for libel); but it seems to me that whatever may +have been intended, the words contain more of compliment than censure. +In this hurrying age, it is surely high praise to have one's "wise +passiveness" (as Wordsworth called it) so emphasised. The passage calls +to mind Diogenes requesting, as the greatest of possible boons, that +Alexander the Great would stand aside and not interrupt the sunshine; +only at Steyning would one seek for Diogenes to-day. No commendation of +Steyning in the direction of its enterprise, briskness, smartness, or +any of the other qualities which are now most in fashion, would so +speedily decide a wise man to pitch his tent there as Mr. Jennings' +certificate of inertia.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">STEYNING HARBOUR</div> + +<p>Steyning, if still disposed to stand on its defence, might plead +external influence, beyond the control of man, as an excuse for some of +its interesting placidity. For this curiously inland town was once a +port. In Saxon times (when Steyning was more important than Birmingham), +the Adur was practically an estuary of the sea, and ships came into +Steyning Harbour, or St. Cuthman's Port, as it was otherwise called. +There is notoriously no such quiet spot as a dry harbour town. In those +days, Steyning also had a mint.</p> + +<p>Bramber, a little roadside village less than a mile south-east of +Steyning, also a mere relic of its great days, was once practically on +the coast, for the arm of the sea which narrowed down at Steyning was +here of great breadth, and washed the sides of the castle mound. The +last time I came into Steyning was by way of the bostel down Steyning +Round Hill. The old place seems more than ever medieval as one descends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +upon it from the height (the best way to approach a town); and sitting +among the wild thyme on the turf I tried to reconstruct in imagination +the scene a thousand years ago, with the sea flowing over the meadows of +the Adur valley, and the masts of ships clustered beyond Steyning +church. Once one had the old prospect well in the mind's eye, the +landscape became curiously in need of water.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page140.png" id="page140.png"></a><img src="images/page140.png" width='700' height='463' alt="Bramber" /></p> + +<h4><i>Bramber.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">BRAMBER</div> + +<p>After rain, Bramber is a pleasant village, but when the dust flies it is +good neither for man nor beast. All that remains of the castle is +crumbling battlement and a wall of the keep, survivals of the renovation +of the old Saxon stronghold by William de Braose, the friend of the +Conqueror and the Sussex founder of the Duke of Norfolk's family. Picnic +parties now frolic among the ruins, and enterprising boys explore the +rank overgrowth in the moat below.</p> + +<p>The castle played no part in history, its demolition being due probably +to gunpowder pacifically fired with a view to obtaining building +materials. But during the Civil War the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> village was the scene of an +encounter between Royalists and Roundheads. A letter from John Coulton +to Samuel Jeake of Rye, dated January 8, 1643-4, thus describes the +event:—"The enemy attempted Bramber bridge, but our brave Carleton and +Evernden with his Dragoons and our Coll.'s horse welcomed them with +drakes and musketts, sending some 8 or 9 men to hell (I feare) and one +trooper to Arundel Castle prisoner, and one of Capt. Evernden's Dragoons +to heaven." A few years later, as we have seen, Charles II. ran a grave +risk at Bramber while on his way to Brighton and safety.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A POCKET BOROUGH</div> + +<p>Bramber was, for many years, a pocket borough of the worst type. George +Spencer, writing to Algernon Sidney after the Bramber election in 1679, +says:—"You would have laughed to see how pleased I seemed to be in +kissing of old women; and drinking wine with handfuls of sugar, and +great glasses of burnt brandy; three things much against the stomach." +In 1768, eighteen votes were polled for one candidate and sixteen for +his rival. One of the tenants, in a cottage valued at about three +shillings a week, refused <i>£</i>1000 for his vote. Bramber remained a pocket +borough until the Reform Bill. William Wilberforce, the abolitionist, +sat for it for some years; there is a story that on passing one day +through the village he stopped his carriage to inquire the name. +"Bramber? Why, that's the place I'm Member for."</p> + +<p>Bramber possesses a humorist in taxidermy, whose efforts win more +attention than the castle. They are to be seen in a small museum in its +single street, the price of admission being for children one penny, for +adults twopence, and for ladies and gentlemen "what they please" +(indicating that the naturalist also knows human nature). In one case, +guinea-pigs strive in cricket's manly toil; in another, rats read the +paper and play dominoes; in a third, rabbits learn their lessons in +school; in a fourth, the last scene in the tragedy of the <i>Babes of the +Wood</i> is represented, Bramber Castle in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> distance strictly +localising the event, although Norfolk usually claims it.</p> + +<p>Isolated in the fields south of Bramber are two of the quaintest +churches in the county—Coombes and Botolphs. Neither has an attendant +village.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page142.png" id="page142.png"></a><img src="images/page142.png" width='700' height='454' alt="Coombes Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Coombes Church.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">JOSEPH POORGRASS IN FACT</div> + +<p>The owl story, which crops up all over the country and is found in +literature in Mr. Hardy's novel <i>Far from the Madding Crowd</i>, the scene +whereof is a hundred miles west of Sussex, has a home also at Upper +Beeding, the little dusty village beyond Bramber across the river. Mr. +Hardy gives the adventure to Joseph Poorgrass; at Beeding, the hero is +one Kiddy Wee. His rightful name was Kidd; but being very small the +village had invented this double diminutive. Lost in the wood he cried +for help, just as Poorgrass did. "Who? who?" asked the owl. "Kiddy Wee +o' Beedin'," was the reply.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A DEALER OUTWITTED</div> + +<p>It was not long ago that a masterpiece was discovered at Beeding, in one +of those unlikely places in which with ironical humour fine pictures so +often hide themselves. It hung in a little general shop kept by an +elderly widow. After passing unnoticed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> or undetected for many years, it +was silently identified by a dealer who happened to be buying some +biscuits. He made a casual remark about it, learned that any value that +might be set upon it was sentimental rather than monetary, and returned +home. He laid the matter before one or two friends, with the result that +they visited Beeding in a party a day or so later in order to bear away +the prize. Outside the shop they held a council of war. One was for +bidding at the outset a small but sufficient sum for the picture, +another for affecting to want something else and leading round to the +picture, and so forth; but in the discussion of tactics they raised +their voices too high, so that a visitor of the widow, sitting in the +room over the shop, heard something of the matter. Suspecting danger, +but wholly unconscious of its nature, she hurried downstairs and warned +her friend of a predatory gang outside who were not to be supplied on +any account with anything they asked for. The widow obeyed blindly. They +asked for tea—she refused to sell it; they asked for biscuits—she set +her hand firmly on the lid; they mentioned the picture—she was a rock. +Baffled, they withdrew; and the widow, now on the right scent, took the +next train to Brighton to lay the whole matter before her landlord. He +took it up, consulted an expert, and the picture was found to be a +portrait of Mrs. Jordan, the work either of Romney or Lawrence.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE FURNITURE SWINDLE</div> + +<p>Furniture is the usual prey of the dealer who lounges casually through +old villages in the guise of a tourist, asking for food or water at old +cottages and farmhouses, and using his eyes to some purpose the while. +Pictures are rare. The search for chests, turned bed-posts, fire-backs, +Chippendale chairs, warming pans, grandfather's clocks, and other +indigenous articles of the old simple homestead which are thought so +decorative in the sophisticated villa and establish the artistic credit +and taste of their new owner, has been prosecuted in Sussex with as much +energy as elsewhere—not only by the professional dealer, but by +amateurs no less unwilling to give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> an ignorant peasant fifteen +shillings for an article which they know to be worth as many pounds. But +suspicion of the plausible furniture collector has, I am glad to say, +begun to spread, and the palmiest days of the spoliation of the country +are probably over. It must not, however, be thought that the peasant is +always the under dog, the amateur the upper. A London dealer informs me +that the planting of spurious antiques in old cottages has become a +recognised form of fraud among less scrupulous members of the trade. An +oak chest bearing every superficial mark of age that a clever workman +can give it (and the profession of wormholer, is now, I believe, +recognised) is deposited in a tumble-down, half-timbered home in a +country village, whose occupant is willing to take a share in the game; +a ticket marked "Ginger-beer; sold Here" is placed in the window, and +the trap is ready. It is almost beyond question that everyone who bids +for this chest, which has, of course, been in the family for +generations, is hoping to get it at a figure much lower than is just; it +is quite certain that whatever is paid for it will be too much. Ugly as +the situation is, I like to think of this biting of the biter.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page145.png" id="page145.png"></a><img src="images/page145.png" width='700' height='594' alt="Chanctonbury Ring" /></p> + +<h4><i>Chanctonbury Ring.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>CHANCTONBURY, WASHINGTON, AND WORTHING</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Chanctonbury Ring—The planter of the beeches—The Gorings—Thomas +Fuller on the Three Shirleys—Ashington's chief—Warminghurst and +the phantasm—Washington—An expensive mug of beer—Findon—A +champion pluralist—Cissbury—John Selden's wit and wisdom—Thomas +à Becket's figs—Worthing's precious climate—Sompting church.</p></blockquote> + +<p>For nothing within its confines is Steyning so famous as for the hill +which rises to the south-west of it—Chanctonbury Ring. Other of the +South Downs are higher, other are more commanding: Wolstonbury, for +example, standing forward from the line, makes a bolder show, and Firle +Beacon daunts the sky with a braver point; but when one thinks of the +South Downs as a whole it is Chanctonbury that leaps first to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +inward eye. Chanctonbury, when all is said, is the monarch of the range.</p> + +<p>The words of the Sussex enthusiast, refusing an invitation to spend a +summer abroad, express the feeling of many of his countrymen:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>For howsoever fair the land,</div> +<div class="i1">The time would surely be</div> +<div>That brought our Wealden blackbird's note</div> +<div class="i1">Across the waves to me.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And howsoever strong the door,</div> +<div class="i1">'Twould never keep at bay</div> +<div>The thought of Fulking's violets,</div> +<div class="i1">The scent of Holmbush hay.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And ever when the day was done,</div> +<div class="i1">And all the sky was still,</div> +<div>How I should miss the climbing moon</div> +<div class="i1">O'er Chanctonbury's hill!</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">CHANCTONBURY RING</div> + +<p>It is Chanctonbury's crown of beeches that lifts it above the other +hills. Uncrowned it would be no more noticeable than Fulking Beacon or a +score of others; but its dark grove can be seen for many miles. In +Wiston House, under the hill, the seat of the Goring family, to whom +belong the hill and a large part of the country that it dominates, is an +old painting of Chanctonbury before the woods were made, bare as the +barest, without either beech or juniper, and the eye does not notice it +until all else in the picture has been examined. The planter of +Chanctonbury's Ring, in 1760, was Mr. Charles Goring of Wiston, who +wrote in extreme old age in 1828 the following lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>How oft around thy Ring, sweet Hill,</div> +<div class="i1">A Boy, I used to play,</div> +<div>And form my plans to plant thy top</div> +<div class="i1">On some auspicious day.</div> +<div>How oft among thy broken turf</div> +<div class="i1">With what delight I trod,</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>With what delight I placed those twigs</div> +<div class="i1">Beneath thy maiden sod.</div> +<div>And then an almost hopeless wish</div> +<div class="i1">Would creep within my breast,</div> +<div>Oh! could I live to see thy top</div> +<div class="i1">In all its beauty dress'd.</div> +<div>That time's arrived; I've had my wish,</div> +<div class="i1">And lived to eighty-five;</div> +<div>I'll thank my God who gave such grace</div> +<div class="i1">As long as e'er I live.</div> +<div>Still when the morning Sun in Spring,</div> +<div class="i1">Whilst I enjoy my sight,</div> +<div>Shall gild thy new-clothed Beech and sides,</div> +<div class="i1">I'll view thee with delight.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Most of the trees on the side of Chanctonbury and its neighbours were +self-sown, children of the clumps which Mr. Goring planted. I might add +that Mr. Charles Goring was born in 1743, and his son, the present Rev. +John Goring, in 1823, when his father was eighty; so that the two lives +cover a period of one hundred and sixty years—true Sussex longevity.</p> + +<p>Wiston House (pronounced Wisson) is a grey Tudor building in the midst +of a wide park, immediately under the hill. The lofty hall, dating from +Elizabeth's reign, is as it was; much of the remainder of the house was +restored in the last century. The park has deer and a lake. The Goring +family acquired Wiston by marriage with the Faggs, and a superb portrait +of Sir John Fagg, in the manner of Vandyck with a fine flavour of +Velasquez, is one of the treasures of the house.</p> + +<p>Before the Faggs came the Shirleys, a family chiefly famous for the +three wonderful brothers, Anthony, Robert, and Thomas.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SIR ANTHONY SHIRLEY</div> + +<p>Fuller, in the <i>Worthies</i>, gives them full space indeed considering that +none was interested in the Church. I cannot do better than quote +him:—"SIR ANTHONY SHIRLEY, second Son to Sir <i>Thomas</i>, set forth from +<i>Plimouth</i>, <i>May</i> the 21st, 1596, in a Ship called the <i>Bevis of +Southampton</i>, attended with six lesser vessels. His design for <i>Saint +Thome</i> was violently diverted by the contagion they found on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> South +Coast of Africa, where the rain did stink as it fell down from the +heavens, and within six hours did turn into magots. This made him turn +his course to <i>America</i>, where he took and kept the city of <i>St. Jago</i> +two days and nights, with two hundred and eighty men (whereof eighty +were wounded in the service), against three thousand <i>Portugalls</i>.</p> + +<p>"Hence he made for the Isle of <i>Fuego</i>, in the midst whereof a +Mountaine, Ætna-like, always burning; and the wind did drive such a +shower of ashes upon them, that one might have wrote his name with his +finger on the upper deck. However, in this fiery Island, they furnished +themselves with good water, which they much wanted.</p> + +<p>"Hence he sailed to the Island of <i>Margarita</i>, which to him did not +answer its name, not finding here the <i>Perl Dredgers</i> which he expected. +Nor was his gaine considerable in taking the Town of <i>Saint Martha</i>, the +Isle and chief town of <i>Jamaica</i>, whence he sailed more than <i>thirty</i> +leagues up the river <i>Rio-dolci</i>, where he met with great extremity.</p> + +<p>"At last, being diseased in person, distressed for victuals, and +deserted by all his other ships, he made by <i>New-found-land</i> to +<i>England</i>, where he arrived June 15, 1597. Now although some behold his +voyage, begun with more courage then counsel, carried on with more +valour then advice, and coming off with more honour than profit to +himself or the nation (the Spaniard being rather frighted then harmed, +rather braved then frighted therewith); yet unpartial judgments, who +measure not worth by success, justly allow it a prime place amongst the +probable (though not prosperous) English Adventures.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SIR ROBERT SHIRLEY</div> + +<p>"SIR ROBERT SHIRLEY, youngest Son to Sir <i>Thomas</i>, was, by his Brother +<i>Anthony</i>, entred in the <i>Persian</i> Court. Here he performed great +Service against the <i>Turkes</i>, and shewed the difference betwixt +<i>Persian</i> and <i>English</i> Valour; the latter having therein as much +Courage, and more Mercy, giving Quarter to Captives who craved it, and +performing Life to those to whom he promised it. These his Actions drew +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> Envie of the <i>Persian</i> Lords, and Love of the Ladies, amongst whom +one (reputed a Kins-man to the great <i>Sophy</i>) after some Opposition, was +married unto him. She had more of <i>Ebony</i> than <i>Ivory</i> in her +Complexion; yet amiable enough, and very valiant, a quality considerable +in that Sex in those Countries. With her he came over to <i>England</i>, and +lived many years therein. He much affected to appear in <i>forreign +Vestes</i>; and, as if his <i>Clothes</i> were his limbs, accounted himself +never ready till he had something of the Persian Habit about him.</p> + +<p>"At last a Contest happening betwixt him and the Persian Ambassadour (to +whom some reported Sir Robert gave a Box on the Ear) the King sent them +both into <i>Persia</i>, there mutually to impeach one another, and joyned +Doctor <i>Gough</i> (a Senior Fellow of <i>Trinity colledge</i> in <i>Cambridge</i>) in +commission with Sir Robert. In this Voyage (as I am informed) both died +on the Seas, before the controverted difference was ever heard in the +Court of <i>Persia</i>, about the beginning of the Reign of King <i>Charles</i>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SIR THOMAS SHIRLEY</div> + +<p>"Sir THOMAS SHIRLEY, I name him the last (though the eldest Son of his +Father) because last appearing in the world, men's <i>Activity</i> not always +observing the method of their <i>Register</i>. As the Trophies of <i>Miltiades</i> +would not suffer <i>Themistocles</i> to sleep; so the Atchievements of his +two younger brethren gave an Alarum unto his spirit. He was ashamed to +see them worne like Flowers 'in the <i>Breasts</i> and <i>Bosomes</i> of forreign +Princes, whilst he himself withered upon the stalk he grew on'. This +made him leave his aged Father and fair Inheritance in this <i>County</i>, +and to undertake <i>Sea Voyages</i> into forreign parts, to the great +<i>honour</i> of his <i>Nation</i>, but small <i>inriching</i> of <i>himself</i>; so that he +might say to his Son, as <i>Æneas</i> to <i>Æscanius</i>:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'Disce, puer, Virtutem ex me verumque Laborem,</div> +<div>Fortunam ex aliis.'</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>'Virtue and Labour learn from me thy Father,</div> +<div>As for Success, Child, learn from others rather.'</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>"As to the generall performance of these <i>three brethren</i>, I know the +<i>Affidavit</i> of a Poet carrieth but a small credit in the <i>court of +History</i>; and the <i>Comedy</i> made of them is but a <i>friendly foe</i> to their +Memory, as suspected more accomodated to please the present spectators, +then inform posterity. However, as the belief of Mitio (when an +<i>Inventory</i> of his adopted <i>Sons misdemeanours</i> was brought unto him) +embraced a middle and moderate way, <i>nec omnia credere nec nihil</i>, +neither to <i>believe all things nor nothing</i> of what was told him: so in +the <i>list of their Atchievements</i> we may safely pitch on the same +proportion, and, when abatement is made for <i>poeticall embelishments</i>, +the remainder will speak them Worthies in their generations."—Such were +the three Shirleys.</p> + +<p>Wiston church, which shelters under the eastern wall of the house, +almost leaning against it, has some interesting tombs.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BIOHCHANDOUNE</div> + +<p>Walking west from Wiston we come to the tiny hamlet of Buncton, one of +the oldest settlements in Sussex, a happy hunting ground for excavators +in search of Roman remains, and possessing in Buncton chapel a quaint +little Norman edifice. The word Buncton is a sign of modern carelessness +for beautiful words: the original Saxon form was "Biohchandoune," which +is charming.</p> + +<p>Buncton belongs to Ashington, two miles to the north-west on the +Worthing road, a quiet village with a fifteenth-century church (a mere +child compared with Buncton Chapel) and a famous loss. The loss is +tragic, being no less than that of the parish register containing a full +and complete account, by Ashington's best scribe, of a visit of Good +Queen Bess to the village in 1591. A destroyed church may be built +again, but who shall restore the parish register? The book, however, is +perhaps still in existence, for it was deliberately stolen, early in the +eighteenth century, by a thief who laid his plans as carefully as did +Colonel Blood in his attack on the regalia, abstracting the volume from +a cupboard in the rectory, through a hole which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> he made in the outside +wall. No interest in the progress of Queen Elizabeth prompted him: the +register was taken during the hearing of a law suit in order that its +damning evidence might not be forthcoming.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WILLIAM PENN IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>While at Ashington we ought to see Warminghurst, only a mile distant, +once the abode of the Shelleys, and later of William Penn, who bought +the great house in 1676. One of his infant children is buried at +Coolham, close by, where he attended the Quakers' meeting and where +services are still held. The meeting-house was built of timber from one +of Penn's ships.</p> + +<p>A later owner than Penn, James Butler, rebuilt Warminghurst and +converted a large portion of the estate into a deer park; but it was +thrown back into farm land by one of the Dukes of Norfolk, while the +house was destroyed, the deer exiled, and the lake drained. Perhaps it +was time that the house came down, for in the interim it had been +haunted; the ghost being that of the owner of the property, who one day, +although far distant, was seen at Warminghurst by two persons and +afterwards was found to have died at the time of his appearance. +Warminghurst in those days of park and deer, lake and timber (it had a +chestnut two hundred and seventy years old), might well be the first +spot to which an enfranchised spirit winged its way.</p> + +<p>From Warminghurst is a road due south, over high sandy heaths, to +Washington, which, unassuming as it is, may be called the capital of a +large district of West Sussex that is unprovided with a railway. +Steyning, five miles to the east, Amberley, seven miles to the west, and +West Worthing, eight miles to the south, on the other side of the Downs, +are the nearest stations. In the midst of this thinly populated area +stands Washington, at the foot of the mountain pass that leads to +Findon, Worthing and the sea. It was once a Saxon settlement (Wasa inga +tun, town of the sons of Wasa); it is now derelict, memorable only as a +baiting place for man and beast. But there are few better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> spots in the +country for a modest contented man to live and keep a horse. Rents are +low, turfed hills are near, and there is good hunting.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A COSTLY QUART</div> + +<p>The church, which was restored about fifty years ago, but retains its +Tudor tower, stands above the village. In 1866 three thousand pennies of +the reign of Edward the Confessor and Harold were turned up by a plough +in this parish, and, says Mr. Lower, were held so cheaply by their +finders that half a pint measure of them was offered at the inn by one +man in exchange for a quart of beer. Possibly Mr. Hilaire Belloc would +not think the price excessive, for I find him writing, in a "Sussex +Drinking Song":</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>They sell good beer at Haslemere</div> +<div class="i1">And under Guildford Hill;</div> +<div>At little Cowfold, as I've been told,</div> +<div class="i1">A beggar may drink his fill.</div> +<div>There is a good brew in Amberley too,</div> +<div class="i1">And by the Bridge also;</div> +<div>But the swipes they take in at the Washington Inn</div> +<div class="i1">Is the very best beer I know.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The white road to Worthing from Washington first climbs the hills and +then descends steadily to the sea. The first village is Findon, three +miles distant, but one passes on the way two large houses, Highden and +Muntham. Muntham, which was originally a shooting box of Viscount +Montagu, lord of Cowdray, was rebuilt in the nineteenth century by an +eccentric traveller in the East, named Frankland, a descendant of Oliver +Cromwell, who, settling at home again, gave up his time to collecting +mechanical appliances.</p> + +<p>Findon is a pleasant little village at the bottom of the valley, the +home of the principal Sussex training stable, which has its galloping +course under Cissbury. Training stables may be found in many parts of +the Downs, but the Sussex turf has not played the same part in the +making of race horses as that of Hampshire and Berkshire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>Lady Butler painted the background of her picture of Balaclava at +Findon, the neighbourhood of which curiously resembles in configuration +the Russian battlefield.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A FINISHED PLURALIST</div> + +<p>The rector of Findon in 1276, Galfridus de Aspall, seems to have brought +the art of pluralising to a finer point than most. In addition to being +rector of Findon, he had, Mr. Lower tells us, a benefice in London, two +in the diocese of Lincoln, one in Rochester, one in Hereford, one in +Coventry, one in Salisbury, and seven in Norwich. He was also Canon of +St. Paul's and Master of St. Leonard's Hospital at York.</p> + +<p>Above Findon on the south-east rises Cissbury, one of the finest of the +South Downs, but, by reason of its inland position, less noticeable than +the hills on the line. There have been many conjectures as to its +history. The Romans may have used it for military purposes, as certainly +they did for the pacific cultivation of the grape, distinct terraces as +of a vineyard being still visible; traces of a factory of flint arrow +heads have been found (giving it the ugly name of the "Flint +Sheffield"); while Cissa, lord of Chichester, may have had a bury or +fort there. Mr. Lower's theory is that the earthworks on the summit, +whatever their later function, were originally religious, and probably +druidical.</p> + +<p>Salvington (a little village which is gained by leaving the main road +two miles beyond Cissbury and bearing to the west) is distinguished as +the birthplace, in 1584, of one who was considered by Hugo Grotius to be +the glory of the English nation—John Selden. Nowadays, when we choose +our glories among other classes of men than jurists and wits, it is more +than possible for even cultured persons who are interested in books to +go through life very happily without knowledge at all of this great man, +the friend of great men and the writer best endowed with common sense of +any of his day. From Selden's <i>Table Talk</i> I take a few passages on the +homelier side, to be read at Salvington:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN SELDEN'S WISDOM</div> + +<blockquote><p class="center"><br /><br /><br /><br />FRIENDS.</p> + +<p>Old Friends are best. King James used to call for his old Shoes; +they were easiest for his Feet.</p> + +<p class="center"><br />CONSCIENCE.</p> + +<p>Some men make it a Case of Conscience, whether a Man may have a +Pigeon-house, because his Pigeons eat other Folks' Corn. But there +is no such thing as Conscience in the Business; the Matter is, +whether he be a Man of such Quality, that the State allows him to +have a Dove-house; if so, there's an end of the business; his +Pigeons have a right to eat where they please themselves.</p> + +<p class="center"><br />CHARITY.</p> + +<p>Charity to Strangers is enjoin'd in the Text. By Strangers is there +understood those that are not of our own Kin, Strangers to your +Blood; not those you cannot tell whence they come; that is, be +charitable to your Neighbours whom you know to be honest poor +People.</p> + +<p class="center"><br />CEREMONY.</p> + +<p>Ceremony keeps up all things: 'Tis like a Penny-Glass to a rich +Spirit, or some excellent Water; without it the Water were spilt, +the Spirit lost.</p> + +<p>Of all people Ladies have no reason to cry down Ceremony, for they +take themselves slighted without it. And were they not used with +Ceremony, with Compliments and Addresses, with Legs and Kissing of +Hands, they were the pitifullest Creatures in the World. But yet +methinks to kiss their Hands after their Lips, as some do, is like +little Boys, that after they eat the apple, fall to the Paring, out +of a Love they have to the Apple.</p> + +<p class="center"><br />RELIGION.</p> + +<p>Religion is like the Fashion: one Man wears his Doublet slashed, +another laced, another plain; but every Man has a Doublet. So every +man has his Religion. We differ about Trimming.</p> + +<p>Alteration of Religion is dangerous, because we know not where it +will stay: 'tis like a <i>Millstone</i> that lies upon the top of a pair +of Stairs; 'tis hard to remove it, but if once it be thrust off the +first Stair, it never stays till it comes to the bottom.</p> + +<p>We look after Religion as the Butcher did after his Knife, when he +had it in his Mouth.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><br />WIT.</p> + +<p>Nature must be the ground-work of Wit and Art; otherwise whatever +is done will prove but Jack-pudding's work.</p> + +<p class="center"><br />WIFE.</p> + +<p>You shall see a Monkey sometime, that has been playing up and down +the Garden, at length leap up to the top of the Wall, but his Clog +hangs a great way below on this side: the Bishop's Wife is like +that Monkey's Clog; himself is got up very high, takes place of the +Temporal Barons, but his Wife comes a great way behind.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Selden's father was a small farmer who played the fiddle well. The boy +is said at the age of ten to have carved over the door a Latin distich, +which, being translated, runs:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Walk in and welcome, honest friend; repose.</div> +<div>Thief, get thee gone! to thee I'll not unclose.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">SAINT THOMAS'S FIGS</div> + +<p>Between Salvington and Worthing lies Tarring, noted for its fig gardens. +It is a fond belief that Thomas à Becket planted the original trees from +which the present Tarring figs are descended; and there is one tree +still in existence which tradition asserts was set in the earth by his +own hand. Whether this is possible I am not sufficiently an +arboriculturist to say; but Becket certainly sojourned often in the +Archbishop of Canterbury's palace in the village. The larger part of the +present fig garden dates from 1745. I have seen it stated that during +the season a little band of <i>becca ficos</i> fly over from Italy to taste +the fruit, disappearing when it is gathered; but a Sussex ornithologist +tells me that this is only a pretty story.</p> + +<p>The fig gardens are perhaps sufficient indication that the climate of +this part of the country is very gentle. It is indeed unique in +mildness. There is a little strip of land between the sea and the hills +whose climatic conditions approximate to those of the Riviera: hence, in +addition to the success of the Tarring fig gardens, Worthing's fame for +tomatoes and other fruit. I cannot say when the tomato first came to the +English<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> table, but the first that I ever saw was at Worthing, and +Worthing is now the centre of the tomato-growing industry. Miles of +glass houses stretch on either side of the town.</p> + +<p>Worthing (like Brighton and Bognor) owed its beginning as a health +resort to the house of Guelph, the visit of the Princess Amelia in 1799 +having added a <i>cachet</i>, previously lacking, to its invigorating +character. But, unlike Brighton, neither Worthing nor Bognor has +succeeded in becoming quite indispensable. Brighton has the advantage +not only of being nearer London but also nearer the hills. One must walk +for some distance from Worthing before the lonely highland district +between Cissbury and Lancing Clump is gained, whereas Brighton is partly +built upon the Downs and has her little Dyke Railway to boot. But the +visitor to Worthing who, surfeited of sea and parade, makes for the hill +country, knows a solitude as profound as anything that Brighton's +heights can give him.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER"</div> + +<p>Worthing has at least two literary associations. It was there that that +most agreeable comedy <i>The Importance of Being Earnest</i> was written: the +town even gave its name to the principal character—John Worthing; and +it was there that Mr. Henley lived while the lyrics in <i>Hawthorn and +Lavender</i> were coming to him. The beautiful dedication to the book is +dated "Worthing, July 31, 1901."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ask me not how they came,</div> +<div>These songs of love and death,</div> +<div>These dreams of a futile stage,</div> +<div>These thumb-nails seen in the street:</div> +<div>Ask me not how nor why,</div> +<div>But take them for your own,</div> +<div>Dear Wife of twenty years,</div> +<div>Knowing—O, who so well?—</div> +<div>You it was made the man</div> +<div>That made these songs of love,</div> +<div>Death, and the trivial rest:</div> +<div>So that, your love elsewhere,</div> +<div>These songs, or bad or good—</div> +<div>How should they ever have been?</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page153.png" id="page153.png"></a><img src="images/page153.png" width='700' height='479' alt="Sompting" /></p> + +<h4><i>Sompting.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">SOMPTING</div> + +<p>Of the villages to the west we have caught glimpses in an earlier +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">chapter</a>—Goring, Angmering, Ferring, and so forth; to the north and east +are Broadwater, Sompting and Lancing. Broadwater is perhaps a shade too +near Worthing to be interesting, but Sompting, lying under the Downs, is +unspoiled, with its fascinating church among the elms and rocks. The +church (of which Mr. Griggs has made an exquisite drawing) was built +nearly eight hundred years ago. Within are some curious fragments of +sculpture, and a tomb which Mr. Lower considered to belong to Richard +Bury, Bishop of Chichester in the reign of Henry VIII. East of Sompting +lie the two Lancings, North Lancing on the hill, South Lancing on the +coast. East of North Lancing, the true village, stands Lancing College, +high above the river, with its imposing chapel, a landmark in the valley +of the Adur and far out to sea.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page157.png" id="page157.png"></a><img src="images/page157.png" width='454' height='700' alt="Lancing" /></p> + +<h4><i>Lancing.</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>BRIGHTON</h3> + +<blockquote><p>A decline in interest—The storied past of Brighton—Dr. Russell's +discovery—The First Gentleman in Europe—The resources of the +Steyne—Promenade Grove—A loyal journalist—The Brighton +bathers—Smoaker and Martha Gunn—The Prince and cricket—The +Nonpareil at work—Byron at Brighton—Hazlitt's observation—Horace +Smith's verses—Sidney Smith on the M.C.—Captain Tattersall—Pitt +and the heckler—Dr. Johnson in the sea—Mrs. Pipchin and Dr. +Blimber—The Brighton fishermen—Richard Jefferies on the town—The +Cavalier—Mr. Booth's birds—Old Pottery.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Brighton is interesting only in its past. To-day it is a suburb, a lung, +of London; the rapid recuperator of Londoners with whom the pace has +been too severe; the Mecca of day-excursionists, the steady friend of +invalids and half-pay officers. It is vast, glittering, gay; but it is +not interesting.</p> + +<p>To persons who care little for new towns the value of Brighton lies in +its position as the key to good country. In a few minutes one can travel +by train to the Dyke, and leaving booths and swings behind, be free of +miles of turfed Down or cultivated Weald; in a few minutes one can reach +Hassocks, the station for Wolstonbury and Ditchling Beacon; in a few +minutes one can gain Falmer and plunge into Stanmer Park; or, travelling +to the next station, correct the effect of Brighton's hard brilliance +amid the soothing sleepinesses of Lewes; in a few minutes on the western +line one can be at Shoreham, amid ship-builders and sail-makers, or on +the ramparts of Bramber Castle, or among the distractions of Steyning +cattle market, with Chanctonbury<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> Ring rising solemnly beyond. Brighton, +however, knows little of these homes of peace, for she looks only out to +sea or towards London.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BRIGHTON'S STORIED PAST</div> + +<p>Brighton was, however, interesting a hundred years ago; when the +Pavilion was the favourite resort of the First Gentleman in Europe +(whose opulent charms, preserved in the permanency of mosaic, may be +seen in the Museum); when the Steyne was a centre of fashion and folly; +coaches dashed out of Castle Square every morning and into Castle Square +every evening; Munden and Mrs. Siddons were to be seen at one or other +of the theatres; Martha Gunn dipped ladies in the sea; Lord Frederick +Beauclerck played long innings on the Level; and Mr. Barrymore took a +pair of horses up Mrs. Fitzherbert's staircase and could not get them +down again without the assistance of a posse of blacksmiths.</p> + +<p>Brighton was interesting then, reposing in the smiles of the Prince of +Wales and his friends. But it is interesting no more,—with the Pavilion +a show place, the Dome a concert hall, the Steyne an enclosure, Martha +Gunn in her grave, the Chain Pier a memory, Mrs. Fitzherbert's house the +headquarters of the Young Men's Christian Association, and the Brighton +road a racing track for cyclists, motor cars and walking stockbrokers. +Brighton is entertaining, salubrious, fashionable, what you will. Its +interest has gone.</p> + +<p>The town's rise from Brighthelmstone (pronounced Brighton) a fishing +village, to Brighton, the marine resort of all that was most dashing in +English society, was brought about by a Lewes doctor in the days when +Lewes was to Brighton what Brighton now is to Lewes. This doctor was +Richard Russell, born in 1687, who, having published in 1750 a book on +the remedial effects of sea water, in 1754 removed to Brighton to be +able to attend to the many patients that were flocking thither. That +book was the beginning of Brighton's greatness. The seal was set upon it +in 1783, when the Prince of Wales, then a young man just one and twenty, +first visited the town.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">LE PRINCE S'AMUSE</div> + +<p>The Prince's second visit to Brighton was in July 1784. He then stayed +at the house engaged for him by his cook, Louis Weltje, which, when he +decided to build, became the nucleus of the Pavilion. The Prince at this +time (he was now twenty-two) was full of spirit and enterprise, and in +the company of Colonel Hanger, Sir John Lade of Etchingham, and other +bloods, was ready for anything: even hard work, for in July 1784 he rode +from Brighton to London and back again, on horse-back, in ten hours. One +of his diversions in 1785 is thus described in the Press: "On Monday, +June 27, His Royal Highness amused himself on the Steyne for some time +in attempting to <i>shoot doves with single balls</i>; but with what result +we have not heard, though the Prince is esteemed a most excellent shot, +and seldom presents his piece without doing some execution. The Prince, +in the course of his diversion, either by design or accident, <i>lowered +the tops of several of the chimneys of the Hon. Mr. Windham's house</i>." +The Prince seemed to live for the Steyne. When the first scheme of the +Pavilion was completed, in 1787, his bedroom in it was so designed that +he could recline at his ease and by means of mirrors watch everything +that was happening on his favourite promenade.</p> + +<p>The Prince was probably as bad as history states, but he had the quality +of his defects, and Brighton was the livelier for the presence of his +friends. Lyme Regis, Margate, Worthing, Lymington, Bognor—these had +nothing to offer beyond the sea. Brighton could lay before her guests a +thousand odd diversions, in addition to concerts, balls, masquerades, +theatres, races. The Steyne, under the ingenious direction of Colonel +Hanger, the Earl of Barrymore, and their associates, became an arena for +curious contests. Officers and gentlemen, ridden by other officers and +gentlemen, competed in races with octogenarians. Strapping young women +were induced to run against each other for a new smock or hat. Every +kind of race was devised, even to walking backwards; while a tame stag +was occasionally liberated and hunted to refuge.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">AN EARTHLY PARADISE</div> + +<p>To the theatre came in turn all the London players; and once the +mysterious Chevalier D'Eon was exhibited on its stage in a fencing bout +with a military swordsman. The Promenade Grove, which covered part of +the ground between New Road, the Pavilion, North Street and Church +Street, was also an evening resort in fine weather (and to read about +Brighton in its heyday is to receive an impression of continual fine +weather, tempered only by storms of wind, such as never failed to blow +when Rowlandson and his pencil were in the town, to supply that robust +humorist with the contours on which his reputation was based). The Grove +was a marine Ranelagh. Masquers moved among the trees, orchestras +discoursed the latest airs, rockets soared into the sky. In the county +paper for October 1st, 1798, I find the following florid reference to a +coming event in the Grove:—"The glittering Azure and the noble Or of +the peacock's wings, under the meridian sun, cannot afford greater +exultation to that bird, than some of our beautiful belles of fashion +promise themselves, from a display of their captivating charms at the +intended masquerade at Brighton to-morrow se'nnight."</p> + +<p>In another issue of the paper for the same year are some extempore lines +on Brighton, dated from East Street, which end thus ecstatically:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Nature's ever bounteous hand</div> +<div>Sure has bless'd this happy land.</div> +<div>'Tis here no brow appears with care,</div> +<div>What would we be, but what we are?</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Before leaving this genial county organ I must quote from a paragraph in +1796 on the Prince himself:—"The following couplet of Pope may be fitly +applied to his Royal Highness:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>If to his share some manly errors fall,</div> +<div>Look on his face and you'll forget them all."</div> +</div></div> + +<p>What could be kinder? A little earlier, in a description of these +anodyne features, the journalist had said of his Royal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>Highness's "arch +eyes," that they "seem to look more ways than one at a time, and +especially when they are directed towards the fair sex."</p> + +<p>Quieter and more normal pastimes were gossip at the libraries, riding +and driving, and bathing in the sea. Bathing seems to have been taken +very seriously, with none of the present matter-of-course haphazardness. +In an old Guide to Brighton, dated 1794, I find the following +description of the intrepid dippers of that day:—"It may not be +improper here to introduce a short account of the manner of bathing in +the sea at Brighthelmston. By means of a hook-ladder the bather ascends +the machine, which is formed of wood, and raised on high wheels; he is +drawn to a proper distance from the shore, and then plunges into the +sea, the guides attending on each side to assist him in recovering the +machine, which being accomplished, he is drawn back to shore. The guides +are strong, active, and careful; and, in every respect, adapted to their +employments."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"SMOAKER"</div> + +<div class="sidenote">MARTHA GUNN</div> + +<p>Chief of the bathing women for many years was Martha Gunn, whose +descendants still sell fish in the town; chief among the men was the +famous Smoaker (his real name, John Miles) the Prince of Wales's +swimming tutor. There is a story of his pulling the Prince back by the +ear, when he had swum out too far against the old man's instructions; +while on another occasion, when the sea was too rough for safety, he +placed himself in front of his obstinate pupil in a fighting attitude, +with the words, "What do you think your father would say to me if you +were drowned? He would say, 'This is all owing to you, Smoaker. If you'd +taken proper care of him, Smoaker, poor George would still be alive.'" +Another of the pleasant stories of the Prince refers to Smoaker's +feminine correlative—Martha Gunn. One day, being in the act of +receiving an illicit gift of butter in the pavilion kitchen just as the +Prince entered the room, she slipped the pat into her pocket. But not +quite in time. Talking with the utmost affability, the Prince <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>proceeded +to edge her closer and closer to the great fire, pocket side nearest, +and there he kept her until her sin had found her out and dress and +butter were both ruined. Doubtless his Royal Highness made both good, +for he had all the minor generosities.</p> + +<p>An old book, quoted in Mr. Bishop's interesting volume <i>A Peep into the +Past</i>, gives the following scrap of typical conversation between Martha +and a visitor:—"'What, my old friend, Martha,' said I, 'still queen of +the ocean, still industrious, and busy as ever; and how do you find +yourself'? 'Well and hearty, thank God, sir,' replied she, 'but rather +hobbling. I don't bathe, because I a'nt so strong as I used to be, so I +superintend on the beach, for I'm up before any of 'em; you may always +find me and my pitcher at one exact spot, every morning by six o'clock.' +'You wear vastly well, my old friend, pray what age may you be'? 'Only +eighty-eight, sir; in fact, eighty-nine come next Christmas pudding; +aye, and though I've lost my teeth I can mumble it with as good relish +and hearty appetite as anybody.' 'I'm glad to hear it; Brighton would +not look like itself without you, Martha,' said I. 'Oh, I don't know, +it's like to do without me, some day,' answered she, 'but while I've +health and life, I must be bustling amongst my old friends and +benefactors; I think I ought to be proud, for I've as many bows from +man, woman, and child, as the Prince hisself; aye, I do believe, the +very dogs in the town know me.' 'And your son, how is he'? said I. +'Brave and charming; he lives in East Street; if your honour wants any +prime pickled salmon, or oysters, there you have 'em.'"</p> + +<p>On the Prince's birthday, and on the birthday of his royal brothers, +Brighton went mad with excitement. Oxen were roasted whole, strong beer +ran like water, and among the amusements single-wicket matches were +played. One of the good deeds of the Prince was the making of a cricket +ground. Before 1791, when the Prince's ground was laid out, matches had +been played on the neighbouring hills, or on the Level.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> The Prince's +ground stood partly on the Level as it now is, and partly on Park +Crescent. In 1823, it became Ireland's Gardens, upon whose turf the most +famous cricketers of England played until 1847. In 1848 the Brunswick +ground at Hove was opened, close to the sea, into which the ball was +occasionally hit by Mr. C. I. Thornton. The present Hove ground dates +from 1871. I like to think that George IV., though no great cricketer +himself (he played now and then when young "with great condescension and +affability"), is the true father of Sussex cricket. He may deserve all +that Lamb, Leigh Hunt, and Thackeray said of him, but without his +influence and patronage the history of cricket would be the poorer by +many bright pages.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE NONPAREIL</div> + +<p>Where Montpellier Crescent now stands, was, eighty years ago, the ground +on which Frederick William Lillywhite, the Nonpareil, used to bowl to +gentlemen young or old who were prepared to put down five shillings for +the privilege. Little Wisden acted as a long stop. Lillywhite was the +real creator of round-arm bowling, although Tom Walker of the Hambledon +Club was the pioneer and James Broadbridge an earlier exponent. It was +not until 1828 that round-arm was legalised. "Me bowling, Pilch batting, +and Box keeping wicket—that's cricket," was the old man's dictum; or +"When I bowls and Fuller bats," a variant has it, bowl being pronounced +to rhyme with owl, "then you'll see cricket." He was thirty-five before +he began his first-class career, he bowled fewer than a dozen wides in +twenty-seven years, and his myriad wickets cost only seven runs a-piece.</p> + +<p>Brighton in its palmiest days was practically contained within the +streets that bear boundary names, North Street, East Street, West +Street, and the sea, with the parish church high on the hill. On the +other side of the Steyne were the naked Downs, while the Lewes road and +the London Road were mere thoroughfares between equally bare hills, with +a few houses here and there.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>During the town's most fashionable period, which continued for nearly +fifty years—say from 1785 to 1835—everyone journeyed thither; and +indeed everyone goes to Brighton to-day, although its visitors are now +anonymous where of old they were notorious. I believe that Robert +Browning is the only eminent Englishman that never visited the town. +Perhaps it does little for poets; yet Byron was there as a young man, +much in the company of a charming youth with whom he often sailed in the +Channel, and who afterwards was discovered to be a girl.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HORACE SMITH</div> + +<p>A minor poet, Horace Smith, gives us, in <i>Horace in London</i>, a sprightly +picture of the town in 1813, from which we see that the changes between +now and then are only in externals:—</p> + +<p class="center">BRIGHTON.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Solvitur acris hyems gratâ vice veris.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Now fruitful autumn lifts his sunburnt head,</div> +<div class="i1">The slighted Park few cambric muslins whiten,</div> +<div>The dry machines revisit Ocean's bed,</div> +<div class="i1">And Horace quits awhile the town for <i>Brighton</i>.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The cit foregoes his box at Turnham Green,</div> +<div class="i1">To pick up health and shells with Amphitrite,</div> +<div>Pleasure's frail daughters trip along the Steyne,</div> +<div class="i1">Led by the dame the Greeks call Aphrodite.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Phœbus, the tanner, plies his fiery trade,</div> +<div class="i1">The graceful nymphs ascend Judea's ponies,</div> +<div>Scale the west cliff, or visit the parade,</div> +<div class="i1">While poor papa in town a patient drone is.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Loose trowsers snatch the wreath from pantaloons;</div> +<div class="i1">Nankeen of late were worn the sultry weather in;</div> +<div>But now, (so will the Prince's light dragoons,)</div> +<div class="i1">White jean have triumph'd o'er their Indian brethren.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Here with choice food earth smiles and ocean yawns,</div> +<div class="i1">Intent alike to please the London glutton;</div> +<div>This, for our breakfast proffers shrimps and prawns,</div> +<div class="i1">That, for our dinner, South-down lamb and mutton.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>Yet here, as elsewhere, death impartial reigns,</div> +<div class="i1">Visits alike the cot and the <i>Pavilion</i>,</div> +<div>And for a bribe with equal scorn disdains</div> +<div class="i1">My half a crown, and <i>Baring's</i> half a million.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Alas! how short the span of human pride!</div> +<div class="i1">Time flies, and hope's romantic schemes, are undone;</div> +<div>Cosweller's coach, that carries four inside,</div> +<div class="i1">Waits to take back the unwilling bard to London.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ye circulating novelists, adieu!</div> +<div class="i1">Long envious cords my black portmanteau tighten;</div> +<div>Billiards, begone! avaunt, illegal loo!</div> +<div class="i1">Farewell old Ocean's bauble, glittering Brighton.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Long shalt thou laugh thine enemies to scorn,</div> +<div class="i1">Proud as Phœnicia, queen of watering places!</div> +<div>Boys yet unbreech'd, and virgins yet unborn,</div> +<div class="i1">On thy bleak downs shall tan their blooming faces.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>I believe that the phrase "Queen of Watering Places" was first used in +this poem.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">EXTINCT COURTESY</div> + +<p>An odd glimpse of a kind of manners (now extinct) in Brighton visitors +in its palmy days is given in Hazlitt's <i>Notes of a Journey through +France and Italy</i>. Hazlitt, like his friends the Lambs, when they +visited Versailles in 1822, embarked at Brighton. That was in 1824. He +reached the town by coach in the evening, in the height of the season, +and it was then that the incident occurred to which I have referred. In +Hazlitt's words:—"A lad offered to conduct us to an inn. 'Did he think +there was room?' He was sure of it. 'Did he belong to the inn?' 'No,' he +was from London. In fact, he was a young gentleman from town, who had +been stopping some time at the White-horse Hotel, and who wished to +employ his spare time (when he was not riding out on a blood-horse) in +serving the house, and relieving the perplexities of his +fellow-travellers. No one but a Londoner would volunteer his assistance +in this way. Amiable land of <i>Cockayne</i>, happy in itself, and in making +others happy! Blest exuberance of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>self-satisfaction, that overflows +upon others! Delightful impertinence, that is forward to oblige them!"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LORD OF THE TIDES</div> + +<p>Brighton's decline as a fashionable resort came with the railway. +Coaches were expensive and few, and the number of visitors which they +brought to the town was negotiable; but when trains began to pour crowds +upon the platforms the distinction of Brighton was lost. Society +retreated, and the last Master of Ceremonies, Lieut. Col. Eld, died. It +was of this admirable aristocrat that Sydney Smith wrote so happily in +one of his letters from Brighton: "A gentleman attired <i>point device</i>, +walking down the Parade, like Agag, 'delicately.' He pointed out his +toes like a dancing-master; but carried his head like a potentate. As he +passed the stand of flys, he nodded approval, as if he owned them all. +As he approached the little goat carriages, he looked askance over the +edge of his starched neckcloth and blandly smiled encouragement. Sure +that in following him, I was treading in the steps of greatness, I went +on to the Pier, and there I was confirmed in my conviction of his +eminence; for I observed him look first over the right side and then +over the left, with an expression of serene satisfaction spreading over +his countenance, which said, as plainly as if he had spoken to the sea +aloud, 'That is right. You are low-tide at present; but never mind, in a +couple of hours I shall make you high-tide again.'"</p> + +<p>Beyond its connection with George IV. Brighton has played but a small +part in history, her only other monarch being Charles II., who merely +tarried in the town for awhile on his way to France, in 1651, as we have +seen. The King's Head, in West Street, claims to be the scene of the +merry monarch's bargain with Captain Nicholas Tattersall, who conveyed +him across the Channel; but there is good reason to believe that the inn +was the George in Middle Street, now demolished, but situated on the +site of No. 44. The epitaph on Tattersall in Brighton old parish church +contains the following lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>When Charles ye great was nothing but a breath</div> +<div>This valiant soul stept betweene him and death....</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Which glorious act of his for church and state</div> +<div>Eight princes in one day did gratulate.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The episode of the captain's cautious bargaining with the King, of which +Colonel Gunter tells in the narrative from which I have quoted in an +earlier <a href="#CHAPTER_III">chapter</a>, is carefully suppressed on the memorial tablet.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PHEBE HESSEL</div> + +<p>Another famous Brighton character and friend of George IV. was Phebe +Hessel, who died at the age of 106, and whose tombstone may be seen in +the old churchyard. Phebe had a varied career, for having fallen in love +when only fifteen with Samuel Golding, a private in Kirk's Lambs, she +dressed herself as a man, enlisted in the 5th Regiment of Foot, and +followed him to the West Indies. She served there for five years, and +afterwards at Gibraltar, never disclosing her sex until her lover was +wounded and sent to Plymouth, when she told the General's wife, and was +allowed to follow and nurse him. On leaving hospital Golding married +her, and they lived, I hope happily, together for twenty years. When +Golding died Phebe married Hessel.</p> + +<p>In her old age she became an important Brighton character, and +attracting the notice of the Prince was provided by him with a pension +of eighteen pounds a year, and the epithet "a jolly good fellow." It was +also the Prince's money which paid the stone cutter. When visited by a +curious student of human nature as she lay on her death-bed, Phebe +talked much of the past, he records, and seemed proud of having kept her +secret when in the army. "But I told it to the ground," she added; "I +dug a hole that would hold a gallon and whispered it there." Phebe kept +her faculties to the last, and to the last sold her apples to the +Quality by the sea, returned repartees with extraordinary verve and +contempt for false delicacy, and knew as much of the quality of Brighton +liquor as if she were a soldier in earnest.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>One ought to mention Pitt's visit to Brighton, in 1785, as an historical +event, if only for the proof which it offers that Sussex folk have an +effective if not nimble wit. I use Mr. Bishop's words: "Pitt during his +journey to Brighton, in the previous week, had some experience of +popular feeling in respect of the obnoxious Window Tax. Whilst horses +were being changed at Horsham, he ordered <i>lights</i> for his carriage; and +the persons assembled, learning who was within, indulged pretty freely +in ironical remarks on <i>light</i> and <i>darkness</i>. The only effect upon the +Minister was, that he often laughed heartily. Whilst in Brighton, a +country glove-maker hung about the door of his house on the Steyne; and +when the Minister came out, showed him a <i>hedger's cuff</i>, which he held +in one hand, and a <i>bush</i> in the other, to explain the use of it, and +asked him if the former, being an article he made and sold, was subject +to a <i>Stamp Duty</i>? Mr. Pitt appeared rather struck with the oddity and +bluntness of the man's question, and, mounting his horse, waived a +satisfactory answer by referring him to the <i>Stamp Office</i> for +information."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">DR. JOHNSON IN THE SEA</div> + +<p>Brighton's place in literature makes up for her historical poverty. Dr. +Johnson was the first great man of letters to visit the town. He stayed +in West Street with the Thrales, rode on the Downs and, after his wont, +abused their bareness, making a joke about our dearth of trees similar +to one on the same topic in Scotland. The Doctor also bathed. Mrs. +Piozzi relates that one of the bathing men, seeing him swim, remarked, +"Why, sir, you must have been a stout-hearted gentleman forty years +ago!"—much to the Doctor's satisfaction.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MRS. PIPCHIN'S CASTLE</div> + +<p>It was, I always think, in Hampton Place that Mrs. Pipchin, whose +husband broke his heart in the Peruvian mines, kept her establishment +for children and did her best to discourage Paul Dombey. How does the +description run?</p> + +<blockquote><p>This celebrated Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, +ill-conditioned old lady, of a stooping figure, with a mottled +face, like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye, that +looked as if it might have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> hammered at on an anvil without +sustaining any injury. Forty years at least had elapsed since the +Peruvian mines had been the death of Mr. Pipchin; but his relict +still wore black bombazeen, of such a lustreless, deep, dead, +sombre shade, that gas itself couldn't light her up after dark, and +her presence was a quencher to any number of candles. She was +generally spoken of as "a great manager" of children; and the +secret of her management was, to give them everything that they +didn't like, and nothing that they did—which was found to sweeten +their dispositions very much. She was such a bitter old lady, that +one was tempted to believe there had been some mistake in the +application of the Peruvian machinery, and that all her waters of +gladness and milk of human kindness had been pumped out dry, +instead of the mines.</p> + +<p>The Castle of this ogress and child-queller was in a steep +bye-street at Brighton; where the soil was more than unusually +chalky, flinty, and sterile, and the houses were more than usually +brittle and thin; where the small front-gardens had the +unaccountable property of producing nothing but marigolds, whatever +was sown in them; and where snails were constantly discovered +holding on to the street doors, and other public places they were +not expected to ornament, with the tenacity of cupping-glasses. In +the winter-time the air couldn't be got out of the Castle, and in +the summer-time it couldn't be got in. There was such a continual +reverberation of wind in it, that it sounded like a great shell, +which the inhabitants were obliged to hold to their ears night and +day, whether they liked it or no. It was not, naturally, a +fresh-smelling house; and in the window of the front parlour, which +was never opened, Mrs. Pipchin kept a collection of plants in pots, +which imparted an earthy flavour of their own to the establishment. +However choice examples of their kind, too, these plants were of a +kind peculiarly adapted to the embowerment of Mrs. Pipchin. There +were half-a-dozen specimens of the cactus, writhing round bits of a +lath, like hairy serpents; another specimen shooting out broad +claws, like a green lobster; several creeping vegetables, possessed +of sticky and adhesive leaves; and one uncomfortable flower-pot +hanging to the ceiling, which appeared to have boiled over, and +tickling people underneath with its long green ends, reminded them +of spiders—in which Mrs. Pipchin's dwelling was uncommonly +prolific, though perhaps it challenged competition still more +proudly, in the season, in point of earwigs.</p></blockquote> + +<p>From Mrs. Pipchin's Paul Dombey passed to the forcing-house of Dr. +Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, Miss Blimber and Mr. Feeder, B.A., also at +Brighton, where he met Mr. Toots. "The Doctor's," says Dickens, "was a +mighty fine house, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>fronting the sea. Not a joyful style of house +within, but quite the contrary. Sad-coloured curtains, whose proportions +were spare and lean, hid themselves despondently behind the windows. The +tables and chairs were put away in rows, like figures in a sum; fires +were so rarely lighted in the rooms of ceremony, that they felt like +wells, and a visitor represented the bucket; the dining-room seemed the +last place in the world where any eating or drinking was likely to +occur; there was no sound through all the house but the ticking of a +great clock in the hall, which made itself audible in the very garrets; +and sometimes a dull cooing of young gentlemen at their lessons, like +the murmurings of an assemblage of melancholy pigeons."—Dr. Blimber's +must have been, I think, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Bedford +Hotel.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THACKERAY'S PRAISE</div> + +<p>Among other writers who have found Brighton good to work in I might name +the authors of <i>The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton</i> and <i>A System of +Synthetic Philosophy</i>. Mr. William Black was for many years a familiar +figure on the Kemp Town parade, and Brighton plays a part in at least +two of his charming tales—<i>The Beautiful Wretch</i>, and an early and very +sprightly novel called <i>Kilmeny</i>. Brighton should be proud to think that +Mr. Herbert Spencer chose her as a retreat in which to come to his +conclusions; but I doubt if she is. Thackeray's affection is, however, +cherished by the town, his historic praise of "merry cheerful Dr. +Brighton" having a commercial value hardly to be over-estimated. +Brighton in return gave Thackeray Lord Steyne's immortal name and served +as a background for many of his scenes.</p> + +<p>Although Brighton has still a fishing industry, the spectacle of its +fishermen refraining from work is not an uncommon one. It was once the +custom, I read, and perhaps still is, for these men, when casting their +nets for mackerel or herring, to stand with bare heads repeating in +unison these words: "There they goes then. God Almighty send us a +blessing it is to be hoped." As each barrel (which is attached to every +two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> nets out of the fleet, or 120 nets) was cast overboard they would +cry:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Watch, barrel, watch! Mackerel for to catch,</div> +<div>White may they be, like a blossom on a tree.</div> +<div>God send thousands, one, two, and three,</div> +<div>Some by their heads, some by their tails,</div> +<div>God sends thousands, and never fails.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>When the last net was overboard the master said, "Seas all!" and then +lowered the foremast and laid to the wind. If he were to say, "Last +net," he would expect never to see his nets again.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BRIGHTON'S FAIR DAUGHTERS</div> + +<p>"There are more handsome women in Brighton than anywhere else in the +world," wrote Richard Jefferies some twenty years ago. "They are so +common that gradually the standard of taste in the mind rises, and +good-looking women who would be admired in other places pass by without +notice. Where all the flowers are roses you do not see a rose." (Shirley +Brooks must have visited Brighton on a curiously bad day, for seeing no +pretty face he wrote of it as "The City of the Plain.") Richard +Jefferies, who lived for a while at Hove, blessed also the treelessness +of Brighton. Therein he saw much of its healing virtue. "Let nothing," +he wrote, "cloud the descent of those glorious beams of sunlight which +fall at Brighton. Watch the pebbles on the beach; the foam runs up and +wets them, almost before it can slip back, the sunshine has dried them +again. So they are alternately wetted and dried. Bitter sea and glowing +light, bright clear air, dry as dry—that describes the place. Spain is +the country of sunlight, burning sunlight; Brighton is a Spanish town in +England, a Seville."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PAVILION</div> + +<p>The principal inland attraction of Brighton is still the Pavilion, which +is indeed the town's symbol. On passing through its very numerous and +fantastic rooms one is struck by their incredible smallness. Sidney +Smith's jest (if it were his; I find Wilberforce, the Abolitionist, +saying something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> similar) is still unimproved: "One would think that +St. Paul's Cathedral had come to Brighton and pupped." Cobbett in his +rough and homely way also said something to the point about the Prince's +pleasure-house: "Take a square box, the sides of which are three feet +and a half, and the height a foot and a half. Take a large Norfolk +turnip, cut off the green of the leaves, leave the stalks nine inches +long, tie these round with a string three inches from the top, and put +the turnip on the middle of the top of the box. Then take four turnips +of half the size, treat them in the same way, and put them on the +corners of the box. Then take a considerable number of bulbs of the +crown-imperial, the narcissus, the hyacinth, the tulip, the crocus, and +others; let the leaves of each have sprouted to about an inch, more or +less according to the size of the bulb; put all these, pretty +promiscuously, but pretty thickly, on the top of the box. Then stand off +and look at your architecture."</p> + +<p>To its ordinary museum in the town Brighton has added the collection of +stuffed birds made by the late Mr. E. T. Booth, which he housed in a +long gallery in the road that leads to the Dyke. Mr. Booth, when he shot +a bird in its native haunts, carried away some of its surroundings in +order that the taxidermist might reproduce as far as possible its +natural environment. Hence every case has a value that is missing when +one sees merely the isolated stuffed bird. In one instance realism has +dictated the addition of a clutch of pipit's eggs found on the Bass +Rock, in a nest invisible to the spectator. The collection in the +Natural History Museum at South Kensington is of course more +considerable, and finer, but some of Mr. Booth's cases are certainly +superior, and his collection has the special interest of having been +made by one man.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CRITICISM BY JUG</div> + +<p>Brighton has another very interesting possession in the collection of +old domestic pottery in the museum: an assemblage (the most entertaining +and varied that I know) of jugs and mugs, plates and ornaments, all +English, all quaint and characteristic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> too, and mostly inscribed with +mottoes or decorated with designs in celebration of such events as the +battle of Waterloo, or the discomfiture of Mr. Pitt, or a victory of Tom +Cribb. Others are ceramic satires on the drunkard's folly or the +inconstancy of women. Why are the potters of our own day so dull? +History is still being made, human nature is not less frail; but I see +no genial commentary on jug or dish. Is it the march of Taste?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>ROTTINGDEAN AND WHEATEARS</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Ovingdean—Charles II.—The introduction of Mangel +Wurzel—Rottingdean as a shrine—Mr. Kipling's Sussex poem—Thomas +Fuller on the Wheatear—Mr. Hudson's description of the traps—The +old prosperous days for shepherds—Luring larks—A fight on the +beach—The town that failed.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Beyond Kemp Town's serene and silent line of massive houses is the new +road that leads to Rottingdean. The old road fell into the sea some few +years ago—the fourth or fifth to share that fate. But the pleasantest +way thither is on foot over the turf that tops the white cliffs.</p> + +<p>By diverging inland between Brighton and Rottingdean, just beyond the +most imposing girls' school in the kingdom, Ovingdean is reached, one of +the nestling homesteads of the Downs. It is chiefly known as providing +Harrison Ainsworth with the very pretty title of one of his stories, +<i>Ovingdean Grange</i>. The gallant novelist, however, was a poor historian +in this book, for Charles the Second, as we have seen, never set foot +east of Brighton on the occasion of his journey of escape over the +Sussex Downs. The legend that lodges him at Ovingdean, although one can +understand how Ovingdean must cherish it, cannot stand. (Mock Beggars' +Hall, in the same romance, is Southover Grange at Lewes.)</p> + +<p>Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>Ovingdean is famous +not only for its false association with Charles the Second but as the +burial place of Thomas Pelling, an old-time Vicar, "the first person who +introduced Mangul Wurzel into England."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROTTINGDEAN</div> + +<p>Rottingdean to-day must be very much of the size of Brighton two +centuries ago, before fashion came upon it; but the little village is +hardly likely ever to creep over its surrounding hills in the same way. +The past few years, however, have seen its growth from an obscure and +inaccessible settlement to a shrine. It is only of quite recent date +that a glimpse of Rottingdean has become almost as necessary to the +Brighton visitor as the journey to the Dyke. Had the Legend of the Briar +Rose never been painted; had Mulvaney, Ortheris and Learoyd remained +unchronicled and the British soldier escaped the label "Absent-minded +Beggar," Rottingdean might still be invaded only occasionally; for it +was when, following Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Mr. Rudyard Kipling found +the little white village good to make a home in, that its public life +began. Although Mr. Kipling has now gone farther into the depths of the +county, and the great draughtsman, some of whose stained glass designs +are in the church, is no more, the habit of riding to Rottingdean is +likely, however, to persist in Brighton. The village is quaint and +simple (particularly so after the last 'bus is stabled), but it is +valuable rather as the key to some of the finest solitudes of the Downs, +in the great uninhabited hill district between the Race Course at +Brighton and Newhaven, between Lewes and the sea, than for any merits of +its own. One other claim has it, however, on the notice of the pilgrim: +William Black lies in the churchyard.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"BLUE GOODNESS OF THE WEALD"</div> + +<p>Mr. Kipling, as I have said, has now removed his household gods farther +inland, to Burwash, but his heart and mind must be still among the +Downs. The Burwash country, good as it is, can (I think) never inspire +him to such verse as he wrote in <i>The Five Nations</i> on the turf hills +about his old home:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>No tender-hearted garden crowns,</div> +<div class="i1">No bosomed woods adorn</div> +<div>Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs,</div> +<div class="i1">But gnarled and writhen thorn—</div> +<div>Bare slopes where chasing shadows skim,</div> +<div class="i1">And through the gaps revealed</div> +<div>Belt upon belt, the wooded, dim</div> +<div class="i1">Blue goodness of the Weald.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Clean of officious fence or hedge,</div> +<div class="i1">Half-wild and wholly tame,</div> +<div>The wise turf cloaks the white cliff edge</div> +<div class="i1">As when the Romans came.</div> +<div>What sign of those that fought and died</div> +<div class="i1">At shift of sword and sword?</div> +<div>The barrow and the camp abide,</div> +<div class="i1">The sunlight and the sward.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Here leaps ashore the full Sou'west</div> +<div class="i1">All heavy-winged with brine,</div> +<div>Here lies above the folded crest</div> +<div class="i1">The Channel's leaden line;</div> +<div>And here the sea-fogs lap and cling,</div> +<div class="i1">And here, each warning each,</div> +<div>The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring</div> +<div class="i1">Along the hidden beach.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>We have no waters to delight</div> +<div class="i1">Our broad and brookless vales—</div> +<div>Only the dewpond on the height</div> +<div class="i1">Unfed, that never fails,</div> +<div>Whereby no tattered herbage tells</div> +<div class="i1">Which way the season flies—</div> +<div>Only our close-bit thyme that smells</div> +<div class="i1">Like dawn in Paradise.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Here through the strong and salty days</div> +<div class="i1">The unshaded silence thrills;</div> +<div>Or little, lost, Down churches praise</div> +<div class="i1">The Lord who made the Hills:</div> +<div>But here the Old Gods guard their round,</div> +<div class="i1">And, in her secret heart,</div> +<div>The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found</div> +<div class="i1">Dreams, as she dwells, apart.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">WHEATEARS</div> + +<p>Of old the best wheatear country was above Rottingdean; but the South +Down shepherds no longer have the wheatear money that used to add so +appreciably to their wages in the summer months. A combination of +circumstances has brought about this loss. One is the decrease in +wheatears, another the protection of the bird by law, and a third the +refusal of the farmers to allow their men any longer to neglect the +flocks by setting and tending snares. But in the seventeenth, eighteenth +and early part of the nineteenth centuries, wheatears were taken on the +Downs in enormous quantities and formed a part of every south county +banquet in their season. People visited Brighton solely to eat them, as +they now go to Greenwich for whitebait and to Colchester for oysters.</p> + +<p>This is how Fuller describes the little creature in the +<i>Worthies</i>—"<i>Wheatears</i> is a bird peculiar to this County, hardly found +out of it. It is so called, because fattest when Wheat is ripe, whereon +it feeds; being no bigger than a Lark, which it equalleth in <i>fineness</i> +of the flesh, far exceedeth in the <i>fatness</i> thereof. The worst is, that +being onely seasonable in the heat of summer, and naturally larded with +lumps of fat, it is soon subject to corrupt, so that (though abounding +within <i>fourty</i> miles) <i>London Poulterers</i> have no mind to meddle with +them, which no care in carriage can keep from Putrefaction. That +<i>Palate-man</i> shall pass in silence, who, being seriously demanded his +judgment concerning the abilities of a great <i>Lord</i>, concluded him a man +of very weak parts, '<i>because once he saw him, at a</i> great Feast, <i>feed +on</i> CHICKENS <i>when there were</i> WHEATEARS <i>on the Table</i>.' I will adde no +more in praise of this <i>Bird</i>, for fear some <i>female Reader</i> may fall in +<i>longing</i> for it, and unhappily be disappointed of her desire." A +contemporary of Fuller, John Taylor, from whom I have already quoted, +and shall quote again, thus unscientifically dismisses the wheatear in +one of his doggerel narratives:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Six weeks or thereabouts they are catch'd there,</div> +<div>And are well-nigh 11 months God knows where.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>As a matter of fact, the winter home of the wheatear is Africa.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SHEPHERDS' TRAPS</div> + +<p>The capture of wheatears—mostly illegally by nets—still continues in a +very small way to meet a languid demand, but the Sussex ortolan, as the +little bird was sometimes called, has passed from the bill of fare. +Wheatears (which, despite Fuller, have no connection with ears of wheat, +the word signifying white tail) still abound, skimming over the turf in +little groups; but they no longer fly towards the dinner table. The best +and most interesting description that I know of the old manner of taking +them, is to be found in Mr. W. H. Hudson's <i>Nature in Downland</i>. The +season began in July, when the little fat birds rest on the Downs on +their way from Scotland and northern England to their winter home, and +lasted through September. In July, says Mr. Hudson, the "Shepherds made +their 'coops,' as their traps were called—a <b>T</b>-shaped trench about +fourteen inches long, over which the two long narrow sods cut neatly out +of the turf were adjusted, grass downwards. A small opening was left at +the end for ingress, and there was room in the passage for the bird to +pass through towards the chinks of light coming from the two ends of the +cross passage. At the inner end of the passage a horse-hair springe was +set, by which the bird was caught by the neck as it passed in, but the +noose did not as a rule strangle the bird. On some of the high downs +near the coast, notably at Beachy Head, at Birling Gap, at Seaford, and +in the neighbourhood of Rottingdean, the shepherds made so many coops, +placed at small distances apart, that the Downs in some places looked as +if they had been ploughed. In September, when the season was over, the +sods were carefully put back, roots down, in the places, and the smooth +green surface was restored to the hills."</p> + +<p>On bright clear days few birds would be caught, but in showery weather +the traps would all be full; this is because when the sun is obscured +wheatears are afraid and take refuge under stones or in whatever hole +may offer. The price of each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> wheatear was a penny, and it was the +custom of the persons in the neighbourhood who wanted them for dinner to +visit the traps, take out the birds and leave the money in their place. +The shepherd on returning would collect his gains and reset the traps. +Near Brighton, however, most of the shepherds caught only for dealers; +and one firm, until some twenty years ago, maintained the practice of +giving an annual supper at the end of the season, at which the shepherds +would be paid in the mass for their spoil.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A RECORD BAG</div> + +<p>An old shepherd, who had been for years on Westside Farm near Brighton, +spoke thus, in 1882, as Mr. Borrer relates in his <i>Birds of +Sussex</i>:—"The most I ever caught in one day was thirteen dozen, but we +thought it a good day if we caught three or four dozen. We sold them to +a poulterer at Brighton, who took all we could catch in a season at +18<i>d.</i> a dozen. From what I have heard from old shepherds, it cannot be +doubted that they were caught in much greater numbers a century ago than +of late. I have heard them speak of an immense number being taken in one +day by a shepherd at East Dean, near Beachy Head. I think they said he +took nearly a hundred dozen, so many that they could not thread them on +crow-quills in the usual manner, but he took off his round frock and +made a sack of it to put them into, and his wife did the same with her +petticoat. This must have happened when there was a great flight. Their +numbers now are so decreased that some shepherds do not set up any +coops, as it does not pay for the trouble."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LARK-GLASS</div> + +<p>Although wheatears are no longer caught, the Brighton bird-catcher is a +very busy man. Goldfinches fall in extraordinary plenty to his nets. A +bird-catcher told Mr. Borrer that he once caught eleven dozen of them at +one haul, and in 1860 the annual take at Worthing was 1,154 dozen. Larks +are also caught in great numbers, also with nets, the old system still +practised in France, of luring them with glasses, having become +obsolete. Knox has an interesting description of the lark-glass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> and its +uses:—"A piece of wood about a foot and a half long, four inches deep, +and three inches wide, is planed off on two sides so as to resemble the +roof of a well-known toy, yclept a Noah's ark, but, more than twice as +long. In the sloping sides are set several bits of looking-glass. A long +iron spindle, the lower end of which is sharp and fixed in the ground, +passes freely through the centre; on this the instrument turns, and even +spins rapidly when a string has been attached and is pulled by the +performer, who generally stands at a distance of fifteen or twenty yards +from the decoy. The reflection of the sun's rays from these little +revolving mirrors seems to possess a mysterious attraction for the +larks, for they descend in great numbers from a considerable height in +the air, hover over the spot, and suffer themselves to be shot at +repeatedly without attempting to leave the field or to continue their +course."</p> + +<p>To return to Rottingdean, it was above the village, seven hundred years +ago, that a "sore scrymmysche" occurred between the French and the +Cluniac prior of Lewes. The prior was defeated and captured, but the +nature of his resistance decided the enemy that it was better perhaps to +retreat to their boats. The holy man, although worsted, thus had the +satisfaction of having proved to the King that a Cluniac monk in this +country, was not, as was supposed at court, necessarily on the side of +England's foes, even though they were of his own race.</p> + +<p>According to the scheme of this book, we should now return to Brighton; +but, as I have said, the right use to which to put Rottingdean is as the +starting point for a day among the hills. Once out and above the +village, the world is your own. A conspiracy to populate a part of the +Downs near the sea, a mile or so to the east of Rottingdean, seems +gloriously to have failed, but what was intended may be learned from the +skeleton roads that, duly fenced in, disfigure the turf. They even have +names, these unlovely parallelograms: one is Chatsworth Avenue, and +Ambleside Avenue another.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>SHOREHAM</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Hove the impeccable—The Aldrington of the past—A digression on +seaports—Old Shoreham and history—Mr. Swinburne's poem—A baby +saint—Successful bribery—The Adur—Old Shoreham church and +bridge.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The cliffs that make the coast between Newhaven and Brighton so +attractive slope gradually to level ground at the Aquarium and never +reappear in Sussex on the Channel's edge again, although in the east +they rise whiter and higher, with a few long gaps, all the way to Dover. +It is partly for this reason that the walk from Brighton to Shoreham has +no beauty save of the sea. Hove, which used to be a disreputable little +smuggling village sufficiently far from Brighton for risks to be run +with safety, is now the well-ordered home of wealthy rectitude. Mrs. +Grundy's sea-side home is here. Hove is, perhaps, the genteelest town in +the world, although once, only a poor hundred years ago, there was no +service in the church on a certain Sunday, because, as the clerk +informed the complaisant vicar, "The pews is full of tubs and the pulpit +full of tea"—a pleasant fact to reflect upon during Church Parade amid +the gay yet discreet prosperity of the Brunswick Lawns.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page185.png" id="page185.png"></a><img src="images/page185.png" width='700' height='478' alt="New Shoreham Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>New Shoreham Church.</i></h4> + +<p>West of Hove, and between that town and Portslade-by-Sea, is Aldrington. +Aldrington is now new houses and brickfields. Thirty years ago it was +naught. But five hundred years ago it was the principal township in +these parts, and Brighthelmstone a mere insignificant cluster of hovels. +Centuries earlier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> it was more important still, for, according to some +authorities, it was the Portus Adurni of the Romans. The river Adur, +which now enters the sea between Shoreham and Southwick, once flowed +along the line of the present canal and the Wish Pond, and so out into +the sea. I have seen it stated that the mouth of the river was even more +easterly still—somewhere opposite the Norfolk Hotel at Brighton; but +this may be fanciful and can now hardly be proven. The suggestion, +however, adds interest to a walk on the otherwise unromantic Brunswick +Lawns. In those days the Roman ships, entering the river here, would +sail up as far as Bramber. Between the river and the sea were then some +two miles—possibly more—of flat meadow land, on which Aldrington was +largely built. Over the ruins of that Aldrington the Channel now washes.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LIFE OF A HARBOUR</div> + +<p>Beyond Aldrington is Portslade, with a pretty inland village on the +hill; beyond Portslade is Southwick, notable for its green; and beyond +Southwick is Shoreham. Southwick and Shoreham both have that interest +which can never be wanting to the seaport that has seen better days. The +life of a harbour, whatever its state of decay, is eternally absorbing; +and in Shoreham harbour one gets such life at its laziest. The smell of +tar; the sound of hammers; the laughter and whistling of the loafers; +the continuous changing of the tide; the opening of the lock gates; the +departure of the tug; its triumphant return, leading in custody a +timber-laden barque from the Baltic, a little self-conscious and +ashamed, as if caught red-handed in iniquity by this fussy little +officer; the independent sailing of a grimy steamer bound for Sunderland +and more coal; the elaborate wharfing of the barque:—all these things +on a hot still day can exercise an hypnotic influence more real and +strange than the open sea. The romance and mystery of the sea may indeed +be more intimately near one on a harbour wharf than on the deck of a +liner in mid-ocean.</p> + +<p>Shoreham has its place in history. Thence as we have seen, sailed +Charles II. in Captain Tattersall's <i>Enterprise</i>. Four<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> hundred and +fifty years earlier King John landed here with his army, when he came to +succeed to the English throne. In the reign of Edward III. Shoreham +supplied twenty-six ships to the Navy: but in the fifteenth century the +sea began an encroachment on the bar which disclassed the harbour. It is +now unimportant, most of the trade having passed to Newhaven; but in its +days of prosperity great cargoes of corn and wine were landed here from +the Continent.</p> + +<p>When people now say Shoreham they mean New Shoreham, but Old Shoreham is +the parent. Old Shoreham, however, declined to village state when the +present harbour was made.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MR. SWINBURNE'S POEM</div> + +<p>New Shoreham church, quite the noblest in the county, dates probably +from about 1100. It was originally the property of the Abbey of Saumur, +to whom it was presented, together with Old Shoreham church, by William +de Braose, the lord of Bramber Castle. It is New Shoreham Church which +Mr. Swinburne had in mind (or so I imagine) in his noble poem "On the +South Coast":—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Strong as time, and as faith sublime,—clothed round with shadows of hopes and fears,</div> +<div>Nights and morrows, and joys and sorrows, alive with passion of prayers and tears,—</div> +<div>Stands the shrine that has seen decline eight hundred waxing and waning years.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Tower set square to the storms of air and change of season that glooms and glows,</div> +<div>Wall and roof of it tempest-proof, and equal ever to suns and snows,</div> +<div>Bright with riches of radiant niches and pillars smooth as a straight stem grows.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * * * * * + * * * * *</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Stately stands it, the work of hands unknown of: statelier, afar and near,</div> +<div>Rise around it the heights that bound our landward gaze from the seaboard here;</div> +<div>Downs that swerve and aspire, in curve and change of heights that the dawn holds dear.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>Dawn falls fair on the grey walls there confronting dawn, on the low green lea,</div> +<div>Lone and sweet as for fairies' feet held sacred, silent and strange and free,</div> +<div>Wild and wet with its rills; but yet more fair falls dawn on the fairer sea.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * * * * * + * * * * *</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Rose-red eve on the seas that heave sinks fair as dawn when the first ray peers;</div> +<div>Winds are glancing from sunbright Lancing to Shoreham, crowned with the grace of years;</div> +<div>Shoreham, clad with the sunset, glad and grave with glory that death reveres.</div> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><a name="page188.png" id="page188.png"></a><img src="images/page188.png" width='700' height='413' alt="Old Shoreham Bridge" /></p> + +<h4><i>Old Shoreham Bridge.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">A SHOREHAM EPITAPH</div> + +<p>In the churchyard there was once (and may be still, but I did not find +it) an epitaph on a child of eight months, in the form of a dialogue +between the deceased and its parents. It contained these lines:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"'I trust in Christ,' the blessed babe replied,</div> +<div>Then smil'd, then sigh'd, then clos'd its eyes and died."</div> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><a name="page189.png" id="page189.png"></a><img src="images/page189.png" width='700' height='493' alt="Old Shoreham Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Old Shoreham Church.</i></h4> + +<p>Shoreham's notoriety as a pocket borough—it returned two members to +Parliament, who were elected in the north transept of the church—came +to a head in 1701, when the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> naïve means by which Mr. Gould had proved +his fitness were revealed. It seemed that Mr. Gould, who had never been +to Shoreham before, directed the crier to give notice with his bell that +every voter who came to the King's Arms would receive a guinea in which +to drink Mr. Gould's good health. This fact being made public by the +defeated candidate, Mr. Gould was unseated. At the following election, +such was the enduring power of the original guinea, he was elected +again.</p> + +<p>After the life of the harbour, the chief interest of Shoreham is its +river, the Adur, a yellow, sluggish, shallow stream, of great width near +the town, which at low tide dwindles into a streamlet trickling through +a desert of mud, but at the full has the beauty of a lake. Mr. +Swinburne, in the same poem from which I have been quoting, thus +describes the river at evening:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Skies fulfilled with the sundown, stilled and splendid, spread as a flower that spreads,</div> +<div>Pave with rarer device and fairer than heaven's the luminous oyster-beds,</div> +<div>Grass-embanked, and in square plots ranked, inlaid with gems that the sundown sheds.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">MR. HENLEY'S POEM</div> + +<p>To the Adur belongs also another lyric. It is printed in <i>Hawthorn and +Lavender</i>, to which I have already referred, and is one of Mr. Henley's +most characteristic and remarkable poems:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>In Shoreham River, hurrying down</div> +<div>To the live sea,</div> +<div>By working, marrying, breeding, Shoreham Town,</div> +<div>Breaking the sunset's wistful and solemn dream,</div> +<div>An old, black rotter of a boat</div> +<div>Past service to the labouring, tumbling flote,</div> +<div>Lay stranded in mid-stream;</div> +<div>With a horrid list, a frightening lapse from the line,</div> +<div>That made me think of legs and a broken spine;</div> +<div>Soon, all too soon,</div> +<div>Ungainly and forlorn to lie</div> +<div>Full in the eye</div> +<div>Of the cynical, discomfortable moon</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>That, as I looked, stared from the fading sky,</div> +<div>A clown's face flour'd for work. And by and by</div> +<div>The wide-winged sunset wanned and waned;</div> +<div>The lean night-wind crept westward, chilling and sighing;</div> +<div>The poor old hulk remained,</div> +<div>Stuck helpless in mid-ebb. And I knew why—</div> +<div>Why, as I looked, my heart felt crying.</div> +<div>For, as I looked, the good green earth seemed dying—</div> +<div>Dying or dead;</div> +<div>And, as I looked on the old boat, I said:—</div> +<div>"<i>Dear God, it's I!</i>"</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The Adur is no longer the home of birds that once it was, but in the +early morning one may still see there many of the less common water +fowl. The road to Portsmouth is carried across the Adur by the Norfolk +Suspension Bridge, to cross which one must pay a toll,—not an +unpleasant reminder of earlier days.</p> + +<p>Old Shoreham, a mile up the river, is notable for its wooden bridge +across the Adur to the Old Sussex Pad, at one time a famous inn for +smugglers. Few Royal Academy exhibitions are without a picture of Old +Shoreham Bridge and the quiet cruciform church at its eastward end.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LOYAL CLERK</div> + +<p>A pleasant story tells how, in some Sussex journey, William IV. and his +queen chanced to be passing through Shoreham, coming from Chichester to +Lewes, one Sunday morning. The clerk of Old Shoreham church caught sight +through the window of the approaching cavalcade, and leaping to his +feet, stopped the sermon by announcing: "It is my solemn duty to inform +you that their Majesties the King and Queen are just now crossing the +bridge." Thereupon the whole congregation jumped up and ran out to show their loyalty.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THE DEVIL'S DYKE AND HURSTPIERPOINT</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Sussex and Leith Hill—The Dyke hill—Two recollections—Bustard +hunting on the Downs—The Queen of the gipsies—The Devil in +Sussex—The feeble legend of the +Dyke—Poynings—Newtimber—Pyecombe and shepherds' crooks—A +Patcham smuggler—Wolstonbury—Danny—An old Sussex +diary—Fish-culture in the past—Thomas Marchant's Sunday +head-aches—Albourne and Bishop Juxon—Twineham and Squire +Stapley—Zoological remedies—How to make oatmeal pudding.</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center"><a name="page193.png" id="page193.png"></a><img src="images/page193.png" width='586' height='700' alt="Poynings, from the Devil's Dyke" /></p> + +<h4><i>Poynings, from the Devil's Dyke.</i></h4> + +<p>Had the hill above the Devil's Dyke—for the Dyke itself wins only a +passing glance—been never popularised, thousands of Londoners, and many +of the people of Brighton, would probably never have seen the Weald from +any eminence at all. The view is bounded north and west only by hills: +on the north by the North Downs, with Leith Hill standing forward, as if +advancing to meet a southern champion, and in the west, Blackdown, Hind +Head and the Hog's Back. The patchwork of the Weald is between. The view +from the Dyke Hill, looking north, is comparable to that from Leith +Hill, looking south; and every day in fine weather there are tourists on +both of these altitudes gazing towards each other. The worst slight that +Sussex ever had to endure, so far as my reading goes, is in Hughson's +<i>London ... and its Neighbourhood</i>, 1808, where the view from Leith Hill +is described. After stating that the curious stranger on the summit +"feels sensations as we may suppose Adam to have felt when he +instantaneously burst into existence and the beauties of Eden struck his +all-wondering eyes," Mr. Hughson describes the prospect. "It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> commands +a view of the county of Surrey, part of Hampshire, Berkshire, Nettlebed +in Oxfordshire, some parts of Bucks, Hertfordshire, Middlesex, Kent and +Essex; and, by the help of a glass, Wiltshire." Not a word of Sussex.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SEA OF MIST</div> + +<p>The wisest course for the non-gregarious traveller is to leave the Dyke +on the right, and, crossing the Ladies' Golf Links, gain Fulking Hill, +from which the view is equally fine (save for lacking a little in the +east) and where there is peace and isolation. I remember sitting one +Sunday morning on Fulking Hill when a white mist like a sea filled the +Weald, washing the turf slopes twenty feet or so below me. In the depths +of this ocean, as it were, could be heard faintly the noises of the +farms and the chime of submerged bells. Suddenly a hawk shot up and +disappeared again, like a leaping fish.</p> + +<p>The same spot was on another occasion the scene of a superb effort of +courageous tenacity. I met a large hare steadily breasting the hill. +Turning neither to the right nor left it was soon out of sight over the +crest. Five or more minutes later there appeared in view, on the hare's +trail, a very tired little fox terrier not much more than half the size +of the hare. He also turned aside neither to the right nor the left, but +panted wearily yet bravely past me, and so on, over the crest, after his +prey. I waited for some time but the terrier never came back. Such was +the purpose depicted on his countenance that I can believe he is +following still.</p> + +<p>On these Downs, near the Dyke, less than a century ago the Great Bustard +used to be hunted with greyhounds. Mr. Borrer tells us in the <i>Birds of +Sussex</i> that his grandfather (who died in 1844) sometimes would take +five or six in a morning. They fought savagely and more than once +injured the hounds.</p> + +<p>Enterprise has of late been at work at the Dyke. A cable railway crosses +the gully at a dizzy height, a lift brings travellers from the Weald, a +wooden cannon of exceptional calibre threatens the landscape, and +pictorial advertisements of the Devil and his domain may be seen at most +of the Sussex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> stations. Ladies also play golf where, when first I knew +it, one could walk unharmed. A change that is to be regretted is the +exile to the unromantic neighbourhood of the Dyke Station of the Queen +of the Gipsies, a swarthy ringletted lady of peculiarly comfortable +exterior who, splendid (yet a little sinister) in a scarlet shawl and +ponderous gold jewels, used once to emerge from a tent beside the Dyke +inn and allot husbands fair or dark. She was an astute reader of her +fellows, with an eye too searching to be deceived by the removal of +tell-tale rings. A lucky shot in respect to a future ducal husband of a +young lady now a duchess, of the accuracy of which she was careful to +remind you, increased her reputation tenfold in recent years. Her name +is Lee, and of her title of Queen of the Gipsies there is, I believe, +some justification.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"HE"</div> + +<p>Sussex abounds in evidences of the Devil's whimsical handiwork, although +in ordinary conversation Sussex rustics are careful not to speak his +name. They say "he." Mr. Parish, in his <i>Dictionary of the Sussex +Dialect</i>, gives an example of the avoidance of the dread name: "'In the +Down there's a golden calf buried; people know very well where it is—I +could show you the place any day.' 'Then why don't they dig it up? 'Oh, +it's not allowed: <i>he</i> wouldn't let them.' 'Has any one ever tried?' 'Oh +yes, but it's never there when you look; <i>he</i> moves it away.'" His +punchbowl may be seen here, his footprints there; but the greatest of +his enterprises was certainly the Dyke. His purpose was to submerge or +silence the irritating churches of the Weald, by digging a ditch that +should let in the sea. He began one night from the North side, at +Saddlescombe, and was working very well until he caught sight of the +beams of a candle which an old woman had placed in her window. Being a +Devil of Sussex rather than of Miltonic invention, he was not clever, +and taking the candle light for the break of dawn, he fled and never +resumed the labour. That is the very infirm legend that is told and sold at the Dyke.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">HANGLETON</div> + +<p>I might just mention that the little church which one sees from the Dyke +railway, standing alone on the hill side, is Hangleton. Dr. Kenealy, who +defended the Claimant, is buried there. The hamlet of Hangleton, which +may be seen in the distance below, once possessed a hunting lodge of the +Coverts of Slaugham, which, after being used as labourers' cottages, has +now disappeared. The fine Tudor mansion of the Bellinghams', now +transformed into a farm house, although it has been much altered, still +retains many original features. In the kitchen, no doubt once the hall, +on an oak screen, are carved the Commandments, followed by this +ingenious motto, an exercise on the letter E:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Persevere, ye perfect men,</div> +<div>Ever keep these precepts ten.</div> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><a name="page196.png" id="page196.png"></a><img src="images/page196.png" width='700' height='476' alt="Hangleton House" /></p> + +<h4><i>Hangleton House.</i></h4> + +<p>From the Dyke hill one is within easy walking distance of many Wealden +villages. Immediately at the north end of the Dyke itself is Poynings, +with its fine grey cruciform church<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> raising an embattled tower among +the trees on its mound. It has been conjectured from the similarity of +this beautiful church to that of Alfriston that they may have had the +same architect. Poynings (now called Punnings) was of importance in +Norman times, and was the seat of William FitzRainalt, whose descendants +afterwards took the name of de Ponyngs and one of whom was ennobled as +Baron de Ponyngs. In the fifteenth century the direct line was merged +into that of Percy. The ruins of Ponyngs Place, the baronial mansion, +are still traceable.</p> + +<p>Following the road to the west, under the hills, we come first to +Fulking (where one may drink at a fountain raised by a brewer to the +glory of God and in honour of John Ruskin), then to Edburton (where the +leaden font, one of three in Sussex, should be noted), then to Truleigh, +all little farming hamlets shadowed by the Downs, and so to Beeding and +Bramber, or, striking south, to Shoreham.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">NEWTIMBER</div> + +<p>If, instead of turning into Poynings, one ascends the hill on the other +side of the stream, a climb of some minutes, with a natural amphitheatre +on the right, brings one to the wooded northern escarpment of +Saddlescombe North Hill, or Newtimber Hill, which offers a view little +inferior to that of the Dyke. At Saddlescombe, by the way, lives one of +the most learned Sussex ornithologists of the day, and a writer upon the +natural history of the county (so cavalierly treated in this book!), for +whose quick eye and descriptive hand the readers of <i>Blackwood</i> have +reason to be grateful. Immediately beneath Newtimber Hill lies +Newtimber, consisting of a house or two, a moated grange, and a little +church, which, though only a few yards from the London road, is so +hidden that it might be miles from everywhere. On the grass bank of the +bostel descending through the hanger to Newtimber, I counted on one +spring afternoon as many as a dozen adders basking in the sun. We are +here, though so near Brighton, in country where the badger is still +found, while the Newtimber woods are famous among collectors of moths.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">PYECOMBE CROOKS</div> + +<p>If you are for the Weald it is by this bostel that you should descend, +but if still for the Downs turn to the east along the summit, and you +will come to Pyecombe, a straggling village on each side of the London +road just at the head of Dale Hill. Pyecombe has lost its ancient fame +as the home of the best shepherds' crooks, but the Pyecombe crook for +many years was unapproached. The industry has left Sussex: crooks are +now made in the north of England and sold over shop counters. I say +"industry" wrongly, for what was truly an industry for a Pyecombe +blacksmith is a mere detail in an iron factory, since the number of +shepherds does not increase and one crook will serve a lifetime and +more. An old shepherd at Pyecombe, talking confidentially on the subject +of crooks, complained that the new weapon as sold at Lewes, although +nominally on the Pyecombe pattern, is a "numb thing." The chief reason +which he gave was that the maker was out of touch with the man who was +to use it. His own crook (like that of Richard Jefferies' shepherd +friend) had been fashioned from the barrel of an old muzzle-loader. The +present generation, he added, is forgetting how to make everything: why, +he had neighbours, smart young fellows, too, who could not even make +their own clothes.</p> + +<p>Pyecombe is but a few miles from Brighton, which may easily be reached +from it. A short distance south of the village is the Plough Inn, the +point at which the two roads to London—that by way of Clayton Hill, +Friar's Oak, Cuckfield, Balcombe and Redhill, and the other (on which we +are now standing) by way of Dale Hill, Bolney, Hand Cross, Crawley and +Reigate—become one.</p> + +<p>On the way to Brighton from the Plough one passes through Patcham, a +dusty village that for many years has seen too many bicycles, and now is +in the way of seeing too many motor cars. In the churchyard is, or was, +a tomb bearing the following inscription, which may be quoted both as a +reminder of the more stirring experiences to which the Patcham people +were subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> a hundred years ago, and also as an example of the truth +which is only half a truth:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SMUGGLER AND EXEMPLAR</div> + +<blockquote><p><br /><br /><br />Sacred to the memory of Daniel Scales, who was unfortunately shot +on Thursday Evening, Nov. 7, 1796.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Alas! swift flew the fatal lead</div> +<div>Which pierced through the young man's head,</div> +<div>He instant fell, resigned his breath,</div> +<div>And closed his languid eyes in death.</div> +<div>All ye who do this stone draw near,</div> +<div>Oh! pray let fall the pitying tear.</div> +<div>From the sad instance may we all</div> +<div>Prepare to meet Jehovah's call.</div> +</div></div></blockquote> + +<p>The facts of the case bear some likeness to the death of Mr. Bardell and +Serjeant Buzfuz's reference to that catastrophe. Daniel Scales was a +desperate smuggler who, when the fatal lead pierced him, was heavily +laden with booty. He was shot through the head only as a means of +preventing a similar fate befalling his slayer.</p> + +<p>Just beyond Patcham, as we approach Brighton, is the narrow chalk lane +on the left which leads to the Lady's Mile, the beginning of a superb +stretch of turf around an amphitheatre in the hills by which one may +gallop all the way to the Clayton mills. The grass ride extends to +Lewes.</p> + +<p>Preston, once a village with an independent life, is now Brighton; but +nothing can harm its little English church, noticeable for a fresco of +the murder of Thomas à Becket, a representation dating probably from the +reign of Edward I.</p> + +<p>This, however, is a digression, and we must return to Pyecombe in order +to climb Wolstonbury—the most mountainous of the hills in this part, +and indeed, although far from the highest, perhaps the noblest in mien +of the whole range, by virtue of its isolation and its conical shape. +The earthworks on Wolstonbury, although supposed to be of Celtic origin, +were probably utilised by the Romans for military purposes. More than +any of the Downs does Wolstonbury bring before one the Roman occupation +of our country.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">DANNY</div> + +<p>Immediately below Wolstonbury, on the edge of the Weald, is Danny, an +Elizabethan house, to-day the seat of the Campions, but two hundred and +more years ago the seat of Peter Courthope, to whom John Ray dedicated +his <i>Collection of English Words not generally used</i>, and before then +the property of Sir Simon de Pierpoint. The park is small and without +deer, but the house has a façade of which one can never tire. I once saw +<i>Twelfth Night</i> performed in its gardens, and it was difficult to +believe that Shakespeare had not the spot in mind when he wrote that +play.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page200.png" id="page200.png"></a><img src="images/page200.png" width='700' height='307' alt="Malthouse Farm, Hurstpierpoint" /></p> + +<h4><i>Malthouse Farm, Hurstpierpoint.</i></h4> + +<p>The Danny drive brings us to Hurstpierpoint, or Hurst as it is generally +called, which is now becoming a suburb of Brighton and thus somewhat +losing its character, but which the hills will probably long keep sweet. +James Hannington, Bishop of Equatorial East Africa, who was murdered by +natives in 1885, was born here; here lived Richard Weeks, the antiquary; +and here to-day is the home of Mr. Mitten, most learned of Sussex +botanists.</p> + +<p>To Hurst belongs one of the little Sussex squires to whose diligence as +a diarist we are indebted for much entertaining knowledge of the past. +Little Park, now the property of the Hannington family, where Thomas +Marchant, the diarist in question, lived, and kept his journal between +1714 and 1728, is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> to the north of the main street, lying low. The +original document I have not seen, but from passages printed by the +Sussex Archæological Society I borrow a few extracts for the light they +throw on old customs and social life.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">FISH-BREEDING</div> + +<blockquote><p>"October 8th, 1714. Paid 4<i>s.</i> at Lewes for ¼ lb., of tea; 5<i>d.</i> +for a quire of paper; and 6<i>d.</i> for two mousetraps.</p> + +<p>"October 29th, 1714. Went to North Barnes near Homewood Gate to see +the pond fisht. I bought all the fish of a foot long and upwards at +50<i>s.</i> per C. I am to give Mrs. Dabson 200 store fish, over and +above the aforesaid bargain; but she is to send to me for them.</p> + +<p>"October 30th, 1714. We fetched 244 Carps in three Dung Carts from +a stew of Parson Citizen at Street; being brought thither last +night out of the above pond.</p> + +<p>"October 31st, 1714 (Sunday). I could not go to Church, being +forced to stay at home to look after, and let down fresh water to, +the fish; they being—as I supposed—sick, because they lay on the +surface of the pond and were easily taken out. But towards night +they sunk."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The Little Park ponds still exist, but the practice of breeding fish has +passed. In Arthur Young's <i>General View of the Agriculture of the County +of Sussex</i>, 1808, quoted elsewhere in this book, is a chapter on fish, +wherein he writes: "A Mr. Fenn of London, has long rented, and is the +sole monopolizer of, all the fish that are sold in Sussex. Carp is the +chief stock; but tench and perch, eels and pike are raised. A stream +should always flow through the pond; and a marley soil is the best. Mr. +Milward has drawn carp from his marl-pits 25lb. a brace, and two inches +of fat upon them, but then he feeds with pease. When the waters are +drawn off and re-stocked, it is done with stores of a year old, which +remain four years: the carp will then be 12 or 13 inches long, and if +the water is good, 14 or 15. The usual season for drawing the water is +either Autumn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> or Spring: the sale is regulated by measure, from the eye +to the fork of the tail. At twelve inches, carp are worth 50<i>s.</i> and +3<i>l.</i> per hundred; at fifteen inches, 6<i>l.</i>; at eighteen inches, 8<i>l.</i> +and 9<i>l.</i> A hundred stores will stock an acre; or 35 brace, 10 or 12 +inches long, are fully sufficient for a breeding pond. The first year +they will be three inches long; second year, seven; third year, eleven +or twelve; fourth year, fourteen or fifteen. This year they breed."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THOMAS MARCHANT'S HEADACHES</div> + +<p>Although fish-breeding is not what it was, many of the Sussex ponds are +still regularly dragged, and the proceeds sold in advance to a London +firm. Sometimes the purchaser wins in the gamble, sometimes the seller. +The fish are removed alive, in large tanks, and sold as they are wanted, +chiefly for Jewish tables. But we must return to Thomas Marchant:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"January 16th (Sunday) 1715. I was not at church having a bad +headache.</p> + +<p>"January 25th, 1715. We had a trout for supper, two feet two inches +long from eye to fork, and six inches broad; it weighed +ten-and-a-half pounds. It was caught in the Albourne Brook, near +Trussell House.... We staid very late and drank enough.</p> + +<p>"April 15th, 1715. Paid my uncle Courtness 15<i>d.</i> for a small +bottle of Daffey's Elixir.</p> + +<p>"July 18th, 1715. I went to Bolney and agreed with Edw. Jenner to +dig sandstone for setting up my father's tombstone, at 5<i>s.</i> I gave +him 6<i>d.</i> to spend in drink that he might be more careful.</p> + +<p>"August 7th, (Sunday) 1715. I was not at church as my head ached +very much.</p> + +<p>"November 22nd, 1716. Fisht the great pond and put 220 of the +biggest carp into the new pond, and 18 of the biggest tench. Put +also 358 store carp into the flat stew, and 36 tench; and also 550 +very small carp into a hole in the low field.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>"November 24th, 1716. Fisht the middle pond. Put 66 large carp into +the new pond, and 380 store tench into the flat stew, and 12 large +carp, 10 large tench, and 57 middle sized tench into the hovel +field stew.</p> + +<p>"June 12th, 1717. I was at the cricket match at Dungton Gate +towards night.</p> + +<p>"January 24th, 1718. A mountebank came to our towne to-day. He +calls himself Dr. Richard Harness. Mr. Scutt and I drank tea with +the tumbler. Of his tricks I am no judge: but he appears to me to +play well on the fiddle.</p> + +<p>"January 30th (Friday), 1719. King Charles' Martyrdom. I was not at +church, as my head ached very much.</p> + +<p>"February 28th, 1719. We had news of the Chevalier de St. George, +the Pretender, being taken and carried into the Castle of Milan.</p> + +<p>"September 19th, 1719. John Parsons began his year last Tuesday. He +is to shave my face twice a week, and my head once a fortnight, and +I am to give him 100 faggots per annum.</p> + +<p>"September 30th, 1719. Talked to Mrs. Beard, for Allan Savage, +about her horse that was seized by the officers at Brighton running +brandy.</p> + +<p>"December 5th, 1719. My Lord Treep put a ferral and pick to my +stick. [My Lord Treep was a tinker named Treep who lived in Treep's +Lane. My Lord Burt, who is also mentioned in the diary, was a +farrier.]</p> + +<p>"July 28th, 1721. Paid Harry Wolvin of Twineham, for killing an +otter in our parish. [An otter, of course, was a serious enemy to +the owner of stews and ponds.]</p> + +<p>"February 7th, 1722. Will and Jack went to Lewes to see a prize +fight between Harris and another.</p> + +<p>"September 18th, 1727. Dined at Mr. Hazelgrove's and cheapened a +tombstone."</p></blockquote><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thomas Marchant was buried September 17, 1728.</p> + +<p>Less than two miles west of Hurstpierpoint is Albourne, so hidden away +that one might know this part of the country well and yet be continually +overlooking it. The western high road between Brighton and London passes +within a stone's throw of Albourne, but one never suspects the +existence, close by, of this retired village, so compact and virginal +and exquisitely old fashioned. It is said that after the execution of +Charles I Bishop Juxon lived for a while at Albourne Place during the +Civil War, and once escaped the Parliamentary soldiers by disguising +himself as a bricklayer. There is a priest's hiding hole in the house.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A GIANT TROUT</div> + +<p>Some three miles north of Albourne is Twineham, another village which, +situated only on a by-road midway between two lines of railway, has also +preserved its bloom. Here, at the end of the seventeenth and beginning +of the eighteenth centuries, at Hickstead Place, a beautiful Tudor +mansion that still stands, lived Richard Stapley, another of the Sussex +diarists whose MSS. have been selected for publication by the Sussex +Archæological Society. I quote a few passages:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"In ye month of November, 1692, there was a trout found in ye +Poyningswish, in Twineham, which was 29 inches long from ye top of +ye nose to ye tip of ye taile; and John fflint had him and eat him. +He was left in a low slank after a fflood, and ye water fell away +from him, and he died. The fish I saw at John fflint's house ye +Sunday after they had him: and at night they boiled him for supper, +but could not eat one halfe of him; and there was six of them at +supper; John fflint and his wife Jane, and four of their children; +and ye next day they all fell on him again, and compassed him."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Here we have the spectacle of a good man struggling with +accuracy:—"August 19th, 1698. Paid Mr. Stheward for Dr. Comber's +paraphrase on ye Common Prayer, 20<i>s.</i> and 6<i>d.</i> for carriage. I paid it +at ye end of ye kitchen table next ye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> chamber stairs door, and nobody +in ye room but he and I. No, it was ye end of ye table next ye parlour.</p> + +<p>"April 26th, 1709. I bought a salmon-trout of William Lindfield of +Grubbs, in Bolney, which he caught ye night before in his net, by his +old orchard, which was wounded by an otter. The trout weighed 11 lbs. +and ½; and was 3 foot 2 inches long from end to end, and but 2 foot 9 +inches between ye eye and ye forke." There is also a record of a salmon +trout being caught at Bolney early in the last century, which weighed +22lbs. and was sent to King George IV. at Brighton.</p> + +<p>I must quote a prescription from the diary:—"To cure the +hoopingcough:—get 3 field mice, flaw them, draw them, and roast one of +them, and let the party afflicted eat it; dry the other two in the oven +until they crumble to a powder, and put a little of this powder in what +the patient drinks at night and in the morning." Mice played, and still +play in remote districts, a large part in the rural pharmacopeia. A +Sussex doctor once told me that he had directed the mother of a boy at +Portslade to put some ice in a bag and tie it on the boy's forehead. +When, the next day, the doctor asked after his patient, the mother +replied briskly:—"Oh, Tommy's better, but the mice are dead."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">OATMEAL PUDDING</div> + +<p>The Stapley family ate an oatmeal pudding made in the following +manner:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Of oats decorticated take two pound,</div> +<div>And of new milk enough the same to dround;</div> +<div>Of raisins of the sun, ston'd, ounces eight;</div> +<div>Of currants, cleanly picked, an equal weight;</div> +<div>Of suet, finely sliced, an ounce at least;</div> +<div>And six eggs newly taken from the nest;</div> +<div>Season this mixture well with salt and spice;</div> +<div>Twill make a pudding far exceeding nice;</div> +<div>And you may safely feed on it like farmers.</div> +<div>For the receipt is learned Dr. Harmer's.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE GOOD HORSE'S REWARD</div> + +<p>Richard Stapley's diary was continued by his son Anthony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> and grandson +John. The most pleasing among the printed extracts is this:—"1736, May +the 21st. The white horse was buried in the saw-pit in the Laine's wood. +He was aged about thirty-five years, as far as I could find of people +that knew him foaled. He had been in his time as good a horse as ever +man was owner of, and he was buried in his skin being a good old horse."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page207.png" id="page207.png"></a><img src="images/page207.png" width='700' height='388' alt="Ditchling" /></p> + +<h4><i>Ditchling.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>DITCHLING</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Stanmer Park and Dr. Johnson—The Roman way down Ditchling +Beacon—Sussex folk in London—Jacob's Post—The virtues of +gibbets—Mr. John Burgess's diary.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Another good walk from Brighton begins with a short railway journey to +Falmer on the Lewes line. Then strike into Stanmer Park, the seat of the +Earl of Chichester, a descendant of the famous Sussex Pelhams, with the +church and the little village of Stanmer on the far edge of it, and so +up through the hollows and valleys to Ditchling Beacon. Dr. Johnson's +saying of the Downs about Brighton, that "it was a country so truly +desolate that if one had a mind to hang oneself for desperation at being +obliged to live there, it would be difficult to find a tree on which to +fasten a rope," proves beyond question that his horse never took him +Stanmer way, for the park is richly wooded.</p> + +<p>On Ditchling Beacon, one of the noblest of the Sussex hills and the +second if not the first in height of all the range (the surveys differ, +one giving the palm to Duncton) the Romans had a camp, and the village +of Ditchling may still be gained by the half-subterranean path that our +conquerors dug, so devised that a regiment might descend into the Weald +unseen.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LONDON'S VASTNESS</div> + +<p>Ditchling is a quiet little village on high ground, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> Alfred the +Great once had a park. The church is a very interesting and graceful +specimen of early English architecture, dating from the 13th century. A +hundred and more years ago water from a chalybeate spring on the common +was drunk by Sussex people for rheumatism and other ills; but the spring +has lost its fame. The village could not well be more out of the +movement, yet an old lady living in the neighbourhood who, when about to +visit London for the first time, was asked what she expected to find, +replied, "Well, I can't exactly tell, but I suppose something like the +more bustling part of Ditchling." A kindred story is told of a Sussex +man who, finding himself in London for the first time, exclaimed with +astonishment—"What a queer large place! Why, it ain't like Newick and +it ain't like Chailey."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page208.png" id="page208.png"></a><img src="images/page208.png" width='700' height='483' alt="Old House at Ditchling" /></p> + +<h4><i>Old House at Ditchling.</i></h4> + +<p>On Ditchling Common are the protected remains of a stake known as +Jacob's Post. A stranger requested to supply this piece of wood with the +origin of its label would probably adventure long before hitting upon +the right tack; for Jacob,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> whose name has in this familiar connection a +popular and almost an endearing sound, was Jacob Harris, a Jew pedlar of +astonishing turpitude, who, after murdering three persons at an inn on +Ditchling Common and plundering their house, was hanged at Horsham in +the year 1734, and afterwards suspended, as a lesson, to the gibbet, of +which this post—Jacob's Post—is the surviving relic.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A CURE FOR TOOTHACHE</div> + +<p>All gibbets, it is said, are "good" for something, and a piece of +Jacob's Post carried on the person is sovran against toothache. A Sussex +archæologist tells of an old lady, a resident on Ditchling Common for +more than eighty years, whose belief in the Post was so sound that her +pocket contained a splinter of it long after all her teeth had departed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN BURGESS'S DIARY</div> + +<p>From extracts from the diary of Mr. John Burgess, tailor, sexton and +Particular Baptist, of Ditchling, which are given in the Sussex +Archæological Collections, I quote here and there:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"August 1st, 1785. There was a cricket match at Lingfield Common between +Lingfield in Surrey and all the county of Sussex, supposed to be upwards +of 2,000 people.</p> + +<p>"June 29th, 1786. Went to Lewes with some wool to Mr. Chatfield, fine +wool at 8-5-0 per pack. Went to dinner with Mr. Chatfield. Had boiled +Beef, Leg of Lamb and plum Pudden. Stopped there all the afternoon. Mr. +Pullin was there; Mr. Trimby and the Curyer, &c., was there. We had a +good deal of religious conversation, particularly Mr. Trimby.</p> + +<p>"June 11th, 1787. Spent 3 or 4 hours with some friends in Conversation +upon Moral and religious Subjects; the inquiry was the most easy and +natural evedences of ye existence and attributes of ye supream Being—in +discussing upon the Subject we was nearly agreed and propose meeting +again every first monday after the fool Moon to meet at 4 and break-up +at 8.</p> + +<p>"March 14th, 1788. Went to Fryersoake to a Bull Bait to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> Sell My dog. I +seld him for 1 guineay upon condition he was Hurt, but as he received no +Hurt I took him back again at the same price. We had a good dinner; a +round of Beef Boiled, a good piece roasted, a Lag of Mutton and Ham of +Pork and plum pudden, plenty of wine and punch.</p> + +<p>"At Brightelmstone:—washed in ye sea."</p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>CUCKFIELD</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Hayward's Heath—Rookwood and the fatal tree—Timothy Burrell and +his account books—Old Sussex appetites—Plum-porridge—A luckless +lover—The original Merry Andrew—Ancient testators—Bolney's +bells—The splendour of the Slaugham Coverts—Hand Cross—Crawley +and the new discovery of walking—Lindfield—<i>Idlehurst</i>—Richard +Turner's epitaph—Ardingly.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Hayward's Heath, on the London line, would be our next centre were it +not so new and suburban. Fortunately Cuckfield, which has two coaching +inns and many of the signs of the leisurely past, is close by, in the +midst of very interesting country, with a church standing high on the +ridge to the south of the town, broadside to the Weald, its spire a +landmark for miles. Cuckfield Place (a house and park, according to +Shelley, which abounded in "bits of Mrs. Radcliffe") is described in +Harrison Ainsworth's <i>Rookwood</i>. It was in the avenue leading from the +gates to the house that that fatal tree stood, a limb of which fell as +the presage of the death of a member of the family. So runs the legend. +Knowledge of the tree is, however, disclaimed by the gatekeeper.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page212.png" id="page212.png"></a><img src="images/page212.png" width='562' height='700' alt="Cuckfield Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Cuckfield Church.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">THE COACHMAN'S PLANS</div> + +<p>Ockenden House, in Cuckfield, has been for many years in the possession +of the Burrell family, one of whom, Timothy Burrell, an ancestor of the +antiquary, left some interesting account books, which contain in +addition to figures many curious and sardonic entries and some ingenious +hieroglyphics. I quote here and there, from the Sussex Archæological +Society's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> extracts, by way of illustrating the life of a Sussex squire +in those days, 1683-1714:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>1705. "Pay'd Gosmark for making cyder 1 day, whilst John Coachman was to +be drunk with the carrier's money, by agreement; and I pay'd 2<i>d.</i> to +the glasyer for mending John's casement broken at night by him when he was drunk.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>"1706. 25th March. Pd. John Coachman by Ned Virgo, that he may be drunk +all the Easter week, in part of his wages due, <i>£</i>1."</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">ANCIENT APPETITES</div> + +<p>This was the fare provided on January 1, 1707, for thirteen guests:—<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='2' summary='fare for thirteen guests'> + <tr> + <td>Plumm pottage.</td> + <td>Plumm pottage.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Calves' head and bacon. </td> + <td>Boiled beef, a clod.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Goose.</td> + <td>Two baked puddings.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Pig.</td> + <td>Three dishes of minced</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Plumm pottage.</td> + <td> pies.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Roast beef, sirloin.</td> + <td>Two capons.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Veale, a loin.</td> + <td>Two dishes of tarts.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Goose.</td> + <td>Two pullets.</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p>Plum porridge, it may interest some to know, was made thus: "Take of +beef-soup made of legs of beef, 12 quarts; if you wish it to be +particularly good, add a couple of tongues to be boiled therein. Put +fine bread, sliced, soaked, and crumbled; raisins of the sun, currants +and pruants two lbs. of each; lemons, nutmegs, mace and cloves are to be +boiled with it in a muslin bag; add a quart of red wine and let this be +followed, after half an hour's boiling, by a pint of sack. Put it into a +cool place and it will keep through Christmas."</p> + +<p>Mr. Burrell giving a small dinner to four friends, offered them</p> + +<p class="center">Pease pottage.</p> + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='2' summary='dinner for four friends'> + <tr> + <td>2 carps. 2 tench. </td> + <td>Roast leg of mutton.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Capon. Pullet.</td> + <td>Apple pudding.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Fried oysters.</td> + <td>Goos.</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Baked pudding.</td> + <td>Tarts. Minced pies.</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p>It is perhaps not surprising that the host had occasionally to take the +waters of Ditchling, which are no longer drunk medicinally, or to dose +himself with hieræ picræ.</p> + +<p>One more dinner, this time for four guests, who presumably were more +worthy of attention:—</p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>A soup take off.<br />Two large carps at the upper end.<br /> +Pidgeon pie, salad, veal ollaves,<br />Leg of mutton, and cutlets at the lower end.<br /> +Three rosed chickens.<br />Scotch pancakes, tarts, asparagus.<br /> +Three green gees at the lower end.<br />In the room of the chickens removed,<br /> +Four-souced Mackerel.<br />Rasins in cream at the upper end.<br /> +Calves' foot jelly, dried sweetmeats, calves' foot jelly.<br /> +Flummery, Savoy cakes.<br />Imperial cream at the lower end.</p> + +<p>In October, 1709, Mr. Burrell writes in Latin: "From this time I have +resolved, as long as the dearth of provisions continues, to give to the +poor who apply for it at the door on Sundays, twelve pounds of beef +every week, on the 11th of February 4lbs. more, in all 16lbs., and a +bushel of wheat and half a bushel of barley in 4 weeks."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MERRY ANDREW</div> + +<p>From Borde Hill to the north-east of Cuckfield, is supposed to have come +Andrew Boord, the original Merry Andrew. Among the later Boords who +lived there was George Boord, in whose copy of <i>Natura Brevium</i> and +<i>Tenores Novelli</i>, bound together (given him by John Sackville of +Chiddingly Park) is written:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Sidera non tot habet Celum, nec flumina pisces,</div> +<div>Quot scelera gerit femina mente dolos.</div> +<div class="i10">Dixit Boordus;</div> +</div></div> + +<p>which Mr. Lower translates:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Quoth Boord, with stars the skies abound,</div> +<div class="i1">With fish the flowing waters;</div> +<div>But far more numerous I have found</div> +<div class="i1">The tricks of Eve's fair daughters.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>This Boord would be a relative of the famous Andrew, priest,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> doctor and +satirist (1490-1549) who may indeed have been the author of the distich +above. It is certainly in his vein.</p> + +<p>Andrew Boord gave up his vows as a Carthusian on account of their +"rugorosite," and became a doctor, travelling much on the Continent. +Several books are known to be his, chief among them the <i>Dyetary</i> and +<i>Brevyary of Health</i>. He wrote also an <i>Itinerary of England</i> and is +credited by some with the <i>Merrie Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham</i>. Lower +and Horsfield indeed hold that the Gotham intended was not the +Nottinghamshire village but Gotham near Pevensey, where Boord had +property. That he knew something of Sussex is shown by <i>Boord's Boke of +Knowledge</i>, where he mentions the old story, then a new one, that no +nightingale will sing in St. Leonard's Forest. It is the <i>Boke of +Knowledge</i> that has for frontispiece the picture of a naked Englishman +with a pair of shears in one hand and a piece of cloth over the other +arm, saying:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>I am an English man and naked I stand here,</div> +<div>Musing in my mund what rayment I shall were;</div> +<div>For now I wyll were this, and now I wyl were that;</div> +<div>Now I wyl were I cannot tel what.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>We shall see Andrew again when we come to Pevensey.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">OLD WILLS</div> + +<p>A glimpse of the orderly mind of a pre-Reformation Cuckfield yeoman is +given in a will quoted recently in the <i>Sussex Daily News</i>, in an +interesting series of articles on the county under the title of +"Old-time Sussex":</p> + +<blockquote><p>"In the yere of our lorde god 1545. the 26 day of June, I, Thomas +Gaston, of the pish of Cukefelde, syke in body, hole, and of ppt +[perfect] memorie, ordene and make this my last will and test, in +manr. and forme folling.</p> + +<p>Fyrst I bequethe my sowle to Almyghty god or [our] lady St. Mary +and all the holy company of heyvyng, my bodie to be buried in the +church yarde of Cukefeld.</p> + +<p>It. (item) to the Mother Church of Chichester 4<i>d.</i></p> + +<p>It. to the hye alter of Cuckfeld 4<i>d.</i></p> + +<p>It. I will have at my buryall 5 masses. In lykewise at my monthes +mynd and also at my yerely mynd all the charge of the church set +apart I will have in meate and drynke and to pore people 10<i>s.</i> at +every tyme."</p></blockquote><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>The high altar was frequently mentioned favourably in these old wills. +Another Cuckfield testator, in 1539, left to the high altar, "for tythes +and oblacions negligently forgotten, sixpence." The same student of the +<i>Calendar of Sussex Wills in the District Probate Registry at Lewes, +between 1541 and 1652</i>, which the British Record Society have just +published, copies the following passage from the will of Gerard Onstye, +in 1568: "To mary my daughter <i>£</i>20, the ffeatherbed that I lye upon the +bolsters and coverlete of tapestaye work with a blankett, 4 payres of +shetts that is to say four pares of the best flaxon and other 2 payre of +the best hempen the greate brasse potte that hir mother brought, the +best bord-clothe (table cloth?) a lynnen whelle (<i>i.e.</i>, spinning-wheel) +that was hir mothers, the chaffing dish that hangeth in the parlor."</p> + +<p>In those simple days everything was prized. In one of these Sussex +wills, in 1594, Richard Phearndeane, a labourer, left to his brother +Stephen his best dublett, his best jerkin and his best shoes, and to +Bernard Rosse his white dublett, his leathern dublett and his worst +breeches.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE BELLS OF BOLNEY</div> + +<p>Three miles west of Cuckfield is Bolney, just off the London road, a +village in the southern boundary of St. Leonard's Forest, the key to +some very rich country. Before the days of bicycles Bolney was +practically unknown, so retired is it. The church, which has a curious +pinnacled tower nearly 300 years old, is famous for its bells, +concerning whose melody Horsfield gives the following piece of counsel: +"Those who are fond of the silvery tones of bells, may enjoy them to +perfection, by placing themselves on the margin of a large pond, the +property of Mr. W. Marshall; the reverberation of the sound, coming off +the water, is peculiarly striking."</p> + +<p>Sixty years ago this sheet of water had an additional attraction. Says +Mr. Knox, "During the months of May and June, 1843, an osprey was +observed to haunt the large ponds near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> Bolney. After securing a fish he +used to retire to an old tree on the more exposed bank to devour it, and +about the close of evening was in the habit of flying off towards the +north-west, sometimes carrying away a prize in his talons if his sport +had been unusually successful, as if he dreaded being disturbed at his +repast during the dangerous hours of twilight. Having been shot at +several times without effect, his visits to these ponds became gradually +less frequent, but the surrounding covers being unpreserved, and the +bird itself too wary to suffer a near approach, he escaped the fate of +many of his congeners, and even re-appeared with a companion early in +the following September, to whom he seemed to have imparted his salutary +dread of man—his mortal enemy—for during the short time they remained +there it was impossible to approach within gunshot of either of them."</p> + +<p>The indirect road from Bolney to Hand Cross, through Warninglid and +Slaugham (parallel with the coaching road), is superb, taking us again +into the iron country and very near to Leonardslee, which we have +already seen.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE MAGNIFICENT COVERTS</div> + +<p>The glory of Slaugham Place is no more; but one visible sign of it is +preserved in Lewes, in the Town Hall, in the shape of its old staircase. +Slaugham Place was the seat of the Covert family, whose estates +extended, says tradition, "from Southwark to the Sea," and, says the +more exact Horsfield, from Crawley to Hangleton, above Brighton. +Slaugham Park used to cover 1200 acres, the church being within it. +Perhaps nowhere in Sussex is the change so complete as here, and within +recent times too, for Horsfield quotes, in 1835, the testimony of "an +aged person, whom the present rector buried about twenty-five years +back, who used to relate, that he remembered when the family at Slaugham +Park, or Place, consisted of seventy persons." Horsfield continues, in a +footnote (the natural receptacle of many of his most interesting +statements):—"The name of the aged person alluded to was Harding, who +died at nearly 100. According to his statement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> the family were so +numerous, they kept constantly employed mechanics of every description, +who resided on the premises. A conduit, which supplied the mansion with +water, is now used by the inhabitants of the village. The kitchen +fireplace still remains, of immense size, with the irons that supported +the cooking apparatus. The arms of the Coverts, with many impalements +and quarterings, yet remain on the ruins. The principal entrance was +from the east, and the grand front to the north. The pillars at the +entrance, fluted, with seats on each side, are still there. According to +the statement of the above person, there was a chapel attached to the +mansion at the west part. The mill-pond flowed over nearly 40 acres, +according to a person's statement who occupied the mill many years." The +ruins, little changed since Horsfield wrote, stand in a beautiful +old-world garden, which the traveller must certainly endeavour to enter.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE BRIGHTON ROAD</div> + +<p>A mile north of Slaugham is Hand Cross, a Clapham Junction of highways, +whence Crawley is easily reached. Crawley, however, beyond a noble +church, has no interest, its distinction being that it is halfway +between London and Brighton on the high road—its distinction and its +misfortune. One would be hard put to it to think of a less desirable +existence than that of dwelling on a dusty road and continually seeing +people hurrying either from Brighton to London or from London to +Brighton. Coaches, phaetons, motor cars, bicycles, pass through Crawley +so numerously as almost to constitute one elongated vehicle, like the +moving platform at the last Paris Exhibition.</p> + +<p>And not only travellers on wheels; for since the fashion for walking +came in, Crawley has had new excitements, or monotonies, in the shape of +walking stockbrokers, walking butchers, walking auctioneers' clerks, +walking Austrians pushing their families in wheelbarrows, walking +bricklayers carrying hods of bricks, walking acrobats on stilts—all +striving to get to Brighton within a certain time, and all accompanied +by judges, referees, and friends. At Hand Cross, lower on the road, the +numbers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> diminish; but every competitor seems to be able to reach +Crawley, perhaps because the railway station adjoins the high road. It +was not, for example, until he reached Crawley that the Austrian's +wheelbarrow broke down.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LINDFIELD</div> + +<p>On the other side of the line, two miles north-east of Hayward's Heath, +is Lindfield, with its fine common of geese, its generous duck-pond, and +wide straggling street of old houses and new (too many new, to my mind), +rising easily to the graceful Early English church with its slender +shingled spire. Just beyond the church is one of the most beautiful of +timbered houses in Sussex, or indeed in England. When I first knew this +house it was a farm in the hands of a careless farmer; it has been +restored by its present owner with the most perfect understanding and +taste. For too long no one attempted to do as much for East Mascalls, a +timbered ruin lying low among the fields to the east of the village; but +quite recently it has been taken in hand.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page219.png" id="page219.png"></a><img src="images/page219.png" width='700' height='455' alt="East Mascalls before renovation" /></p> + +<h4><i>East Mascalls—before renovation.</i></h4> + +<p>A quaint Lindfield epitaph may be mentioned: that of Richard Turner, who +died in 1768, aged twenty-one:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>Long was my pain, great was my grief,</div> +<div>Surgeons I'd many but no relief.</div> +<div>I trust through Christ to rise with the just:</div> +<div>My leg and thigh was buried first.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">"IDLEHURST"</div> + +<p>I must not betray secrets, but it might be remarked that that kindly yet +melancholy study of Wealden people and Wealden scenery, called +<i>Idlehurst</i>—the best book, I think, that has come out of Sussex in +recent years—may be read with some special appropriateness in this +neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>North of Lindfield is Ardingly, now known chiefly in connection with the +large school which travellers on the line to Brighton see from the +carriage windows as they cross the viaduct over the Ouse. The village, a +mile north of the college, is famous as the birthplace of Thomas Box, +the first of the great wicket-keepers, who disdained gloves even to the +fastest bowling. The church has some very interesting brasses to members +of the Wakehurst and Culpeper families, who long held Wakehurst Place, +the Elizabethan mansion to the north of the village. Nicholas Culpeper +of the <i>Herbal</i> was of the stock; but he must not be confounded with the +Nicholas Culpeper whose brass, together with that of his wife, ten sons +and eight daughters, is in the church, possibly the largest family on +record depicted in that metal. The church also has a handsome canopied +tomb, the occupant of which is unknown.</p> + +<p>From Ardingly superb walks in the Sussex forest country may be taken.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>FOREST COUNTRY AGAIN</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Balcombe—The iron furnace and the iron horse—Leonard Gale of +Tinsloe Forge—Mr. Wilfred Scawen Blunt of Crabbet—"The Old +Squire"—Frederick Locker-Lampson of Rowfant—The Rowfant +books—"To F. L."—The Rowfant titmice.</p></blockquote> + +<p>On leaving the train at Balcombe, one is quickly on the densely wooded +Forest Ridge of Sussex, here fenced and preserved, but farther east, +when it becomes Ashdown Forest, consisting of vast tracts of open +moorland and heather. Balcombe has a simple church, protected by a +screen of Scotch firs; its great merit is its position as the key to a +paradise for all who like woodland travel. From Balcombe to Worth is one +vast pheasant run, with here and there a keeper's cottage or a farm: +originally, of course, a series of plantations growing furnace wood for +the ironmasters. In Tilgate Forest, to the west of Balcombe Forest, are +two large sheets of water, once hammer-ponds, walking west from which, +towards Horsham, one may be said to traverse the Lake Country of Sussex. +A strange transformation, from Iron Black Country to Lake Country!—but +nature quickly recovers herself, and were the true Black Country's +furnaces extinguished, she would soon make even that grimy tract a haunt +of loveliness once more.</p> + +<p>No longer are heard the sounds of the hammers, but Balcombe Forest, +Tilgate Forest, and Worth Forest have still a constant reminder of +machinery, for very few minutes pass from morning to night without the +rumble of a train on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> main line to Brighton, which passes through +the very midst of this wild game region, and plunges into the earth +under the high ground of Balcombe Forest. I know of no place where the +trains emit such a volume of sound as in the valley of the Stanford +brook, just north of the tunnel.</p> + +<p>The noise makes it impossible ever quite to lose the sense of modernity +in these woods, as one may on Shelley Plain, a few miles west, or at +Gill's Lap, in Ashdown Forest; unless, of course, one's imagination is +so complaisant as to believe it to proceed from the old iron furnaces. +This reminds me that Crabbet, just to the north of Worth (where church +and vicarage stand isolated on a sandy ridge on the edge of the Forest), +was the home of one of the most considerable of the Sussex ironmasters, +Leonard Gale of Tinsloe Forge, who bought Crabbet, park and house, in +1698—since "building," in his own words, is a "sweet impoverishing."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WORTH CHURCH</div> + +<p>But we must pause for a moment at Worth, because its church is +remarkable as being the largest in England to preserve its Saxon +foundations. Sussex, as we have seen, is rich in Saxon relics, but the +county has nothing more interesting than this. The church is cruciform, +as all churches should be, and there is a little east window in the +north transept through which, it is conjectured, arrows were intended to +be shot at marauding Danes; for an Englishman's church was once his +castle. Archæologists familiar with Worth church have been known to pass +with disdain cathedrals for which the ordinary person cannot find too +many fine adjectives.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MR. BLUNT'S BALLAD</div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE OLD SQUIRE</div> + +<p><br />To regain Crabbet. The present owner, Mr. Wilfred Scawen Blunt, poet, +patriot, and breeder of Arab horses, who is a descendant of the Gales, +has a long poem entitled "Worth Forest," wherein old Leonard Gale is a +notable figure. Among other poems by the lord of Crabbet is the very +pleasantly English ballad of</p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>THE OLD SQUIRE.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the hunting of the hare</div> +<div class="i1">Better than that of the fox;</div> +<div>I like the joyous morning air,</div> +<div class="i1">And the crowing of the cocks.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the calm of the early fields,</div> +<div class="i1">The ducks asleep by the lake,</div> +<div>The quiet hour which Nature yields</div> +<div class="i1">Before mankind is awake.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the pheasants and feeding things</div> +<div class="i1">Of the unsuspicious morn;</div> +<div>I like the flap of the wood-pigeon's wings</div> +<div class="i1">As she rises from the corn.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the blackbird's shriek, and his rush</div> +<div class="i1">From the turnips as I pass by,</div> +<div>And the partridge hiding her head in a bush,</div> +<div class="i1">For her young ones cannot fly.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like these things, and I like to ride</div> +<div class="i1">When all the world is in bed,</div> +<div>To the top of the hill where the sky grows wide,</div> +<div class="i1">And where the sun grows red.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The beagles at my horse heels trot,</div> +<div class="i1">In silence after me;</div> +<div>There's Ruby, Roger, Diamond, Dot,</div> +<div class="i1">Old Slut and Margery,—</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>A score of names well used, and dear,</div> +<div class="i1">The names my childhood knew;</div> +<div>The horn, with which I rouse their cheer,</div> +<div class="i1">Is the horn my father blew.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the hunting of the hare</div> +<div class="i1">Better than that of the fox;</div> +<div>The new world still is all less fair</div> +<div class="i1">Than the old world it mocks.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I covet not a wider range</div> +<div class="i1">Than these dear manors give;</div> +<div>I take my pleasures without change,</div> +<div class="i1">And as I lived I live.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>I leave my neighbours to their thought;</div> +<div class="i1">My choice it is, and pride,</div> +<div>On my own lands to find my sport,</div> +<div class="i1">In my own fields to ride.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The hare herself no better loves</div> +<div class="i1">The field where she was bred,</div> +<div>Than I the habit of these groves,</div> +<div class="i1">My own inherited.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I know my quarries every one,</div> +<div class="i1">The meuse where she sits low;</div> +<div>The road she chose to-day was run</div> +<div class="i1">A hundred years ago.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The lags, the gills, the forest ways;</div> +<div class="i1">The hedgerows one and all,</div> +<div>These are the kingdoms of my chase,</div> +<div class="i1">And bounded by my wall.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Nor has the world a better thing,</div> +<div class="i1">Though one should search it round,</div> +<div>Than thus to live one's own sole king,</div> +<div class="i1">Upon one's own sole ground.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the hunting of the hare;</div> +<div class="i1">It brings me day by day,</div> +<div>The memory of old days as fair,</div> +<div class="i1">With dead men past away.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>To these, as homeward still I ply,</div> +<div class="i1">And pass the churchyard gate,</div> +<div>Where all are laid as I must lie,</div> +<div class="i1">I stop and raise my hat.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>I like the hunting of the hare;</div> +<div class="i1">New sports I hold in scorn.</div> +<div>I like to be as my fathers were,</div> +<div class="i1">n the days e'er I was born.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ROWFANT BOOKS</div> + +<p>We are indeed just now in a bookish and poetical district, for a little +more than a mile to the east of Crabbet, in a beautiful Tudor house in a +hollow close to the station, lived Frederick Locker-Lampson, the London +lyricist; and here are treasured the famous Rowfant books and +manuscripts which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> he brought together—the subject of graceful verses +by many of his friends. Not the least charming of these tributes +(printed in the <i>Rowfant Catalogue</i> in 1886) are Mr. Andrew Lang's +lines:</p> + +<p class="center">TO F. L.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>I mind that Forest Shepherd's saw,</div> +<div class="i1">For, when men preached of Heaven, quoth he;</div> +<div>"It's a' that's bricht, and a' that's braw,</div> +<div class="i1">But Bourhope's guid eneuch for me!"</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Beneath the green deep-bosomed hills</div> +<div class="i1">That guard Saint Mary's Loch it lies,</div> +<div>The silence of the pasture fills</div> +<div class="i1">That shepherd's homely paradise.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Enough for him his mountain lake,</div> +<div class="i1">His glen the hern went singing through,</div> +<div>And Rowfant, when the thrushes wake,</div> +<div class="i1">May well seem good enough for YOU.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>For all is old, and tried, and dear,</div> +<div class="i1">And all is fair, and round about</div> +<div>The brook that murmurs from the mere</div> +<div class="i1">Is dimpled with the rising trout.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>But when the skies of shorter days</div> +<div class="i1">Are dark and all the "ways are mire,"</div> +<div>How bright upon your books the blaze</div> +<div class="i1">Gleams from the cheerful study fire.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>On quartos where our fathers read,</div> +<div class="i1">Enthralled, the Book of Shakespeare's play,</div> +<div>On all that Poe could dream of dread,</div> +<div class="i1">And all that Herrick sang of gay!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Fair first editions, duly prized,</div> +<div class="i1">Above them all, methinks, I rate</div> +<div>The tome where Walton's hand revised</div> +<div class="i1">His wonderful receipts for bait!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Happy, who rich in toys like these</div> +<div class="i1">Forgets a weary nation's ills,</div> +<div>Who from his study window sees</div> +<div class="i1">The circle of the Sussex hills.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE RESOLUTE TITMICE</div> + +<p>Rowfant was once the scene of one of the most determined struggles in +history. The contestants were a series of Titmice and the G.P.O., and +the account of the war may be read in the Natural History Museum at +South Kensington:—"In 1888, a pair of the Great Titmouse (<i>Parus +major</i>) began to build their nest in the post-box which stood in the +road at Rowfant, and into which letters, &c., were posted and taken out +by the door daily. One of the birds was killed by a boy, and the nest +was not finished. In 1889, a pair completed the nest, laid seven eggs, +and began to sit; but one day, when an unusual number of post-cards were +dropped into, and nearly filled, the box, the birds deserted the nest, +which was afterwards removed with the eggs. In 1890, a pair built a new +nest and laid seven eggs, and reared a brood of five young, although the +letters posted were often found lying on the back of the sitting bird, +which never left the nest when the door of the box was opened to take +out the letters. The birds went in and out by the slit."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>EAST GRINSTEAD</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Sackville College—John Mason Neale—<i>Theodosius; or, The Force of +Love</i>, at the East Grinstead Theatre—Three martyrs—Brambletye +House—Forest Row—The garden of the author of <i>The English Flower +Garden</i>—Diamond Jubilee clock-faces—"Big-on-Little" and the +reverend and irreverend commentator.</p></blockquote> + +<p>East Grinstead, the capital of north-east Sussex, is interesting chiefly +for Sackville College, that haunt of ancient peace of which John Mason +Neale, poet, enthusiast, divine, historian, and romance-writer for +children, was for many years the distinguished Warden. Nothing can +exceed the quiet restfulness of the quadrangle. The college gives +shelter to five brethren and six sisters (one of whom shows the visitor +over the building), and to a warden and two assistants. Happy +collegians, to have so fair a haven in which to pass the evening of +life. East Grinstead otherwise has not much beauty, its commanding +pinnacled church tower being more impressive from a distance, and its +chief street mingling too much that is new with its few old timbered +façades, charming though these are.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page228.png" id="page228.png"></a><img src="images/page228.png" width='463' height='700' alt="The Judge's Houses, East Grinstead" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Judge's Houses, East Grinstead.</i></h4> + +<p>The town, when it would be frivolous, to-day depends upon the occasional +visits of travelling entertainers; but in the eighteenth century East +Grinstead had a theatre of its own, in the main street, a play-bill of +which, for May, 1758, is given in Boaden's <i>Life of Mrs. Siddons</i>. It +states that "Theodosius; or, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> Force of Love," is to be played, for +the benefit of Mrs. P. Varanes by Mr. P., "who will strive as far as +possible to support the character of this fiery Persian Prince, in which +he was so much admired and applauded at Hastings, Arundel, Petworth, +Midhurst, Lewes, &c." The attraction of the next announcement is the +precise converse: "Theodosius, by a young gentleman from the University +of Oxford, who never appeared on any stage."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">NOBILITY AND THE ALTAR</div> + +<p>The play-bill continues with a delicate hint: "Nothing in Italy can +exceed the altar in the first scene of the play. Nevertheless, should +any of the nobility or gentry wish to see it ornamented with flowers, +the bearer will bring away as many as they choose to favour him with." +Finally: "N.B.—The great yard dog that made so much noise on Thursday +night during the last act of King Richard the Third, will be sent to a +neighbour's over the way."</p> + +<p>The Sussex Martyrs, to whom a memorial, as we shall see, has recently +been raised above Lewes, are usually associated with that town; but on +July 18, 1556, Thomas Dungate, John Forman, and Anne, or Mother, Tree, +were burned for conscience' sake at East Grinstead.</p> + +<p>Between East Grinstead and Forest Row, on the east, just under the hill +and close to the railway, are the remains of Brambletye House, a rather +florid ruin, once the seat of the great Sussex family of Lewknor. In its +heyday Brambletye must have been a very fine place. Horace Smith's +romance which bears its name, and for which Horsfield, in his <i>History +of Sussex</i>, predicted a career commensurable with that of the Waverley +novels, is now, I fear, justly forgotten. The slopes of Forest Row, +which was of old a settlement of hunting lodges belonging to the great +lords who took their pleasure in Ashdown Forest, are now bright with new +villas. From Forest Row, Wych Cross and Ashdown Forest are easily +gained; but of this open region of dark heather more in a later <a href="#CHAPTER_XL">chapter</a>.</p> + +<p>Between Kingscote and West Hoathly, a short distance to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> the south-west +of East Grinstead, is another "tye"—Gravetye, a tudor mansion in a deep +hollow, the home of Mr. William Robinson, the author of <i>The English +Flower Garden</i>. Last April, the stonework, of which there is much, was a +mass of the most wonderful purple aubretia, and the wild garden between +the house and the water a paradise of daffodils.</p> + +<p>The church of West Hoathly (called West Ho-ly), which stands high on the +hill to the south, has a slender shingled spire that may be seen from +long distances. The tower has, however, been injured by the very ugly +new clock that has been lately fixed in a position doubtless the most +convenient but doubtless also the least comely. To nail to such a +delicate structure as West Hoathly church the kind of dial that one +expects to see outside a railway station is a curious lapse of taste. +Hever church, in Kent, has a similar blemish, probably dating from one +of the recent Jubilee celebrations, which left few loyal villages the +richer by a beautiful memorial. Surely it should be possible to obtain +an appropriate clock-face for such churches as these.</p> + +<p>West Hoathly has some iron tombstones, such as used to be cast in the +old furnace days, which are not uncommon in these parts. Opposite the +church is a building of great antiquity, which has been allowed to +forget its honourable age.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"BIG-ON-LITTLE"</div> + +<p>We are now on the fringe of the Sussex rock country, to which we come +again in earnest when we reach Maresfield, and of which Tunbridge Wells +is the capital. But not even Tunbridge Wells with its famous toad has +anything to offer more remarkable than West Hoathly's "Big-on-Little," +in the Rockhurst estate. I am tempted to quote two descriptions of the +rock, from two very different points of view. An antiquary writing in +the eighteenth century (quoted by Horsfield) thus begins his +account:—"About half a mile west of West Hoadley church there is a high +ridge covered with wood; the edge of this is a craggy cliff, composed of +enormous blocks of sand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> stone. The soil hath been entirely washed from +off them, and in many places, from the interstices by which they are +divided, one perceives these crags with bare broad white foreheads, and, +as it were, overlooking the wood, which clothes the valley at their +feet. In going to the place, I passed across this deep valley, and was +led by a narrow foot-path almost trackless up to the cliff, which seems +as one advances to hang over one's head. The mind in this passage is +prepared with all the suspended feelings of awe and reverence, and as +one approaches this particular rock, standing with its stupendous bulk +poised, seemingly in a miraculous manner and point, one is struck with +amazement. The recess in which it stands hath, behind this rock, and the +rocks which surround it, a withdrawn and recluse passage which the eye +cannot look into but with an idea of its coming from some more secret +and holy adyt. All these circumstances, in an age of tutored +superstition, would give, even to the finest minds, the impressions that +lead to idolatry."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">COBBETT AGAIN</div> + +<p>And this is Cobbett's description, in the <i>Rural Rides</i>:—"At the place, +of which I am now speaking, that is to say, by the side of this pleasant +road to Brighton, and between Turner's Hill and Lindfield, there is a +rock, which they call '<i>Big upon Little</i>,' that is to say, a rock upon +another, having nothing else to rest upon, and the top one being longer +and wider than the top of the one it lies on. This big rock is no +trifling concern, being as big, perhaps, as a not very small house. How, +then, <i>came</i> this big upon little? What lifted up the big? It balances +itself naturally enough; but what tossed it up? I do not like to <i>pay</i> a +parson for teaching me, while I have '<i>God's own Word</i>' to teach me; but +if any parson will tell me <i>how</i> big <i>came</i> upon little, I do not know +that I shall grudge him a trifle. And if he cannot tell me this; if he +say, All that we have to do is to <i>admire</i> and <i>adore</i>; then I tell him, +that I can admire and adore without his <i>aid</i>, and that I will keep my +money in my pocket." That is pure Cobbett.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">WEST HOATHLY</div> + +<p>West Hoathly is in the midst of some of the best of the inland country +of Sussex and an excellent centre for the walker. Several places that we +have already seen are within easy distance, such as Horsted Keynes, +Worth and Worth Forest and Balcombe and Balcombe Forest.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>HORSTED KEYNES TO LEWES</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The origin of "Keynes"—The Rev. Giles Moore's expenditure—Advice +as to tithes—Lord Sheffield and cricket—The grave of Edward +Gibbon—Fletching and English History—Newick and Chailey—The +Battle of Lewes—John Dudeney and John Kimber—Leonard Mascall and +the first English carp—Advice to fruit-growers—Malling Deanery +and the assassins of Becket.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The very pretty church of Horsted Keynes, which in its lowly position is +the very antithesis of West Hoathly's hill-surmounting spire, is famous +for the small recumbent figure of a knight in armour, with a lion at his +feet, possibly a member of the Keynes family that gives its name to this +Horsted (thus distinguishing it from Little Horsted, a few miles distant +in the East): Keynes being an anglicisation of de Cahanges, a family +which sent a representative to assist in the Norman Conquest.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ANCIENT ECONOMICS</div> + +<p>Horsted Keynes, which is situated in very pleasant country, once took +its spiritual instruction from the lips of the Rev. Giles Moore, +extracts from whose journals and account books, 1656-1679, have been +printed by the S.A.S. I quote a few passages:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I gave my wyfe 15<i>s.</i> to lay out at St. James faire at Lindfield, all +which shee spent except 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> which she never returned mee.</p> + +<p>"16th Sept. I bought of Edward Barrett at Lewis a clock, for which I +payed <i>£</i>2 10, and for a new jack, at the same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> time, made and brought +home, <i>£</i>1 5. For two prolongers [<i>i.e.</i> save-alls] and an extinguisher +2<i>d.</i>, and a payr of bellowes 5<i>s.</i>"</p> + +<p>7th May, 1656.—"I bought of William Clowson, upholsterer and itinerant, +living over against the Crosse at Chichester, but who comes about the +country with his pack on horseback:—</p> + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='2' summary='upholsterers bill'> + <tr> + <td>A fine large coverlett with birds and bucks </td> + <td><i>£</i>2 10 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>A sett of striped curtains and valance</td> + <td> 1 8 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>A coarse 8 qr coverlett</td> + <td> 1 2 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Two middle blankets</td> + <td> 1 4 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>One beasil or Holland tyke or bolster</td> + <td> 1 13 6</td> + </tr> + +</table> + +<p>"My mayde being sicke, I paid for opening her veine 4<i>d.</i>, to the widow +Rugglesford for looking to her, I gave 1<i>s.</i>; and to Old Bess, for +tending on her 3 days and 2 nights, I gave 1<i>s.</i>; in all 2<i>s.</i> +4<i>d.</i>—this I gave her.</p> + +<p>"Lent to my brother Luxford at the Widow Newports, never more to be +seene! 1<i>s.</i>"</p> + +<p>In 1658.—"To Wm Batchelor for bleeding mee in bed 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, and for +barbouring mee 1<i>s.</i>" A year later:—"I agreed with Mr. Batchelor of +Lindfield to barbour mee, and I am to pay him 16<i>s.</i> a yeare, beginning +from Lady Day."</p> + +<p>In 1671.—"I bargained with Edward Waters that he should have 18<i>s.</i> in +money for the trimming of mee by the year, and deducting 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> for +his tythes."</p> + +<p>23rd April, 1660.—"This being King Charles II. coronation I gave my +namesake Moore's daughter then marryed 10<i>s.</i> and the fiddlers 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p>"I payed the Widow Potter of Hoadleigh for knitting mee one payr of +worsted stockings 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>; for spinning 2 lb of wool 14<i>d.</i>, and for +carding it 2<i>d.</i></p> + +<p>"To the collections made at 3 several sacraments I gave 3 several +sixpences."</p> + +<p>12th May, 1673.—"I went to London, spending there, going and coming, as +<i>alibi apparet in particularibus</i>, 13<i>s.</i> 8<i>d.</i>; I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> bought for Ann Brett +a gold ring, this being the posy, 'When this you see, remember mee,' and +at the same time I bought Patrick's <i>Pilgrim</i>, 5<i>s.</i>; <i>The +Reasonableness of Scripture</i>, by Sir Chas. Wolseley, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>; and a +Comedy called <i>Epsom Wells</i>."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore, having suffered in his tithes, left the following "necessary +caution" for his successor:—"Never compound with any parishioner till +you have first viewed theire lande and seen what corne they have upon it +that yeare, and may have the next."</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">SHEFFIELD PARK</div> + +<p>The next station on this quiet little cross-country line to Lewes, is +Sheffield Park, the seat of Lord Sheffield. The present peer, one of the +patrons of modern Sussex cricket, took a famous team to Australia in +1891-2, and it was on his yacht that in 1894 cricket was played in the +Ice Fiord at Spitzbergen under the midnight sun, when Alfred Shaw +captured forty wickets in less than three-quarters of an hour. +Australian teams visiting England used to open their season with a match +at Sheffield Park, which contains one of the best private grounds in the +country; but the old custom has, I fancy, lapsed. In the long winter of +1890-1 several cricket matches on the ice were played on one of the +lakes in the park, with well-known Sussex players on both sides.</p> + +<p>Sheffield Park is associated in literature with the name of Edward +Gibbon, the historian, who spent much time there in the company of his +friend, John Baker Holroyd, the first earl. Gibbon's remains lie in +Fletching church, close by. There also lies Peter Dynot, a glover of +Fletching, who assisted Jack Cade, the Sussex rebel, whom we meet later, +in 1450; while (more history) it was in the woods around Fletching +church that Simon de Montfort encamped before he climbed the hills, as +we are about to see, and fought and won the Battle of Lewes, in 1264.</p> + +<p>The line passes next between Newick, on the east, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> Chailey on the +west. Fate seems to have decided that these villages shall always be +bracketed in men's minds, like Beaumont and Fletcher, or Winchelsea and +Rye: one certainly more often hears of "Newick and Chailey" than of +either separately. Chailey has a wide breezy common from which the line +of Downs between Ditchling Beacon and Lewes can be seen perhaps to their +best advantage. Immediately to the south, and just to the west of +Blackcap, the hill with a crest of trees, is Plumpton Plain, six hundred +feet high, where the Barons formed their ranks to meet the third Harry +in the Battle of Lewes, the actual fighting being on Mount Harry, the +hill on Blackcap's east. A cross to mark the struggle, cut into the turf +of the Plain, is still occasionally visible. More noticeable is the "V" +in spruce firs planted on the escarpment to commemorate the Jubilee of +1887.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SHEPHERD MATHEMATICIAN</div> + +<p>Plumpton, which is now known chiefly for its steeplechases, has had in +its day at least two interesting inhabitants. One was John Dudeney, +shepherd, mathematician, and schoolmaster, born here in 1782, who, as a +youth, when tending his sheep on Newmarket Hill, dug a study and library +in the chalk, and there kept his books and papers. He taught himself +mathematics and languages, even Hebrew, and ultimately became a +schoolmaster at Lewes. In his thorough adherence to learning Dudeney was +the completest contrast to John Kimber of Chailey, a wealthy farmer with +a consuming but unintelligent love of books, who was once, says +Horsfield, seen bringing home Macklin's Bible, a costly work in six +volumes in a sack laid across the back of a cart horse. According to the +excellent habit of the old Sussex farmers, Mr. Kimber's body was borne +to the grave in one of his wagons, drawn by his best team.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">FANTASTIC FRUITS</div> + +<p>Plumpton Place once had a moat, in which, legend has it, the first carp +swam that came into England. The house then belonged to Leonard Mascall, +whom Fuller in the <i>Worthies</i> erroneously ascribes to Plumsted. In +Fuller's own words,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> which no one could better: "Leonard Mascall, of +Plumsted in this county, being much delighted in Gardening, man's +Original vocation, was the first who brought over into England, from +beyond the seas, <i>Carps</i> and <i>Pippins</i>; the one, well-cook'd, delicious, +the other cordial and restorative. For the proof hereof, we have his own +word and witness; and did it, it seems, about the Fifth year of the +reign of King <i>Henry</i> the Eighth, Anno Dom. 1514. The time of his death +is to me unknown." The credit of introducing carps and pippins has, +however, been denied to Mascall, who died in 1589 at Farnham Royal in +Buckinghamshire, where he was buried; but we know him beyond question to +have been an ingenious experimentalist in horticulture. He wrote and +translated several books, among them a treatise on the orchard by a monk +of the Abbey of St. Vincent in France: <i>A Book of the Arte of and Manner +howe to plant and graffe all sortes of trees, howe to set stones, and +sowe Pepines to make wylde trees to graffe on</i>, 1572. I take a few +passages from a later edition of this work:</p> + +<p class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">To Colour Apples.</span></p> + +<p>To have coloured Apples with what colour ye shall think good ye shall +bore or slope a hole with an Auger in the biggest part of the body of +the tree, unto the midst thereof, or thereabouts, and then look what +colour ye will have them of. First ye shall take water and mingle your +colour therewith, then stop it up again with a short pin made of the +same wood or tree, then wax it round about. Ye may mingle with the said +colour what spice ye list, to make them taste thereafter. Thus may ye +change the colour and taste of any Apple.... This must be done before +the Spring do come....</p> + +<p class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">To Make Apples Fall From the Tree.</span></p> + +<p>If ye put fiery coles under an Apple tree, and then cast off the powder +of Brimstone therein, and the fume thereof ascend up, and touch an Apple +that is wet, that Apple shall fall incontinant.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span><br /><span class="smcap">To Destroy Pismiers or Ants About a Tree.</span></p> + +<p>Ye shall take of the saw-dust of Oke-wood oney, and straw that al about +the tree root, and the next raine that doth come, all the Pismiers or +Ants shall die there. For Earewigges, shooes stopt with hay, and hanged +on the tree one night, they come all in.</p> + +<p class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">For to have Rath Medlars Two Months Before Others.</span></p> + +<p>For to have Medlars two months sooner than others and the one shall be +better far than the other, ye shall graffe them upon a gooseberry tree, +and also a franke mulberry tree, and before ye do graffe them, ye shall +wet them in hay, and then graffe them.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MALLING DEANERY</div> + +<p><br />To return to the line, for the excursion to Plumpton has taken us far +from the original route, the next station to Newick and Chailey is +Barcombe Mills, a watery village on the Ouse. The river valley contracts +as Lewes is reached, with Malling Hill on the east and Offham Hill on +the west: both taking their names from two of the quaint little hamlets +by which Lewes is surrounded. It was at Mailing Deanery that the +assassins of Thomas à Becket sought shelter on their flight from +Canterbury. The legend records how, when they laid their armour on the +Deanery table, that noble piece of furniture rose and flung the accursed +accoutrements to the ground.</p> + +<p>On Malling Hill is the residence of a Lewes lady whose charitable +impulses have taken a direction not common among those who suffer for +others. She receives into her stable old and overworked horses, thus +ensuring for them a sleek and peaceful dotage enlivened by sugar and +carrots, and marked by the kindest consideration. The pyramidal grave +(as of a Saxon chief) of one of these dependants may be seen from the +road.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page239.png" id="page239.png"></a><img src="images/page239.png" width='700' height='441' alt="On the Ouse above Lewes" /></p> + +<h4><i>On the Ouse above Lewes.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>LEWES</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The Museum of Sussex—The riches of Lewes—Her leisure and +antiquity—A plea from <i>Idlehurst</i>—Old Lewes disabilities—The +Norman Conquest—Lewes Castle—Sussex curiosities—Lewes among her +hills—The Battle of Lewes—The Cluniac Priory—Repellers of the +French—A comprehender of Earthquakes—The author of <i>The Rights of +Man</i>—A game of bowls—"Clio" Rickman and Thomas Tipper—Famous +Lewes men—The Fifth of November—The Sussex martyrs.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Apart from the circumstance that the curiosities collected by the +county's Archæological Society are preserved in the castle, Lewes is the +museum of Sussex; for she has managed to compress into small compass +more objects of antiquarian interest than any town I know. Chichester, +which is compact enough, sprawls by comparison.</p> + +<p>The traveller arriving by train no sooner alights from his carriage than +he is on the site of the kitchens of the Cluniac Priory of St. Pancras, +some of the walls of which almost scrape the train on its way to +Brighton. That a priory eight hundred years old must be disturbed before +a railway station can be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> built is a melancholy circumstance; but in the +present case the vandalism had its compensation in the discovery by the +excavating navvies of the coffins of William de Warenne and his wife +Gundrada (the Conqueror's daughter), the founders of the priory, which +otherwise would probably have been lost evermore.</p> + +<p>The castle, which dominates the oldest part of the town, is but a few +minutes' stiff climb from the station; Lewes's several ancient churches +are within hailing distance of each other; the field of her battle, +where Simon de Montfort defeated Henry III., is in view from her +north-west slopes; while the new martyrs' memorial on the turf above the +precipitous escarpment of the Cliffe (once the scene of a fatal +avalanche) reminds one of what horrors were possible in the name of +religion in these streets less than four hundred years ago.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE RICHES OF LEWES</div> + +<p>Here are riches enough; yet Lewes adds to such mementoes of an historic +past two gaols—one civil and one naval—a racecourse, and a river, and +she is an assize town to boot. Once, indeed, Lewes was still better off, +for she had a theatre, which for some years was under the management of +Jack Palmer, of whom Charles Lamb wrote with such gusto. Added to these +possessions, she has, in Keere Street, the narrowest and steepest +thoroughfare down which a king (George IV.) ever drove a coach and four, +and a row of comfortable and serene residences (on the way to St. Ann's) +more luxuriantly and beautifully covered with leaves than any I ever +saw. (Much of Lewes in September is scarlet with Virginia creeper.)</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page241.png" id="page241.png"></a><img src="images/page241.png" width='700' height='693' alt="High Street, Southover" /></p> + +<h4><i>High Street, Southover.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">"BRIGHTHELMSTONE, NEAR LEWES"</div> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN HALSHAM'S DREAM</div> + +<p>Although less than half an hour from Brighton by train, and an hour by +road, Lewes is yet a full quarter of a century behind it. She would do +well jealously to maintain this interval. Lewes was old and grey before +Brighton was thought of (indeed, it was, as we have seen, a Lewes man +that discovered Brighton—Dr. Russell, who lies in his grave in South +Malling church); let her cling to her seniority. As a town<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> "in the +movement," as a contemporary of the "Queen of Watering Places," she +would cut a poor figure. But it is amusing to think of the old address +of a visitor to Brighton, "at Brighthelmstone, near Lewes," and to read +the county paper, <i>The Sussex Weekly Advertiser; or, Lewes Journal</i>, of +a century ago, with its columns of Lewes news and paragraphs of Brighton +correspondence. Lewes will cease to have charm the moment she +modernises. In the words of the author of <i>Idlehurst</i>, as he looked down +on the huddling little settlement from the Cliffe Hill: "Let us keep a +country town or two as preserves for clean atmospheres of body and soul, +for the almost lost secret of sitting still.... I find myself tangled +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> half-dreams of a devolution by which, when national amity shall have +become mentionable besides personal pence, London shall attract to +herself all the small vice, as she does already most of the great, from +the country, all the thrusters after gain, the vulgar, heavy-fingered +intellects, the Progressive spouters, the Bileses, the speculating +brigandage, and shall give us back from the foggy world of clubs and +cab-ranks and geniuses, the poets and painters, all the nice and witty +and pretty people, to make towns such as this, conserved and purified, +into country-side Athenses; to form distinct schools of letters and art, +individual growths, not that universal Cockney mind, smoke-ingrained, +stage-ridden, convention-throttled, which now masquerades under the +forms of every clime and dialect within reach of a tourist ticket."</p> + +<p>The customs of Lewes at the end of the Saxon rule and the beginning of +the Norman, as recorded in the pages of the Domesday Book, show that +residence in the town in those days was not unmixed delight, except, +perhaps, for murderers, for whom much seems to have been done. Thus: "If +the king wished to send an armament to guard the seas, without his +personal attendance, twenty shillings were collected from all the +inhabitants, without exception or respect to particular tenure, and +these were paid to the men-at-arms in the ships.</p> + +<p>"The seller of a horse, within the borough, pays one penny to the mayor +(sheriff?) and the purchaser another; of an ox, a half-penny; of a man, +fourpence, in whatsoever place he may be brought within the rape.</p> + +<p>"A murderer forfeits seven shillings and fourpence; a ravisher forfeits +eight shillings and fourpence; an adulterer eight shillings and +fourpence; an adultress the same. The king has the adulterer, the bishop +the adulteress."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PROVIDENT DE WARENNES</div> + +<p>With the Conquest new life came into the town, as into South Sussex +generally. The rule of the de Braoses, who dominated so much of the +country through which we have been passing, is here no more, the great +lord of this district<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> being William de Warenne, who had claims upon +William the Conqueror, not only for services rendered in the Conquest +but as a son-in-law. When, therefore, the contest was over, some of the +richest prizes fell to Earl de Warenne. Among them was the township of +Lewes, whose situation so pleased the Earl that he decided to make his +home there. His first action, then, was to graft upon the existing +fortress a new stronghold, the remains of which still stand.</p> + +<p>Ten years after the victory at Hastings the memory of the blood of the +sturdy Saxons whom he had hacked down at Battle began so to weigh upon +de Warenne's conscience that he set out with Gundrada upon an expiatory +pilgrimage to Rome. Sheltering on the way in the monastery of St. Per, +at Cluny, they were so hospitably received that on returning to Lewes +William and Gundrada built a Priory, partly as a form of gratitude, and +partly as a safeguard for the life to come. In 1078, it was formally +founded on a magnificent scale. Thus Lewes obtained her castle and her +priory, both now in ruins, in the one of which William de Warenne might +sin with a clear mind, knowing that just below him, on the edge of the +water-brooks, was (in the other) so tangible an expiation.</p> + +<p>The date of the formation of the priory spoils the pleasant legend which +tells how Harold, only badly wounded, was carried hither from Battle, +and how, recovering, he lived quietly with the brothers until his +natural death some years later. A variant of the same story takes the +English king to a cell near St. John's-under-the-Castle, also in Lewes, +and establishes him there as an anchorite. But (although, as we shall +see when we come to Battle, the facts were otherwise) all true +Englishmen prefer to think of Harold fighting in the midst of his army, +killed by a chance arrow shot into the zenith, and lying there until the +eyes of Editha of the Swan-neck lighted upon his dear corpse amid the +hundreds of the slain.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CASTLE'S CURIOSITIES</div> + +<p>The de Warennes held Lewes Castle until the fourteenth century; the +Sussex Archæological Society now have it in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> fostering care. +Architecturally it is of no great interest, although it was once unique +in England by the possession of two keeps; nor has it romantic +associations, like Kenilworth or even Carisbrooke. The crumbling masonry +was assisted in its decay by no siege or bombardment; the castle has +been never the scene of human struggle. Visitors, therefore, must take +pleasure chiefly in the curiosities collected in the museum and in the +views from the roof. A few little rooms hold the treasures amassed by +the Archæological Society; amassed, it may be said, with little +difficulty, for the soil of the district is fertile in relics. From +Ringmer come rusty shield bosses and the mouldering skull of an +Anglo-Saxon; from the old Lewes gaol come a lock and a key strong enough +to hold Jack Sheppard; and from Horsham Gaol a complete set of fetters +for ankles and wrists, once used to cramp the movements of female +malefactors. Here, in a case, is a tiny bronze thimble that tipped the +pretty finger of a Roman seamstress—one only among scores of tokens of +the Roman occupation of the county. Flint arrow heads and celts in +profusion take us back to remoter times. A Pyecombe crook hangs on one +wall, and relics of the Sussex ironworks are plentiful. The highest room +contains rubbings of our best brasses. Outside is an early Sussex +plough. In a corner is a beadle's staff that once struck terror into the +hearts of Sabbath-breaking boys; and near one of the windows is a little +brass crucifix from St. Pancras' Priory. But nothing, the custodian +tells me, so pleases visitors to this very catholic collection as the +mummied hand of a murderess.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE BATTLE OF LEWES</div> + +<p>Looking down and around from the roof of +the keep, you are immediately struck by the wide shallow hollow in which +Lewes lies. It is something the shape of a dairy basin, the gap to the +north-west, between Malling Hill and Offham, serving for the lip. +Nothing could be flatter than the smiling meadows, streaked with tiny +streams, stretching between Lewes and the coast line to the south-east +(with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> exception of one symmetrical hillock just out of the town). +Among them curls the lazy Ouse; just beneath you Lewes sleeps, +red-roofed as an Italian town, sending up no hum of activity, listless +and immovable save for a few spirals of silent smoke. The surrounding +hills are very fine: Firle Beacon in the far east; Mount Caburn, a noble +cone, in the near east; Mount Harry to the west, on whose slopes Henry +III., assisted by the fiery Prince Edward, fought the Barons. So fiery, +indeed, was this lad that he forgot all about his father, and gave chase +to a small detachment of the enemy, catching them up, and hewing them +down with the keenest enjoyment, while the unhappy Henry was being +completely worsted by de Montfort. It was a bloody battle, made up, as +old Fabian wrote, of embittered men, with hearts full of hatred, "eyther +desyrous to bring the other out of lyfe." Great fun was made by the +humorists of the time, after the battle, over the fact that Richard, +King of the Romans, Henry's brother, was captured in a windmill in which +he had taken refuge. This mill stood near the site of the Black Horse +inn. In <i>The Barons' Wars</i>, by Mr. Blaauw, the Sussex antiquary, the +whole story is told.</p> + +<p>Lewes has played but a small part in history since that battle; but, as +we saw when we were at Rottingdean, it was one of her Cluniac priors +that repulsed the French in 1377, and her son, Sir Nicholas Pelham, who +performed a similar service in 1545, at Seaford. As the verses on his +monument in St. Michael's Church run:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>What time the French sought to have sackt Sea-Foord,</div> +<div>This Pelham did repel-em back aboord.</div> +</div></div> + +<p class="center"><a name="page246.png" id="page246.png"></a><img src="images/page246.png" width='669' height='700' alt="Ann of Cleves' House, Southover" /></p> + +<h4><i>Ann of Cleves' House, Southover.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CLUNIAC PRIORY</div> + +<p>The Cluniac priory of St. Pancras was dissolved by Henry VIII. in 1537, +Thomas Cromwell, that execrable vandal, not only abolishing the monks +but destroying the buildings, which covered, with their gardens and fish +ponds, forty acres. The ruins that remain give some idea of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> extent +of this wonderful priory, another relic being the adjacent mound on +which the Calvary stood, probably constructed of the earth removed for +the purpose from the Dripping Pan, as the hollow circular space is +called where Lewes now plays cricket. One very pretty possession of the +monks was allowed to stand until quite recent times—the Columbarium, +which was as large as a church and contained homes for 3,228 birds. It +has now vanished; but an idea of what it was may be gained from the +pigeon house at Alciston, a few miles distant, which belonged to Battle +Abbey.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>The priory's possessions were granted to Cromwell by Henry VIII., who, +tradition asserts (somewhat directly in the face of historical +evidence), murdered one of his wives on a winding stair in the building, +and may therefore have been glad to see its demolition. Which wife it +was, is not stated, but when Cromwell went the way of all this king's +favourites, the property was transferred to Ann of Cleves, who is +supposed to have lived in the most picturesque of the old houses on the +right hand side of Southover's street as you leave Lewes for the Ouse +valley.</p> + +<p>Southover church, in itself a beautiful structure of the grave red type, +with a square ivied tower and the most delicate vane in Sussex, is +rendered the more interesting by the possession of the leaden caskets of +William de Warenne and Gundrada and the superb tomb removed from Isfield +church and very ingeniously restored. These relics repose in a charming +little chapel built in their honour.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TOM PAINE</div> + +<p>A notable man who had association with Lewes was Tom Paine, author of +<i>The Rights of Man</i>. He settled there as an exciseman in 1768, married +Elizabeth Ollive of the same town at St. Michael's Church in 1771, and +succeeded to her father's business as a tobacconist and grocer. Paine +was more successful as a debater than a business man. As a member of the +White Hart evening club he was more often than any other the winner of +the Headstrong Book—an old Greek Homer despatched the next morning to +the most obstinate haranguer of the preceding night. It was at Lewes +that Tom Paine's thoughts were first turned to the question of +government. He used thus to tell the story. One evening after playing +bowls, all the party retired to drink punch; when, in the conversation +that ensued, Mr. Verril (it should be Verrall) "observed, alluding to +the wars of Frederick, that the King of Prussia was the best fellow in +the world for a king, he had so much of the devil in him. This, striking +me with great force, occasioned the reflection, that if it were +necessary for a king<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> to have so much of the devil in him, kings might +very beneficially be dispensed with."</p> + +<p>I thought of that historic game of bowls as I watched four Lewes +gentlemen playing this otherwise discreetest of games in the meadow by +the castle gate on a fine September evening. Surely (after the historic +Plymouth Hoe) a lawn in the shadow of a Norman castle is the ideal spot +for this leisurely but exciting pastime. The four Lewes gentlemen played +uncommonly well, with bowls of peculiar splendour in which a setting of +silver glistened as they sped over the turf. After each game one little +boy bearing a cloth wiped the bowls while another registered the score. +And now I feel that no one can really be said to have seen Lewes unless +he has watched the progress of such a game: it remains in my mind as +intimate a part of the town and the town's spirit as the ruins of the +Priory, or Keere Street, or the Castle itself.</p> + +<p>The house of Tom Paine, just off the High Street, almost opposite the +circular tower of St. Michael's, has a tablet commemorating its +illustrious owner. It also has a very curious red carved demon which +otherwise distinguishes it. Lewes was not always proud of Tom Paine; but +Cuckfield went farther. In 1793, I learn from the <i>Sussex Advertiser</i> +for that year, Cuckfield emphasised its loyalty to the constitution by +singing "God save the King" in the streets and burning Paine in effigy.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"CLIO" RICKMAN</div> + +<p>Mention of Tom Paine naturally calls to mind his friend and biographer +(and my thrice great uncle), Thomas "Clio" Rickman, the Citizen of the +World, who was born at Lewes in 1760. Rickman began life as a Quaker, +and therefore without his pagan middle name, which he first adopted as +the signature to epigrams and scraps of verse in the local paper, and +afterwards incorporated in his signature. Rickman's connection with Tom +Paine and his own revolutionary habits were a source of distress to his +Quaker relatives at Lewes, so much so that there is a story in the +family of the Citizen being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> refused admission to a house in the +neighbourhood where he had eight impressionable nieces, and, when he +would visit their father, being entertained instead at the Bear. His +Bible, with sceptical marginal notes, is still preserved, with the bad +pages pasted together by a subsequent owner.</p> + +<p>After roving about in Spain and other countries he settled as a +bookseller in London, and it was in his house and at his table that <i>The +Rights of Man</i> was written. "This table," says an article on Rickman in +the <i>Wonderful Museum</i>, "is prized by him very highly at this time; and +no doubt will be deemed a rich relic by some of our irreligious +connoisseurs." It was shown at the Tom Paine exhibition a few years ago. +Rickman escaped prosecution, but he once had his papers seized.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TIPPER'S EPITAPH</div> + +<p>According to his portrait Clio wore a hat like a beehive, and he +invented a trumpet to increase the sound of a signal gun. His verse is +exceedingly poor, his finest poetical achievement being the epitaph on +Thomas Tipper in Newhaven churchyard. Tipper was the brewer of the ale +that was known as "Newhaven Tipper"; but he was other things too:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt and kind,</div> +<div>And dared what few dare do, to speak his mind.</div> +<div>Philosophy and history well he knew,</div> +<div>Was versed in Physic and in surgery too,</div> +<div>The best old Stingo he both brewed and sold,</div> +<div>Nor did one knavish act to get his gold.</div> +<div>He played through life a varied comic part,</div> +<div>And knew immortal Hudibras by heart.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Charles Lamb greatly admired the end of this epitaph. Clio Rickman died +in 1834.</p> + +<p>Among other men of note who have lived in Lewes or have had association +with it, was John Evelyn the diarist, who had some of his education at +Southover grammar school: Mark Antony Lower, the Sussex antiquary, to +whom all writers on the county are indebted; the Rev. T. W. Horsfield, +the historian of Sussex, without whose work we should also often<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> be in +difficulties; and the Rev. Gideon Mantell, the Sussex geologist, whose +collection of Sussex fossils is preserved in the British Museum.</p> + +<p>In St. Ann's church on the hill lie the bones of a remarkable man who +died at Lewes (in the tenth climacteric) in 1613—no less a person than +Thomas Twyne, M.D. In addition to the principles of physic he +"comprehended earthquakes" and wrote a book about them. He also wrote a +survey of the world. I quote Horsfield's translation of the florid Latin +inscription to his memory: "Hippocrates saw Twyne lifeless and his bones +slightly covered with earth. Some of his sacred dust (says he) will be +of use to me in removing diseases; for the dead, when converted into +medicine, will expel human maladies, and ashes prevail against ashes. +Now the physician is absent, disease extends itself on every side, and +exults its enemy is no more. Alas! here lies our preserver Twyne; the +flower and ornament of his age. Sussex deprived of her physician, +languished, and is ready to sink along with him. Believe me, no future +age will produce so good a physician and so renowned a man as this has. +He died at Lewes in 1613, on the 1st of August, in the tenth +climacteric, (viz. 70)."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">DR. JOHNSON AT LEWES</div> + +<p>Dr. Johnson was once in Lewes, on a day's visit to the Shelleys, at the +house which bears their name at the south end of the town. One of the +little girls becoming rather a nuisance with her questions, the Doctor +lifted her into a cherry tree and walked off. At dinner, some time +later, the child was missed, and a search party was about to set out +when the Doctor exclaimed, "Oh, I left her in a tree!" For many years +the tree was known as "Dr. Johnson's cherry tree."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page251.png" id="page251.png"></a><img src="images/page251.png" width='543' height='700' alt="St. Ann's Church, Southover" /></p> + +<h4><i>St. Ann's Church, Southover.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">THE FIFTH</div> + +<p>Lewes is ordinarily still and leisurely, with no bustle in her steep +streets save on market days: an abode of rest and unhastening feet. But +on one night of the year she lays aside her grey mantle and her quiet +tones and emerges a Bacchante robed in flame. Lewes on the 5th of +November is an incredible sight; probably no other town in the United +Kingdom offers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> such a contrast to its ordinary life. I have never heard +that Lewes is notably Protestant on other days in the year, that any +intolerance is meted out to Roman Catholics on November 4th or November +6th; but on November 5th she appears to believe that the honour of the +reformed church is wholly in her hands,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> and that unless her voice is +heard declaiming against the tyrannies and treacheries of Rome all the +spiritual labours of the eighth Henry will have been in vain.</p> + +<p>No fewer than eight Bonfire Societies flourish in the town, all in a +strong financial position. Each of these has its bonfire blazing or +smouldering at a street corner, from dusk to midnight, and each, at a +certain stage in the evening, forms into procession, and approaching its +own fire by devious routes, burns an effigy of the Pope, together with +whatever miscreant most fills the public eye at the moment—such as +General Booth or Mr. Kruger, both of whom I have seen incinerated amid +cheers and detonations.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LEWES ROUSERS</div> + +<p>The figures are not lightly cast upon the flames, but are conducted +thither ceremoniously, the "Bishop" of the society having first passed +sentence upon them in a speech bristling with local allusions. These +speeches serve the function of a <i>revue</i> of the year and are sometimes +quite clever, but it is not until they are printed in the next morning's +paper that one can take their many points. The principal among the many +distractions is the "rouser," a squib peculiar to Lewes, to which the +bonfire boys (who are, by the way, in great part boys only in name, like +the postboys of the past and the cowboys of the present) have given +laborious nights throughout the preceding October. The rouser is much +larger and heavier than the ordinary squib; it is propelled through the +air like a rocket by the force of its escaping sparks; and it bursts +with a terrible report. In order to protect themselves from the ravages +of the rouser the people in the streets wear spectacles of wire netting, +while the householders board up their windows and lay damp straw on +their gratings. Ordinary squibs and crackers are also continuously +ignited, while now and then one of the sky rockets discharged in flights +from a procession, elects to take a horizontal course, and hurtles +head-high down the crowded street.</p> + +<p>So the carnival proceeds until midnight, when the firemen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> who have +been on the alert all the evening, extinguish the fires. The Bonfire +Societies subsequently collect information as to any damage done and +make it good: a wise course, to which they owe in part the sanction to +renew the orgie next year. Other towns in Sussex keep up the glorious +Fifth with some spirit, but nowhere in England is there anything to +compare with the thoroughness of Lewes.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page253.png" id="page253.png"></a><img src="images/page253.png" width='700' height='547' alt="The Ouse at South Street, Lewes" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Ouse at South Street, Lewes.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LEWES MARTYRS</div> + +<div class="sidenote">RICHARD WOODMAN</div> + +<p>To some extent Lewes may consider that she has reason for the display, +for on June 22, 1557, ten men and women were tied to the stake and +burned to death in the High Street for professing a faith obnoxious to +Queen Mary. Chief of these courageous enthusiasts were Richard Woodman +and Derrick Carver. Woodman, a native of Buxted, had settled at +Warbleton, where he was a prosperous iron master. All went well until +Mary's accession to the throne, when the rector of Warbleton, who had +been a Protestant under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> Edward VI., turned, in Foxe's words, "head to +tayle" and preached "clean contrary to that which he had before taught." +Woodman's protests carried him to imprisonment and the stake. +Altogether, Lewes saw the death of sixteen martyrs.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page255.png" id="page255.png"></a><img src="images/page255.png" width='700' height='414' alt="The Ouse at Piddinghoe" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Ouse at Piddinghoe.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE OUSE VALLEY</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The two Ouses—Three round towers—Thirsty +labourers—Telscombe—The hills and the sea—Mrs. Marriott Watson's +Down poem—Newhaven—A Sussex miller—Seaford's past—A politic +smuggler—Electioneering ingenuity—Bishopstone.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The road from Lewes to the sea runs along the edge of the Ouse levels, +just under the bare hills, passing through villages that are little more +than homesteads of the sheep-farmers, albeit each has its church—Iford, +Rodmell, Southease, Piddinghoe—and so to Newhaven, the county's only +harbour of any importance since the sea silted up the Shoreham bar. You +may be as much out of the world in one of these minute villages as +anywhere twice the distance from London; and the Downs above them are +practically virgin soil. The Brighton horseman or walker takes as a rule +a line either to Lewes or to Newhaven, rarely adventuring in the +direction of Iford Hill, Highdole Hill, or Telscombe village, which +nestles three hundred feet high, over Piddinghoe. By day the waggons ply +steadily between Lewes and the port, but other travellers are few. Once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +evening falls the world is your own, with nothing but the bleat of sheep +and the roar of the French boat trains to recall life and civilisation.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE OUSE VALLEY</div> + +<p>The air of this valley is singularly clear, producing on fine days a +blue effect that is, I believe, peculiar to the district. In the +sketches of a Brighton painter in water colours, Mr. Clem Lambert, who +has worked much at Rodmell, the spirit of the river valleys of Sussex is +reproduced with extraordinary fidelity and the minimum loss of +freshness.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page256.png" id="page256.png"></a><img src="images/page256.png" width='700' height='564' alt="Rodmell" /></p> + +<h4><i>Rodmell.</i></h4> + +<p>Horsfield, rather than have no poetical blossom to deck his page at the +mention of the Lewes river, quotes a passage from "The Task":</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain</div> +<div>Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er,</div> +<div>Conducts the eye along his sinuous course</div> +<div>Delighted.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>Dr. Johnson's remark that one green field is like another green field, +might, one sees, be extended to rivers, for Cowper was, of course, +describing the Ouse at Olney.</p> + +<p>The first village out of Lewes on the Newhaven road is Kingston (one of +three Sussex villages of this name), on the side of the hill, once the +property of Sir Philip Sidney. Next is Iford, with straw blowing free +and cows in its meadows; next Rodmell, whence Whiteway Bottom and Breaky +Bottom lead to the highlands above: next Southease, where the only +bridge over the Ouse between Lewes and Newhaven is to be crossed: a +little village famous for a round church tower, of which Sussex knows +but three, one other at St. Michael's, Lewes, and one at Piddinghoe, the +next village.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SOUTHEASE THIRST</div> + +<p>The Southease rustics were once of independent mind, as may be gathered +from the following extract from the "Manorial Customs of +Southease-with-Heighton, near Lewes," in 1623: "Every reaper must have +allowed him, at the cost of the lord or his farmer, one drinkinge in the +morninge of bread and cheese, and a dinner at noone consistinge of +rostmeate and other good victualls, meete for men and women in harvest +time; and two drinkinges in the afternoone, one in the middest of their +afternoone's work and the other at the ende of their day's work, and +drinke alwayes duringe their work as neede shall require."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PIDD'NHOO</div> + +<p>Telscombe, the capital of these lonely Downs and as good an objective as +the walker who sets out from Brighton, Rottingdean, or Lewes to climb +hills can ask, is a charming little shy hamlet which nothing can harm, +snugly reposing in its combe, above Piddinghoe. Piddinghoe (pronounced +Pidd'nhoo) is a compact village at the foot of the hill; but it has +suffered in picturesqueness and character by its proximity to the +commercial enterprise of Newhaven. Hussey, in his <i>Notes on the Churches +of ... Sussex</i>, suggests that a field north of the village was once the +site of a considerable Roman villa. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> local sarcasm credits Piddinghoe +people with the habit of shoeing their magpies.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page258.png" id="page258.png"></a><img src="images/page258.png" width='700' height='537' alt="Piddinghoe" /></p> + +<h4><i>Piddinghoe.</i></h4> + +<p>The Downs when we saw them first, between Midhurst and Chichester, +formed an inland chain parallel with the shore: here, and eastward as +far as Beachy Head, where they suddenly cease, their southern slopes are +washed by the Channel. This companionship of the sea lends them an +additional wildness: sea mists now and then envelop them in a cloud; sea +birds rise and fall above their cliffs; the roar or sigh of the waves +mingles with the cries of sheep; the salt savour of the sea is borne on +the wind over the crisp turf. It was, I fancy, among the Downs in this +part of Sussex that Mrs. Marriott-Watson wrote the intimately +understanding lines which I take the liberty of quoting:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">A HILL POEM</div> + +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br />ON THE DOWNS.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Broad and bare to the skies</div> +<div>The great Down-country lies,</div> +<div>Green in the glance of the sun,</div> +<div>Fresh with the clean salt air;</div> +<div>Screaming the gulls rise from the fresh-turned mould,</div> +<div>Where the round bosom of the wind-swept wold</div> +<div>Slopes to the valley fair.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Where the pale stubble shines with golden gleam</div> +<div>The silver ploughshare cleaves its hard-won way</div> +<div>Behind the patient team,</div> +<div>The slow black oxen toiling through the day</div> +<div>Tireless, impassive still,</div> +<div>From dawning dusk and chill</div> +<div>To twilight grey.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Far off the pearly sheep</div> +<div>Along the upland steep</div> +<div>Follow their shepherd from the wattled fold,</div> +<div>With tinkling bell-notes falling sweet and cold</div> +<div>As a stream's cadence, while a skylark sings</div> +<div>High in the blue, with eager outstretched wings,</div> +<div>Till the strong passion of his joy be told.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>But when the day grows old,</div> +<div>And night cometh fold on fold,</div> +<div>Dulling the western gold,</div> +<div>Blackening bush and tree,</div> +<div>Veiling the ranks of cloud,</div> +<div>In their pallid pomp and proud</div> +<div>That hasten home from the sea,</div> +<div>Listen—now and again if the night be still enow,</div> +<div>You may hear the distant sea range to and fro</div> +<div>Tearing the shingly bourne of his bounden track,</div> +<div>Moaning with hate as he fails and falleth back;</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The Downs are peopled then;</div> +<div>Fugitive, low-browed men</div> +<div>Start from the slopes around</div> +<div>Over the murky ground</div> +<div>Crouching they run with rough-wrought bow and spear,</div> +<div>Now seen, now hid, they rise and disappear,</div> +<div>Lost in the gloom again.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>Soft on the dew-fall damp</div> +<div>Scarce sounds the measured tramp</div> +<div>Of bronze-mailed sentinels,</div> +<div>Dark on the darkened fells</div> +<div>Guarding the camp.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The Roman watch-fires glow</div> +<div>Red on the dusk; and harsh</div> +<div>Cries a heron flitting slow</div> +<div>Over the valley marsh</div> +<div>Where the sea-mist gathers low.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Closer, and closer yet</div> +<div>Draweth the night's dim net</div> +<div>Hiding the troubled dead:</div> +<div>No more to see or know</div> +<div>But a black waste lying below,</div> +<div>And a glimmering blank o'erhead.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Of Newhaven there is little to say, except that in rough weather the +traveller from France is very glad to reach it, and on a fine day the +traveller from England is happy to leave it behind. In the churchyard is +a monument in memory of the officers and crew of the <i>Brazen</i>, which +went down off the town in 1800, and lost all hands save one.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SUSSEX MILLER</div> + +<p>On the way to Seaford, which is nearly three miles east, sheltering +under its white headland (a preliminary sketch, as one might say, for +Beachy Head), we pass the Bishopstone tide mills, once the property of a +sturdy and prosperous Sussex autocrat named William Catt, the grower of +the best pears in the county, and the first to welcome Louis Philippe +(whom he had advised on milling in France) when he landed at Newhaven in +exile. A good story told of William Catt, by Mr. Lower, in his <i>Worthies +of Sussex</i>, illustrates not only the character of that sagacious and +kindly martinet, but also of the Sussex peasant in its mingled +independence and dependence, frankness and caution. Mr. Catt, having +unbent among his retainers at a harvest supper, one of them, a little +emboldened perhaps by draughts of Newhaven "tipper," thus addressed his +master.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> "Give us yer hand, sir, I love ye, I love ye," but, he added, +"I'm danged if I beant afeared of ye, though."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page261.png" id="page261.png"></a><img src="images/page261.png" width='556' height='700' alt="Southover Grange" /></p> + +<h4><i>Southover Grange.</i></h4> + +<p>There was a hermitage on the cliff at Seaford some centuries ago. In +1372 the hermit's name was Peter, and we find him receiving letters of +protection for the unusual term of five years. In the vestry of the +church is an old monument bearing the riddling inscription: "... Also, +near this place lie two mothers, three grandmothers, four aunts, four +sisters, four daughters, four grand-daughters, three cousins—but VI +persons." A record in the Seaford archives runs thus: "Dec. 24, 1652. +Then were all accounts taken and all made even, from the beginning of +y<sup>e</sup> world, of the former Bayliffes unto the present time, and there +remained ... y<sup>e</sup> sum of twelve pounds, sixteen shillings, seven pence."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PRICE OF TWO VOTES</div> + +<p>Millburgh House, Seaford, was of old called Corsica Hall, having been +built (originally at Wellingham, near Lewes, and then moved) by a +smuggler named Whitfield, who was outlawed for illicit traffic in +Corsican wine. He obtained the removal of his outlawry by presenting +George II. with a selection of his choicest vintages. Another agreeable +story of local corruption is told concerning Seaford's old +electioneering days. It was in 1798, during the candidature of Sir +Godfrey Webster of Battle Abbey. Sir Godfrey was one day addressed by +Mrs. S—— (nothing but Horsfield's delicacy keeps her name from fame) in +the following terms: "Mr. S——, sir, will vote, of course, as he +pleases—I have nothing to do or to say about him; but there is my +gardener and my coachman, both of whom will, I am sure, be entirely +guided by me. Now, they are both family men, Sir Godfrey, and I wish to +do the best I can to serve them. Now, I know you are in great doubt, and +that two sure votes are of great value: I'll tell you what you shall do. +You shall give me <i>£</i>200; nobody will know any thing about it; there will +be no danger—no bribery, Sir Godfrey, at all. I will desire the men to +go and vote for you and Colonel Tarleton, and it will all be right, and +no harm done. The bargain," adds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> Horsfield, "was struck—the money +paid—the votes given as promised; and the election over, the old lady +gave the two men <i>£</i>30 a piece, and pocketed the rest for the good of her +country."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SEAFORD TO LEWES</div> + +<p>Seaford's neighbouring village, Bishopstone, in addition to its tide +mills—the only tide mills in Sussex excepting that at Sidlesham, now +disused—possessed once the oldest windmill in the county. In the very +charming little church is buried James Hurdis, author of <i>The Village +Curate</i>, whom we shall meet again at Burwash. From Bishopstone we may +return to Lewes either by the road through South Heighton, Tarring +Neville, Itford Farm, and Beddingham, or cross the river again at +Southease, and retrace our earlier steps through Rodmell and Iford. That +is the quicker way. The road through Beddingham is longer, and +interesting rather for the hills above it than for anything upon it. To +these hills we come in the next chapter.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page263.png" id="page263.png"></a><img src="images/page263.png" width='700' height='552' alt="Near Tarring Neville" /></p> + +<h4><i>Near Tarring Neville.</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>ALFRISTON</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Three routes to Alfriston—West Firle—The Gages—A "Noble +Dame"—Sussex pronunciation and doggedness—The Selmeston +smugglers—Alfriston's ancient inn—The middle ages and P... +P....—Alfriston church—A miracle and a sign—An Alfriston +scholar—Dr. Benbrigg—The smallest church in Sussex—Alfriston as +a centre—A digression on walking—"A Song against +Speed"—Alciston—A Berwick genius—The Long Man of Wilmington.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Alfriston may be reached from Lewes by rail, taking train to Berwick; by +road, under the hills; or on foot or horse-back, over the hills. By +road, you pass first through Beddingham, a small village, where, it is +said, was once a monastery; then, by a southern <i>détour</i>, to West Firle, +a charming little village with a great park, which bears the same +relation to Firle Beacon that Wiston Park does to Chanctonbury Ring. The +tower in the east serves to provide a good view of the Weald for those +who do not care to climb the beacon's seven hundred feet and get a +better. The little church is rich in interesting memorials of the Gages, +who have been the lords of Firle for many a long year.</p> + +<p>In the house is a portrait of Sir John Gage, the trusted friend of Henry +VIII., Edward VI., and Mary, and, as Constable of the Tower, the gaoler +(but a very kind one) of both Lady Jane Grey and the Princess Elizabeth, +afterwards Good Queen Bess. In Harrison Ainsworth's romance <i>The +Constable of the Tower</i> Sir John Gage is much seen. Sir John was +succeeded at Firle by his son Sir Edward, who, as High Sheriff of +Sussex, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> one of the judges of the Sussex martyrs, but who, even Foxe +admits, exercised courtesy to them. Sir Edward's son, Sir John Gage, was +the second husband of the Lady Penelope D'Arcy, Mr. Hardy's heroine, +whose portrait we saw at Parham: who, being courted as a girl by Sir +George Trenchard, Sir John Gage, and Sir William Hervey, promised she +would marry all in turn, and did so. Sir George left her a widow at +seventeen; to Sir John Gage she bore nine children.</p> + +<p>Returning from Firle to the high road, we come next, by following for a +little a left turn, to Selmeston, the village where Mr. W. D. Parish, +the rector for very many years, collected most of the entertaining +examples of the Sussex dialect with which I have made so free in a later +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">chapter</a>. The church is very simple and well-cared for, with some pretty +south windows. The small memorial tablets of brass which have been let +into the floor symmetrically among the tiles seem to me a happier means +of commemoration than mural tablets,—at least for a modest building +such as this.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">VAGARIES OF PRONUNCIATION</div> + +<p>In losing your way in this neighbourhood do not ask the passer-by for +Selmeston, but for Simson; for Selmeston, pronounced as spelt, does not +exist. Sussex men are curiously intolerant of the phonetics of +orthography. Brighthelmstone was called Brighton from the first, +although only in the last century was the spelling modified to agree +with the sound. Chalvington (the name of a village north of Selmeston) +is a pretty word, but Sussex declines to call it other than Chawton. +Firle becomes Furrel; Lewes is almost Lose, but not quite; Heathfield is +Hefful. It is characteristic of a Sussex man that he always knows best; +though all the masters of all the colleges should assemble about him and +speak reasoningly of Selmeston he would leave the congress as +incorrigible and self-satisfied a Simsonian as ever.</p> + +<p>Many years ago Selmeston churchyard possessed an empty tomb, in which +the smugglers were wont to store their goods until a favourable time +came to set them on the road. Any <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>objections that those in authority +might have had were silenced by an occasional tub. But of this more in +the next <a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">chapter</a>.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ALFRISTON</div> + +<p>And so we come to Alfriston; but, as I said, the right way was over the +hills, ascending them either at Itford (crossing the Ouse at Southease) +or by that remarkable combe, one of the finest in Sussex, with an avenue +leading to it, which is gained from a lane south of Beddingham. Firle +Beacon's lofty summit is half-way between Beddingham and Alfriston, and +from this height, with its magnificent view of the Weald, we descend +steadily to the Cuckmere valley, of which Alfriston is the capital.</p> + +<p>Alfriston, which is now only a village street, shares with Chichester +the distinction of possessing a market cross. Alfriston's specimen is, +however, sadly mutilated, a mere relic, whereas Chichester's is being +made more splendid as I write. Alfriston also has one of the oldest inns +in the county—the "Star"—(finer far in its way than any of +Chichester's seventy and more); but Ainsworth was wrong in sending +Charles II. thither, in <i>Ovingdean Grange</i>. It is one of the inns that +the Merry Monarch never saw. The "Star" was once a sanctuary, within the +jurisdiction of the Abbot of Battle, for persons flying from justice; +and it is pleasant to sit in the large room upstairs, over the street, +and think of fugitives pattering up the valley, with fearful backward +glances, and hammering at the old door. One Birrel, in the reign of +Henry VIII., having stolen a horse at Lydd, in Kent, took refuge here. +The inn in those days was intended chiefly for the refreshment of +mendicant friars.</p> + +<p>In 1767 the landlord was, according to a private letter, "as great a +curiosity as the house." I wish we had some information about him, for +the house is quaint and curious indeed, with its red lion sentinel at +the side (figure-head from a Dutch wreck in Cuckmere Haven), and its +carvings inside and out. The old and the new mingled very oddly when I +was lately at Alfriston. Hearing a familiar sound, as of a battledore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +and a ball, in one of the rooms, I opened the door and discovered the +landlord and a groom from the racing stables near by in the throes of +the most modern of games, amid surroundings absolutely mediæval.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CATHEDRAL OF THE DOWNS</div> + +<p>The size of the grave and commanding church, which has been called the +cathedral of the South Downs, alone proves that Alfriston was once a +vastly more important place than it now is. Legend says that the +foundations were first cut in the meadow known as Savyne Croft. There +day after day the builders laid their stones, arriving each morning to +find them removed to the Tye, the field where the church now stands. At +last the meaning of the miracle entered their heads, and the church was +erected on the new site. Its shape was determined by the slumbers of +four oxen, who were observed by the architect to be sleeping in the form +of a cross. Poynings church, under the Dyke Hill, near Brighton, was +built, it has been conjectured, by the same architect. Within the +cathedral of the South Downs, which is a fourteenth century building, is +a superb east window, but it has no coloured glass. The register, +beginning with 1504, is perhaps the oldest in England. Hard by the +church is the simple little clergy house—unique in England, I +believe—dating from pre-Reformation times. It has lately been very +carefully restored.</p> + +<p>Alfriston once had a scholar in the person of Thomas Chowne, of Frog +Firle, the old house on the road to Seaford, about a mile beyond the +village. Chowne, who died in 1639, and was buried at Alfriston, is thus +touched off by Fuller:—"Thomas Chune, Esquire, living at Alfriston in +this County, set forth a small Manuall, intituled <i>Collectiones +Theologicarum Conclusionum</i>. Indeed, many have much opposed it (as what +book meeteth not with opposition?); though such as dislike must commend +the brevity and clearness of his Positions. For mine own part, I am glad +to see a Lay-Gentleman so able and industrious." Chowne's great great +grandson, an antiquary, one night left some books too near his library<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +fire; they ignited, and Frog Firle Place was in large part destroyed. It +is now only a fragment of what it was, and is known as Burnt House.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">AN ALFRISTON DOCTOR</div> + +<p>An intermediate dweller at Frog Firle was one Robert Andrews, who, when +unwell, seems to have been attended by William Benbrigg. Miss Florence +A. Pagden, in her agreeable little history of Alfriston, from which I +have been glad to borrow, prints two of Mr. Benbrigg's letters of kindly +but vague advice to his patient. Here is one:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Mr. Andrews,</span></p> + +<p>"I have sent you some things which you may take in the manner +following, viz.:—of that in the bottle marked with a <b>+</b> you may +take of the quantity of a spoonfull or so, now and then, and at +night take some of those pills, drinking a little warm beer after +it, and in the morning take 2 spoonfulls of that in —— + bottle fasting an hour after it, and then you may eat something, +you may take also of the first, and every night a pill, and in the +morning. I hope this will do you good, which is the desire of him +who is your loving friend,</p> + +<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Wm. Benbrigg.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Alfriston once had a race meeting of its own—the course is still to be +seen on the southern slope of Firle Beacon—and it also fostered cricket +in the early days. A famous single-wicket match was contested here in +1787, between four men whose united ages amounted to 297 years. History +records that the game was played with "great spirit and activity." Mr. +Lower records, in 1870, that the largest pear and the largest apple ever +known in England were both grown at Alfriston, but possibly the record +has since been broken.</p> + +<p>The smallest church in Sussex is however still to Alfriston's credit, +for Lullington church, on the hill side, just across the river and the +fields to the east of Alfriston church, may be considered to belong to +Alfriston without any violence to its independence. As a matter of fact, +the church was once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> bigger, the chancel alone now standing. What +Charles Lamb says of Hollington church in <a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">Chapter XXXVI.</a> of this book, +would be more fitting of Lullington.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HILL WALKS</div> + +<p>We have come to Alfriston from Lewes, proposing to return there; but it +might well be made a centre, so much fine hill country does it command. +Alfriston to Seaford direct, over the hills and back of the cliffs and +the Cuckmere valley; Alfriston to Eastbourne, crossing the Cuckmere at +Litlington, and beginning the ascent of the hills at West Dean; +Alfriston to Lewes over Firle Beacon; Alfriston to Newhaven direct; +Alfriston to Jevington and Willingdon;—all these routes cover good Down +country, making the best of primitive rambles by day and bringing one at +evening back to the "Star," this mediæval inn in the best of primitive +villages. Few persons, however, are left who will climb hills—even +grass hills—if they can help it; hence this counsel is likely to lead +to no overcrowding of Fore Down, The Camp, Five Lords Burgh, South Hill, +or Firle Beacon.</p> + +<p>I might here, perhaps, be allowed to insert some verses upon the new +locomotion, since they bear upon this question of walking in remote +places, and were composed to some extent in Sussex byways in the spring +of 1903:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SONG AGAINST SPEED</div> + +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br />A SONG AGAINST SPEED.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Of speed the savour and the sting,</div> +<div class="i2">None but the weak deride;</div> +<div>But ah, the joy of lingering</div> +<div class="i2">About the country side!</div> +<div>The swiftest wheel, the conquering run,</div> +<div class="i2">We count no privilege</div> +<div>Beside acquiring, in the sun,</div> +<div class="i2">The secret of the hedge.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Where is the poet fired to sing</div> +<div class="i2">The snail's discreet degrees,</div> +<div>A rhapsody of sauntering,</div> +<div class="i2">A gloria of ease;</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>Proclaiming their's the baser part</div> +<div class="i2">Who consciously forswear</div> +<div>The delicate and gentle art</div> +<div class="i2">Of never getting there?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>To get there first!</i>—'tis time to ring</div> +<div class="i2">The knell of such an aim;</div> +<div><i>To be the swiftest!</i>—riches bring</div> +<div class="i2">So easily that fame.</div> +<div><i>To shine, a highway meteor,</i></div> +<div class="i2"><i>Devourer of the map!</i>—</div> +<div>A vulgar bliss to choose before</div> +<div class="i2">Repose in Nature's lap!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Consider too how small a thing</div> +<div class="i2">The highest speed you gain:</div> +<div>A bee can frolic on the wing</div> +<div class="i2">Around the fastest train.</div> +<div>Think of the swallow in the air,</div> +<div class="i2">The salmon in the stream,</div> +<div>And cease to boast the records rare</div> +<div class="i2">Of paraffin and steam.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Most, most of all when comes the Spring,</div> +<div class="i2">Again to lay (as now)</div> +<div>Her hand benign and quickening</div> +<div class="i2">On meadow, hill and bough,</div> +<div>Should speed's enchantment lose its power,</div> +<div class="i2">For "None who would exceed</div> +<div>[The Mother speaks] a mile an hour.</div> +<div class="i2">My heart aright can read."</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The turnpike from the car to fling,</div> +<div class="i2">As from a yacht the sea,</div> +<div>Is doubtless as inspiriting</div> +<div class="i2">As aught on land can be;</div> +<div>I grant the glory, the romance,</div> +<div class="i2">But look behind the veil—</div> +<div>Suppose that while the motor pants</div> +<div class="i2">You miss the nightingale!</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">ALCISTON</div> + +<p>To return to Alfriston, there are two brief excursions (possible in the +vehicles that are glanced at in the foregoing verses) which ought to be +described here: to Alciston and to Wilmington.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> Alciston is a little +hamlet under the east slope of Firle Beacon, practically no more than a +farm house, a church, and dependant cottages. It is on a road that leads +only to itself and "to the Hill" (as the sign-boards say hereabout); it +is perhaps as nearly forgotten as any village in the county; and yet I +know of no village with more unobtrusive charm. The church, which has no +vicar of its own, being served from Selmeston, a mile away, stands high +amid its graves, the whole churchyard having been heaped up and +ramparted much as a castle is. In the hollow to the west of the church +is part of the farmyard: a pond, a vast barn with one of the noblest red +roofs in these parts, and the ruins of a stone pigeon house of great age +and solidity, buttressed and built as if for a siege, in curious +contrast to the gentle, pretty purpose for which it was intended. +Between the church and the hill, and almost adjoining it, is the +farmhouse, where the church keys are kept—a relic of Alciston Grange +(once the property of Battle Abbey)—with odds and ends of its past life +still visible, and a flourishing fig-tree at the back, heavy with fruit +when I saw it under a September sun. The front of the house looks due +east, across a valley of corn, to Berwick church, on a corresponding +mound, and beyond Berwick to the Downs above Wilmington. And at the foot +of the garden, on the top of the grey wall above the moat, is a long, +narrow terrace of turf, commanding this eastern view—a terrace meet for +Benedick and Beatrice to pace, exchanging raillery.</p> + +<p>In Berwick church, by the way, is a memorial to George Hall, a former +rector, of whom it is said that his name "speaks all learning humane and +divine," and that his memory is "precious both to the Muses and the +Graces." The Reverend George Hall's works seem, however, to have +vanished.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LONG MAN</div> + +<p>Wilmington, north-east of Alfriston, occupies a corresponding position +to that of Alciston in the north-west; but having a "lion" in the shape +of the Long Man it has lost its virginal bloom. Wilmington is providing +tea and ginger beer while Alciston nurses its unsullied inaccessibility. +The Long Man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> is a rude figure cut in the turf by the monks of the +Benedictine priory that once flourished here, the ruins of which are now +incorporated (like Alciston Grange) in a farm house on the east of the +village. At least, it is thought by some antiquaries that the effigy is +the work of the monks; others pronounce it druidical. The most alluring +of several theories, indeed, would have the figure to represent Pol or +Balder, the Sun God, pushing aside the doors of darkness—Polegate (or +Bolsgate) near by being brought in as evidence.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>SMUGGLING</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The Cuckmere Valley—Alfriston smuggling foreordained—Desperado +and benefactor—A witty minister—Hawker of Morwenstowe—The church +and run spirits—The two smugglers, the sea smuggler and the land +smuggler—The half-way house—The hollow ways of Sussex—Mr. Horace +Hutchinson quoted—Burwash as a smuggler's cradle.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Alfriston's place in history was won by its smugglers. All Sussex +smuggled more or less; but smuggling may be said to have been +Alfriston's industry. Cuckmere Haven, close by, offered unique +advantages: it was retired, the coast was unpopulated, the roadway +inland started immediately from the beach, the valley was in friendly +hands, the paths and contours of the hills were not easily learned by +revenue men. Nature from the first clearly intended that Alfriston men +should be too much for the excise; smuggling was predestined. Farmers, +shepherds, ostlers, what you will that is respectable, these Alfriston +men might be by day and when the moon was bright; but when the "darks" +came round they were smugglers every one.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MR. BETTS'S READINESS</div> + +<p>Chief of what was known nearly a hundred years ago as the "Alfriston +Gang" was Stanton Collins, who lived at Market Cross House. Collins +employed his men not only in assisting him in smuggling, but for other +purposes removed from that calling by a wide gulf. Thus when Mr. Betts, +the minister of the Lady Huntingdon chapel at Alfriston, was +high-handedly suspended by the chief trustee of the chapel, on account +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> his opposition to that gentleman's proposed union with his deceased +wife's sister, it was Collins's gang who invaded the chapel, ejected the +new minister, replaced Mr. Betts in the pulpit, and mounted guard round +it while he continued the service. Mr. Betts was equal to the occasion: +he gave out the hymn "God moves in a mysterious way."</p> + +<p>Collins terrorised the country-side for some years (except upon the +score of personal bravery and humorous audacity, I doubt if his place is +quite on the golden roll of smugglers) and was at length brought within +the power of the law for sheep-stealing, and sentenced to seven years. +The last of his gang, Bob Hall, died in the workhouse at Eastbourne in +1895, aged ninety-four.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CHURCH COMPLAISANT</div> + +<p>Sussex may always be proud of her best smugglers. There were brutal +scoundrels among them, such as the men that murdered Chater and were +executed at Chichester in 1748 (the report may be read in Mr. H. L. +Stephen's <i>State Trials</i>, vol. iv.); but the ordinary smuggler was often +a fine rebellious fellow, courageous, resourceful, and gifted with a +certain grim humour that led him, as we have seen, to hide his tubs as +often in the belfry or the churchyard as anywhere else, and enough +knowledge of character to tell him when he might secure the silence of +the vicar with an oblatory keg. The Sussex clergy seemed to have needed +very little encouragement to omit smuggling from the decalogue. It is, I +think, the late Mr. Coker Egerton, of Burwash, who tells of a Sussex +parson feigning illness a whole Sunday on hearing suddenly in the +morning that a cargo, hard pressed by the revenue, had in despair been +lodged among his pews. But the classical passage on this subject comes +from Cornwall, from the pen of R. S. Hawker, the vicar of Morwenstowe +and the author of "The Song of the Western Men." He was not himself a +smuggler, but his parishioners had no scruples, and his heart was with +the braver side of the business:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>It was full sea in the evening of an autumn day when a traveller +arrived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> where the road ran along by a sandy beach just above +high-water mark. The stranger, who was a native of some inland +town, and utterly unacquainted with Cornwall and its ways, had +reached the brink of the tide just as a "landing" was coming off. +It was a scene not only to instruct a townsman, but also to dazzle +and surprise. At sea, just beyond the billows, lay the vessel, well +moored with anchors at stem and stern. Between the ship and the +shore boats, laden to the gunwale, passed to and fro. Crowds +assembled on the beach to help the cargo ashore. On the one hand a +boisterous group surrounded a keg with the head knocked in, for +simplicity of access to the good cognac, into which they dipped +whatsoever vessel came first to hand; one man had filled his shoe. +On the other side they fought and wrestled, cursed and swore. +Horrified at what he saw, the stranger lost all self-command, and, +oblivious of personal danger, he began to shout, "What a horrible +sight! Have you no shame? Is there no magistrate at hand? Cannot +any justice of the peace be found in this fearful country?"</p> + +<p>"No; thanks be to God," answered a hoarse, gruff voice. "None +within eight miles."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," screamed the stranger, "is there no clergyman +hereabout? Does no minister of the parish live among you on this +coast?"</p> + +<p>"Aye! to be sure there is," said the same deep voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, how far off does he live? Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"That's he, sir, yonder, with the lanthorn." And sure enough there +he stood, on a rock, and poured, with pastoral diligence, 'the +light of other days' on a busy congregation.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The clergy, however, did not always know how useful they were. The Rev. +Webster Whistler, of Hastings, records that he was awakened one night to +receive a votive cask of brandy as his share of the spoil which, to his +surprise, his church tower had been harbouring. A commoner method was to +leave the gift—the tithe—silently on the doorstep. Revenue officers +have perhaps been placated in the same way.</p> + +<p>Smuggling, in the old use of the word, is no more. The surreptitious +introduction into this country of German cigars, eau de Cologne, and +Tauchnitz novels, does not merit the term. A revised tariff having +removed the necessity for smuggling, the game is over; for that is the +reason of the disappearance of the smuggler rather than any increased +vigilance on the part of the coastguard. The records of smuggling show +that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> difficulties offered to the profession by the Government were +difficulties that existed merely to be overcome. Perhaps fiscal reform +may restore the old pastime.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LAND SMUGGLER</div> + +<p>The word smuggler arouses in the mind the figure of a bold and desperate +mariner searching the coast for a signal that all is safe to land his +cargo. But as a matter of fact the men who ran the greatest risks were +not the marine smugglers at all, but the land smugglers who received the +tubs on the shore and conveyed them to a hiding place preparatory to the +journey to London, whither the major part was perilously taken. Such +were the Alfriston smugglers. These were the men who fought the revenue +officers and had the hair's-breadth escapes. These were the men whose +houses were watched, whose every movement was suspected, who needed to +be wily as the serpent and to know the country inch by inch.</p> + +<p>Not that the sea smuggler ran no risks. On the contrary, he was +continually in danger from revenue cutters and the coastguards' boats. +Bloody fights in the Channel were by no means rare. He was also often in +peril from the elements; his endurance was superb; he had to be a sailor +of genius, ready for every kind of emergency. But the land smuggler was +more vulnerable than the sea smuggler, his rewards were smaller, and his +operations were less simple. There is a vast difference between a dark +night at sea and a dark night on land. Once the night fell the sea was +the smuggler's own: he was invisible, inaudible. But the land was not +less the revenue officer's: the land smuggler had to show his signal +light, he had to roll casks over the beach, he had to carry them into +security. His horse's hoofs could not be stilled as oars are muffled, +his wheels bit noisily into the road, he was liable to be stopped at any +turn. And he ran these risks from the coast right into London. I doubt +if the land smuggler has had his due of praise. Sometimes the land +smuggler had to be land smuggler and sea smuggler too, for many of the +ships never troubled to make a landing at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> all. They sailed as near the +shore as might be and then sank the tubs, which were always lashed +together and kept on deck in readiness to be thrown overboard in case of +the approach of a cutter. The position of the mooring having been +conveyed to the confederates on shore, the vessel was at liberty to +return to France for another cargo, leaving the responsibility of +fishing up the tubs, and getting them to shore and away, wholly with the +land smuggler.</p> + +<p>An old pamphlet, entitled, <i>The Trials of the Smugglers ... at the +Assizes held at East Grinstead, March 13, 14, 15, and 16, 1748-9</i>, gives +the following information about the duties and pay of the land smugglers +at that day:—"Each Man is allowed Half a Guinea a Time, and his +Expenses for Eating and Drinking, a Horse found him, and the Profits of +a Dollop of Tea, which is about 13 Pounds Weight, being the Half of a +Bag; which Profit, even from the most ordinary of their Teas, comes to +24 or 25 Shillings; and they always make one Journey, sometimes two, in +a Week." But these men would be underlings. There were, I take it, land +smugglers in control of the operations who shared on a more lordly scale +with their brethren in the boat.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HALF-WAY HOUSES</div> + +<p>On all the routes employed by the land smugglers were certain cottages +and farm-houses where tubs might be hidden. Houses still abound supplied +with unexpected recesses and vast cellars where cargoes were stored on +their way to London. In many cases, in the old days, these houses were +"haunted," to put forth the legend of a ghost being the simplest way not +only of accounting for such nocturnal noises as might be occasioned by +the arrival or departure of smugglers and tubs, but also of keeping +inquisitive folks at bay. Only a little while ago, during alterations to +an old cottage high on the hills near my home in Kent, corroboration was +given to a legend crediting the place with being a smuggler's "half-way +house," by the builders' discovery of a cavern under the garden +communicating with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> the cellar. For the gaining of such fastnesses the +hollow ways of Sussex were maintained. Parson Darby's smuggling +successor, in Mr. Horace Hutchinson's Sussex romance, <i>A Friend of +Nelson</i>, thus described them to the hero of Withyham:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"The sun strikes hot enough. Would you like to ride in the shade +awhile?"</p> + +<p>"Immensely," I replied, "if I saw the shade."</p> + +<p>"Keep after me, then," said he; "but the roan will. You need not +trouble!" In a moment, on his great big horse, he was forcing his +way down what had looked to me no more than a rabbit-run through +the roadside bushes. For a while I had noticed the road seemed +flanked by a mass of boskage below it on the right-hand side. Into +this, and downward, the man crammed his horse, squeezing his legs +into the horse's flank. I followed closely, and in a yard or two +found myself in a deep lane or cutting, very thickly overgrown, so +that only occasional gleams of sunshine crept in through the +leafage. We rode, as he had promised, in a most pleasant shade. The +floor of this lane or passage was not of the smoothest, and we went +at a foot's pace only, and in Indian file.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of it all?" I asked him.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE HOLLOW WAYS</div> + +<p>"Well," said he, "you have heard, I suppose, of the 'hollow ways,' +as they are called, of Sussex. This is one. They were in their +origin lanes, I take it, and perhaps the only means of getting +about the country. The rains, in this sandy soil, washing down, +gradually deepened and deepened them. Folks grew to use the new +roads as they were made, leaving the lanes unheeded, to be +overgrown. Here and there certain base fellows of the lewder sort, +commonly called smugglers, may have deepened them further, and +improved on what Nature had begun so well, with the result that you +can ride many a mile, mole-like, if you know your way, from the sea +coast north'ard, never showing your face above ground at all. That +is what it means," he ended.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">"THE GENTLEMEN"</div> + +<p>Smuggling was in the blood of the Sussex people. As the Cornishman said +to Mr. Hawker, "Why should the King tax good liquor?" Why, indeed? +Everyone sided with the smugglers, both on the coast and inland. A +Burwash woman told Mr. Egerton that as a child, after saying her +prayers, she was put early to bed with the strict injunction, "Now, +mind, if the gentlemen come along, don't you look out of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> window." +The gentlemen were the smugglers, and not to look at them was a form of +negative help, since he that has not seen a gentleman cannot identify +him. Another Burwash character said that his grandfather had fourteen +children, all of whom were "brought up to be smugglers." These would, of +course, be land smugglers—Burwash being on a highway convenient for the +gentlemen between the coast and the capital.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>GLYNDE AND RINGMER</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Mount Caburn—The lark's song—William Hay, the poet of +Caburn—Glynde church and Glynde place—John Ellman—The South Down +sheep—Arthur Young—Ringmer and William Penn—The Ringmer mud—The +ballad of "The Ride to Church"—Oxen on the Hills—The old Sussex +roads—Bad travelling—Ringmer and Gilbert White.</p></blockquote> + +<p>One of the pleasantest short walks from Lewes takes one over Mount +Caburn to Glynde, from Glynde to Ringmer, and from Ringmer over the +hills to Lewes again.</p> + +<p>The path to Mount Caburn winds upward just beyond the turn of the road +to Glynde, under the Cliffe. Caburn is not one of the highest of the +Downs (a mere 490 feet, whereas Firle Beacon across the valley is +upwards of 700): but it is one of the friendliest of them, for on its +very summit is a deep grassy hollow (relic of ancient British +fortification) where on the windiest day one may rest in that perfect +peace that comes only after climbing. Caburn is not unique in this +respect; there is, for example, a similar hollow in the hill above +Kingly Vale; but Caburn has a deeper cavity than any other that I can +recall. On the roughest day, thus cupped, one may hear, almost see, the +gale go by overhead; and on such a mild spring day as that when I was +last there, towards the end of April, there is no such place in which to +lie and listen to the lark. If one were asked to name an employment +consistent with perfect idleness it would be difficult to suggest a +better than that of watching a lark melting out of sight into the sky, +and then finding it again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> This you may do in Caburn's hollow as +nowhere else. The song of the lark thus followed by eye and ear—for +song and bird become one—passes naturally into the music of the +spheres: there exist in the universe only yourself and this cosmic +twitter.</p> + +<p>The Lewes golfers, of both sexes, pursue their sport some way towards +Caburn, and in the valley below the volunteers fire at their butts; but +I doubt if the mountain proper will ever be tamed. Picnics are held on +the summit on fine summer days, but for the greater part of the year it +belongs to the horseman, the shepherd and the lark.</p> + +<p>Mount Caburn gave its title to a poem by William Hay, of Glyndebourne +House, in 1730, which ends with these lines, in the manner of an +epitaph, upon their author:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Here liv'd the Man, who to these fair Retreats</div> +<div>First drew the Muses from their ancient Seats:</div> +<div>Tho' low his Thought, tho' impotent his Strain,</div> +<div>Yet let me never of his Song complain;</div> +<div>For this the fruitless Labour recommends,</div> +<div>He lov'd his native Country, and his Friends.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>William Hay (1695-1755) was author also of a curious Essay on Deformity, +which Charles Lamb liked, and of several philosophical works, and was a +very diligent member of Parliament.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page282.png" id="page282.png"></a><img src="images/page282.png" width='663' height='700' alt="Glynde" /></p> + +<h4><i>Glynde.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">GLYNDE</div> + +<p>Descending Caburn's eastern slope, and passing at the foot the mellowest +barn roof in the county, beautifully yellowed by weather and time, we +come to Glynde, remarkable among Sussex villages for a formal Grecian +church that might have been ravished from a Surrey Thames-side village +and set down here, so little resemblance has it to the indigenous Sussex +House of God. As a matter of fact it was built in 1765 by the Bishop of +Durham—the Bishop being Richard Trevor, of the family that then owned +Glynde Place; which is hard by the church, a fine Elizabethan mansion, a +little sombre, and very much in the manner of the great houses in the +late S. E. Waller's pictures, the very place for a clandestine interview +or midnight elopement. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> present owner, a descendant of the Trevors +and of the famous John Hampden, enemy of the Star Chamber and ship +money, is Admiral Brand.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN ELLMAN</div> + +<p>Glynde's most famous inhabitant was John Ellman (1753-1832) the breeder +of sheep, who farmed here from 1780 to 1829 and was the village's kindly +autocrat and a true father to his men. The last of the patriarchs, as he +might be called, Ellman lodged all his unmarried labourers under his own +roof, giving them when they married enough grassland for a pig and a +cow, and a little more for cultivation. He built a school for the +children of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> his men, and permitted no licensed house to exist in +Glynde. Not that he objected to beer; on the contrary he considered it +the true beverage for farm labourers; but he preferred that they should +brew it at home. It was John Ellman who gave the South Down sheep its +fame and brought it to perfection.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ARTHUR YOUNG</div> + +<p>The most interesting account of South Down sheep is to be found in +Arthur Young's <i>General View of the Agriculture of the County of +Sussex</i>, which is one of those books that, beginning their lives as +practical, instructive and somewhat dry manuals, mellow, as the years go +by, into human documents. Taken sentence by sentence Young has no charm, +but his book has in the mass quite a little of it, particularly if one +loves Sussex. He studied the country carefully, with special emphasis +upon the domain of the Earl of Egremont, an agricultural reformer of +much influence, whom we have met as a collector of pictures and the +friend of painters. For the Earl not only brought Turner into Sussex +with his brushes and palette, but introduced a plough from Suffolk and +devised a new light waggon. The other hero of Young's book is +necessarily John Ellman, whose flock at Glynde he subjected to close +examination. Thomas Ellman, of Shoreham, John's cousin, he also approved +as a breeder of sheep, but it is John that stood nighest the Earl of +Egremont on Young's ladder of approbation. John Ellman's sheep were +considered the first of their day, equally for their meat and their +wool. I will not quote from Young to any great extent, lest vegetarian +readers exclaim; but the following passage from his analysis of the +South Down type must be transplanted here for its pleasant carnal +vigour: "The shoulders are wide; they are round and straight in the +barrel; broad upon the loin and hips; shut well in the twist, which is a +projection of flesh in the inner part of the thigh that gives a fulness +when viewed behind, and makes a South Down leg of mutton remarkably +round and short, more so than in most other breeds."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SOUTH DOWN SHEEP</div> + +<p>John Ellman by no means satisfied all his fellow breeders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> that he was +right. His neighbour at Glynde, Mr. Morris, differed from him in the +matter of crossing, and his cousin Thomas had other views on many points +touching the flock. In the following passage Arthur Young expresses the +extent to which individuality in sheep breeding may run:—"The South +Down farmers breed their sheep with faces and legs of a colour, just as +suits their fancy. One likes black, another sandy, a third speckled, and +one and all exclaim against white. This man concludes that legs and +faces with an inclination to white are infallible signs of tenderness, +and do not stand against the severity of the weather with the same +hardiness as the darker breed; and they allege that these sorts will +fall off in their flesh. A second will set the first right, and +pronounce that, in a lot of wethers, those that are soonest and most +fat, are white-faced; that they prove remarkable good milkers; but that +white is an indication of a tender breed. Another is of opinion that, by +breeding the lambs too black, the wool is injured, and likewise apt to +be tainted with black, and spotted, especially about the neck, and not +saleable. A fourth breeds with legs and faces as black as it is +possible; and he too is convinced that the healthiness is in proportion +to blackness; whilst another says, that if the South Down sheep were +suffered to run in a wild state, they would in a very few years become +absolutely black. All these are the opinions of eminent breeders: in +order to reconcile them, others breed for speckled faces; and it is the +prevailing colour."</p> + +<p>It is told that when the Duke of Newcastle used to pass through Glynde, +on his way from Halland House, near East Hoathly, to Bishopstone, the +peal of welcome was rung on ploughshares, since there was but one bell.</p> + +<p>Ringmer, which lies about two miles north of Glynde, is not in itself a +village of much beauty. Its distinction is to have provided William Penn +with a wife—Gulielma Springett, daughter of Sir William Springett, a +Puritan, whose bust is in the church and who died at the siege of +Arundel Castle. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> great Quaker thus took to wife the daughter of a +soldier. When Gulielma Penn died, at the age of fifty, her husband wrote +of her: "She was a Publick, as well as Private Loss; for she was not +only an excellent Wife and Mother, but an Entire and Constant Friend, of +a more than common Capacity, and greater Modesty and Humility; yet most +equal and undaunted in Danger. Religious as well as Ingenuous, without +Affectation. An easie Mistress, and Good Neighbour, especially to the +Poor. Neither lavish nor penurious, but an Example of Industry as well +as of other Vertues: Therefore our great Loss tho' her own Eternal +Gain."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">GODLY WIVES</div> + +<p>In Ringmer Church, I might add, is a monument to Mrs. Jeffray (<i>née</i> +Mayney), wife of Francis Jeffray of South Malling, with another +beautiful testimony to the character of a good wife:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Wise, modest, more than can be marshall'd heere,</div> +<div>(Her many vertues would a volume fill)</div> +<div>For all heaven's gifts—in many single sett—</div> +<div>In Jeffray's <i>Maney</i> altogether mett.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">A DETERMINED CHURCHWOMAN</div> + +<p>Ringmer was long famous for its mud and bad roads. Defoe (or another) +says in the <i>Tour through Great Britain</i>:—"I travelled through the +dirtiest, but, in many respects, the richest and most profitable country +in all that part of England. The timber I saw here was prodigious, as +well in quantity as in bigness; and seemed in some places to be suffered +to grow only because it was so far from any navigation, that it was not +worth cutting down and carrying away. In dry summers, indeed, a great +deal is conveyed to Maidstone and other places on the Medway; and +sometimes I have seen one tree on a carriage, which they call in Sussex +a tug, drawn by twenty-two oxen; and, even then, it is carried so little +a way, and thrown down, and left for other tugs to take up and carry on, +that sometimes it is two or three years before it gets to Chatham. For, +if once the rain comes on, it stirs no more that year, and sometimes a +whole summer is not dry enough to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> make the road passable. Here I had a +sight which, indeed, I never saw in any part of England before—namely, +that going to a church at a country village, not far from Lewes, I saw +an ancient lady, and a lady of very good quality, I assure you, drawn to +church in her coach by six oxen; nor was it done in frolick or humour, +but from sheer necessity, the way being so stiff and deep that no horses +could go in it." The old lady was not singular in her method of +attending service, for another writer records seeing Sir Herbert +Springett, father of Sir William, drawn to church by eight oxen: a +determination to get to his pew at any cost that led to the composition +of the following ballad, which is now printed for the first time:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE RIDE TO CHURCH</div> + +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br />THE RIDE TO CHURCH.</p> + +<p class="center">"A true sonne of the Church of England."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i14"> <i>Epitaph on Sir Herbert Springett,</i></div> +<div class="i14"> <i>in Ringmer Church. </i></div> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<div>Let others sing the wild career</div> +<div>Of Turpin, Gilpin, Paul Revere.</div> +<div>A gentler pace is mine. But hear!</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The raindrops fell, splash! thud! splash! thud!</div> +<div>Till half the country-side was flood,</div> +<div>And Ringmer was a waste of mud.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The sleepy Ouse had grown a sea,</div> +<div>Where here and there a drowning tree</div> +<div>Cast up its arms beseechingly;</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And cattle that in fairer days</div> +<div>Beside its banks were wont to graze</div> +<div>Now viewed the scene in mild amaze,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And, huddled on an island mound,</div> +<div>Sent forth so dolorous a sound</div> +<div>As made the sadness more profound.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And then—at last—one Sunday broke</div> +<div>When villagers, delighted, woke</div> +<div>To find the sun had flung its cloak</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>Of leaden-coloured cloud aside.</div> +<div>All jubilant they watched him ride,</div> +<div>For see, the land was glorified:</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The morning pulsed with youth and mirth.</div> +<div>It was as though upon the earth</div> +<div>A new and gladder age had birth.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The lark exulted in the blue,</div> +<div>Triumphantly the rooster crew,</div> +<div>The chimneys laughed, the sparks up-flew;</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And rolling westward out of sight,</div> +<div>Like billows of majestic height,</div> +<div>The Downs, transfigured in the light,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Seemed such a garb of joy to wear,</div> +<div>So young and radiant an air,</div> +<div>God might but just have set them there.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * * * * *</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Sir Herbert Springett, Ringmer's squire,</div> +<div>(No better man in all the shire)—</div> +<div>He too was filled with kindling fire,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Which, working in him, did incite</div> +<div>The worthy and capacious knight</div> +<div>To doughty deeds of appetite.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Sir Herbert's lady watched her lord</div> +<div>Range mightily about the board</div> +<div>Which she of her abundance stored,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>(The Lady Barbara, for whom</div> +<div>The blossoms of the simple-room</div> +<div>Diffused their friendliest perfume,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Than who none quicklier heard the call</div> +<div>Of true distress, and left the Hall</div> +<div>Eager to do her gentle all,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>When village patients needed aid.</div> +<div>And O the rich Marchpane she made!</div> +<div>And O the rare quince marmalade!)</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Just as the squire was satisfied,</div> +<div>The noise of feet was heard outside;</div> +<div>A knock. "Come in!" Sir Herbert cried.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>And lo! John Grigg in Sunday smock;</div> +<div>Begged pardon, pulled an oily lock;</div> +<div>Explained: "The mud's above the hough.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>"No horse could draw 'ee sir," he said.</div> +<div>"Humph!" quoth the squire and scratched his head.</div> +<div>"Then yoke the oxen in instead."</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>(A lesser man would gladly turn</div> +<div>His chair to fire again, and learn</div> +<div>How fancifully logs can burn,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Grateful for such immunity</div> +<div>From parson. Not the squire; for see,</div> +<div>"True sonne of England's Church" was he.)</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>So, as he ordered, was it done.</div> +<div>The oxen came forth one by one,</div> +<div>Their wide horns glinting in the sun,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And to the coach were yoked. Then—dressed,</div> +<div>As squires should be, in glorious best,</div> +<div>With wonderful brocaded vest,—</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Out came Sir Herbert, took his seat,</div> +<div>Waved "Barbara, farewell, my Sweet!"</div> +<div>And off they started, all complete.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Although they drew so light a load</div> +<div>(For them!) so heavy was the road,</div> +<div>John Grigg was busy with his goad.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The cottagers in high delight</div> +<div>Ran out to see the startling sight</div> +<div>And make obeisance to the knight,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>While floated through the liquid air,</div> +<div>And o'er the sunlit meadows fair,</div> +<div>The throbbing belfry's call to prayer.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>At last, and after many a lurch</div> +<div>That shook Sir Herbert in his perch,</div> +<div>John Grigg drew up before the church;</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Moreover not a minute late.</div> +<div>The villagers around the gate</div> +<div>Were filled with wonder at his state,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>And, promptly, though 'twas sabbath tide,</div> +<div>"Three cheers for squire—Hooray!" they cried....</div> +<div>Such was Sir Herbert Springett's ride.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * * * * *</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Sad is the sequel, sad but true—</div> +<div>For while in sermon-time a few</div> +<div>Deep snores resounded from the pew</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Reserved for squire, by others there</div> +<div>The tenth commandment (men declare)</div> +<div>Was being broken past repair:</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>For, thinking how they had to roam</div> +<div>Through weary wastes of sodden loam</div> +<div>Ere they could win to fire and home,</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>In spite of parson's fervid knocks</div> +<div>Upon his cushion orthodox,</div> +<div>They "coveted their neighbour's ox."</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">OXEN OF THE HILLS</div> + +<p>Oxen are now rarely seen on the Sussex roads, but on the hill sides a +few of the farmers still plough with them; and may it be long before the +old custom is abandoned! There is no pleasanter or more peaceful sight +than—looking up—that of a wide-horned team of black oxen, smoking a +little in the morning air, drawing the plough through the earth, while +the ploughman whistles, and the ox-herd, goad in hand, utters his Saxon +grunts of incitement or reproof. The black oxen of the hills are of +Welsh stock, the true Sussex ox being red. The "kews," as their shoes +are called, may still be seen on the walls of a smithy here and there. +Shoeing oxen is no joke, since to protect the smith from their horns +they have to be thrown down; their necks are held by a pitchfork, and +their feet tied together.</p> + +<p>Sussex roads were terrible until comparatively recent times. An old +rhyme credits "Sowseks" with "dirt and myre," and Dr. Burton, the author +of the <i>Iter Sussexiensis</i>, humorously found in it a reason why Sussex +people and beasts had such long legs. "Come now, my friend," he wrote, +in Greek, "I will set before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> you a sort of problem in Aristotle's +fashion:—Why is it that the oxen, the swine, the women, and all other +animals, are so long legged in Sussex? May it be from the difficulty of +pulling the feet out of so much mud by the strength of the ankle, that +the muscles get stretched, as it were, and the bones lengthened?"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROUGH ROADS</div> + +<p>When, in 1703, the King of Spain visited the Duke of Somerset at +Petworth he had the greatest difficulty in getting here. One of his +attendants has put on record the perils of the journey:—"We set out at +six o'clock in the morning (at Portsmouth) to go to Petworth, and did +not get out of the coaches, save only when we were overturned or stuck +fast in the mire, till we arrived at our journey's end. 'Twas hard +service for the prince to sit fourteen hours in the coach that day, +without eating anything, and passing through the worst ways that I ever +saw in my life: we were thrown but once indeed in going, but both our +coach which was leading, and his highness's body coach, would have +suffered very often, if the nimble boors of Sussex had not frequently +poised it, or supported it with their shoulders, from Godalming almost +to Petworth; and the nearer we approached the duke's, the more +inaccessible it seemed to be. The last nine miles of the way cost six +hours time to conquer."</p> + +<p>To return to Ringmer, it was there that Gilbert White studied the +tortoise (see Letter xiii of <i>The Natural History of Selborne</i>). The +house where he stayed still stands, and the rookery still exists. "These +rooks," wrote the naturalist, "retire every morning all the winter from +this rookery, where they only call by the way, as they are going to +roost in deep woods; at the dawn of day they always revisit their +nest-trees, and are preceded a few minutes by a flight of daws, that +act, as it were, as their harbingers." An intermediate owner of the +house where Gilbert White resided, which then belonged to his aunt +Rebecca Snooke, ordered all nightingales to be shot, on the ground that +they kept him awake.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">PLASHETTS</div> + +<p>While at Ringmer, if a glimpse of very rich park land is needed, it +would be worth while to walk three miles north to Plashetts, which +combines a vast tract of wood with a small park notable at once for its +trees, its brake fern, its lakes, and its water fowl. But if one would +gain it by rail, Isfield is the station.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>UCKFIELD AND BUXTED</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The Crowborough district—Isfield—Another model +wife—Framfield—The poet Realf—Uckfield—The Maresfield +rocks—Puritan names in Sussex—Buxted park—Heron's Ghyll—A +perfect church.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Uckfield, on the line from Lewes to Tunbridge Wells, is our true +starting point for the high sandy and rocky district of Crowborough, +Rotherfield and Mayfield; but we must visit on the way Isfield, a very +pretty village on the Ouse and its Iron River tributary. Isfield is +remarkable for the remains of Isfield Place, once the home of the +Shurleys (connected only by marriage with the Shirleys of Wiston). The +house can never have been so fine as Slaugham Place, but it is evident +that abundance also reigned here, as there. Over the main door was the +motto "Non minor est virtus quam querere parta tueri," which Horsfield +whimsically translates "Catch is a good dog, but Holdfast is a better." +In the Shurley chapel, one of the sweetest spots in Sussex, are brasses +and monuments to the family, notably the canopied altar tomb to Sir John +Shurley, who died in 1631, his two wives (Jane Shirley of Wiston and +Dorothy Bowyer, <i>née</i> Goring, of Cuckfield) and nine children, who kneel +prettily in a row at the foot. Of these children it is said in the +inscription that some "were called into Heaven and the others into +several marriages of good quality"; while of Dorothy Shurley it is +prettily recorded (this, as we have seen, being a district rich in +exemplary wives) that she had "a merite beyond most of her time, ... +her pitty was the clothing of the poore ... and all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>her minutes were but +steppes to heaven." Our county has many fine monuments, but I think +that, this is the most charming of all.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">FRAMFIELD</div> + +<p>At Framfield, two miles east of Uckfield, which we may take here, we +again enter the iron country, and for the first time see Sussex hops, +which are grown largely to the north and east of this neighbourhood.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page293.png" id="page293.png"></a><img src="images/page293.png" width='700' height='470' alt="Framfield" /></p> + +<h4><i>Framfield.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">RICHARD REALF</div> + +<p>Framfield has a Tudor church and no particular interest. In 1792 eleven +out of fifteen persons in Framfield, whose united ages amounted to one +thousand and thirty-four years, offered, through the county paper, to +play a cricket match with an equal number of the same age from any part +of Sussex; but I do not find any record of the result. Nor can I find +that any one at Framfield is proud of the fact that here, in 1834, was +born Richard Realf, the orator and poet, son of Sussex peasants. In +England his name is scarcely known; and in America, where his work was +done, it is not common knowledge that he was by birth and parentage +English. Realf was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> friend of man, liberty and John Brown; he fought +against slavery in the war, and helped the cause with some noble verses; +and he died miserably by his own hand in 1878, leaving these lines +beside his body:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"De mortuis nil nisi bonum." When</div> +<div class="i1">For me this end has come and I am dead,</div> +<div>And the little voluble, chattering daws of men</div> +<div class="i1">Peck at me curiously, let it then be said</div> +<div>By some one brave enough to speak the truth:</div> +<div class="i1">Here lies a great soul killed by cruel wrong.</div> +<div>Down all the balmy days of his fresh youth</div> +<div class="i1">To his bleak, desolate noon, with sword and song,</div> +<div>And speech that rushed up hotly from the heart,</div> +<div class="i1">He wrought for liberty, till his own wound</div> +<div>(He had been stabbed), concealed with painful art</div> +<div class="i1">Through wasting years, mastered him, and he swooned,</div> +<div>And sank there where you see him lying now</div> +<div class="i1">With the word "Failure" written on his brow.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>But say that he succeeded. If he missed</div> +<div class="i1">World's honors, and world's plaudits, and the wage</div> +<div>Of the world's deft lacqueys, still his lips were kissed</div> +<div class="i1">Daily by those high angels who assuage</div> +<div>The thirstings of the poets—for he was</div> +<div class="i1">Born unto singing—and a burthen lay</div> +<div>Mightily on him, and he moaned because</div> +<div class="i1">He could not rightly utter to the day</div> +<div>What God taught in the night. Sometimes, nathless,</div> +<div class="i1">Power fell upon him, and bright tongues of flame,</div> +<div>And blessings reached him from poor souls in stress;</div> +<div class="i1">And benedictions from black pits of shame,</div> +<div>And little children's love, and old men's prayers,</div> +<div class="i1">And a Great Hand that led him unawares.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>So he died rich. And if his eyes were blurred</div> +<div class="i1">With big films—silence! he is in his grave.</div> +<div>Greatly he suffered; greatly, too, he erred</div> +<div class="i1">Yet broke his heart in trying to be brave.</div> +<div>Nor did he wait till Freedom had become</div> +<div class="i1">The popular shibboleth of courtier's lips;</div> +<div>He smote for her when God Himself seemed dumb</div> +<div class="i1">And all His arching skies were in eclipse.</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>He was a-weary, but he fought his fight,</div> +<div class="i1">And stood for simple manhood; and was joyed</div> +<div>To see the august broadening of the light</div> +<div class="i1">And new earths heaving heavenward from the void.</div> +<div>He loved his fellows, and their love was sweet—</div> +<div class="i1">Plant daisies at his head and at his feet.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Uckfield's main street is divided sharply into two periods—from the +station to the road leading to the church all is new; beyond, all is +old. The town is not interesting in itself, but it commands good +country, and has a good inn, the Maiden's Head. It is also a good +specimen of the quieter market-town of the past—with a brewery (hiding +behind a wonderful tree braced with kindly iron bands), a water mill +(down by the railway), and several solid comfortable houses for the +doctor and the lawyer and the brewer and the parson, with ample gardens +behind them.</p> + +<p>Uckfield was once the home of Jeremiah Markland, the great classic, who +acted as tutor here to Edward Clarke, son of the famous William Clarke, +rector of Buxted, and father of Edward Daniel Clarke, the traveller. It +is agreeable to remember that Fanny Burney passed through the town with +Mrs. Thrale in 1779, although she found nothing to interest her.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE UCKFIELD ROCKS</div> + +<p>Uckfield is the southern boundary of the rock district of which we saw +something at West Hoathly, and it is famous for the sandstone cliffs in +the grounds of High Rocks, an estate on the south of the town. The +unthinking untidiness and active penknives of the holiday makers made it +recently necessary for the grounds to be closed to strangers. Close by, +however, just off the road from Uckfield to Maresfield, is a rocky tract +that is free to all. It consists of about an acre of grey, sandy +boulders, some rising to a height of twenty feet or so, which remind one +a little of the <i>rochers</i> in the Forest of Fontainebleau, although on a +smaller scale. All are worn with the feet of adventurous boys enjoying +one of the best natural playgrounds in the county. Here blackberries +come to rich<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> perfection, the sun's ripening warmth being thrown back +from the hot sand.</p> + +<p>When I first knew Maresfield church, many years ago, its aged vicar +rolled out "Thou shalt do no mur-r-r-der" with an accusing timbre that +seemed to bring the sin home to all of us. He had also so peculiar a way +of pronouncing "Albert," that his prayer for our rulers seemed to make +an invidious distinction, and ask a blessing, not for all, but for all +but Edward, Prince of Wales.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PURITAN NAMES</div> + +<p>Some of the oddest of the composite pietistic names that broke out over +England during the Puritan revolution are to be found in Sussex +registers. In 1632, Master Performe-thy-vowes Seers of Maresfield +married Thomasine Edwards. His full name was too much for the village, +and four years later is found an entry recording the burial of "Vowes +Seers" pure and simple. The searcher of parish registers from whose +articles in the <i>Sussex Daily News</i> I have already quoted, has also +found that Heathfield had many Puritan names, among them "Replenished," +which was given to the daughter of Robert Pryor in 1600. There was also +a Heathfield damsel known as "More-Fruits." Mr. Lower prints the +following names from a Sussex jury list in the seventeenth century: +Redeemed Compton of Battel, Stand-fast-on-high Stringer of Crowhurst, +Weep-not Billing of Lewes, Called Lower of Warbleton, Elected Mitchell +of Heathfield, Renewed Wisberry of Hailsham, Fly-fornication Richardson +of Waldron, The-Peace-of-God Knight of Burwash, +Fight-the-good-fight-of-Faith White of Ewhurst, and Kill-sin Pemble of +Withyham. Also a Master More-Fruits Fowler of East Hoathly, for it seems +that in such names there was no sex.</p> + +<p>Among the curious Sussex surnames found by the student of the county +archives who is quoted above are the following:—</p> + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='sussex surnames'> + <tr> + <td>Pitchfork</td> + <td> Sweetname</td> + <td>Lies</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Devil</td> + <td>Slybody</td> + <td>Hogsflesh</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>Leper</td> + <td>Fidge</td> + <td>Backfield</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Handshut</td> + <td>Beatup</td> + <td>Breathing</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Juglery</td> + <td>Rougehead </td> + <td>Whiskey</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Hollowbone </td> + <td>Punch</td> + <td>Wildgoose</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Stillborne</td> + <td>Padge</td> + <td>Ann.</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p>Almost every name here would have pleased Dickens, while some might have +been invented by him, notably Fidge and Padge. One can almost see Mr. +Fidge and Mr. Padge drolling it in his pages.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BUXTED DEER</div> + +<p>From the Maresfield rocks Buxted is easily reached, about a mile due +east; but a far prettier approach is through Buxted Park, which is +gained by a footpath out of Uckfield's main street. The charm of Buxted +is its deer. Sussex, as we have seen, is rich in parks containing deer, +but I know of none other where one may be so certain of coming close to +these beautiful creatures. Nor can I recall any other deer that are so +exquisitely dappled; but that may be because the Buxted deer were the +first I ever saw, thirty years ago, and we like to think the first the +best. Certainly they are the friendliest, or least timid. The act of +going to church is invested at Buxted with an almost unique attraction, +since the deer lie hard by the path. Indeed, the last time I went to +church at Buxted I never passed through the door at all, but sat on a +gravestone throughout the service and watched the herd in its graceful +restlessness. That was twelve years ago. The other day I watched them +again and could see no change. Some of the stags were still as of old +almost bowed beneath their antlers, although one at any rate was free, +for a keeper who passed carried a pair of horns in his hand.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page298.png" id="page298.png"></a><img src="images/page298.png" width='529' height='700' alt="In Buxted Park" /></p> + +<h4><i>In Buxted Park.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">RALPH HOGGE</div> + +<p>The old house at the beginning of the footpath to the church, with a hog +in bas-relief on its façade, is known as the Hog House, and is said to +have been the residence of Ralph Hogge. Who was Ralph Hogge? Who is +Hiram Maxim? Who was Krupp? Who was Nordenfelt? It was Ralph Hogge,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +iron-master, who in the year 1543 made the first English metal cannon. +So at any rate say tradition and Holinshed. Buxted is otherwise most +pacific of villages, sleepy and undiscovered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> In the early years of the +last century it boasted the possession of a labourer with a memory of +amazing tenacity, one George Watson, who, otherwise almost imbecile, was +unable to forget anything he had once seen, or any figure repeated to +him.</p> + +<p>On the road between Maresfield and Crowborough is Heron's Ghyll, the +residence of Mr. Fitzalan Hope. It stands to the east of the road, in +one of those hollow sites that alone won the word "eligible" from a +Tudor builder. Hard by the road is the perfect little Early English +Roman Catholic church which Mr. Hope built in 1897, a miracle, in these +hurried florid days, of honest work and simple modest beauty. The church +being Roman Catholic one may with confidence turn aside to rest a little +in its cool seclusion, relieved of the irritating search for the sexton +of the national establishment, and freed from his haunting presence and +suggestion that the labourer is worthy of more than his hire.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CLOSED CHURCHES</div> + +<p>While on this subject I might remark that a county vicar describing the +antiquities of his neighbourhood in one of the Sussex Archæological +Society's volumes, writes magnanimously: "A debt of gratitude is +certainly due to our Roman Catholic predecessors (whatever error might +mix itself with their piety and charity) for erecting such noble +edifices, in a style of strength to endure for a late posterity." It +seems to me that a very simple way of discharging a portion of this debt +would be to imitate the excellent habit of leaving the church doors wide +open, as practised by those Roman Catholic predecessors. My own impulse +to enter many of the Sussex churches has been principally antiquarian or +æsthetic, but to rest amid their gray coolnesses is a legitimate desire +which should be fostered rather than discouraged, particularly as it is +under such conditions that the soul even of the stranger whose motive is +curiosity is often comforted. The arguments in favour of keeping +churches closed are unknown to me. Doubtless they are numerous and +ingenious, but, doubtless equally, a locked church is a confession of +failure; while to urge that one has but to ask<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> for the key to be able +to enter a church is no true reply, since hospitality, whether to the +body or the soul, loses in sweetness and effect as it loses in +spontaneity.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TO CROWBOROUGH</div> + +<p>From Heron's Ghyll to Crowborough is a steady climb for three miles, +with the heathery wastes of Ashdown Forest on the left and the hilly +district around Mayfield on the right.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>CROWBOROUGH AND MAYFIELD</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Crowborough the suburban—Rotherfield's three rivers—The extra +ribs—Wild flowers and railway companies—The perfect hill—An arid +district—St. Dunstan and the Devil—Why Tunbridge Wells waters are +chalybeate—St. Dunstan's feats—An unencouraging <i>memento +mori</i>—Mayfield church—Mayfield street—The diary of Mr. Walter +Gale, schoolmaster.</p></blockquote> + +<p>In the spring of this year (1903) the walls and fences of Crowborough +were covered with the placards of a firm of estate agents describing the +neighbourhood (in the manner of the great George Robins) as "Scotland in +Sussex." The simile may be true of the Ashdown Forest side of the Beacon +(although involving an unnecessary confusion of terms), but "Hampstead +in Sussex" would be a more accurate description of Crowborough proper. +Never was a fine remote hill so be-villa'd. The east slope is all +scaffold-poles and heaps of bricks, new churches and chapels are +sprouting, and the many hoardings announce that Follies, Pierrots, or +conjurors are continually imminent. Crowborough itself has shops that +would not disgrace Croydon, and a hotel where a Lord Mayor might feel at +home. Houses in their own grounds are commoner than cottages, and near +the summit the pegs of surveyors and the name-boards of avenues yet to +be built testify to the charms which our Saxon Caledonia has already +exerted.</p> + +<p>But to say this is not to say all. Crowborough may be populous and +over-built; but it is still a glorious eminence, the healthiest and most +bracing inland village in the county, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> the key to its best moorland +country. Since Crowborough's normal visitor either plays golf or is +contented with a very modest radius, the more adventurous walker may +quickly be in the solitudes.</p> + +<p>In the little stone house below the forge Richard Jefferies lived for +some months at the end of his life.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROTHERFIELD</div> + +<p>Crowborough is crowned by a red hotel which can never pass into the +landscape; Rotherfield, its companion hill on the east, on the other +side of the Jarvis Brook valley, is surmounted by a beautiful church +with a tall shingled spire, that must have belonged to the scene from +the first. This spire darts up from the edge of the forest ridge like a +Pharos for the Weald of Kent. The church was dedicated to St. Denis of +Paris by a Saxon chieftain who was cured of his ills by a pilgrimage to +the Saint's monastery. That was in 792. In the present church, which +retains the dedication, is an ancient mural painting representing the +martyrdom of St. Lawrence. There is also a Burne-Jones window.</p> + +<p>Were it not for Rotherfield both Sussex and Kent would lack some of +their waterways, for the Rother and the Ouse rise here, and also the +Medway. A local saying credits the women of Rotherfield with two ribs +more than the men, to account for their superior height.</p> + +<p>Under a hedge half-way between Rotherfield and Jarvis Brook grow the +largest cowslips in Sussex, as large as cowslips may be without changing +their sex. But this is all cowslip country—from the field of Rother to +the field of Uck. And it is the land of the purple orchis too, the +finest blooms of which are to be found on the road between Rotherfield +and Mayfield; but you must scale a fence to get them, because (like all +the best wild flowers) they belong to the railway.</p> + +<p>Between Rotherfield and Mayfield is a little hill, trim and conical as +though Miss Greenaway had designed it, and perfect in deportment, for it +has (as all little conical hills should have) a white windmill on its +top. Around the mill is a circular track<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> for carts, which runs nearer +the sails than any track I remember ever to have dared to walk on. +Standing by this mill one opens many miles of Kent and Surrey: due north +the range of chalk Downs on which is the Pilgrim's Way, between Merstham +and Westerham, and in front of that Toy's Hill and Ide Hill and their +sandy companions, on the north edge of the Weald.</p> + +<p>Mayfield is a city on a hill on the skirts of the hot hop district of +which Burwash is the Sussex centre. To walk about it even in April is no +exhilaration; but in August one thinks of Sahara. I lived in Mayfield +one August and could barely keep awake; and we used to look across at +the rolling chalk Downs in the south, between Ditchling and Lewes, and +long for their cool, wind-swept heights. They can be hot too, but chalk +is never so hot as sand, and a steady climb to a summit, over turf +odorous of wild thyme, is restful beside the eternal hills and valleys +of the hop district.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SAINT DUNSTAN</div> + +<p>Mayfield has the best street and the best architecture of any of these +highland villages. Also it has the distinction of having done most for +mankind, since without Mayfield there would have been no water to cure +jaded London ladies and gentlemen at Tunbridge Wells. According to +Eadmer, who wrote one of the lives of Dunstan, that Saint, when +Archbishop of Canterbury, built a wooden church at Mayfield and lived in +a cell hard by. St. Dunstan, who was an expert goldsmith, was one day +making a chalice (or, as another version of the legend says, a +horseshoe) when the Devil appeared before him. Instantly recognising his +enemy, and being aware that with such a foe prompt measures alone are +useful, St. Dunstan at once pulled his nose with the tongs, which +chanced happily to be red hot. Wrenching himself free, the Devil leaped +at one bound from Mayfield to Tunbridge Wells, where, plunging his nose +into the spring at the foot of the Pantiles, he "imparted to the water +its chalybeate qualities," and thus made the fortune of the town as a +health resort. To St. Dunstan therefore, indirectly, are all drinkers of +these wells indebted. For other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> drinkers he introduced or invented the +practice of fixing pins in the sides of drinking cups, in order that a +thirsty man might see how he was progressing and a bibulous man be +checked.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MAYFIELD</div> + +<p>When consecrating his little church at Mayfield St. Dunstan discovered +it to be a little out of the true position, east and west. He therefore +applied his shoulder and rectified the error.</p> + +<p>The remains of Mayfield Palace, the old abode of the Archbishops of +Canterbury, join the church. After it had passed into the hands of the +crown—for Cranmer made a bargain with the King by which Mayfield was +exchanged for other property—Sir Thomas Gresham lived here, and Queen +Elizabeth has dined under its roof. The Palace is to be seen only +occasionally, for it is now a convent, Mayfield being another of the +county's many Roman Catholic outposts. In the great dining-room are the +tongs which St. Dunstan used.</p> + +<p>The church, dedicated to Mayfield's heroic saint, has one of the broader +shingled spires of Sussex, as distinguished from the slender spires of +which Rotherfield is a good example. Standing high, it may be seen from +long distances. The tower is the original Early English structure. Four +more of the old Sussex iron tomb slabs may be seen at Mayfield. In the +churchyard, says Mr. Lower, was once an inscription with this +uncomplimentary first line:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>O reader, if that thou canst read,</div> +</div></div> + +<p>It continued:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i1">Look down upon this stone;</div> +<div>Death is the man, do you what you can,</div> +<div class="i1">That never spareth none!</div> +</div></div> + +<p>In Mayfield's street even the new houses have caught comeliness from +their venerable neighbours. It undulates from gable to gable, and has +two good inns. The old timbered house in the middle of the east side is +that to which Richard Jefferies refers without enthusiasm in the passage +which I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> quote in a later <a href="#Page_401">chapter</a> from his essay on Buckhurst Park. In +Louis Jennings' <i>Field Paths and Green Lanes</i> the house comes in for +eulogy.</p> + +<p>Vicar of Mayfield in 1361 and following years was John Wickliffe, who +has too often been confused with his great contemporary and namesake, +the reformer. And the village claims as a son Thomas May (1595-1650), +playwright, translator of Lucan's "Pharsalia," secretary to Parliament +and friend of Ben Jonson.</p> + +<p>In the Sussex Archæological Collections is printed the journal of Walter +Gale, schoolmaster at Mayfield in the latter half of the eighteenth +century, from which a few extracts may be given:</p> + +<p>"1750. I found the greatest part of the school in a flow, by reason of +the snow and rain coming through the leads. The following extempore +verse I set for a copy:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Abandon every evil thought</div> +<div>For they to judgment will be brought.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>In passing the Star I met with Mr. Eastwood; we went in and spent 2<i>d.</i> +apiece.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PRESAGES OF DEATH</div> + +<p>"I went to Mr. Sawyer's.... One of his daughters said that she expected +a change in the weather as she had last night dreamt of a deceased +person." The editor remarks that this superstition still lingers (or did +fifty years ago) in the Weald of Sussex. Walter Gale adds:—"I told them +in discourse that on Thursday last the town clock was heard to strike 3 +in the afternoon twice, once before the chimes went, and a 2nd time +pretty nearly a ¼ of an hour after.... The strikes at the 2nd striking +seemed to sound very dull and mournfully; this, together with the +crickets coming to the house at Laughton just at our coming away, I look +upon to be sure presages of my sister's death."</p> + +<p>A year later:—"My mother, to my great unhappiness, died<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> in the 83rd +year of her age, agreeable to the testimony I had of a death in our +family on the 10th of May last."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rogers came to the school, and brought with him the four volumes of +<i>Pamela</i>, for which I paed him 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, and bespoke Duck's <i>Poems</i> +for Mr. Kine, and a <i>Caution to Swearers</i> for myself.</p> + +<p>"Sunday. I went to church at Hothley. Text from St. Matthew 'Take no +thought, saying, What shall we eat, and what shall we drink, or +wherewithal shall we be clothed,' and I went to Jones', where I spent +2<i>d.</i>, and there came Thomas Cornwall, and treated me with a pint of +twopenny.</p> + +<p>"Mr. James Kine came; we smoaked a pipe together and we went and took a +survey of the fair; we went to a legerdemain show, which we saw with +tolerable approbation.</p> + +<p>"May 28th. Gave attendance at a cricket-match, played between the +gamesters at Burwash and Mayfield to the advantage of the latter."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">OLD KENT</div> + +<p>A series of quarrels with old Kent occupy much of the diary. Old Kent, +it seems, used to enter the school house and vilify the master, not, I +imagine, without cause. Thus:—"He again called me upstart, runagate, +beggarly dog, clinched his fist in my face, and made a motion to strike +me, and declared he would break my head. He did not strike me, but +withdrew in a wonderful heat, and ended all with his general maxim, 'The +greater scholler, the greater rogue!'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Gale was removed from the school in 1771 for neglecting his duties.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>HEATHFIELD AND THE "LIES."</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The two Heathfields—Heathfield Park—"Hefful" Fair and the +spring—The death of Jack Cade—Warbleton's martyr—Three "lies" +and all true—An ecclesiastical confection—The bloodthirsty +Colonel Lunsford—Halland—Tarble Down—Breeches Wood—Mr. Thomas +Turner's diary—Laughton—Chiddingly's inhospitable fane—The +Jefferay cheese—A devoted campanologist—Hellingly—Hailsham.</p></blockquote> + +<p>There are two Heathfields: the old village, with its pleasant Sussex +church and ancient cottages close to the park gates; and the new brick +and slate town that has gathered round the station and the natural +gas-works. The park lies between the two, remarkable among Sussex parks +for the variety of its trees and the unusual proportion of them. The +spacious lawns which are characteristic of the parks in the south, here, +on Heathfield's sandy undulations, give place to heather, fern and +trees. I never remember to have seen a richer contrast of greens than in +early spring, looking west from the house, between the masses of dark +evergreens that had borne the rigours of the winter and the young leaves +just breaking through. Heathfield's park is, I think, the loveliest in +Sussex, lying as it does on a southern slope, with its opulence of +foliage, its many rushing burns (the source of the Cuckmere), its hidden +ravines and deep silent tarns, and its wonderful view of the Downs and +the sea. The park once belonged to the Dacres of Hurstmonceaux, whom we +are about to meet. Traces of the original house, dating probably from +Henry VII.'s reign, are still to be seen in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> the basement. Upon this +foundation was imposed a new building towards the end of the seventeenth +century. The park was then known as Bailey Park. A century later, George +Augustus Eliott (afterwards Lord Heathfield), the hero of Gibraltar, and +earlier of Cuba, acquired it with his Havana prize money. After Lord +Heathfield died, in 1790, the park became the property of Francis +Newbery, son of the bookseller of St. Paul's Churchyard. The present +owner, Mr. Alexander, has added greatly to the house.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">GIBRALTAR TOWER</div> + +<p>Gibraltar Tower, on the highest point of the park, was built by Newbery +in honour of his predecessor. From its summit a vast prospect is +visible, and forty churches, it is said, may be counted. I saw but few +of these. In the east, similarly elevated, is seen the Brightling +Needle. Mr. Alexander has gathered together in the tower a number of +souvenirs of old English life which make it a Lewes Castle museum in +little. Here are stocks, horn glasses, drinking vessels, rushlight +holders, leather bottels, and one of those quaint wooden machines for +teaching babies to walk. An old manuscript history of the tower, in Mr. +Alexander's possession, contains at least one passage that is perhaps +worth noting, as it may help to clear up any confusion that exists in +connection with Lord Heathfield's marriage. "The lady to whom his +lordship meant to be united," says the historian, "and who would +certainly have been his wife had not death stepped in, is the sister of +a lady of whom his lordship was extremely fond, but she, dying about ten +years ago, he transferred his affections to the other, who is about +thirty-five years of age."</p> + +<p>A Heathfield worthy of a hundred years ago was Sylvan Harmer, chiefly a +stone cutter (he cut the stone for the tower), but also the modeller in +clay of some very ingenious and pretty bas-relief designs for funeral +urns, notably a group known as Charity.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JACK CADE</div> + +<p>The following scene from <i>The Second Part of Henry VI.</i> although +Shakespeare places it in Kent, belongs to a little hamlet known as Cade +Street, close to Heathfield:—</p> + +<blockquote><p class="center"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span><span class="smcap">Scene X.</span>—Kent. <span class="smcap">Iden's</span> <i>Garden.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Cade.</span></p> + +<p><i>Cade.</i> Fie on ambition! fie on myself; that have a sword, and yet +am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods, +and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now +am I so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a +thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall +have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick +a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach +this hot weather. And, I think, this word sallet was born to do me +good: for, many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been +cleft with a brown bill; and, many a time, when I have been dry, +and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to +drink in; and now the word sallet must serve me to feed on.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Iden</span>, <i>with Servants, behind.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Iden.</i> Lord! who would live turmoiléd in the court,</div> +<div class="i3">And may enjoy such quiet walks as these!</div> +<div class="i3">This small inheritance, my father left me,</div> +<div class="i3">Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.</div> +<div class="i3">I seek not to wax great by others' waning;</div> +<div class="i3">Or gather wealth I care not with what envy:</div> +<div class="i3">Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,</div> +<div class="i3">And sends the poor well pleaséd from my gate.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Cade.</i> Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, +for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt +betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my +head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and +swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Iden.</i> Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,</div> +<div class="i3">I know thee not; why then should I betray thee?</div> +<div class="i3">Is't not enough, to break into my garden,</div> +<div class="i3">And like a thief to come to rob my grounds,</div> +<div class="i3">Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner,</div> +<div class="i3">But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?</div> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Cade.</i> Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, +and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five +days; yet, come thou and thy five men; and if I do not leave you +all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Iden.</i> Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,</div> +<div class="i3">That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,</div> +<div class="i3"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>Took odds to combat a poor famished man.</div> +<div class="i3">Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,</div> +<div class="i3">See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:</div> +<div class="i3">Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;</div> +<div class="i3">Thy hand is but a finger to my fist;</div> +<div class="i3">Thy leg a stick, comparéd with this truncheon;</div> +<div class="i3">My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;</div> +<div class="i3">And if mine arm be heavéd in the air,</div> +<div class="i3">Thy grave is digged already in the earth.</div> +<div class="i3">As for words, whose greatness answers words,</div> +<div class="i3">Let this my sword report what speech forbears.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Cade.</i> By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I +heard.—Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the +burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I +beseech Jove on my knees, thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [<i>They +fight.</i> <span class="smcap">Cade</span> <i>falls</i>.] O! I am slain. Famine, and no other, hath +slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but +the ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden; +and be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this +house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Iden.</i> Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?</div> +<div class="i3">Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed,</div> +<div class="i3">And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead:</div> +<div class="i3">Ne'er shall this blood be wipéd from thy point,</div> +<div class="i3">But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,</div> +<div class="i3">To emblaze the honour that thy master got.</div> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Cade.</i> Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from +me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be +cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not +by valour.</p> + +<p class="right">[<i>Dies.</i></p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">THE DEATH OF CADE</div> + +<p>That was on July 12, 1450. Cade did not die at once, but on the way to +London, whither he was conveyed in a cart. On the 16th his body was +drawn and quartered and dragged through London on a hurdle. One quarter +was then sent to Blackheath; the other three to Norwich, Gloucester and +Salisbury. Cade's head was set up on London Bridge. Iden was knighted. A +pillar was erected at Cade Street by Newbery on the piece of land that +he possessed nearest to the probable scene of the event. "Near this spot +was slain the notorious rebel Jack Cade, by Alexander Iden, Esq.," is +the inscription.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>Slaughter Common, near Heathfield, is said to be the scene of a more +wholesale carnage, Heathfield people claiming that there Caedwalla in +635 fought the Saxons and killed Eadwine, king of Northumbria. Sylvan +Harmer, in his manuscript history of Heathfield, is determined that +Heathfield shall have the credit of the fray, but, as a matter of fact, +if Slaughter Common really took its name from a battle it was a very +different one, for Caedwalla and Eadwine met, not at Heathfield, but +Hatfield Chase, near Doncaster.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HEFFUL CUCKOO FAIR</div> + +<p>It is at Hefful Cuckoo fair on April 14—Hefful being Sussex for +Heathfield—that, tradition states, the old woman lets the cuckoo out of +her basket and starts him on his course through the summer months. A +local story tells of a Heathfield man who had a quarrel with his wife +and left for Ditchling. After some days he returned, remarking, "I've +had enough of furrin parts—nothing like old England yet."</p> + +<p>If any one, walking from Heathfield towards Burwash, is astonished to +find a "Railway Inn," let him spend no time in seeking a station, for +there is none within some miles. This inn was once "The Labour in Vain," +with a signboard representing two men hard at work scrubbing a nigger +till the white should gleam through. Then came a scheme to run a line to +Eastbourne, midway between the present Heathfield line and the Burwash +line, and enterprise dictated the changing of the sign to one more in +keeping with the times. The railway project was abandoned but the inn +retains its new style.</p> + +<p>Warbleton, a village in the iron country, two miles south of Heathfield, +is famous for its association with Richard Woodman, the Sussex martyr, +who is mentioned in an earlier <a href="#Page_253">chapter</a>. His house and foundry were hard +by the churchyard. The wonderful door in the church tower, a miracle of +intricate bolts and massive strength, has been attributed to Woodman's +mechanical skill; and the theory has been put forward that he made this +door for his own strong room, and it was afterwards moved to the church. +Another story says that he was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>imprisoned in the church tower before +being taken for trial. Warbleton has the following terse and confident +epitaph upon Ann North, wife of the vicar, who died in 1780:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Through death's rough waves her bark serenely trod,</div> +<div>Her pilot Jesus, and her harbour God.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>From Horeham Road station, next Heathfield on the way to Hailsham, we +can walk across the country to East Hoathly, and thence to Chiddingly +and Hellingly, where we come to the railway again. ("East Hoathly, +Chiddingly and Hellingly," says a local witticism: "three lies and all +true.") East Hoathly stands high in not very interesting country, nor is +it now a very interesting village. But it is remarkable for an admirably +conducted inn and a church unique (in my experience of old churches) in +its interior for a prettiness that is little short of aggressive. +Whatever paint and mosaic can do to remove plain white surfaces has been +done here, and the windows are gay with new glass. Were the building a +new one, say at Surbiton, the effect would be harmonious; but in an old +village in Sussex it seems a mistake.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CHILD-EATER</div> + +<p>Colonel Thomas Lunsford, of Whyly (now no more), near East Hoathly, a +cavalier and friend of Charles I., was notoriously a consumer of the +flesh of babes. How he won such a reputation is not known, but it never +left him. <i>Hudibras</i> mentions his tastes; in one ballad of the time he +figures as Lunsford that "eateth of children," and in another, recording +his supposed death, he is found with "a child's arm in his pocket." +After a stormy but courageous career he died in 1691, innocent of +cannibalism. It was this Lunsford who fired at his relative, Sir +Nicholas Pelham of Halland, as he was one day entering East Hoathly +church. The huge bullet, the outcome of a long feud, missed Nicholas and +lodged in the church door, where it remained for many years. It cost +Lunsford <i>£</i>8,000 and outlawry.</p> + +<p>Halland, one of the seats of the Pelhams, about a mile from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> the +village, was just above Terrible Down, a tract of wild land, on which, +according to local tradition, a battle was once fought so fiercely that +the soldiers were up to their knees in blood. In the neighbourhood it +is, of course, called Tarble Down. Local tradition also states of a +certain piece of woodland attached to the glebe of this parish, called +Breeches Wood, that it owes its name to the circumstance that an East +Hoathly lady, noticing the vicar's breeches to be in need of mending, +presented to him and his successors the wood in question as an endowment +to ensure the perpetual repair of those garments.</p> + +<p>Halland House no longer exists, but in the days of the great Duke of +Newcastle, who died in 1768, it was famous for its hospitality and +splendour. We meet with traces of its influence in the frequent +inebriation, after visits there, of Mr. Thomas Turner, a mercer and +general dealer of East Hoathly, who kept a diary from 1764, recording +some of his lapses and other experiences. A few passages from the +extracts quoted in the Sussex Archæological Collections may be given:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"My wife read to me that moving scene of the funeral of Miss Clarissa +Harlow. Oh, may the Supreme Being give me grace to lead my life in such +a manner as my exit may in some measure be like that divine creature's.</p> + +<p>"This morn my wife and I had words about her going to Lewes to-morrow. +Oh, what happiness must there be in the married state, when there is a +sincere regard on both sides, and each partie truly satisfied with each +other's merits. But it is impossible for tongue or pen to express the +uneasiness that attends the contrary.</p> + +<p>"Sunday, August 28th, 1756, Thos. Davey, at our house in the evening, to +whom I read five of Tillotson's Sermons.</p> + +<p>"Sunday, October 28th, Thos. Davey came in the evening to whom I read +six of Tillotson's sermons.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>"This day went to Mrs. Porter's to inform them the livery lace was not +come, when I think Mrs. Porter treated me with as much imperious and +scornful usage as if she had been, what I think she is, more of a Turk +and Infidel than a Christian, and I an abject slave.</p> + +<p>"I went down to Mrs. Porter's and acquainted her that I would not get +her gown before Monday, who received me with all the affability, +courtesy, and good humour imaginable. Oh! what a pleasure would it be to +serve them was they always in such a temper; it would even induce me, +almost, to forget to take a just profit.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">POTATIONS</div> + +<p>"We supped at Mr. Fuller's and spent the evening with a great deal of +mirth, till between one and two. Tho. Fuller brought my wife home upon +his back. I cannot say I came home sober, though I was far from being +bad company.</p> + +<p>"The curate of Laughton came to the shop in the forenoon, and he having +bought some things of me (and I could wish he had paid for them) dined +with me, and also staid in the afternoon till he got in liquor, and +being so complaisant as to keep him company, I was quite drunk. How do I +detest myself for being so foolish!</p> + +<p>"In the even, read the twelfth and last book of Milton's <i>Paradise +Lost</i>, which I have now read twice through.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Banister having lately taken from the smugglers a freight of +brandy, entertained Mr. Carman, Mr. Fuller, and myself, in the even, +with a bowl of punch."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Although the Pelhams owned Halland, their principal seat was at +Laughton, two or three miles to the south. Of that splendid Tudor +mansion little now remains but one brick tower. In the vault of the +church, which has been much restored, no fewer than forty Pelhams +repose.</p> + +<p>Chiddingly church presents the completest contrast to East<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> Hoathly's +over-decorated yet accessible fane that could be imagined. Its door is +not only kept shut, but a special form of locked bar seems to have been +invented for it, and on the day that I was last there the churchyard +gate was padlocked too. The spire of white stone (visible for many +miles)—a change from the customary oak shingling of Sussex—has been +bound with iron chains that suggest the possibility of imminent +dissolution, while within, the building is gloomy and time-stained. If +at East Hoathly the church gives the impression of a too complacent +prosperity, here we have precisely the reverse. The state of the +Jefferay monument behind a row of rude railings is in keeping.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PROUD JEFFERAYS</div> + +<p>In the Jefferay monument, by the way, the statues at either side stand +on two circular tablets, which are not unlike the yellow cheeses of +Alkmaar. It was possibly this circumstance that led to the myth that the +Jefferays, too proud to walk on the ground, had on Sundays a series of +cheeses ranged between their house and the church, on which to step. +Their house was Chiddingly Place, built by Sir John Jefferay, who died +in 1577. Remains of this great mansion are still to be seen. It was +during Sir John's time that Chiddingly had a vicar, William Titelton, +sufficiently flexible to retain the living under Henry VIII., Edward +VI., Mary, and Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>Here, in the eighteenth century, lived one William Elphick, a devotee of +bell-ringing, who computed that altogether he had rung Chiddingly's +triple bell for 8,766 hours (which is six hours more than a year), and +who travelled upwards of ten thousand miles to ring the bells of other +churches.</p> + +<p>Mark Antony Lower, most interesting of the Sussex archæologists, to whom +these pages have been much indebted, was born at Chiddingly in 1813.</p> + +<p>Mr. Egerton in his <i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i> tells a story of a +couple down Chiddingly way who agreed upon a very satisfactory system of +danger signals when things were not quite well with either of them. +Whenever the husband came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> home a little "contrary" he wore his hat on +the back of his head, and then she never said a word; and if she came in +a little cross and crooked she threw her shawl over her left shoulder, +and then he never said a word.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CZAR AND QUAKER</div> + +<p>A little to the east of Hellingly is Amberstone, the scene, in 1814, of +a pretty occurrence. Alexander, the Czar of all the Russias, travelling +from Brighton to Dover with his sister, the Duchess of Oldenburgh, saw +Nathaniel and Mary Rickman of Amberstone standing by their gate. From +their dress he knew them to be Quakers, a sect in which he was much +interested. The carriage was therefore stopped, and the Czar and his +sister entered the house; they were taken all over it, praised its +neatness, ate some lunch, and parted with the kindest expressions of +goodwill, the Czar shaking hands with the Quaker and the Duchess kissing +the Quakeress.</p> + +<p>A few minutes on the rail bring us to Hailsham, an old market town, +whose church, standing on the ridge which borders Pevensey Level on the +west, is capped with pinnacles like that of East Grinstead. Walking a +few yards beyond the church one comes to the edge of the high ground, +with nothing before one but miles and miles of the meadow-land of this +Dutch region, green and moist and dotted with cattle.</p> + +<p>Hailsham's principal value to the traveller is that it is the station +for Hurstmonceux; whither, however, we are to journey by another route. +Otherwise the town exists principally in order that bullocks and sheep +may change hands once a week. Hailsham's cattle market covers three +acres, and on market days the wayfarers in the streets need the agility +of a picador.</p> + +<p>We ought, however, to see Michelham Priory while we are here. It lies +two miles to the west of Hailsham, in the Cuckmere valley—now a +beautifully-placed farmhouse, but once a house of Augustinian Canons +founded in the reign of Henry III. Here one may see the old monkish fish +stews, so useful on Fridays, in perfection. The moat, where fish were +probably also caught, is still as it was, and the fine old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +three-storied gateway and the mill belonging to the monks stand to this +day. The priory, although much in ruins, is very interesting, and well +worth seeing and exploring with a reconstructive eye.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE TWO DICKERS</div> + +<p>A little further west is the Dicker—or rather the two Dickers, Upper +Dicker and Lower Dicker, large commons between Arlington in the south +and Chiddingly in the north. Here are some of the many pottery works for which Sussex is famous.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page318.png" id="page318.png"></a><img src="images/page318.png" width='700' height='544' alt="Beachy Head" /></p> + +<h4><i>Beachy Head.</i></h4> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<h3>EASTBOURNE</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Select Eastbourne. The "English Salvator Rosa"—Sops and Ale—Beau +Chef—"The Breeze on Beachy Head"—Shakespeare and the Cliff—"To a +Seamew"—The new lighthouse—Parson Darby and his cave—East Dean's +bells—The Two Sisters—Friston's Selwyn monument—West Dean.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Eastbourne is the most select, or least democratic, of the Sussex +watering places. Fashion does not resort thither as to Brighton in the +season, but the crowds of excursionists that pour into Brighton and +Hastings are comparatively unknown at Eastbourne; which is in a sense a +private settlement, under the patronage of the Duke of Devonshire. +Hastings is of the people; Brighton has a character almost continental; +Eastbourne is select. Lawn tennis and golf are its staple products, one +played on the very beautiful links behind the town hard by Compton +Place, the residence of the Duke; the other in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> Devonshire Park. It is +also an admirable town for horsemanship.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ENGLISH SALVATOR ROSA</div> + +<p>Eastbourne has had small share in public affairs, but in 1741 John +Hamilton Mortimer, the painter, sometimes called the Salvator Rosa of +England, was born there. From a memoir of him which Horsfield prints, I +take passages: "Bred on the sea-coast, and amid a daring and rugged race +of hereditary smugglers, it had pleased his young imagination to walk on +the shore when the sea was agitated by storms—to seek out the most +sequestered places among the woods and rocks, and frequently, and not +without danger, to witness the intrepidity of the contraband +adventurers, who, in spite of storms and armed excisemen, pursued their +precarious trade at all hazards. In this way he had, from boyhood, +become familiar with what amateurs of art call 'Salvator Rosa-looking +scenes'; he loved to depict the sea chafing and foaming, and fit 'to +swallow navigation up'—ships in peril, and pinnaces sinking—banditti +plundering, or reposing in caverns—and all such situations as are +familiar to pirates on water, and outlaws on land....</p> + +<p>"Of his eccentricities while labouring under the delusion that he could +not well be a genius without being unsober and wild, one specimen may +suffice. He was employed by Lord Melbourne to paint a ceiling at his +seat of Brocket Hall, Herts; and taking advantage of permission to angle +in the fish-pond, he rose from a carousal at midnight, and seeking a +net, and calling on an assistant painter for help, dragged the preserve, +and left the whole fish gasping on the bank in rows. Nor was this the +worst; when reproved mildly, and with smiles, by Lady Melbourne, he had +the audacity to declare, that her beauty had so bewitched him that he +knew not what he was about. To plunder the fish-pond and be impertinent +to the lady was not the way to obtain patronage. The impudent painter +collected his pencils together, and returned to London to enjoy his +inelegant pleasures and ignoble company."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>Horsfield states that "a custom far more honoured by the breach than the +observance heretofore existed in the manor of Eastbourne; in compliance +with which, after any lady, or respectable farmer or tradesman's wife, +was delivered of a child, certain quantities of food and of beer were +placed in a room adjacent to the sacred edifice; when, after the second +lesson was concluded, the whole agricultural portion of the worshippers +marched out of church, and devoured what was prepared for them. This was +called <i>Sops and Ale</i>."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">EASTBOURNE RUG</div> + +<p>John Taylor the water Poet, whom we saw, at Goring, the prey of fleas +and the Law, made another journey into the county between August 9th and +September 3rd, 1653, and as was usual with him wrote about it in +doggerel verse. At Eastbourne he found a brew called Eastbourne Rug:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>No cold can ever pierce his flesh or skin</div> +<div>Of him who is well lin'd with Rug within;</div> +<div>Rug is a lord beyond the Rules of Law,</div> +<div>It conquers hunger in a greedy maw,</div> +<div>And, in a word, of all drinks potable,</div> +<div>Rug is most puissant, potent, notable.</div> +<div>Rug was the Capital Commander there,</div> +<div>And his Lieutenant-General was strong beer.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Possibly it was in order to contest the supremacy of Rug (which one may +ask for in Eastbourne to-day in vain) that Newhaven Tipper sprang into +being.</p> + +<p>The Martello towers, which Pitt built during the Napoleonic scare at the +beginning of last century, begin at Eastbourne, where the cliffs cease, +and continue along the coast into Kent. They were erected probably quite +as much to assist in allaying public fear by a tangible and visible +symbol of defence as from any idea that they would be a real service in +the event of invasion. Many of them have now disappeared.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BEACHY HEAD</div> + +<p>Eastbourne's glory is Beachy Head, the last of the Downs, which stop +dead at the town and never reappear in Sussex again. The range takes a +sudden turn to the south at Folkington,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> whence it rolls straight for +the sea, Beachy Head being the ultimate eminence. (The name Beachy has, +by the way, nothing to do with the beach: it is derived probably from +the Normans' description—"beau chef.") About Beachy Head one has the +South Downs in perfection: the best turf, the best prospect, the best +loneliness, and the best air. Richard Jefferies, in his fine essay, "The +Breeze on Beachy Head," has a rapturous word to say of this air (poor +Jefferies, destined to do so much for the health of others and so little +for his own!).—"But the glory of these glorious Downs is the breeze. +The air in the valleys immediately beneath them is pure and pleasant; +but the least climb, even a hundred feet, puts you on a plane with the +atmosphere itself, uninterrupted by so much as the tree-tops. It is air +without admixture. If it comes from the south, the waves refine it; if +inland, the wheat and flowers and grass distil it. The great headland +and the whole rib of the promontory is wind-swept and washed with air; +the billows of the atmosphere roll over it.</p> + +<p>"The sun searches out every crevice amongst the grass, nor is there the +smallest fragment of surface which is not sweetened by air and light. +Underneath the chalk itself is pure, and the turf thus washed by wind +and rain, sun-dried and dew-scented, is a couch prepared with thyme to +rest on. Discover some excuse to be up there always, to search for stray +mushrooms—they will be stray, for the crop is gathered extremely early +in the morning—or to make a list of flowers and grasses; to do +anything, and, if not, go always without any pretext. Lands of gold have +been found, and lands of spices and precious merchandise: but this is +the land of health."</p> + +<p>Seated near the edge of the cliff one realises, as it is possible +nowhere else to realise, except perhaps at Dover, the truth of Edgar's +description of the headland in <i>King Lear</i>. It seems difficult to think +of Shakespeare exploring these or any Downs, and yet the scene must have +been in his own experience;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> nothing but actual sight could have given +him the line about the crows and choughs:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Come on, sir; here's the place:—stand still.—How fearful</div> +<div>And dizzy 't is, to cast one's eyes so low!</div> +<div>The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,</div> +<div>Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down</div> +<div>Hangs one that gathers samphire—dreadful trade!</div> +<div>Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:</div> +<div>The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,</div> +<div>Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,</div> +<div>Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy</div> +<div>Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,</div> +<div>That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,</div> +<div>Cannot be heard so high.—I'll look no more,</div> +<div>Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight</div> +<div>Topple down headlong.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">"TO A SEAMEW"</div> + +<p>Choughs are rare at Beachy Head, but jackdaws and gulls are in great and +noisy profusion; and this reminds me that it was on Beachy Head in +September, 1886, that the inspiration of one of the most beautiful +bird-poems in our language came to its author—the ode "To a Seamew" of +Mr. Swinburne. I quote five of its haunting stanzas:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>We, sons and sires of seamen,</div> +<div class="i1">Whose home is all the sea,</div> +<div>What place man may, we claim it;</div> +<div>But thine——whose thought may name it?</div> +<div>Free birds live higher than freemen,</div> +<div class="i1">And gladlier ye than we——</div> +<div>We, sons and sires of seamen,</div> +<div class="i1">Whose home is all the sea.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>For you the storm sounds only</div> +<div class="i1">More notes of more delight</div> +<div>Than earth's in sunniest weather:</div> +<div>When heaven and sea together</div> +<div>Join strengths against the lonely</div> +<div class="i1">Lost bark borne down by night,</div> +<div>For you the storm sounds only</div> +<div class="i1">More notes of more delight.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * + * + * + * * +</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>The lark knows no such rapture,</div> +<div class="i1">Such joy no nightingale,</div> +<div>As sways the songless measure,</div> +<div>Wherein thy wings take pleasure:</div> +<div>Thy love may no man capture,</div> +<div class="i1">Thy pride may no man quail;</div> +<div>The lark knows no such rapture,</div> +<div class="i1">Such joy no nightingale.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And we, whom dreams embolden,</div> +<div class="i1">We can but creep and sing</div> +<div>And watch through heaven's waste hollow</div> +<div>The flight no sight may follow</div> +<div>To the utter bourne beholden</div> +<div class="i1">Of none that lack thy wing:</div> +<div>And we, whom dreams embolden,</div> +<div class="i1">We can but creep and sing.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div> * + * + * + * *</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ah, well were I for ever,</div> +<div class="i1">Wouldst thou change lives with me,</div> +<div>And take my song's wild honey,</div> +<div>And give me back thy sunny</div> +<div>Wide eyes that weary never,</div> +<div class="i1">And wings that search the sea;</div> +<div>Ah, well were I for ever,</div> +<div class="i1">Wouldst thou change lives with me.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">PARSON DARBY</div> + +<p>The old lighthouse on Beachy Head, the Belle Tout, which first flung its +beams abroad in 1831, has just been superseded by the new lighthouse +built on the shore under the cliff. Near the new lighthouse is Parson +Darby's Hole—a cavern in the cliff said to have been hewed out by the +Rev. Jonathan Darby of East Dean as a refuge from the tongue of Mrs. +Darby. Another account credits the parson with the wish to provide a +sanctuary for shipwrecked sailors, whom he guided thither on stormy +nights by torches. In a recent Sussex story by Mr. Horace Hutchinson, +called <i>A Friend of Nelson</i>, we find the cave in the hands of a powerful +smuggler, mysterious and accomplished as Lavengro, some years after +Darby's death.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">UNDER BEACHY HEAD</div> + +<p>A pleasant walk from Eastbourne is to Birling Gap, a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> smuggling +centre in the old days, where the Downs dip for a moment to the level of +the sea. Here at low tide one may walk under the cliffs. Richard +Jefferies, in the essay from which I have already quoted, has a +beautiful passage of reflections beneath the great bluff:—"The sea +seems higher than the spot where I stand, its surface on a higher +level—raised like a green mound—as if it could burst in and occupy the +space up to the foot of the cliff in a moment. It will not do so, I +know; but there is an infinite possibility about the sea; it may do what +it is not recorded to have done. It is not to be ordered, it may +overleap the bounds human observation has fixed for it. It has a potency +unfathomable. There is still something in it not quite grasped and +understood—something still to be discovered—a mystery.</p> + +<p>"So the white spray rushes along the low broken wall of rocks, the sun +gleams on the flying fragments of the wave, again it sinks, and the +rhythmic motion holds the mind, as an invisible force holds back the +tide. A faith of expectancy, a sense that something may drift up from +the unknown, a large belief in the unseen resources of the endless space +out yonder, soothes the mind with dreamy hope.</p> + +<p>"The little rules and little experiences, all the petty ways of narrow +life, are shut off behind by the ponderous and impassable cliff; as if +we had dwelt in the dim light of a cave, but coming out at last to look +at the sun, a great stone had fallen and closed the entrance, so that +there was no return to the shadow. The impassable precipice shuts off +our former selves of yesterday, forcing us to look out over the sea +only, or up to the deeper heaven.</p> + +<p>"These breadths draw out the soul; we feel that we have wider thoughts +than we knew; the soul has been living, as it were, in a nutshell, all +unaware of its own power, and now suddenly finds freedom in the sun and +the sky. Straight, as if sawn down from turf to beach, the cliff shuts +off the human world, for the sea knows no time and no era; you cannot +tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> what century it is from the face of the sea. A Roman trireme +suddenly rounding the white edge-line of chalk, borne on wind and oar +from the Isle of Wight towards the gray castle at Pevensey (already old +in olden days), would not seem strange. What wonder could surprise us +coming from the wonderful sea?"</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page325.png" id="page325.png"></a><img src="images/page325.png" width='700' height='538' alt="Beachy Head from the Shore" /></p> + +<h4><i>Beachy Head from the Shore.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">EAST DEAN</div> + +<p>The road from Birling Gap runs up the valley to East Dean and Friston, +two villages among the Downs. Parson Darby's church at East Dean is +small and not particularly interesting; but it gave Horsfield, the +county historian, the opportunity to make one of his infrequent jokes. +"There are three bells," he writes, "and 'if discord's harmony not +understood,' truly harmonious ones." Horsfield does not note that one of +these three bells bore a Latin motto which being translated signifies</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Surely no bell beneath the sky</div> +<div>Can send forth better sounds than I?</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>The East Dean register contains a curious entry which is quoted in +Grose's <i>Olio</i>, ed. 1796:—"Agnes Payne, the daughter of Edward Payne, +was buried on the <i>first day of February</i>. Johan Payne, the daughter of +Edward Payne, was buried on the <i>first day of February</i>.</p> + +<p>"In the death of these two sisters last mentioned is one thing worth +recording, and diligently to be noted. 'The elder sister, called Agnes, +being very sicke unto death, <i>speechless</i>, and, as was thought, past +hope of speakinge; after she had lyen twenty-four hours without speach, +at last upon a suddayne cryed out to her sister to make herself ready +and to come with her. Her sister Johan being abroad about other +business, was called for, who being come to her sicke sister, +demaundinge how she did, she very lowde or earnestly bade her sister +make ready—she staid for her, and could not go without her. Within half +an houre after, Johan was taken very sicke, which increasinge all the +night uppone her, her other sister stille callinge her to come away; in +the morninge they both departed this wretched world together. O the +unsearchable wisdom of God! How deepe are his judgments, and his ways +past fyndinge out!</p> + +<p>"Testified by diverse oulde and honest persons yet living; which I +myself have heard their father, when he was alive, report.</p> + +<p>"Arthur Polland, Vicar; Henry Homewood, John Pupp, Churchwardens."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SELWYN MONUMENT</div> + +<div class="sidenote">FRISTON PLACE</div> + +<p>Friston church is interesting, for it contains one of the most beautiful +monuments in Sussex, worthy to be remembered with that to the Shurleys +at Isfield. The family commemorated is the Selwyns, and the monument has +a very charming dado of six kneeling daughters and three babies laid +neatly on a tasseled cushion, under the reading desk—a quaint conceit +impossible to be carried out successfully in these days, but pretty and +fitting enough then. Of the last of the Selwyns, "Ultimus Selwynorum," +who died aged twenty, in 1704, it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> said, with that exquisite +simplicity of exaggeration of which the secret also has been lost, that +for him "the very marble might weep." Friston Place, the home of the +Selwyns, has some noble timbers, and a curious old donkey-well in the +garden.</p> + +<p>West Dean, which is three miles to the west, by a bleak and lonely road +amid hills and valleys, is just a farm yard, with remains of very +ancient architecture among the barns and ricks. The village, however, is +more easily reached from Alfriston than Eastbourne.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<h3>PEVENSEY AND HURSTMONCEUX</h3> + +<blockquote><p>A well-behaved castle—Rail and romance—Britons, Romans, Saxons and +Normans at Pevensey—William the Conqueror—A series of sieges—The +first English letter—Andrew Borde, the jester, again—Pevensey +gibes—A red brick castle—Hurstmonceux church—The tomb of the +Dacres.—Two Hurstmonceux clerics—The de Fiennes and the de +Monceux—A spacious home—The ghost—The unfortunate Lord +Dacre—Horace Walpole at Hurstmonceux—The trug industry.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Pevensey Castle behaves as a castle should: it rises from the plain, the +only considerable eminence for miles; it has noble grey walls of the +true romantic hue and thickness; it can be seen from the sea, over which +it once kept guard; it has a history rich in assailants and defenders. +There is indeed nothing in its disfavour except the proximity of the +railway, which has been allowed to pass nearer the ruin than dramatic +fitness would dictate. Let it, however, be remembered that the railway +through the St. Pancras Priory at Lewes led to the discovery of the +coffins of William de Warenne and Gundrada, and also that, in Mr. +Kipling's phrase, romance, so far from being at enmity with the iron +horse, "brought up the 9.15."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page329.png" id="page329.png"></a><img src="images/page329.png" width='700' height='348' alt="Pevensey Castle" /></p> + +<h4><i>Pevensey Castle.</i></h4> + +<p>Pevensey, which is now divided from the channel by marshy fields with +nothing to break the flatness but Martello towers (thirteen may be +counted from the walls), was, like Bramber Castle in the west, now also +an inland stronghold, once washed and surrounded by the sea. The sea +probably covered all the ground as far inland as Hailsham—Pevensey, +Horseye, Rickney<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> and the other "eyes" on the level, being then +islands, as their termination suggests.</p> + +<p>There is now no doubt but that Pevensey was the Anderida of the Romans, +a city on the borders of the great forest of Anderida that covered the +Weald of Sussex—Andreas Weald as it was called by the Saxons. But +before the Romans a British stronghold existed here. This, after the +Romans left, was attacked by the Saxons, who slew every Briton that they +found therein. The Saxons in their turn being discomfited, the Normans +built a new castle within the old walls, with Robert de Moreton, half +brother of the Conqueror, for its lord. Thus the castle as it now stands +is in its outer walls Roman, in its inner, Norman.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WILLIAM'S LANDING</div> + +<p>Unlike certain other Sussex fortresses, Pevensey has seen work. Of its +Roman career we know nothing, except that the inhabitants seem to have +dropped a large number of coins, many of which have been dug up. The +Saxons, as we have seen, massacred the Britons at Anderida very +thoroughly. Later, in 1042, Swane, son of Earl Godwin, swooped on +Pevensey's port in the Danish manner and carried off a number of ships. +In 1049 Earl Godwin, and another son, Harold, made a second foray, +carried off more ships, and fired the town. On September 28, 1066, +Pevensey saw a more momentous landing, destined to be fatal to this +marauding Harold; for on that day William, Duke of Normandy, soon to +become William the Conqueror, alighted from his vessel, accompanied by +several hundred Frenchmen in black chain armour. A representation of the +landing is one of the designs in the Bayeux tapestry. The embroiderers +take no count of William's fall as he stepped ashore, on ground now +grazed upon by cattle, an accident deemed unlucky until his ready wit +explained, as he rose with sanded fingers, "See, I have seized the land +with my hands."</p> + +<p>Pevensey's later history included sieges by William Rufus in 1088, when +Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, supporter of Robert, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> the defender; by +Stephen in 1144, the fortress being held by Maude, who gave in +eventually to famine; by Simon de Montfort and the Barons in 1265; and +by the supporters of Richard of York in 1399, when Lady Pelham defended +it for the Rose of Lancaster. A little later Edmund, Duke of York, was +imprisoned in it, and was so satisfied with his gaoler that he +bequeathed him <i>£</i>20. Queen Joan of Navarre, wife of Henry IV., was also a +prisoner here for nine years. In the year before the Armada, Pevensey +Castle was ordered to be either rebuilt as a fortress or razed to the +ground; but fortunately neither instruction was carried out.</p> + +<p>The present owner of Pevensey Castle is the Duke of Devonshire, who by +virtue of the possession is entitled to call himself Dominus Aquilæ, or +Lord of the Eagle.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LETTER-WRITING</div> + +<p>Pevensey has another and gentler claim to notice. Many essayists have +said pleasant and ingenious things about the art of letter-writing; but +none of them mentions the part played by Pevensey in the English +development of that agreeable accomplishment. Yet the earliest specimen +of English letter-writing that exists was penned in Pevensey Castle. The +writer was Joan Crownall, Lady Pelham, wife of Sir John Pelham, who, as +I have said, defended the castle, in her Lord's absence, against the +Yorkists, and this is the letter, penned (I write in 1903) five hundred +and four years ago. (It has no postscript.)</p> + +<blockquote><p>My dear Lord,—I recommend me to your high Lordship, with heart and +body and all my poor might. And with all this I thank you as my +dear Lord, dearest and best beloved of all earthly lords. I say for +me, and thank you, my dear Lord, with all this that I said before +of [for] your comfortable letter that you sent me from Pontefract, +that came to me on Mary Magdalen's day: for by my troth I was never +so glad as when I heard by your letter that ye were strong enough +with the grace of God for to keep you from the malice of your +enemies. And, dear Lord, if it like to your high Lordship that as +soon as ye might that I might hear of your gracious speed, which +God Almighty continue and increase. And, my dear Lord, if it like +you to know <i>my</i> fare, I am here laid by in manner of a siege with +the county of Sussex, Surrey, and a great parcel of Kent, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> that +I may not [go] out nor no victuals get me, but with much hard. +Wherefore, my dear, if it like you by the advice of your wise +counsel for to set remedy of the salvation of your Castle and +withstand the malice of the Shires aforesaid. And also that ye be +fully informed of the great malice-workers in these shires which +have so despitefully wrought to you, and to your Castle, to your +men and to your tenants; for this country have they wasted for a +great while.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, my dear Lord! the Holy Trinity keep you from your +enemies, and soon send me good tidings of you. Written at Pevensey, +in the Castle, on St. Jacob's day last past.</p> + +<p class="right">"By your own poor <br /> +"J. <span class="smcap">Pelham</span>."</p> + +<p>"To my true Lord."</p></blockquote> + +<div class="sidenote">ANDREW BORDE AGAIN</div> + +<p>In the town of Pevensey once lived Andrew Borde (who entered this world +at Cuckfield): a thorn in the side of municipal dignity. The Dogberryish +dictum "I am still but a man, although Mayor of Pevensey," remains a +local joke, and tradition has kept alive the prowess of the Pevensey +jury which brought a verdict of manslaughter against one who was charged +with stealing breeches; both jokes of Andrew's. Borde's house, whither, +it is said, Edward VI. once came on a visit to the jester, still stands. +The oak room in which Andrew welcomed the youthful king is shown at a +cost of threepence per head, and you may buy pictorial postcards and +German wooden toys in the wit's front parlour.</p> + +<p>Before leaving Pevensey I must say a word of Westham, the village which +adjoins it. Westham and Pevensey are practically one, the castle +intervening. Westham has a vicar whose interest in his office might well +be imitated by some of the other vicars of the county. His noble church, +one of the finest in Sussex, with a tower of superb strength and +dignity, is kept open, and just within is a table on which are a number +of copies of a little penny history of Westham which he has prepared, +and for the payment of which he is so eccentric as to trust to the +stranger's honesty.</p> + +<p>The tower, which the vicar tells us is six hundred years old, he asks us +to admire for its "utter carelessness and scorn of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> smoothness and +finish, or any of the tricks of modern buildings." Westham church was +one of the first that the Conqueror built, and remains of the original +Norman structure are still serviceable. The vicar suggests that it may +very possibly have stood a siege. In the jamb of the south door of the +Norman wall is a sundial, without which, one might say, no church is +completely perfect. In the tower dwell unmolested a colony of owls, six +of whom once attended a "reading-in" service and, seated side by side on +a beam, listened with unwavering attention to the Thirty-Nine Articles. +They were absent on my visit, but a small starling, swift and elusive as +a spirit, flitted hither and thither quite happily.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page333.png" id="page333.png"></a><img src="images/page333.png" width='700' height='461' alt="Westham" /></p> + +<h4><i>Westham.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">ALES CRESSEL</div> + +<p>In the churchyard is the grave of one Ales Cressel (oddest of names), +and among the epitaphs is this upon a Mr. Henty:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>Learn from this mistic sage to live or die.</div> +<div>Well did he love at evening's social hour</div> +<div>The Sacred Volume's treasure to apply.</div></div></div> + +<p>The remembrance of his excellent character alone reconciles his +afflicted widow to her irreparable loss.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>The church contains a memorial to a young gentleman named Fagg who, +"having lived to adorn Human Nature by his exemplary manners, was +untimely snatched away, aged 24."</p> + +<p>In the neighbourhood of Westham is a large rambling building known as +Priesthaus, which, once a monastery, is now a farm. Many curious relics +of its earlier state have lately been unearthed.</p> + +<p>In Pevensey church, which has none of the interest of Westham, a little +collection of curiosities relating to Pevensey—a constable's staff, old +title deeds, seals, and so forth—is kept, in a glass case.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page335.png" id="page335.png"></a><img src="images/page335.png" width='504' height='700' alt="Hurstmonceux Castle" /></p> + +<h4><i>Hurstmonceux Castle.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">HURSTMONCEUX CASTLE</div> + +<p>If Pevensey is all that a castle ought to be, in shape, colour, position +and past, Hurstmonceux is the reverse; for it lies low, it has no +swelling contours, it is of red brick instead of grey stone, and never a +fight has it seen. But any disappointment we may feel is the fault not +of Hurstmonceux but of those who named it castle. Were it called +Hurstmonceux House, or Place, or Manor, or Grange, all would be well. It +is this use of the word castle (which in Sussex has a connotation +excluding red brick) that has done Hurstmonceux an injustice, for it is +a very imposing and satisfactory ruin, quite as interesting +architecturally as Pevensey, or, indeed, any of the ruins that we have +seen.</p> + +<p>Hurstmonceux Castle stands on the very edge of Pevensey Level, the only +considerable structure between Pevensey and the main land proper. In the +intervening miles there are fields and fields, through which the Old +Haven runs, plaintive plovers above them bemoaning their lot, and brown +cows tugging at the rich grass. On the first hillock to the right of the +castle as one fronts the south, rising like an island from this sea of +pasturage, is Hurstmonceux church, whose shingled spire shoots into the +sky, a beacon to travellers in the Level. It is a pretty church with an +exterior of severe simplicity. Between the chancel and the chantry is +the large tomb covering the remains of Thomas Fiennes, second Lord<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +Dacre of Hurstmonceux, who died in 1534, and Sir Thomas Dacre his son, +surmounted by life-size stone figures, each in full armour, with hands +proudly raised, and each resting his feet against the Fiennes wolf-dog.</p> + +<p>In the churchyard is the grave of Julius Hare, once vicar of +Hurstmonceux, and the author, with his brother Augustus, of <i>Guesses at +Truth</i>. Carlyle's John Sterling was Julius Hare's first curate here.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE OLD SPACIOUSNESS</div> + +<p>Hurstmonceux Castle was once the largest and handsomest of all the +commoners' houses in the county. Sir Roger de Fiennes, a descendant of +the John de Fiennes who married Maude, last of the de Monceux, in the +reign of Edward II., built it in 1440. Though the Manor house of the de +Monceux, on the site of the present castle, lacked the imposing +qualities of Roger de Fiennes' stronghold, it was hospitable, spacious, +and luxurious. Edward the First spent a night there in 1302. One of the +de Monceux was on the side of de Montfort in the Battle of Lewes, and +the first of them to settle in England married Edith, daughter of +William de Warenne and Gundrada, of Lewes Castle.</p> + +<p>How thorough and conscientious were the workmen employed by Roger de +Fiennes, and how sound were their bricks and mortar, may be learned by +the study of Hurstmonceux Castle to-day. In many parts the walls are +absolutely uninjured except by tourists. The floors, however, have long +since returned to nature, who has put forth her energies without stint +to clothe the old apartments with greenery. Ivy of astonishing vigour +grows here, populous with jackdaws, and trees and shrubs spring from the +least likely spots.</p> + +<p>The castle in its old completeness was, practically, a little town. From +east to west its walls measured 206½ feet, from north to south, +214½; within them on the ground floor were larders, laundries, a +brewhouse, a bakehouse, cellars, a dairy, offices, a guard room, +pantries, a distillery, a confectionery room, a chapel, and, beneath, a +dungeon. Between these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> were four open courts. Upstairs, round three +sides of the Green Court, were the Bird Gallery, the Armour Gallery, and +the Green Gallery, and lords' apartments and ladies' apartments "capable +of quartering an army," to quote a writer on the subject. On each side +of the entrance, gained by a drawbridge, was a tower—the Watch Tower +and the Signal Tower.</p> + +<p>In the reign of Elizabeth a survey of Hurstmonceux was taken, which +tells us that in the park were two hundred deer, "four fair ponds" +stocked with carp and tench, a "fair warren of conies," a heronry of 150 +nests, and much game. The de Fiennes, or Dacres as they became, had also +a private fishery in Pevensey Bay, seen from the Watch Tower as a strip +of blue ribbon.</p> + +<p>In addition Hurstmonceux had a ghost, who inhabited the Drummers' Hall, +a room between the towers over the porter's lodge, and sent forth a +mysterious tattoo. Sometimes he left his hall, this devilish musician, +and strode along the battlements drumming and drumming, a terrible +figure nine feet high. Most people were frightened, but there were those +who said that the drummer was nothing more nor less than a gardener in +league with the Pevensey smugglers, whose notes, rattled out on the +parchment, rolled over the marsh and gave them the needful signal.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE UNFORTUNATE LORD DACRE</div> + +<p>Hurstmonceux once had a very real tragedy. The third Lord Dacre, one of +the young noblemen who took part in the welcoming of Ann of Cleves when +she landed in England preparatory to her becoming the wife of Henry +VIII., was so foolish one night in 1541 as to accompany some of his +roystering companions to the adjacent park of Sir Nicholas Pelham, near +Hellingly, intent on a deer-stealing jest. There three gamekeepers rose +up, and a bloody battle ensued in which one John Busbrig bit the dust. +Pelham was furious and demanded justice, and Lord Dacre, though he had +taken no part in the fray, was held responsible. Three of his friends +were hanged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> at Tyburn, and, in spite of all the influence that was +brought to bear, he also was executed. The next Dacre of importance +married the Lady Ann Fitzroy, a natural daughter of Charles II., and was +made Earl of Sussex. Financial losses compelling him to sell +Hurstmonceux, a lawyer named George Naylor bought it in 1708, leaving +it, on his death, to the Right Rev. Francis Hare, Bishop of Chichester. +It remained in the family as a residence until, in 1777, an architect +pronounced it unsafe, and the interior was converted into materials for +the new Hurstmonceux Place in the park to the north-west. Since then +nature has had her way with it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WALPOLE AT HURSTMONCEUX</div> + +<p>Horace Walpole's visit, as described in one of his letters, gives us an +idea of Hurstmonceux in the middle of the eighteenth century, a little +before it became derelict:—"The chapel is small, and mean; the Virgin +and seven long lean saints, ill done, remain in the windows. There have +been four more, but they seem to have been removed for light; and we +actually found St. Catherine, and another gentlewoman with a church in +her hand, exiled into the buttery. There remain two odd cavities, with +very small wooden screens on each side the altar, which seem to have +been confessionals. The outside is a mixture of grey brick and stone, +that has a very venerable appearance. The draw-bridges are romantic to a +degree; and there is a dungeon, that gives one a delightful idea of +living in the days of soccage and under such goodly tenures. They showed +us a dismal chamber which they called <i>Drummer's</i>-hall, and suppose that +Mr. Addison's comedy is descended from it. In the windows of the gallery +over the cloisters, which leads all round to the apartments, is the +device of the Fienneses, a wolf holding a baton with a scroll, <i>Le roy +le veut</i>—an unlucky motto, as I shall tell you presently, to the last +peer of that line. The estate is two thousand a year, and so compact as +to have but seventeen houses upon it. We walked up a brave old avenue to +the church, with ships sailing on our left hand the whole way."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TRUGS</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>Hurstmonceux is famous not only for its castle, but for its "trugs," the +wooden baskets that gardeners carry, which are associated with +Hurstmonceux as crooks once were with Pyecombe, and the shepherds' vast +green umbrellas, on cane frames, with Lewes.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<h3>HASTINGS</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The ravening sea—Hastings and history—Titus Oates—Sir Cloudesley +Shovel—A stalwart Nestor—Edward Capel—An old Sussex harvest +custom—A poetical mayor—Picturesque Hastings—Hastings +castle—Hollington Rural and Charles Lamb—Fairlight Glen and the +Lover's Seat—Bexhill.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Brighton, as we have seen, was made by Dr. Russell. It was Dr. Baillie, +some years later, who discovered the salubrious qualities of Hastings. +In 1806, when the Duke of Wellington (then Major-General Wellesley) was +in command of twelve thousand soldiers encamped in the neighbourhood, +and was himself living at Hastings House, the population of the town was +less than four thousand; to-day, with St. Leonard's and dependant +suburbs, Hastings covers several square miles. With the exception of the +little red and grey region known as Old Hastings, between Castle Hill +and East Hill, the same charge of a lack of what is interesting can be +brought against Hastings as against Brighton; but whereas Brighton has +the Downs to offer, Hastings is backed by country of far less charm. +Perhaps her greatest merit is her proximity to Winchelsea and Rye.</p> + +<p>Hastings, once one of the proudest of the Cinque Ports, has no longer +even a harbour, its pleasure yachts, which carry excursionists on brief +Channel voyages, having to be beached just like rowing boats. The +ravages of the sea, which have so transformed the coast line of Sussex, +have completely changed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> this town; and from a stately seaport she has +become a democratic watering place. Beneath the waves lie the remains of +an old Priory and possibly of not a few churches.</p> + +<p>Hastings has been very nigh to history more than once, but she has +escaped the actual making of it. Even the great battle that takes its +name from the town was fought seven miles away, while the Duke of +Normandy, as we have seen, landed as far distant as Pevensey, ten miles +in the west. But he used Hastings as a victualling centre. Again and +again, in its time, Hastings has been threatened with invasion by the +French, who did actually land in 1138 and burned the town. And one +Sunday morning in 1643, Colonel Morley of Glynde, the Parliamentarian, +marched in with his men and confiscated all arms. But considering its +warlike mien, Hastings has done little.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ADMIRAL'S MOTHER</div> + +<p>Nor can the seaport claim any very illustrious son. Titus Oates, it is +true, was curate of All Saints church in 1674, his father being vicar; +and among the inhabitants of the old town was the mother of Sir +Cloudesley Shovel, the admiral. A charming account of a visit paid to +her by her son is given in De la Prynne's diary: "I heard a gentleman +say, who was in the ship with him about six years ago, that as they were +sailing over against the town, of Hastings, in Sussex, Sir Cloudesley +called out, 'Pilot, put near; I have a little business on shore.' So he +put near, and Sir Cloudesley and this gentleman went to shore in a small +boat, and having walked about half a mile, Sir Cloudesley came to a +little house [in All Saints Street], 'Come,' says he, 'my business is +here; I came on purpose to see the good woman of this house.' Upon this +they knocked at the door, and out came a poor old woman, upon which Sir +Cloudesley kissed her, and then falling down on his knees, begged her +blessing, and calling her mother (who had removed out of Yorkshire +hither). He was mightily kind to her, and she to him, and after that he +had made his visit,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> he left her ten guineas, and took his leave with +tears in his eyes and departed to his ship."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE CHURCH MILITANT</div> + +<p>Hastings had a famous rector at the beginning of the last century, in +the person of the Rev. Webster Whistler, who combined with the eastern +benefice that of Newtimber, near Hurstpierpoint, and managed to serve +both to a great age. He lived to be eighty-four and died full of vigour +in 1831. In 1817, following upon a quarrel with the squire, the +Newtimber living was put up for auction in London. Mr. Whistler decided +to be present, but anonymous. The auctioneer mentioned in his +introduction the various charms of the benefice, ending with the +superlative advantage that it was held by an aged and infirm clergyman +with one foot in the grave. At this point the proceedings were +interrupted by a large and powerful figure in clerical costume springing +on the table and crying out to the company: "Now, gentlemen, do I look +like a man tottering on the brink of the grave? My left leg gives me no +sign of weakness, and as for the other, Mr. Auctioneer, if you repeat +your remarks you will find it very much at your service." The living +found no purchaser.</p> + +<p>Mr. Whistler had a Chinese indifference to the necessary end of all +things, which prompted him to use an aged yew tree in his garden, that +had long given him shade but must now be felled, as material for his +coffin. This coffin he placed at the foot of his bed as a chest for +clothes until its proper purpose was fulfilled.</p> + +<p>Hastings was also the home of Edward Capel, a Shakespeare-editor of the +eighteenth century. Capel, who is said to have copied out in his own +hand the entire works of the poet no fewer than ten times, was the +designer of his own house, which seems to have been a miracle of +discomfort. He was an eccentric of the most determined character, so +much so that he gradually lost all friends. According to Horsfield, "The +spirit of nicety and refinement prevailed in it [his house] so much +during his lifetime, that when a friend (a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> baronet) called upon him on +a tour, he was desired to leave his cane in the vestibule, lest he +should either dirt the floor with it, or soil the carpet."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HARVEST HOME</div> + +<p>One does not think naturally of old Sussex customs in connection with +this town, so thoroughly urban as it now is and so largely populated by +visitors, but I find in the Sussex Archæological Collections the +following interesting account, by a Hastings alderman, of an old harvest +ceremony in the neighbourhood:—"At the head of the table one of the men +occupied the position of chairman; in front of him stood a pail—clean +as wooden staves and iron hoops could be made by human labour. At his +right sat four or five men who led the singing, grave as judges were +they; indeed, the appearance of the whole assembly was one of the +greatest solemnity, except for a moment or two when some unlucky wight +failed to 'turn the cup over,' and was compelled to undergo the penalty +in that case made and provided. This done, all went on as solemnly as +before.</p> + +<p>"The ceremony, if I may call it so, was this: The leader, or chairman, +standing behind the pail with a tall horn cup in his hand, filled it +with beer from the pail. The man next to him on the left stood up, and +holding a hat with both hands by the brim, crown upwards, received the +cup from the chairman, on the crown of the hat, not touching it with +either hand. He then lifted the cup to his lips by raising the hat, and +slowly drank off the contents. As soon as he began to drink, the chorus +struck up this chant:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>I've bin to Plymouth and I've bin to Dover.</div> +<div>I have bin rambling, boys, all the wurld over—</div> +<div class="i2">Over and over and over and over,</div> +<div>Drink up yur liquor and turn yur cup over;</div> +<div class="i2">Over and over and over and over,</div> +<div>The liquor's drink'd up and the cup is turned over.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"The man drinking was expected to time his draught so as to empty his +cup at the end of the fourth line of the chant;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> he was then to return +the hat to the perpendicular, still holding the hat by the brim, then to +throw the cup into the air, and reversing the hat, to catch the cup in +it as it fell. If he failed to perform this operation, the fellow +workmen who were closely watching him, made an important alteration in +the last line of their chant, which in that case ran thus:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>The liquor's drink'd up and the cup <i>aint</i> turned over.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"The cup was then refilled and the unfortunate drinker was compelled to +go through the same ceremony again. Every one at the table took the cup +and 'turned it over' in succession, the chief shepherd keeping the pail +constantly supplied with beer. The parlour guests were of course invited +to turn the cup over with the guests of the kitchen, and went through +the ordeal with more or less of success. For my own part, I confess that +I failed to catch the cup in the hat at the first trial and had to try +again; the chairman, however, mercifully gave me only a small quantity +of beer the second time."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE MAYOR'S PRETTY LAMENT</div> + +<p>The civic life of Hastings would seem to encourage literature, for I +find also in one of the Archæological Society's volumes, the following +pretty lines by John Collier—Mayor of Hastings in 1719, 22, 30, 37, and +41—on his little boy's death:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ah, my poor son! Ah my tender child,</div> +<div>My unblown flower and now appearing sweet,</div> +<div>If yet your gentle soul flys in the air</div> +<div>And is not fixt in doom perpetual,</div> +<div>Hover about me with your airy wings</div> +<div>And hear your Father's lamentation.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Hastings has two advantages over both Brighton and Eastbourne: it can +produce a genuine piece of antiquity, and seen from the sea it has a +picturesque quality that neither of those towns possesses. Indeed, under +certain conditions of light, Hastings is magnificent, with the craggy +Castle Hill in its midst surmounted by its imposing ruin. The smoke of +the town, rising and spreading, shrouds the modernity of the sea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> front, +and the castle on its commanding height seems to be brooding over the +shores of old romance. Brighton has no such effect as this.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE FIRST TOURNAMENT</div> + +<p>Of the Castle little is known. It was probably built on the site of +Roman fortifications, by the Comte d'Eu, who came over with the +Conqueror. The first tournament in England is said to have been held +there, with Adela, daughter of the Conqueror, as Queen of Beauty. After +the castle had ceased to be of any use as a stronghold it was still +maintained as a religious house. It is now a pleasure resort. The +ordinary visitor to Hastings is, however, more interested by the caves +in the hill below, originally made by diggers of sand and afterwards +used by smugglers.</p> + +<p>Before branching out from Hastings into the country proper I might +mention two neighbouring points of pilgrimage. One is Hollington Rural +church, on the hill behind the town, whither sooner or later every one +walks. It is a small church in the midst of a crowded burial ground, and +it is difficult to understand its attraction unless by the poverty of +other objectives. I should not mention it, but that it is probably the +church to which Charles Lamb, bored by Hastings itself, wended his way +one day in 1825. He describes it, in terms more fitting to, say, +Lullington church near Alfriston, or St. Olave's at Chichester, in no +fewer than three of his letters. This is the best passage, revelling in +a kind of inverted exaggeration, as written to John Bates Dibdin, at +Hastings, in 1826:—"Let me hear that you have clamber'd up to Lover's +Seat; it is as fine in that neighbourhood as Juan Fernandez, as lonely +too, when the Fishing boats are not out; I have sat for hours, staring +upon the shipless sea. The salt sea is never so grand as when it is left +to itself. One cock-boat spoils it. A sea mew or two improves it. And go +to the little church, which is a very protestant Loretto, and seems +dropt by some angel for the use of a hermit, who was at once parishioner +and a whole parish. It is not too big. Go in the night, bring it away in +your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> portmanteau, and I will plant it in my garden. It must have been +erected in the very infancy of British Christianity, for the two or +three first converts; yet hath it all the appertances of a church of the +first magnitude, its pulpit, its pews, its baptismal font; a cathedral +in a nutshell. Seven people would crowd it like a Caledonian Chapel. The +minister that divides the word there, must give lumping pennyworths. It +is built to the text of two or three assembled in my name. It reminds me +of the grain of mustard seed. If the glebe land is proportionate, it may +yield two potatoes. Tythes out of it could be no more split than a hair. +Its First fruits must be its Last, for 'twould never produce a couple. +It is truly the strait and narrow way, and few there be (of London +visitants) that find it. The still small voice is surely to be found +there, if any where. A sounding board is merely there for ceremony. It +is secure from earthquakes, not more from sanctity than size, for +'twould feel a mountain thrown upon it no more than a taper-worm would. +Go and see, but not without your spectacles."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE LOVER'S SEAT</div> + +<p>The Lover's Seat, mentioned in the first sentence of the above passage, +is at Fairlight, about two miles east of Hastings. The seat is very +prettily situated high in a ledge in Fairlight Glen. Horsfield shall +tell the story that gave the spot its fascinating name:—</p> + +<p>"A beautiful girl at Rye gained the affections of Captain——, then in +command of a cutter in that station. Her parents disapproved the +connection and removed her to a farm house near the Lover's Seat, called +the Warren-house. Hence she contrived to absent herself night after +night, when she sought this spot, and by means of a light made known her +presence to her lover, who was cruising off in expectation of her +arrival. The difficulties thus thrown in their way increased the ardour +of their attachment and marriage was determined upon at all hazards. +Hollington Church was and is the place most sought for on these +occasions in this part of the country; it has a romantic air about it +which is doubtless peculiarly impressive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> There are, too, some other +reasons why so many matches are solemnized here; and all combined to +make this the place selected by this pair. It was expected that the +lady's flight would be discovered and her object suspected; but in order +to prevent a rescue, the cutter's crew positively volunteered and acted +as guards on the narrow paths leading through the woods to the church. +However, the marriage ceremony was completed before any unwelcome +visitors arrived, and reconciliation soon followed."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BEXHILL</div> + +<p>Bexhill has now become so exceedingly accessible by conveyance from +Hastings that it might perhaps be mentioned here as a contiguous place +of interest; but of Bexhill, till lately a village, or Bexhill-on-Sea, +watering place, with everything handsome about it, there is little to +say. Both the tide of the Channel and of popularity seem to be receding. +Inland there is some pretty country.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + +<h3>BATTLE ABBEY</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Le Souvenir Normande—The Battle of Hastings—Normans and Saxons on +the eve—Taillefer—The battle cries—The death of Harold—Harold's +body: three stories—The field of blood—Building the Abbey—The +Abbot's privileges—Royal visitors—A great feast—The suppression +of the Abbey—Present-day Battle—An incredible +butler—Ashburnham—The last forge—Ninfield—Crowhurst.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The principal excursion from Hastings is of course to Battle, whither a +company of discreetly satisfied Normans—Le Souvenir Normande—recently +travelled, to view with tactfully chastened enthusiasm the scene of the +triumph of 1066; to erect a memorial; and to perplex the old ladies of +Battle who provide tea. Except on one day of the week visitors to Battle +must content themselves with tea (of which there is no stint) and a view +of the gateway, for the rule of showing the Abbey only on Tuesdays is +strictly enforced by the American gentleman who now resides on this +historic site. But the gateway could hardly be finer.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BATTLE CRIES</div> + +<p>The battle-field was half a mile south of the Abbey, on Telham hill, +where in Harold's day was a hoary apple tree. We have seen William +landing at Pevensey on September 28, 1066: thence he marched to Hastings +"to steal food," and thence, after a delay of a fortnight (to some +extent spent in fortifying Hastings, and also in burning his boats), he +marched to Telham hill. That was on October 13. On the same day Harold +reached the neighbourhood, with his horde of soldiers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> and armed +rustics, and both armies encamped that night only a mile apart, waiting +for the light to begin the fray. The Saxons were confident and riotous; +the Normans hopeful and grave. According to Wace, "all night the Saxons +might be seen carousing, gambolling, and dancing and singing: <i>bublie</i> +they cried, and <i>wassail</i>, and <i>laticome</i> and <i>drinkheil</i> and +<i>drink-to-me</i>!"</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page349.png" id="page349.png"></a><img src="images/page349.png" width='623' height='700' alt="Battle Abbey, the Gateway" /></p> + +<h4><i>Battle Abbey, the Gateway.</i></h4> + +<p>At daybreak in the Norman camp Bishop Odo celebrated High Mass, and +immediately after was hurried into his armour to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> join the fight. As the +Duke was arming an incident occurred but for which Battle Abbey might +never have been built. His suit of mail was offered him wrong side out. +The superstitious Normans standing by looked sideways at each other with +sinking misgiving. They deemed it a bad omen. But William's face +betrayed no fear. "If we win," he said, "and God send we may, I will +found an Abbey here for the salvation of the souls of all who fall in +the engagement." Before quitting his tent, he was careful that those +relics on which Harold had sworn never to oppose his efforts against +England's throne should be hung around his neck.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TAILLEFER</div> + +<p>So the two armies were ready—the mounted Normans, with their conical +helmets gleaming in the hazy sunlight, with kite-shaped shields, huge +spears and swords; the English, all on foot, with heavy axes and clubs. +But theirs was a defensive part; the Normans had to begin. It fell to +the lot of a wild troubadour named Taillefer to open the fight. He +galloped from the Norman lines at full speed, singing a song of heroes; +then checked his steed and tossed his lance thrice in the air, thrice +catching it by the point. The opposing lines silently wondered. Then he +flung it at a luckless Saxon with all the energy of a madman, spitting +him as a skewer spits a lark. Taillefer had now only his sword left. +This also he threw thrice into the air, and then seizing it with the +grip of death he rode straight at the Saxon troops, dealing blows from +left to right, and so was lost to view.</p> + +<p>Thus the Battle of Hastings began. "On them in God's name," cried +William, "and chastise these English for their misdeeds." "Dieu aidé," +his men screamed, spurring to the attack. "Out, Out!" barked the +English, "Holy Cross! God Almighty!" The carnage was terrific. It seemed +for long that the English were prevailing; and they would, in all +likelihood, have prevailed in the end had they kept their position. But +William feigned a retreat, and the English crossed their vallum in +pursuit. The Normans at once turned their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> horses and pursued and +butchered the unprepared enemy singly in the open country. A complete +rout followed. The false step was decisive.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE DEATH OF HAROLD</div> + +<p>Not till night, however, did Harold fall. He upheld his standard to the +last, hedged about by a valiant bodyguard who resisted the Normans till +every sign of life was battered out of them. The story of the +vertically-discharged arrows is a myth. An eye-witness thus described +Harold's death: "An armed man," said he, "came in the throng of the +battle and struck him on the ventaille of the helmet and beat him to the +ground; and as he sought to recover himself a knight beat him down +again, striking him on the thick of the thigh down to the bone." So died +Harold, on the exact site of the high altar of the Abbey, and so passed +away the Saxon kingdom.</p> + +<p>That night, William, who was unharmed, though three horses were killed +under him, had his tent set up in the midst of the dead, and there he +ate and drank. In the morning the Norman corpses were picked out and +buried with due rites; the Saxons were left to rot. According to the +<i>Carmen</i> William I. had Harold's body wrapped in purple linen and +carried to Hastings, where it was buried on the cliff beneath a stone +inscribed with the words: "By the order of the Duke, you rest here, King +Harold, as the guardian of the shore and the sea." Mr. Lower was +convinced of the truth of that story; but William of Malmesbury says +that William sent Harold's body to his mother the Countess Gytha, who +buried it at Waltham, while a third account shows us Editha of the Swan +Neck, Harold's wife, wandering through the blood-stained grass, among +the fallen English, until she found the body of her husband, which she +craved leave to carry away. William, this version adds, could not deny +her.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE FIELD OF BLOOD</div> + +<p>Fuller writes in the <i>Worthies</i>, concerning the wonders of +Sussex:—"Expect not here I should insert what <i>William</i> of <i>Newbury</i> +writeth (to be recounted rather amongst the <i>Untruths</i> than <i>Wonders</i>); +viz. 'That in this County, not far from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> Battail-Abby, in the Place +where so great a slaughter of the Englishmen was made, after any shower, +presently sweateth forth very fresh blood out of the Earth, as if the +evidence thereof did plainly declare the voice of Bloud there shed, and +crieth still from the Earth unto the Lord.' This is as true, as that in +<i>white</i> chalky Countries (about Baldock in Hertfordshire) after rain run +rivolets of <i>Milk</i>; Neither being anything else than the Water +discoloured, according to the <i>Complexion</i> of the Earth thereabouts."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page352.png" id="page352.png"></a><img src="images/page352.png" width='700' height='696' alt="Mount Street, Battle" /></p> + +<h4><i>Mount Street, Battle.</i></h4> + +<p>The Conqueror was true to his vow, and the Abbey of St. Martin was +quickly begun. At first there was difficulty about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> the stone, which was +brought all the way from Caen quarries, until, according to an old +writer, a pious matron dreamed that stone in large quantities was to be +found near at hand. Her vision leading to the discovery of a +neighbouring quarry, the work proceeded henceforward with exceeding +rapidity.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ST. MARTIN'S ABBEY</div> + +<p>Although the first Abbot was appointed in 1076, William the Conqueror +did not live to see the Abbey finished. Sixty monks of the Order of St. +Benedict came to Battle from the Abbey of Marmontier in Normandy, to +form its nucleus. It was left to William Rufus to preside over the +consecration of Battle, which was not until February, 1095, when the +ceremony was performed amid much pomp. William presented to the Abbey +his father's coronation robe and the sword he had wielded in the battle. +Several wealthy manors were attached and the country round was exempted +from tax; while the Abbots were made superior to episcopal control, and +were endowed with the right to sit in Parliament and a London house to +live in during the session. Indeed nothing was left undone that could +minister to the pride and power of the new house of God.</p> + +<p>The Abbey of St. Martin was quadrangular, standing in the midst of a +circle nine miles round. Within this were vineyards, stew ponds and rich +land. Just without was a small street of artisans' dwellings, where were +manufactured all things requisite for the monks' material well-being. +The church was the largest in the country, larger even than Canterbury. +It was also a sanctuary, any sentenced criminal who succeeded in +sheltering therein receiving absolution from the Abbot. The high altar, +as I have said, was erected precisely on the spot where Harold fell: a +spot on which one may now stand and think of the past.</p> + +<p>Battle Abbey was more than once visited by kings. In 1200 John was +there, shaking like a quicksand. He brought a piece of our Lord's +sepulchre, which had been wrested from Palestine by Richard the Lion +Heart, and laid it with tremulous hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> on the altar, hoping that the +magnificence of the gift might close Heaven's eyes towards sins of his +own. In 1212, he was at Battle Abbey again, and for the last time in +1213, seeking, maybe, to find in these silent cloisters some +forgetfulness of the mutterings of hate and scorn that everywhere +followed him.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">KINGS AT BATTLE</div> + +<p>Just before the Battle of Lewes, Henry III. galloped up, attended by a +body-guard of overbearing horsemen, and levied large sums of money to +assist him in the struggle. After the battle he returned, a weary +refugee, but still rapacious.</p> + +<p>These visits were not welcome. It was different when Edward II. slept +there on the night of August 28th, 1324. Alan de Ketbury, the Abbot, was +bent on showing loyalty at all cost, while the neighbouring lords and +squires were hardly less eager. The Abbot's contribution to the kitchen +included twenty score and four loaves of bread, two swans, two rabbits, +three fessantes, and a dozen capons; William de Echingham sent three +peacocks, twelve bream, six muttons, and other delicacies; and Robert +Acheland four rabbits, six swans, and three herons.</p> + +<p>In 1331, Abbot Hamo and his monks kept at bay a body of French +marauders, who had landed at Rye, until the country gentlemen could +assemble and repulse them utterly.</p> + +<p>Then followed two peaceful centuries; but afterwards came disaster, for, +in 1558, Thomas Cromwell sent down two commissioners to examine into the +state of the Abbey and report thereon to the zealous Defender of the +Faith. The Commissioners found nineteen books in the library, and +rumours of monkish debauchery without the walls. "So beggary a house," +wrote one of the officers, "I never see." Battle Abbey was therefore +suppressed and presented to Sir Anthony Browne, upon whom, as we saw in +the first <a href="#CHAPTER_I">chapter</a>, the "Curse of Cowdray" was pronounced by the last +departing monk.</p> + +<p>To catalogue the present features of Battle Abbey is to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> vulgarise it. +One comes away with confused memories of grey walls embraced by white +clematis and red rose; gloomy underground caverns with double rows of +arches, where the Brothers might not speak; benignant cedars blessing +the turf with extended hands; fragrant limes waving their delicate +leaves; an old rose garden with fantastic beds; a long yew walk where +the Brothers might meditatively pace—turning, perhaps, an epigram, +regretting, perhaps, the world. Nothing now remains of the Refectory, +where, of old, forty monks fed like one, except the walls. It once had a +noble roof of Irish oak, but that was taken to Cowdray and perished in +the fire there, together with the Abbey roll. One of the Abbey's first +charms is the appropriateness of its gardens; they too are old. In the +cloisters, for instance, there are wonderful box borders.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page355.png" id="page355.png"></a><img src="images/page355.png" width='700' height='449' alt="Battle Abbey. The Refectory" /></p> + +<h4><i>Battle Abbey. The Refectory.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">TURNER'S PICTURE</div> + +<p>Turner painted "Battle Abbey: the spot where Harold fell," with a +greyhound pressing hard upon a hare in the foreground, and a Scotch fir +Italianated into a golden bough.</p> + +<p>The town of Battle has little interest. In the church is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> brass to +Thomas Alfraye and his wife Elizabeth—Thomas Alfraye "whose soul" +according to his epitaph,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>In active strength did passe</div> +<div>As nere was found his peere.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>One would like to know more of this Samson. The tomb of Sir Anthony +Browne is also here; but it is not so imposing as that of his son, the +first Viscount Montagu, which we saw at Easebourne. In the churchyard is +the grave of Isaac Ingall, the oldest butler on record, who died at the +age of one hundred and twenty, after acting as butler at the Abbey for +ninety-five years.</p> + +<p>From Battle one may reach easily Normanhurst, the seat of the Brasseys, +and Ashburnham Park, just to the north of it, a superb undulating +domain, with lakes, an imposing mansion, an old church, brake fern, +magnificent trees and a herd of deer, all within its confines. Of the +church, however, I can say nothing, for I was there on a very hot day, +the door was locked, and the key was at the vicarage, ten minutes' +distant, at the top of a hill. Churches that are thus controlled must be +neglected.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ASHBURNHAM</div> + +<p>Ashburnham Place once contained some of the finest books in England and +is still famous for its relics of Charles I.; but strangers may not see +them. The best Sussex iron was smelted at Ashburnham Furnace, north of +the park, near Penhurst. Ashburnham Forge was the last to remain at work +in the county; its last surviving labourer of the neighbourhood died in +1883. He remembered the extinguishing of the fire in 1813 (or 1811), the +casting of fire-backs being the final task. Penhurst, by the way, is one +of the most curiously remote villages in east Sussex, with the oddest +little church.</p> + +<p>I walked to Ashburnham from Ninfield, a clean breezy village on the hill +overlooking Pevensey Bay, with a locked church, and iron stocks by the +side of the road. It is stated somewhere that at "that corner of Crouch +Lane that leads to Lunford Cross, and so to Bexhill and Hastings," was +buried a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> suicide in 1675. At how many cross roads in Sussex and +elsewhere does one stand over such graves?</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CROWHURST</div> + +<p>One may return to Hastings by way of Catsfield, which has little +interest, and Crowhurst, famous for the remains of a beautiful manor +house and a yew tree supposed to be the oldest in Sussex. It is curious +that Crowhurst in Surrey is also known for a great yew.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + +<h3>WINCHELSEA AND RYE</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Medieval Sussex—The suddenness of Rye—The approach by +night—Cities of the plain—Old Winchelsea—The freakish sea—New +Winchelsea—The eternal French problem—Modern Winchelsea—The +Alard tombs—Denis Duval and the Westons—John Wesley—Old +Rye—John Fletcher—The Jeakes'—An unknown poet—Rye church—The +eight bells—Rye's streets—Rye ancient and modern—A Rye +ceramist—Pett—Icklesham's accounts—A complacent epitaph—Iden +and Playden—Udimore's church—Brede Place—The Oxenbridges—Dean +Swift as a baby.</p></blockquote> + +<p>In the opinion of many good judges Sussex has nothing to offer so +fascinating as Winchelsea and Rye; and in certain reposeful moods, when +the past seems to be more than the present or future, I can agree with +them. We have seen many ancient towns in our progress through the +county—Chichester around her cathedral spire, Arundel beneath her grey +castle, Lewes among her hills—but all have modern blood in their veins. +Winchelsea and Rye seem wholly of the past. Nothing can modernise them.</p> + +<p>Rye approached from the east is the suddenest thing in the world. The +traveller leaves Ashford, in a South Eastern train, amid all the +circumstances of ordinary travel; he passes through the ordinary scenery +of Kent; the porters call Rye, and in a moment he is in the middle ages.</p> + +<p>Rye is only a few yards from its station: Winchelsea, on the other hand, +is a mile from the line, and one has time on the road to understand +one's surroundings. It is important<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> that the traveller who wishes to +experience the right medieval thrill should come to Winchelsea either at +dusk or at night. To make acquaintance with any new town by night is to +double one's pleasure; for there is a first joy in the curious half-seen +strangeness of the streets and houses, and a further joy in correcting +by the morrow's light the distorted impressions gathered in the dark.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page359.png" id="page359.png"></a><img src="images/page359.png" width='700' height='615' alt="The Landgate, Rye" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Landgate, Rye.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">APPROACH AT DUSK</div> + +<p>To come for the first time upon Winchelsea at dusk, whether from the +station or from Rye, is to receive an impression almost if not quite +unique in England; since there is no other town throned like this upon a +green hill, to be gained only through massive gateways. From the station +one would enter at the Pipewell Gate; from Rye, by the Strand Gate. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> +Strand approach is perhaps a shade finer and more romantically unreal.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE FREAKISH SEA</div> + +<p>Winchelsea and Rye are remarkable in being not only perched each upon a +solitary hillock in a vast level or marsh, but in being hillocks in +themselves. In the case of Winchelsea there are trees and green spaces +to boot, but Rye and its hillock are one; every inch is given over to +red brick and grey stone. They are true cities of the plain. Between +them are three miles of flat meadow, where, among thousands of sheep, +stands the grey rotundity of Camber Castle. All this land is <i>polder</i>, +as the Dutch call it, yet not reclaimed from the sea by any feat of +engineering, as about the Helder, but presented by Neptune as a free and +not too welcome gift to these ancient boroughs—possibly to equalise his +theft of acres of good park at Selsey. Once a Cinque Port of the first +magnitude, Winchelsea is now an inland resort of the antiquary and the +artist. Where fishermen once dropped their nets, shepherds now watch +their sheep; where the marauding French were wont to rush in with sword +and torch, tourists now toil with camera and guide-book.</p> + +<p>The light above the sheep levels changes continually: at one hour Rye +seems but a stone's throw from Winchelsea; at another she is miles +distant; at a third she looms twice her size through the haze, and +Camber is seen as a fortress of old romance.</p> + +<p>Rye stands where it always stood: but the original Winchelsea is no +more. It was built two miles south-south-east of Rye, on a spot since +covered by the sea but now again dry land. At Old Winchelsea William the +Conqueror landed in 1067 after a visit to Normandy; in 1138 Henry II. +landed there, while the French landed often, sometimes disastrously and +sometimes not. In those days Winchelsea had seven hundred householders +and fifty inns. In 1250, however, began her downfall. Holinshed +writes:—"On the first day of October (1250), the moon, upon her change, +appearing exceeding red and swelled,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> began to show tokens of the great +tempest of wind that followed, which was so huge and mightie, both by +land and sea, that the like had not been lightlie knowne, and seldome, +or rather never heard of by men then alive. The sea forced contrarie to +his natural course, flowed twice without ebbing, yeelding such a rooring +that the same was heard (not without great woonder) a farre distance +from the shore. Moreover, the same sea appeared in the darke of the +night to burne, as it had been on fire, and the waves to strive and +fight togither after a marvellous sort, so that the mariners could not +devise how to save their ships where they laie at anchor, by no cunning +or shift which they could devise. At Hert-burne three tall-ships +perished without recoverie, besides other smaller vessels. At +Winchelsey, besides other hurte that was doone, in bridges, milles, +breakes, and banks, there were 300 houses and some churches drowned with +the high rising of the water course."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">WINCHELSEA'S VICISSITUDES</div> + +<p>The Winchelsea people, however, did not abandon their town. In 1264 +Henry III. was there on his way to the Battle of Lewes, and later, +Eleanor, wife of Henry's conqueror, de Montfort, was there too, and +encouraged by her kindness to them the Winchelsea men took to active sea +piracy, which de Montfort encouraged. In 1266, however, Prince Edward, +who disliked piracy, descended upon the town and chastised it bloodily; +while on February 4, 1287, a greater punishment came, for during another +storm the town was practically drowned, all the flat land between Pett +and Hythe being inundated. New Winchelsea, the Winchelsea of to-day, was +forthwith begun under royal patronage on a rock near Icklesham, the +north and east sides of which were washed by the sea. A castle was set +there, and gates, of which three still stand—Pipewell, Strand and +New—rose from the earth. The Grey Friars monastery and other religious +houses were reproduced as at Old Winchelsea, and a prosperous town quickly existed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>New Winchelsea was soon busy. In 1350 a battle between the English and +Spanish fleets was waged off the town, an exciting spectacle for the +Court, who watched from the high ground. Edward III., the English king, +when victory was his, rode to Etchingham for the night. In 1359, 3,000 +Frenchmen entered Winchelsea and set fire to it; while in 1360 the +Cinque Ports navy sailed from Winchelsea and burned Luce. Such were the +reprisals of those days. In 1376 the French came again and were repulsed +by the Abbot of Battle, but in 1378 the Abbot had to run. In 1448 the +French came for the last time, the sea having become very shallow; and a +little later the sea receded altogether, Henry VIII. suppressed the +religious houses, and Winchelsea's heyday was over.</p> + +<p>She is now a quiet, aloof settlement of pleasant houses and gardens, +prosperous and idle. Rye might be called a city of trade, Winchelsea of +repose. She spreads her hands to the sun and is content.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ALARD TOMBS</div> + +<p>Winchelsea's church stands, as a church should, in the midst of its +green acre, fully visible from every side—the very antipodes of Rye. +Large as it now is, it was once far larger, for only the chancel and +side aisles remain. The glory of the church is the canopied tomb of +Gervase Alard, Admiral of the Cinque Ports, and that of his grandson +Stephen Alard, also Admiral, both curiously carved with grotesque heads. +The roof beams of the church, timber from wrecked or broken ships, are +of an integrity so thorough that a village carpenter who recently +climbed up to test them blunted all his tools in the enterprise.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page363.png" id="page363.png"></a><img src="images/page363.png" width='700' height='474' alt="Sedilia and Tombs of Gervase and Stephen Alard, Winchelsea" /></p> + +<h4><i>Sedilia and Tombs of Gervase and Stephen Alard, Winchelsea.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">THE WESTONS</div> + +<p>All that remains of the Grey Friars monastery may now be seen (on +Mondays only) in the estate called The Friars: the shell of the chapel's +choir, prettily covered with ivy. Here once lived, in the odour of +perfect respectability, the brothers Weston, who, country gentlemen of +quiet habit at home, for several years ravaged the coach roads elsewhere +as highwaymen, and were eventually hanged at Tyburn. Their place in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> +literature is, of course, <i>Denis Duval</i>, which Thackeray wrote in a +house on the north of the churchyard, and which is all of Winchelsea and +Rye compact, as the author's letters to Mr. Greenwood, editor of +<i>Cornhill</i>, detailing the plot (in the person of Denis himself) go to +show. Thus:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I was born in the year 1764, at Winchelsea, where my father was a +grocer and clerk of the church. Everybody in the place was a good +deal connected with smuggling.</p> + +<p>"There used to come to our house a very noble French gentleman, +called the <span class="smcap">Count de la Motte</span>, and with him a German, the <span class="smcap">Baron de +Lütterloh</span>. My father used to take packages to Ostend and Calais for +these two gentlemen, and perhaps I went to Paris once, and saw the +French Queen.</p> + +<p>"The squire of our town was <span class="smcap">Squire Weston</span> of the Priory, who, with +his brother, kept one of the genteelest houses in the country. He +was churchwarden of our church, and much respected. Yes, but if you +read the <i>Annual Register</i> of 1781, you will find that on the 13th +July the sheriffs attended at the <span class="smcap">Tower of London</span> to receive +custody of a De la Motte, a prisoner charged with high treason. The +fact is, this Alsatian nobleman being in difficulties in his own +country (where he had commanded the Regiment Soubise), came to +London, and under pretence of sending prints<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> to France and Ostend, +supplied the French Ministers with accounts of the movements of the +English fleets and troops. His go-between was Lütterloh, a +Brunswicker, who had been a crimping-agent, then a servant, who was +a spy of France and Mr. Franklin, and who turned king's evidence on +La Motte, and hanged him.</p> + +<p>"This Lütterloh, who had been a crimping-agent for German troops +during the American war, then a servant in London during the Gordon +riots, then an agent for a spy, then a spy over a spy, I suspect to +have been a consummate scoundrel, and doubly odious from speaking +English with a German accent.</p> + +<p>"What if he wanted to marry <span class="smcap">that charming girl</span>, who lived with Mr. +Weston at Winchelsea? Ha! I see a mystery here.</p> + +<p>"What if this scoundrel, going to receive his pay from the English +Admiral, with whom he was in communication at Portsmouth, happened +to go on board the <i>Royal George</i> the day she went down?</p> + +<p>"As for George and Joseph Weston, of the Priory, I am sorry to say +they were rascals too. They were tried for robbing the Bristol mail +in 1780; and being acquitted for want of evidence, were tried +immediately after on another indictment for forgery—Joseph was +acquitted, but George was capitally convicted. But this did not +help poor Joseph. Before their trials, they and some others broke +out of Newgate, and Joseph fired at, and wounded, a porter who +tried to stop him, on Snow Hill. For this he was tried and found +guilty on the Black Act, and hung along with his brother.</p> + +<p>"Now, if I was an innocent participator in De la Motte's treasons, +and the Westons' forgeries and robberies, what pretty scrapes I +must have been in.</p> + +<p>"I married the young woman, whom the brutal Lütterloh would have +had for himself, and lived happy ever after."</p></blockquote> + +<p>And again:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">DENIS DUVAL'S BOYHOOD</div> + +<blockquote><p>"My grandfather's name was Duval; he was a barber and perruquier by +trade, and elder of the French Protestant church at Winchelsea. I +was sent to board with his correspondent, a Methodist grocer, at +Rye.</p> + +<p>"These two kept a fishing-boat, but the fish they caught was many +and many a barrel of Nantz brandy, which we landed—never mind +where—at a place to us well known. In the innocence of my heart, +I—a child—got leave to go out fishing. We used to go out at night +and meet ships from the French coast.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"I learned to scuttle a marlinspike,</div> +<div class="i6">reef a lee-scupper,</div> +<div class="i6">keelhaul a bowsprit</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>as well as the best of them. How well I remember the jabbering of +the Frenchmen the first night as they handed the kegs over to us! +One night we were fired into by his Majesty's revenue cutter +<i>Lynx</i>. I asked what those balls were fizzing in the water, etc.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't go on with the smuggling; being converted by Mr. +Wesley, who came to preach to us at Rye—but that is neither here +nor there...."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="center"><a name="page365.png" id="page365.png"></a><img src="images/page365.png" width='684' height='700' alt="The Ypres Tower, Rye" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Ypres Tower, Rye.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN WESLEY</div> + +<p>It was under the large tree of the west wall of the churchyard that in +1790 John Wesley preached his last outdoor sermon, afterwards walking +through "that poor skeleton of ancient Winchelsea," as he called it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span>Rye, like Winchelsea, has had a richer history than I can cope with. She +was an important seaport from the earliest times; and among other of our +enemies who knew her value were the Danes, two hundred and fifty of +whose vessels entered the harbour in the year 893. Later the French +continually menaced her, hardly less than her sister Cinque Port, but +Rye bore so little malice that during the persecutions in France in the +sixteenth century she received hundreds of Huguenot refugees, whose +descendants still live in the town. Many monarchs have come hither, +among them Queen Elizabeth, in 1573, dubbing Rye "Rye Royal" and +Winchelsea "Little London."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE THREE JEAKES</div> + +<p>Rye has had at least one notable son, John Fletcher the dramatist, +associate of Francis Beaumont and perhaps of Shakespeare, and author of +"The Faithful Shepherdess." Fletcher's father was vicar of Rye. The town +also gave birth to a curious father, son, and grandson, all named Samuel +Jeake. The first, born in 1623, the author of "The Charters of the +Cinque Ports," 1728, was a lawyer, a bold Nonconformist, a preacher, an +astrologer and an alchemist, whose library contained works in fifteen +languages but no copy of Shakespeare or Milton. He left a treatise on +the Elixir of Life. The second, at the age of nineteen, was "somewhat +acquainted with the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, rhetoric, logic, poetry, +natural philosophy, arithmetic, geometry, cosmography, astronomy, +astrology, geography, theology, physics, dialling, navigation, +caligraphy, stenography, drawing, heraldry and history." He also drew +horoscopes, wrote treatises on astrology and other sciences, suffered, +like his father, for his religion, and when he was twenty-nine married +Elizabeth Hartshorne, aged thirteen and a half. They had six children. +The third Samuel Jeake was famous for constructing a flying machine, +which refused to fly, and nearly killed him.</p> + +<p>Rye also possessed an unknown poet. On a blank leaf in an old book in +the town's archives is written this poem, in the hand of Henry VIII.'s time:—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>What greater gryffe may hape</div> +<div>Trew lovers to anoye,</div> +<div>Then absente for to sepratte them</div> +<div>From ther desiered joye?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>What comforte reste them then</div> +<div>To ease them of ther smarte,</div> +<div>But for to thincke and myndful bee</div> +<div>Of them they love in harte?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And eicke that they assured bee</div> +<div>Etche toe another in harte,</div> +<div>That nothinge shall them seperate</div> +<div>Untylle deathe doe them parte?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>And thoughe the dystance of the place</div> +<div>Doe severe us in twayne,</div> +<div>Yet shall my harte thy harte imbrace</div> +<div>Tyll we doe meete agayne.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SANGUINARY BUTCHER</div> + +<p>The church, the largest in Sussex, dominates Rye from every point, and +so tightly are the houses compressed that from the plain the spire seems +to be the completion not only of the church but of the town too. The +building stands in what is perhaps the quietest and quaintest church +square in England, possessing beyond all question the discreetest of +pawnbroker's shops, marked by three brass balls that positively have +charm. The church is cool and spacious, with noble plain windows (and +one very pretty little one by Burne-Jones), and some very interesting +architectural features. Too little care seems, however, to have been +spent upon it at some previous time. The verger shows with a pride +little short of proprietary a mahogany altar said to have been taken +from one of the vessels of the Armada (and therefore oddly inappropriate +for a Church of England service), and the tomb of one Alan Grebell, who, +happening one night in 1742 to be wearing the cloak of his +brother-in-law the Mayor, was killed in mistake for him by a "sanguinary +butcher" named Breeds. Breeds, who was hanged in chains for his crime, +remains perhaps the most famous figure in the history of Rye.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>Externally Rye church is magnificent, but the pity of it is that its +encroaching square deprives one of the power to study it as a whole. +Among the details, however, are two admirable flying buttresses. The +clock over the beautiful north window, which is said to have been given +to the town by Queen Elizabeth, is remarkable for the two golden cherubs +that strike the hours, and the pendulum that swings in the central tower +of the church, very nigh the preacher's head.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">EIGHT BELLS</div> + +<p>Rye's eight bells bear the following inscription:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>To honour both of God and King</div> +<div>Our voices shall in concert ring.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>May heaven increase their bounteous store</div> +<div>And bless their souls for evermore.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Whilst thus we join in joyful sound</div> +<div>May love and loyalty abound.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ye people all who hear me ring</div> +<div>Be faithful to your God and King.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Such wondrous power to music's given</div> +<div>It elevates the soul to heaven.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>If you have a judicious ear</div> +<div>You'll own my voice is sweet and clear.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Our voices shall with joyful sound</div> +<div>Make hills and valleys echo round.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>In wedlock bands all ye who join,</div> +<div>With hands your hearts unite;</div> +<div>So shall our tuneful tongues combine</div> +<div>To laud the nuptial rite.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ye ringers, all who prize</div> +<div>Your health and happiness,</div> +<div>Be sober, merry, wise,</div> +<div>And you'll the same possess.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Hardly less interesting than the church are the by-streets of Rye, so +old and simple and quiet and right; particularly perhaps Mermaid Street, +with its beautiful hospital. In the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> High Street, which is busier, is +the George Inn, the rare possessor of a large assembly room with a +musicians' gallery. One only of Rye's gates is standing—the Landgate; +but on the south rampart of the town is the Ypres Tower (called Wipers +by the prosaic inhabitants), a relic of the twelfth century, guarding +Rye once from perils by sea and now from perils by land. Standing by the +tower one may hear below shipbuilders busy at work and observe all the +low-pulsed life of the river. A mile or so away is Rye Harbour, and +beyond it the sea; across the intervening space runs a little train with +its freight of golf players. In the east stretches Romney Marsh to the +hills of Folkestone.</p> + +<p>Extremes meet in Rye. When I was last there the passage of the Landgate +was made perilous by an approaching Panhard; the monastery of the +Augustine friars on Conduit Hill had become a Salvation Army barracks; +and in the doorway of the little fourteenth-century chapel of the +Carmelites, now a private house, in the church square, a perambulator +waited. Moreover, in the stately red house at the head of Mermaid Street +the author of <i>The Awkward Age</i> prosecutes his fascinating analyses of +twentieth-century temperaments.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">RYE POTTERY</div> + +<p>Among the industries of Rye is the production of an ingenious variety of +pottery achieved by affixing to ordinary vessels of earthenware a veneer +of broken pieces of china—usually fragments of cups and saucers—in +definite patterns that sometimes reach a magnificence almost Persian. +For the most part the result is not perhaps beautiful, but it is always +gay, and the Rye potter who practises the art deserves encouragement. I +saw last summer a piece of similar ware in a cottage on the banks of the +Ettrick, but whether it had travelled thither from Rye, or whether +Scotch artists work in the same medium, I do not know. Mr. Gasson, the +artificer (the dominating name of Gasson is to Rye what that of Seiler +is to Zermatt), charges a penny for the inspection of the four rooms of +his house in which his pottery, his stuffed birds and other curiosities +are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> collected. The visit must be epoch-making in any life. Never again +will a broken tea-cup be to any of Mr. Gasson's patrons merely a broken +tea-cup. Previously it may have been that and nothing more; henceforward +it is valuable material which, having completed one stage of existence, +is, like the good Buddhist, entering upon another of increased radiance. +More, broken china may even become the symbol of Rye.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page370.png" id="page370.png"></a><img src="images/page370.png" width='700' height='481' alt="Court Lodge, Udimore" /></p> + +<h4><i>Court Lodge, Udimore.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">PETT AND ICKLESHAM</div> + +<p>Between Hastings and Winchelsea are the villages of Guestling, Pett, and +Icklesham, the last two on the edge of the Level. Of these, Icklesham is +the most interesting, Guestling having recently lost its church by fire, +and Pett church being new. Pett stands in a pleasant position at the end +of the high ground, with nothing in the east but Pett Level, and the sea +only a mile away. At very low tide the remains of a submerged forest +were once discernible, and may still be.</p> + +<p>Icklesham also stands on the ridge further north, overlooking the Level +and the sea, with Winchelsea not two miles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> distant in the east. The +church is a very fine one, with a most interesting Norman tower in its +midst. The churchwardens accounts contain some quaint entries:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">CHURCHWARDENS' ACCOUNTS</div> + +<blockquote><p>1732. Paid for y<sup>e</sup> Stokes [stocks] <i>£</i>4 10<i>s.</i> 8¾<i>d.</i></p> + +<p>1735. January y<sup>e</sup> 13 p<sup>d</sup> for a pint of wine and for eight pound of +mutton for Good[man] Row and Good[man] Winch and Goody Sutors for their +being with Goody in her fitts 3<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>1744. Fevery y<sup>e</sup> 29 paid Gudy Tayler for going to Winshelse for to give +her Arthor Davy [affidavit] 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p>1746. April 26 gave the Ringers for Rejoycing when y<sup>e</sup> Rebels was beat +15<i>s.</i> (This refers to Culloden. There are two sides in every battle; +how do Burns's lines run?—</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Drumossie moor—Drumossie day—</div> +<div>A waefu' day it was to me!</div> +<div>For there I lost my father dear,</div> +<div>My father dear, and brethren three.)</div> +</div></div> + +<p>One of the Icklesham gravestones, standing over the grave of James King, +who died aged seventeen, has this complacent couplet:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>God takes the good—too good on earth to stay,</div> +<div>And leaves the bad—too bad to take away.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Two miles to the west of Icklesham, at Snaylham, close to the present +railway, once stood the home of the Cheyneys, a family that maintained +for many years a fierce feud with the Oxenbridges of Brede, whither we +soon shall come. A party of Cheyneys once succeeded in catching an +Oxenbridge asleep in his bed, and killed him. Old Place farm, a little +north of Icklesham, between the village and the line, marks the site of +Old Place, the mansion of the Fynches, earls of Winchelsea.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PLAYDEN AND IDEN</div> + +<p>The mainland proper begins hard by Rye, on the other side of the +railway, where Rye Hill carries the London road out of sight. This way +lie Playden, Iden, and Peasmarsh: Playden, with a slender spire, of a +grace not excelled in a county notable, as we have seen, for graceful +spires, but a little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>overweighted perhaps by its cross, within whose +church is the tomb of a Flemish brewer, named Zoctmanns, calling for +prayers for his soul; Iden, with a square tower and a stair turret, a +village taking its name from that family of which Alexander Iden, slayer +of Jack Cade, was a member, its home being at Mote, now non-existent; +and Peasmarsh, whose long modest church, crowned by a squat spire, may +be again seen, like the swan upon St. Mary's Lake, in the water at the +foot of the churchyard. At Peasmarsh was born a poor artificial poet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> +named William Pattison, in whose works I have failed to find anything of +interest.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page372.png" id="page372.png"></a><img src="images/page372.png" width='651' height='700' alt="Udimore Church" /></p> + +<h4><i>Udimore Church.</i></h4> + +<p>The two most interesting spots in the hilly country immediately north of +the Brede valley (north of Winchelsea) are Udimore and Brede. Concerning +Udimore church, which externally has a family resemblance to that of +Steyning, it is told that it was originally planned to rise on the other +side of the little river Ree. The builders began their work, but every +night saw the supernatural removal of the stones to the present site, +while a mysterious voice uttered the words "O'er the mere! O'er the +mere!" Hence, says the legend, the present position of the fane, and the +beautiful name Udimore, or "O'er the mere," which, of course, becomes +Uddymer among the villagers.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page373.png" id="page373.png"></a><img src="images/page373.png" width='700' height='481' alt="Brede Place" /></p> + +<h4><i>Brede Place.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">BREDE PLACE</div> + +<p>From Udimore one reaches Brede by turning off the high road about two +miles to the east. But it is worth while to keep to the road a little +longer, and entering Gilly Wood (on the right) explore as wild and +beautiful a ravine as any in the county. And, on the Brede by-road, it +is worth while also to turn aside again in order to see Brede Place. +This house, like all the old mansions (it is of the fifteenth and +sixteenth centuries), is set in a hollow, and is sufficiently gloomy in +appearance and surroundings to lend colour to the rumour that would have +it haunted—a rumour originally spread by the smugglers who for some +years made the house their headquarters. An underground passage is said +to lead from Brede Place to the church, a good part of a mile distant; +but as is usual with underground passages, the legend has been held so +dear that no one seems to have ventured upon the risk of disproving it. +Amid these medieval surroundings the late Stephen Crane, the American +writer, conceived some of his curiously modern stories.</p> + +<p>One of the original owners (the Oxenbridges) like Col. Lunsford of East +Hoathly was credited by the country people with an appetite for +children. Nothing could compass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> his death but a wooden saw, with which +after a drunken bout the villagers severed him in Stubb's Lane, by +Groaning Bridge. Not all the family, however, were bloodthirsty, for at +least two John Oxenbridges of the sixteenth century were divines, one a +Canon of Windsor, the other a "grave and reverent preacher."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">DEAN SWIFT'S CRADLE</div> + +<p>The present vicar of Brede, the village on the hill above Brede Place, +has added to the natural antiquities of his church several alien +curiosities, chief among them being the cradle in which Dean Swift was +rocked. It is worth a visit to Brede church to be persuaded that that +matured Irishman ever was a baby.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page375.png" id="page375.png"></a><img src="images/page375.png" width='700' height='539' alt="Brede Place, from the South" /></p> + +<h4><i>Brede Place, from the South.</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + +<h3>ROBERTSBRIDGE</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Horace Walpole in difficulties—A bibliophile's +threat—Salehurst—Bodiam—Northiam—Queen Elizabeth's dinner and +shoes—Brightling—Jack Fuller—Turner in East Sussex—The Burwash +country—Sussex superstitions—<i>Sussex Folk and Sussex +Ways</i>—Liberals and Conservatives—The Sussex +character—Independent bellringers—"Silly Sussex"—Burwash at +Cricket—James Hurdis—A donkey race—"A hint to great and little +men"—Henry Burwash—Etchingham—Sir John Lade and the +Prince—Ticehurst and Wadhurst.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Robertsbridge is not in itself a particularly attractive place; but it +has a good inn, and many interesting villages may be reached from it, +the little light railway that runs from the town to Tenterden, along the +Rother valley, making the exploration of this part of Sussex very +simple.</p> + +<p>Horace Walpole came to difficulties hereabout during his Sussex journey. +His sprightly and heightened account is in one of the letters: "The +roads grew bad beyond all badness, the night dark beyond all darkness, +our guide frightened beyond all frightfulness. However, without being at +all killed, we got up, or down—I forget which, it was so dark,—a +famous precipice called Silver Hill, and about ten at night arrived at a +wretched village called Rotherbridge. We had still six miles hither, but +determined to stop, as it would be a pity to break our necks before we +had seen all we had intended. But, alas! there was only one bed to be +had: all the rest were inhabited by smugglers, whom the people of the +house called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> mountebanks; and with one of whom the lady of the den told +Mr. Chute he might lie. We did not at all take to this society, but, +armed with links and lanthorns, set out again upon this impracticable +journey. At two o'clock in the morning we got hither to a still worse +inn, and that crammed with excise officers, one of whom had just shot a +smuggler. However, as we were neutral powers, we have passed safely +through both armies hitherto, and can give you a little farther history +of our wandering through these mountains, where the young gentlemen are +forced to drive their curricles with a pair of oxen. The only morsel of +good road we have found, was what even the natives had assured us were +totally impracticable; these were eight miles to Hurst Monceaux."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">FOR BOOK BORROWERS</div> + +<p>A pretty memento of the Cistercian Abbey here, of which small traces +remain on the bank of the river, has wandered to the Bodleian, in the +shape of an old volume containing the inscription: "This book belongs to +St. Mary of Robertsbridge; whoever shall steal or sell it, let him be +Anathema Maranatha!" Since no book was ever successfully protected by +anything less tangible than a chain, it came into other hands, +underneath<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> being written: "I John Bishop of Exeter know not where the +aforesaid house is; nor did I steal this book, but acquired it in a +lawful way." On the suppression of the Abbey of Robertsbridge by Henry +VIII. the lands passed to Sir William Sidney, grandfather of Sir Philip.</p> + +<p>Salehurst, just across the river from Robertsbridge, has a noble church, +standing among trees on the hill side—the hill which Walpole found so +precipitous. Within, the church is not perhaps quite so impressive as +without, but it has monuments appertaining probably to the Culpepers, +once a far-reaching aristocratic Sussex family, which we met first at +Ardingly, and which is now extinct or existent only among the peasantry.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page377.png" id="page377.png"></a><img src="images/page377.png" width='700' height='443' alt="Bodiam Castle" /></p> + +<h4><i>Bodiam Castle.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">BODIAM CASTLE</div> + +<p>The first station on the Rother valley light railway is Bodiam, only a +few steps from Bodiam Castle sitting serenely like a bird on the waters +of her moat. This building in appearance and form fulfils most of the +conditions of the castle, and by retaining water in its moat perhaps +wins more respect than if it had stood a siege. (Local tradition indeed +credits it with that mark of active merit, but history is silent.) It +was built in the fourteenth century by Sir Edward Dalyngruge, a hero of +Cressy and Poictiers. It is now a ruin within, but (as Mr. Griggs' +drawing shows) externally in fair preservation and a very interesting +and romantic spectacle.</p> + +<p>Below Bodiam is Ewhurst, and a little farther east, close to the Kentish +border, Northiam. Ewhurst has no particular interest, but Northiam is a +village apart. Knowing what we do of Sussex speech we may be certain +that Northiam is not pronounced by the native as it is spelt. Norgem is +its local style, just as Udiham is Udgem and Bodiam Bodgem. But though +he will not give Northiam its pleasant syllables, the Northiam man is +proud of his village. He has a couplet:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Oh rare Northiam, thou dost far exceed</div> +<div>Beckley, Peasmarsh, Udimore and Brede.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Northiam's superiority to these pleasant spots is not absolute;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> but +there are certain points in which the couplet is sound. For example, +although Brede Place has no counterpart in Northiam, and although beside +Udimore's lovely name Northiam has an uninspired prosaic ring, yet +Northiam is alone in the possession of Queen Elizabeth's Oak, the tree +beneath which that monarch, whom we have seen on a progress in West +Sussex, partook in 1573 of a banquet, on her way to Rye. The fare came +from the kitchen of the timbered house hard by, then the residence of +Master Bishopp. During the visit her Majesty changed her shoes, and the +discarded pair is still treasured at Brickwall, the neighbouring seat of +the Frewens, the great family of Northiam for many generations. The +shoes are of green damask silk, with heels two and a half inches high +and pointed toes. The Queen was apparently so well satisfied with her +repast that on her return journey three days later she dined beneath the +oak once more. But she changed no more shoes.</p> + +<p>Brickwall, which is occasionally shown, is a noble old country mansion, +partly Elizabethan and partly Stuart. In the church are many Frewen +memorials, the principal of which are in the Frewen mausoleum, a +comparatively new erection. Accepted Frewen, Archbishop of York, was +from Northiam.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A DANISH VESSEL</div> + +<p>In a field near the Rother at Northiam was discovered, in the year 1822, +a Danish vessel, which had probably sunk in the ninth century in some +wide waterway now transformed to land or shrunk to the dimensions of the +present stream. Her preservation was perfect. Horsfield thus describes +the ship: "Her dimensions were, from head to stern, 65 feet, and her +width 14 feet, with cabin and forecastle; and she appears to have +originally had a whole deck. She was remarkably strongly built; her bill +pieces and keels measuring 2 feet over, her cross beams, five in number, +18 inches by 8, with her other timbers in proportion; and in her +caulking was a species of moss peculiar to the country in which she was +built. In the cabin and other parts of the vessel were found a human<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> +skull; a pair of goat's horns attached to a part of the cranium; a dirk +or poniard, about half an inch of the blade of which had wholly resisted +corrosion; several glazed and ornamental tiles of a square form; some +bricks which had formed the fire hearth; several parts of shoes, or +rather sandals, fitting low on the foot, one of which was apparently in +an unfinished state, having a last remaining in it, all of them very +broad at the toes; two earthern jars and a stone mug, all of very +ancient shape, a piece of board exhibiting about thirty perforations, +probably designed for keeping the lunar months, or some game or +amusement; with many other antique relics."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">OLD JACK FULLER</div> + +<p>Four miles west of Robertsbridge, up hill and down, is Brightling, whose +Needle, standing on Brightling Down, 646 feet high, is visible from most +of the eminences in this part of Sussex. The obelisk, together with the +neighbouring observatory, was built on the site of an old beacon by the +famous Jack Fuller—famous no longer, but in his day (he died in 1834 +aged seventy-seven) a character both in London and in Sussex. He was big +and bluff and wealthy and the squire of Rose Hill. He sat for Sussex +from 1801 to 1812, and was once carried from the House by the Sergeant +at Arms and his minions, for refusing to give way in a debate and +calling the Speaker "the insignificant little fellow in a wig." His +election cost him <i>£</i>20,000 plus <i>£</i>30,000 subscribed by the county. When +Pitt offered him a peerage he said no: "I was born Jack Fuller and Jack +Fuller I'll die." When he travelled from Rose Hill to London Mr. +Fuller's progresses were almost regal. The coach was provisioned as if +for arctic exploration and coachman and footmen alike were armed with +swords and pistols. ("Honest Jack," as Mr. Lower remarks, put a small +value upon the honesty of others.) Mr. Fuller had two hobbies, music and +science. He founded the Fullerian professorships (which he called his +two children), and contributed liberally to the Royal Institution; and +his musical parties in London were famous. But whether it is true that +when the Brightling choir <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>dissatisfied him he presented the church with +nine bassoons, I cannot say.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">TURNER IN SUSSEX</div> + +<p>John Fuller has a better claim to be remembered in Sussex by his +purchase of Bodiam Castle, when its demolition was threatened, and by +his commission to Turner to make pictures in the Rape of Hastings, five +of which were engraved and published in folio form, in 1819, under the +title <i>Views in Sussex</i>. One of these represents the Brightling +Observatory as seen from Rosehill Park. As a matter of fact, the +observatory, being of no interest, is almost invisible, although Mr. +Reinagle, A.R.A., who supplies the words to the pictures, calls it the +"most important point in the scene." Furthermore, he says that the +artist has expressed a shower proceeding "from the left corner." Another +picture is the Vale of Ashburnham, with the house in the middle +distance, Beachy Head beyond, and in the foreground woodcutters carrying +wood in an ox waggon. "The whole," says Mr. Reinagle, A.R.A., "is +happily composed, if I may use the term." He then adds: "The eye of the +spectator, on looking at this beautifully painted scene, roves with an +eager delight from one hill to another, and seems to play on the dappled +woods till arrested by the seat of Lord Ashburnham." Other pictures in +the folio are "Pevensey Bay from Crowhurst Park," a very beautiful +scene, "Battle Abbey," and "The Vale of Heathfield," painted from a +point above the road, with Heathfield House on the left, the tower on +the right, the church in the centre in the middle distance, and the sea +on the horizon: an impressive but not strictly veracious landscape.</p> + +<p>In Brightling church is a bust to John Fuller, with the motto: "Utile +nihil quod non honestum." A rector in Fuller's early days was William +Hayley, who died in 1789, a zealous antiquary. His papers relating to +the history of Sussex, are now, like those of Sir William Burrell, in +the British Museum.</p> + +<p>Our next village is Burwash, three miles in the north, built, like all +the villages in this switchback district, on a hill. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> are now, +indeed, well in the heart of the fatiguing country which we touched at +Mayfield, where one eminence is painfully won only to reveal another. +One can be as parched on a road in the Sussex hop country as in the +Arabian desert. The eye, however, that is tired of hop poles and hills +can find sweet gratification in the cottages. Sussex has charming +cottages from end to end of her territory, but I think the hop district +on the Kentish side has some of the prettiest. Blackberries too may be +set down among the riches of the sand-hill villages.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SUPERSTITIONS</div> + +<p>In Richard Jefferies' essay, "The Country-side: Sussex" (in <i>Field and +Hedgerow</i>), describing this district of the country, is an amusing +passage touching superstitions of these parts, picked up during hopping:</p> + +<p>"In and about the kiln I learned that if you smash a frog with a stone, +no matter how hard you hit him, he cannot die till sunset. You must be +careful not to put on any new article of clothing for the first time on +a Saturday, or some severe punishment will ensue. One person put on his +new boots on a Saturday, and on Monday broke his arm. Some still believe +in herbs, and gather wood-betony for herb tea, or eat dandelion leaves +between slices of dry toast. There is an old man living in one of the +villages who has reached the age of a hundred and sixty years, and still +goes hop-picking. Ever so many people had seen him, and knew all about +him; an undoubted fact, a public fact; but I could not trace him to his +lair. His exact whereabouts could not be fixed. I live in hopes of +finding him in some obscure 'Hole' yet (many little hamlets are 'Holes,' +as Froghole, Foxhole). What an exhibit for London! Did he realise his +own value, he would soon come forth. I joke, but the existence of this +antique person is firmly believed in."</p> + +<p>Burwash is one of the few Sussex villages that has been made the subject +of a book. The Rev. John Coker Egerton's <i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i> +(from which I have already<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> occasionally quoted) was written here, +around materials collected during the author's period as rector of +Burwash. Mr. Egerton was curate of Burwash from 1857 to 1862, and from +1865 to 1867, when he became rector and remained in the living until his +death in 1888. His book is a kindly collection of the shrewd and +humorous sayings of his Sussex parishioners, anecdotes of characteristic +incidents, records of old customs now passing or passed away—the whole +fused by the rector's genial personality.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">PARTY POLITICS</div> + +<p>It is to Burwash and Mr. Egerton that we owe some characteristic scraps +of Sussex philosophy. Thus, Mr. Egerton tells of an old conservative +whose advice to young men was this: "Mind you don't never have nothing +in no way to do with none of their new-fangled schemes." Another Sussex +cynic defined party government with grim impartiality: "Politics are +about like this: I've got a sow in my yard with twelve little uns, and +they little uns can't all feed at once, because there isn't room enough; +so I shut six on 'em out of the yard while tother six be sucking, and +the six as be shut out, they just do make a hem of a noise till they be +let in; and then they be just as quiet as the rest."</p> + +<p>The capacity of the Sussex man to put his foot down and keep it there, +is shown in the refusal of Burwash to ring the bells when George IV., +then Prince of Wales, passed through the village on his return to +Brighton from a visit to Sir John Lade at Etchingham; the reason given +being that the First Gentleman in Europe when rung in on his way to Sir +John's had said nothing about beer. This must have been during one of +the Prince's peculiarly needy periods, for the withholding of strong +drink from his friends was never one of his failings. Another Burwash +radical used to send up to the rectory with a message that he was about +to gather fruit and the rector must send down for the tithe. The +rector's man would go down—and receive one gooseberry from a basket of +ten: all that was to be gathered that day.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span>Another Burwash man posed his vicar more agreeably and humorously in +another manner. Finding him a little in liquor the pastor would have +warned him against the habit, but the man was too quick. How was it, he +asked the vicar with well affected or real concern, that whenever he had +had too much to drink he felt more religious than at any other time?</p> + +<p>The Burwash records indeed go far to redeem Sussex men from the epithet +"silly," which is traditionally theirs. Concerning this old taunt, I +like the rector's remarks in <i>Idlehurst</i>. The phrase, he says, "is +better after all than 'canny owd Cummerlan'' or calling ourselves 'free +and enlightened citizens' or 'heirs to all the ages.' But suppose Sussex +as silly as you like, the country wants a large preserve of fallow +brains; you can't manure the intellect for close cropping. Isn't it +Renan who attributes so much to solid Breton stupidity in his +ancestors?" I notice that Mr. H. G. Wells, in his very interesting book, +<i>Mankind in the Making</i>, is in support of this suggestion. The +<i>Idlehurst</i> rector, in contrasting Londoners with Sussex folk, +continues: "The Londoner has all his strength in the front line: one can +never tell what reserves the countryman may not deploy in his slow way." +(Some old satirist of the county had it that the crest of the true +Sussex peasant is a pig couchant, with the motto "I wunt be druv." I +give this for what it is worth.)</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX RESERVES</div> + +<p>It is to be doubted if any county has a monopoly of silliness. The fault +of Sussex people rather is to lack reserves, not of wisdom but of +effort. You see this in cricket, where although the Sussex men have done +some of the most brilliant things in the history of the game (even +before the days of their Oriental ally), they have probably made a +greater number of tame attempts to cope with difficulties than any other +eleven. For the "staying of a rot" Sussex has had but few +qualifications. The cricket test is not everything: but character tells +there just as in any other employment. Burwash, however, must be +exempted from this particular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> charge, for, whatever its form may be +now, its eleven had once a terrible reputation. I find in the county +paper for 1771 an advertisement to the effect that Burwash, having +"challenged all its neighbours without effect," invites a match with any +parish whatsoever in all Sussex.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE DONKEY RACE</div> + +<p>Mr. Egerton was not the first parson to record the manners of the +Burwash parishioner. The Rev. James Hurdis, curate there towards the end +of the preceding century, and afterwards Professor of Poetry at Oxford +(we saw his grave at Bishopstone), had written a blank verse poem in the +manner of Cowper, with some of the observation of Crabbe, entitled "The +Village Curate," which is a record of his thoughts and impressions in +his Burwash days. One could hardly say that "The Village Curate" would +bear reprinting at the present time; we have moved too far from its +pensiveness, and an age that does not read "The Task" and only talks +about Crabbe is hardly likely to reach out for Hurdis. But within its +limits "The Village Curate" is good, alike in its description of +scenery, its reflections and its satire. The Burwash donkey race is +capital:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Then comes the ass-race. Let not wisdom frown,</div> +<div>If the grave clerk look on, and now and then</div> +<div>Bestow a smile; for we may see, Alcanor,</div> +<div>In this untoward race the ways of life.</div> +<div>Are we not asses all? We start and run,</div> +<div>And eagerly we press to pass the goal,</div> +<div>And all to win a bauble, a lac'd hat.</div> +<div>Was not great Wolsey such? He ran the race,</div> +<div>And won the hat. What ranting politician,</div> +<div>What prating lawyer, what ambitious clerk,</div> +<div>But is an ass that gallops for a hat?</div> +<div>For what do Princes strive, but golden hats?</div> +<div>For diadems, whose bare and scanty brims</div> +<div>Will hardly keep the sunbeam from their eyes.</div> +<div>For what do Poets strive? A leafy hat,</div> +<div>Without or crown or brim, which hardly screens</div> +<div>The empty noddle from the fist of scorn,</div> +<div>Much less repels the critic's thund'ring arm.</div> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>And here and there intoxication too</div> +<div>Concludes the race. Who wins the hat, gets drunk.</div> +<div>Who wins a laurel, mitre, cap, or crown,</div> +<div>Is drunk as he. So Alexander fell,</div> +<div>So Haman, Cæsar, Spenser, Wolsey, James.</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">A STRATEGIC DUELLIST</div> + +<p>I find in the Sussex paper for 1792 the following contribution to the +history of Burwash: "A Hint to Great and Little Men.—Last Thursday +morning a butcher and a shopkeeper of Burwash, in this County, went into +a field near that town, with pistols, to decide a quarrel of long +standing between them. The lusty Knight of the Cleaver having made it a +practice to insult his antagonist, who is a very little man, the great +disparity between them in size rendered this the only eligible +alternative for the latter. The butcher took care to inform his wife of +the intended meeting, in hopes that she would give the Constables timely +notice thereof. But the good woman not having felt so deeply interested +in his fate as he expected, to make sure, he sent to the Constable +himself, and then marched reluctantly to the field, where the little, +spirited shopkeeper was parading with a considerable reserve of +ammunition, lest his first fire should not take place. Now the +affrighted butcher proceeded slowly to charge his pistols, alternately +looking towards the town and his impatient adversary. This man of blood, +all pale and trembling, at last began to despair of any friendly +interference, when the Constable very seasonably appeared and forbade +the duel, to his great joy, and the disappointment of the spectators."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">HENRY BURWASH</div> + +<p>Burwash had another great man of whom it is not very proud. Fuller shall +describe him:—"Henry Burwash, so named, saith my Author<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> (which is +enough for my discharge) from <i>Burwash</i>, a Town in this County. He was +one of <i>Noble Alliance</i>. And when this is said, <i>all is said</i> to his +commendation, being otherwise neither good for Church nor State, +Soveraign nor Subjects; Covetous, Ambitious, Rebellious, Injurious.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span>"Say not, <i>what makes he here then amongst the worthies</i>? For though +neither <i>Ethically</i> nor <i>Theologically</i>, yet <i>Historically</i> he was +remarkable, affording something for our <i>Information</i> though not +<i>Imitation</i>.</p> + +<p>"He was recommended by his kinsman <i>Bartholomew de Badilismer</i> (Baron of +<i>Leeds</i> in <i>Kent</i>) to King <i>Edward</i> the second, who preferred him Bishop +of <i>Lincoln</i>. It was not long before, falling into the King's +displeasure, his <i>Temporalities</i> were seized on, and afterwards on his +submission restored. Here, instead of new <i>Gratitude</i>, retayning his old +<i>Grudge</i>, he was most forward to assist the Queen in the deposing of her +husband. He was twice Lord Treasurer, once Chancellor, and once sent +over Ambassador to the <i>Duke of Bavaria</i>. He died <i>Anno Domini</i> 1340.</p> + +<p>"Such as mind to be merry may read the pleasant Story of his apparition, +being condemned after Death to be <i>viridis viridarius, a green +Forrester</i> because in his life-time he had violently inclosed other +men's Grounds into his Park. Surely such Fictions keep up the <i>best Park +of Popery (Purgatory)</i>, whereby their <i>fairest Game</i> and greatest Gaine +is preserved."</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page388.png" id="page388.png"></a><img src="images/page388.png" width='700' height='503' alt="Shoyswell, near Ticehurst" /></p> + +<h4><i>Shoyswell, near Ticehurst.</i></h4> + +<p>Etchingham, the station next Robertsbridge, is famous for its church +windows, and its brasses to the Etchinghams of the past, an illustrious +race of Sussex barons. Among the brasses is that of William de +Etchingham, builder of the church, who died in 1345. The inscription, in +French, runs:—"I was made and formed of Earth; and now I have returned +to Earth. William de Etchingham was my name. God have pity on my soul; +and all you who pass by, pray to Him for me." Certainly no church in +Sussex has so many interesting brasses as these. A moat once surrounded +the God's acre, and legend had it that at the bottom was a great bell +which might never be drawn forth until six yoke of white oxen were +harnessed to it. Pity that the moat was allowed to run dry and the +harmless fiction exposed.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A WAGER</div> + +<p>Sir John Lade, diminutive associate of George IV. in his young days (and +afterwards, coming upon disaster, coachman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> to the Earl of Anglesey), +once lived at Haremere Hall, near by. As we have seen, the First +Gentleman in Europe visited him there, and it was there one day, that, +in default of other quarry, Sir John's gamekeeper only being able to +produce a solitary pheasant, the Prince and his host shot ten geese as +they swam across a pond, and laid them at the feet of Lady Lade. Sir +John was the hero of the following exploit, recorded in the press in +October, 1795:—"A curious circumstance occurred at Brighton on Monday +se'nnight. Sir John Lade, for a trifling wager, undertook to carry Lord +Cholmondeley on his back, from opposite the Pavilion twice round the +Steine. Several ladies attended to be spectators of this extraordinary +feat of the dwarf carrying the giant. When His Lordship declared himself +ready, Sir John desired him to strip. 'Strip!' exclaimed the other; 'why +surely you promised to carry me in my clothes!' 'By no means,' replied +the Baronet; 'I engaged to carry <i>you</i>, but not an inch of clothes. So, +therefore, My Lord, make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> ready, and let us not disappoint the ladies.' +After much laughable altercation, it was at length decided that Sir John +had won his wager, the Peer declining to exhibit <i>in puris +naturalibus</i>."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE HAWKHURST GANG</div> + +<p>Ticehurst and Wadhurst, which may be reached either by road or rail from +Robertsbridge or Etchingham, both stand high, very near the Kentish +border. To the east of Hurst Green on the road thither (a hamlet +disproportionate and imposing, possessing, in the George Inn, a relic of +the days when the coaches came this way), is Seacox Heath, now the +residence of Lord Goschen, but once the home of George Gray, a member of +the terrible Hawkhurst gang of smugglers. Ticehurst has a noble church, +very ingeniously restored, with a square tower, some fine windows, old +glass, a vestry curiously situated over the porch, and an interesting +brass.</p> + +<p>The Bell Inn, in the village, is said to date from the fifteenth +century.</p> + +<p>At Wadhurst are many iron grave slabs and a graceful slender spire. The +massive door bears the date 1682. A high village, in good accessible +country, discovery seems to be upon it. London is not so near as at +Crowborough; but one may almost hear the jingling of the cabs.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Weever's <i>Funeral Monuments</i>.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2> + +<h3>TUNBRIDGE WELLS</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Over the border—The beginnings of the wells—Tunbridge Wells +to-day—Mr. George Meredith—The Toad and other +rocks—Eridge—Trespassing in Sussex—Saxonbury—Bayham +Abbey—Lamberhurst—Withyham—The Sackvilles—A domestic +autocrat—"To all you ladies now on land"—Withyham church—The +Sackville monument—John Waylett—Beer and bells—Parish +expenses—Buckhurst and Old Buckhurst—Ashdown Forest—Hartfield +and Bolebroke—A wild region.</p></blockquote> + +<p>I have made Tunbridge Wells our last centre, because it is convenient; +yet as a matter of strict topography, the town is not in Sussex at all, +but in Kent.</p> + +<p>In that it is builded upon hills, Tunbridge Wells is like Rome, and in +that its fashionable promenade is under the limes, like Berlin; but in +other respects it is merely a provincial English inland pleasure town +with a past: rather arid, and except under the bracing conditions of +cold weather, very tiring in its steepnesses. No wonder the small +victoria and smaller pony carriage so flourish there.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page391.png" id="page391.png"></a><img src="images/page391.png" width='585' height='700' alt="The Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells" /></p> + +<h4><i>The Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells.</i></h4> + +<p>The healthful properties of Tunbridge Wells were discovered, as I record +a little later, in 1606; but it was not until Henrietta Maria brought +her suite hither in 1630 that the success of the new cure was assured. +Afterwards came Charles II. and his Court, and Tunbridge Wells was made; +and thenceforward to fail to visit the town at the proper time each year +(although one had the poorest hut to live in the while) was to write +one's self down a boor. A more sympathetic patron was Anne, who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391"></a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> gave +the first stone basin for the spring—hence "Queen's Well"—and whose +subscription of <i>£</i>100 led to the purchase of the pantiles that paved the +walk now bearing that name. Subsequently it was called the Parade, but +to the older style everyone has very sensibly reverted.</p> + +<p>Tunbridge Wells is still a health resort, but the waters no longer +constitute a part of the hygienic routine. Their companion element, air, +is the new recuperative. Not that the spring at the foot of the Pantiles +is wholly deserted: on the contrary, the presiding old lady does quite a +business in filling and cleaning the little glasses; but those visitors +that descend her steps are impelled rather by curiosity than ritual, and +many never try again. Nor is the trade in Tunbridge ware, inlaid work in +coloured woods, what it was. A hundred years ago there was hardly a girl +of any pretensions to good form but kept her pins in a Tunbridge box.</p> + +<p>The Pantiles are still the resort of the idle, but of the anonymous +rather than famous variety. Our men of mark and great Chams of +Literature, who once flourished here in the season, go elsewhere for +their recreation and renovation—abroad for choice. Tunbridge Wells now +draws them no more than Bath. But in the eighteenth century a large +print was popular containing the portraits of all the illustrious +intellectuals as they lounged on the Pantiles, with Dr. Johnson and Mr. +Samuel Richardson among the chief lions.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE DUVIDNEY LADIES</div> + +<p>The residential districts of Tunbridge Wells—its Mounts, Pleasant, Zion +and Ephraim, with their discreet and prosperous villas—suggest to me +only Mr. Meredith's irreproachable Duvidney ladies. In one of these +well-ordered houses must they have lived and sighed over Victor's +tangled life—surrounded by laurels and laburnum; the lawn either cut +yesterday or to be cut to-day; the semicircular drive a miracle of +gravel unalloyed; a pan of water for Tasso beside the dazzling step. +Receding a hundred years, the same author peoples Tunbridge Wells again, +for it was here, in its heyday, that Chloe suffered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span></p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROCKS</div> + +<p>On Rusthall Common is the famous Toad Rock, which is to Tunbridge Wells +what Thorwaldsen's lion is to Lucerne, and the Leaning Tower to Pisa. +Lucerne's lion emerged from the stone under the sculptor's mallet and +chisel, but the Rusthall monster was evolved by natural processes, and +it is a toad only by courtesy. An inland rock is, however, to most +English people so rare an object that Rusthall has almost as many +pilgrims as Stonehenge. The Toad is free; the High Rocks, however, which +are a mile distant, cannot be inspected by the curious for less than +sixpence. One must pass through a turnstile before these wonders are +accessible. Rocks in themselves having insufficient drawing power, as +the dramatic critics say, a maze has been added, together with swings, a +seesaw, arbours, a croquet lawn, and all the proper adjuncts of a +natural phenomenon. The effect is to make the rocks appear more unreal +than any rocks ever seen upon the stage. Freed from their +pleasure-garden surroundings they would become beautifully wild and +romantic and tropically un-English; but as it is, with their notice +boards and bridges, they are disappointing, except of course to +children. They are no disappointment to children; indeed, they go far to +make Tunbridge Wells a children's wonderland. There is no kind of +dramatic game to which the High Rocks would not make the best +background. Finer rocks, because more remote and free from labels and +tea rooms, are those known as Penn's Rocks, three miles in the +south-west, in a beautiful valley.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SAXONBURY</div> + +<p>Eridge, whither all visitors to Tunbridge Wells must at one time or +another drive, is the seat of the Marquis of Abergavenny, whose imposing +A, tied, like a dressing gown, with heavy tassels, is embossed on every +cottage for miles around. In character the park resembles Ashburnham, +while in extent it vies with the great parks of the south-west, Arundel, +Goodwood and Petworth; but it has none of their spacious coolnesses. Yet +Eridge Park has joys that these others know not of—brake fern four feet +high, and the conical hill on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> which stands Saxonbury Tower, jealously +guarded from the intruding traveller by the stern fiat of "Mr. Macbean, +steward." Sussex is a paradise of notice boards (there is a little +district near Forest Row where the staple industry must be the +prosecuting of trespassers), and one has come ordinarily to look upon +these monitions without active resentment; but when the Caledonian +descends from his native heath to warn the Sussex man off Sussex +ground—more, to warn the Saxon from his own bury—the situation becomes +acute. By taking, however, the precaution of asking at a not too +adjacent cottage for permission to ascend the hill, one may circumvent +the Scottish prosecutor.</p> + +<p>The hill is very important ground in English history, as the following +passage from Sir William Burrell's MSS. in the British Museum +testifies:—"In Eridge Park are the remains of a military station of the +Saxon invaders of the country, which still retains the name of Saxonbury +Hill. It is on the high ground to the right, as the traveller passes +from Frant to Mayfield. On the summit of this hill (from whence the +cliffs of Dover may be seen) are to be traced the remains of an ancient +fortification; the fosse is still plainly discernible, enclosing an area +of about two acres, from whence there is but one outlet. The apex of the +hill within is formed of a strong compact body of stone, brought hither +from a distance, on which doubtless was erected some strong military +edifice. This was probably one of the stations occupied by the Saxons +under Ella, their famous chief, who, at the instance of Hengist, King of +Kent, invaded England towards the close of the fifth century. It is said +that they settled in Sussex, whence they issued in force to attack the +important British station of Anderida or Andredceaster. Antiquaries are +not agreed as to the precise situation of this military station; some +imagining it to have been at Newenden, on the borders of Kent; others at +Pevensey, or Hastings, in Sussex. The country, from the borders of Kent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> +to those of Hampshire, comprises what was called the Forest of +Andredsweald, now commonly called the Weald, was formerly full of strong +holds and fastnesses, and was consequently well calculated for the +retreat of the ancient Britons from before the regular armies of the +Romans, as well as for the establishment of points of attack by the +succeeding invaders who coped with them on terms somewhat reversed. The +attack of the Saxons on Anderida was successful, and the consequence was +their permanent establishment in Sussex and Surrey, from which time they +probably retained a military station on this hill.</p> + +<p>"There is likewise within the park a place called Danes Gate. This was +doubtless a part of a military way; and as it would happen that the last +successful invaders would occupy the same strong posts which had been +formed by their predecessors, this Danes Gate was probably the military +communication between Crowborough, undoubtedly a Danish station, and +Saxonbury Hill."</p> + +<p>The view from Saxonbury extends far in each quarter, embracing both +lines of Downs, North and South. The long low irregular front of Eridge +Castle is two or three miles to the north-west, with its lake before it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LORD NORTH'S DISCOVERY</div> + +<p>Queen Elizabeth stayed at Eridge for six days in 1573, on her progress +to Northiam, where we saw her dining and changing her shoes. Lord +Burleigh, who accompanied her, found the country hereabouts dangerous, +and "worse than in the Peak." It was another of the guests at Eridge +that made Tunbridge Wells; for had not Dudley, Lord North, when +recuperating there in 1606, discovered that the (Devil-flavoured) +chalybeate water of the neighbourhood was beneficial, the spring would +not have been enclosed nor would other of London's fatigued young bloods +have drunk of it.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page396.png" id="page396.png"></a><img src="images/page396.png" width='700' height='656' alt="Bayham Abbey" /></p> + +<h4><i>Bayham Abbey.</i></h4> + +<div class="sidenote">BAYHAM ABBEY</div> + +<p>Enough remains of Bayham Abbey, five miles south-east of Tunbridge +Wells, to show that it was once a very considerable monastery. The +founder was Sir Robert de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> Turneham, one of the knights of Richard +Cœur de Lion, famous for cracking many crowns with his "fauchion," +and the founder also of Combwell Abbey at Goudhurst, not far distant. +Edward I. and Edward II. were both entertained at Bayham, while a +fortunate visit from St. Richard, Bishop of Chichester, put the Abbey in +possession of a bed (on which he had slept) which cured all them that +afterwards lay in it. Between Bayham and Goudhurst is Lamberhurst, on +the boundary. (The church and part of the street are indeed in Kent.) +Lamberhurst's boast is that its furnaces were larger than any in Sussex; +and that they made the biggest guns. The old iron railings around St. +Paul's are said to have come from the Lamberhurst iron works—2,500 in +all, each five feet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> six inches in height, with seven gates. The +Lamberhurst cannon not only served England, but some, it is whispered, +found their way to French privateers and were turned against their +native land.</p> + +<p>Sweetest of spots in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells is Withyham, +in the west, lying to the north of Ashdown Forest, a small and retired +village, with a charming church, a good inn (the Dorset Arms), Duckings, +a superb piece of old Sussex architecture, Old Buckhurst, an interesting +ruin, new Buckhurst's magnificent park, and some of the best country in +the county. Once the South Down district is left behind I think that +Withyham is the jewel of Sussex. Moreover, the proximity of the wide +high spaces of Ashdown Forest seems to have cleared the air; no longer +is one conscious of the fatigue that appertains to the triangular hill +district between Tunbridge Wells, Robertsbridge and Uckfield.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SPLENDID SACKVILLES</div> + +<p>Withyham is notable historically for its association with the great and +sumptuous Sackville family, which has held Buckhurst since Henry II., +and of which the principal figure is Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, +first Earl of Dorset, who was born here in 1536, Queen Elizabeth's Lord +Treasurer and part author of <i>Gorboduc</i>. After him came Robert +Sackville, second earl, who founded Sackville College at East Grinstead; +and then Richard, the third earl, famous for the luxury in which he +lived at Knole in Kent and Dorset House in London. Among this nobleman's +retinue was a first footman rejoicing (I hope) in the superlatively +suitable name of Acton Curvette: a name to write a comedy around. +Richard Sackville, the fifth earl, was a more domestic peer, of whom we +have some intimate and amusing glimpses in the memorandum books and +diaries which he kept at Knole. Thus:—</p> + + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='memorandum books'> + <tr> + <td>"Hy. Mattock for scolding to extremity on Sunday 12th October 1661 without cause </td> + <td>0 0 3</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span>"Hy. Mattock for disposing of my Cast linnen without my order</td> + <td>0 0 3</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>"Robert Verrell for giving away my money</td> + <td>0 0 6</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class="sidenote">"TO ALL YOU LADIES"</div> + +<p>Lastly we come to Charles Sackville, sixth earl, that Admirable +Crichton, the friend of Charles II. and the patron of poets, who spent +the night before an engagement in the Dutch war in writing the sprightly +verses, "To all you ladies now on land," wherein occurs this agreeable +fancy:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Then, if we write not by each post,</div> +<div class="i1">Think not we are unkind;</div> +<div>Nor yet conclude our ships are lost</div> +<div class="i1">By Dutchmen or by wind;</div> +<div>Our tears we'll send a speedier way:</div> +<div>The tide shall bring them twice a day.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div>The king with wonder and surprise,</div> +<div class="i1">Will swear the seas grow bold;</div> +<div>Because the tides will higher rise</div> +<div class="i1">Than e'er they did of old:</div> +<div>But let him know it is our tears</div> +<div>Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Upon the sixth Earl of Dorset's monument in Withyham Church is inscribed +Pope's epitaph, beginning:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Dorset, the grace of Courts, the Muses pride,</div> +<div>Patron of arts, and judge of nature dy'd!</div> +<div>The scourge of pride, though sanctify'd or great,</div> +<div>Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:</div> +<div>Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,</div> +<div>His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The church is very prettily situated on a steep mound, at the western +foot of which is a sheet of water; at the eastern foot, the village. So +hidden by trees is it that approaching Withyham from Hartfield one is +unconscious of its proximity. The glory of the church is the monument, +in the Sackville Chapel, to Thomas Sackville, youngest son of the fifth +Earl of Dorset. There is nothing among the many tombs which we have +seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> more interesting than this, although for charm it is not to be +compared with, say, the Shurley monument at Isfield. The young man +reclines on the tomb; at one side of him is the figure of his father, +and at the other, of his mother, both life-like and life-size, dressed +in their ordinary style. The attitudes being extremely natural the total +effect is curiously realistic. On the sides of the tomb, in bas-relief, +are the figures of the six brothers and six sisters of the youth, some +quite babies. The sculptor was Caius Cibber, Colley Cibber's father. +Other monuments are also to be seen in the Sackville Chapel, but that +which I have described is the finest.</p> + +<p>Had Withyham church not been destroyed by fire, in 1663, in a "tempest +of thunder and lightning," it would now be second to none in Sussex in +interest and the richness of its tombs; for in that fire perished in the +Sackville aisle, now no more, on the northern side, other and perhaps +nobler Sackville monuments. The vaults, where many Sackvilles lie, were +not however injured. In the Sackville Chapel is a large window recording +the genealogy of the family, which is now represented by Earl De la +Warr, at the foot of which are the words in Latin, "The noble family of +Sackville here awaits the Resurrection."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN WAYLETT, BELL-FOUNDER</div> + +<p>Withyham has three of the bells of John Waylett, an itinerant +bell-founder at the beginning of the eighteenth century. His method was +to call on the vicar and ask if anything were wanted; and if a bell was +cracked, or if a new one was desired, he would dig a mould in a +neighbouring field, build a fire, collect his metal and perform the task +on the spot. Waylett's business might be called the higher tinkering. +Sussex has some forty of his bells. He cast the Steyning peal in 1724, +and earlier in the same year he had made a stay at Lewes, erecting a +furnace there, as Benvenuto Cellini tells us he used to do, and +remedying defective peals all around. Among others he recast the old +treble and made a new treble for Mayfield. It seems to have been +universally thirsty work:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> the churchwardens' papers contain an account +for beer in connection with the enterprise:</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BEER</div> + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='beer'> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><i>£ s. d.</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>For beer to the ringers when the Bell founder was here</td> + <td align="right">2 6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>When the bell was weighed</td> + <td align="right">3 6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>When the bell was loaded</td> + <td align="right">2 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>In carrying ye bell to Lewes and back again</td> + <td align="right">1 10 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>When the bell was waid and hung up</td> + <td align="right">3 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>For beer to the officers and several others a hanging up ye bell</td> + <td align="right">18 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>In beer to the ringers when ye bell was hung</td> + <td align="right">6 6</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p>The Withyham churchwardens also expended 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> on beer when +Waylett came to spread thirst abroad. I find also among the entries from +the parish account-book, which Mr. Sutton, the vicar, prints in his +<i>Historical Notes on Withyham</i>, a very interesting and informing book, +the following items:</p> + +<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='parish account-book'> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><i>s. d.</i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>1711. April ye 20, pd. to Goody Sweatman for Beere had at ye Books making</td> + <td align="right">2 6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Aug. ye 19, pd. to Edward Groombridge for digging a +grave and Ringing ye Nell for Goody Hammond </td> + <td align="right">2 6</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Aug. ye 26, pd. to Sweatman for beere at ye +Writing of Boocks for ye window-tax</td> + <td align="right">2 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Aug. 15th, Pd. to Sweatman for beer at ye +chusing of surveyor Dec<sup>br</sup> ye 26</td> + <td align="right">5 0</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>1714. Pd. to good wife Sweatman for beer +when ye bells were put to be cast</td> + <td align="right">2 6</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p>Buckhurst, one of the seats of Lord De la Warr, is a splendid domain, +with the most perfect golf greens I ever saw, but no deer, all of them +having been exiled a few years since. The previous home of the +Sackvilles was Old Buckhurst in the valley to the west, of which only +the husk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> now remains. One can see that the mansion was of enormous +extent; and the walls were so strongly built that when an attempt was +recently made to destroy and utilise a portion for road mending, the +project had to be abandoned on account of the hardness of the mortar. +One beautiful tower (out of six) still stands. An underground passage, +which is said variously to lead to the large lake in Buckhurst Park, to +the church, and to Bolebroke at Hartfield, has never been explored +farther than the first door that blocks the way; nor have the seven cord +of gold, rumoured to be buried near the house, come to light.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">OLD RURAL ARCHITECTURE</div> + +<div class="sidenote">IN PRAISE OF "DUCKINGS"</div> + +<p>It was of Duckings, the beautiful timbered farmhouse of which Withyham +is justly proud, that Jefferies thus wrote, in his essay on "Buckhurst +Park": "Our modern architects try to make their rooms mathematically +square, a series of brick boxes, one on the other like pigeon-holes in a +bureau, with flat ceilings and right angles in the corners, and are said +to go through a profound education before they can produce these +wonderful specimens of art. If our old English folk could not get an +arched roof, then they loved to have it pointed, with polished timber +beams in which the eye rested as in looking upwards through a tree. +Their rooms they liked of many shapes, and not at right angles in the +corners, nor all on the same dead level of flooring. You had to go up a +step into one, and down a step into another, and along a winding passage +into a third, so that each part of the house had its individuality. To +these houses life fitted itself and grew to them; they were not mere +walls, but became part of existence. A man's house was not only his +castle, a man's house was himself. He could not tear himself away from +his house, it was like tearing up the shrieking mandrake by the root, +almost death itself. Now we walk in and out of our brick boxes +unconcerned whether we live in this villa or that, here or yonder. Dark +beams inlaid in the walls support the gables; heavier timber, placed +horizontally, forms, as it were, the foundation of the first floor. This +horizontal beam has warped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> a little in the course of time, the +alternate heat and cold of summers and winters that make centuries. Up +to this beam the lower wall is built of brick set to curve of the +timber, from which circumstance it would appear to be a modern +insertion. The beam, we may be sure, was straight originally, and the +bricks have been fitted to the curve which it subsequently took. Time, +no doubt, ate away the lower work of wood, and necessitated the +insertion of new materials. The slight curve of the great beam adds, I +think, to the interest of the old place, for it is a curve that has +grown and was not premeditated; it has grown like the bough of a tree, +not from any set human design. This, too, is the character of the house. +It is not large, nor overburdened with gables, not ornamental, nor what +is called striking, in any way, but simply an old English house, genuine +and true. The warm sunlight falls on the old red tiles, the dark beams +look the darker for the glow of light, the shapely cone of the hop-oast +rises at the end; there are swallows and flowers, and ricks and horses, +and so it is beautiful because it is natural and honest. It is the +simplicity that makes it so touching, like the words of an old ballad. +Now at Mayfield there is a timber house which is something of a show +place, and people go to see it, and which certainly has many more lines +in its curves and woodwork, but yet did not appeal to me, because it +seemed too purposely ornamental. A house designed to look well, even age +has not taken from its artificiality. Neither is there any cone nor +cart-horses about. Why, even a tall chanticleer makes a home look +homely. I do like to see a tall proud chanticleer strutting in the yard +and barely giving way as I advance, almost ready to do battle with a +stranger like a mastiff. So I prefer the simple old home by Buckhurst +Park."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ASHDOWN FOREST</div> + +<p>The forest of which Ashdown Forest was a part extended once in unbroken +sombre density from Kent to Hampshire, a distance of 120 miles. It was +known to the Romans as Sylva Anderida, giving its name to Anderida (or +Pevensey) on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> the edge of it; to the Saxons it was Andreaswald. Wolves, +wild boar and deer then roamed its dark recesses. Our Ashdown +Forest—all that now remains of this wild track—was for long a Royal +hunting ground. Edward III. granted it to John of Gaunt, who, there's no +doubt, often came hither for sport. It is supposed that he built a +chapel near Nutley ("Chapel Wood" marks the site) where, on one occasion +at least, John Wycliffe the reformer officiated. At Forest Row, as we +have seen, the later lords who hunted here built their lodges and kept +their retainers. There are no longer any deer in the Forest; the modern +sportsman approaches it with a cleek where his forerunner carried a bow. +A hundred years ago, in the smuggling days, it was a very dangerous +region.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="page403.png" id="page403.png"></a><img src="images/page403.png" width='700' height='607' alt="Ashdown Forest, from East Grinstead" /></p> + +<h4><i>Ashdown Forest, from East Grinstead.</i></h4> + +<p>Hartfield, the village next to Withyham in the west, is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> uninteresting; +but it has a graceful church, and at Bolebroke, once the home of the +Dalyngruges, whom we met at Bodiam, and later of the Sackvilles, are the +remains of a noble brick mansion. The towered gateway still stands, and +it is not difficult to reconstruct in the mind's eye the house in its +best period. Of old cottage architecture Hartfield also has a pretty +example in Lych-Gate Cottage, by the churchyard. "Castle field," north +of the village, probably marks the site of an ancient castle, or hunting +lodge, of the Barons of Pevensey. That there was good hunting in these +parts the name Hartfield itself goes to prove.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">OUR JOURNEY'S END</div> + +<p>Between Withyham and Hartfield in the north, and Crowborough Beacon and +Wych Cross in the south, is some of the finest open country in Sussex, +where one may walk for hours and meet no human creature. Here are silent +desolate woods—the Five Hundred Acre Wood, under Crowborough, chief of +them—and vast wastes of undulating heath, rising here and there to +great heights crowned with fir trees, as at Gill's Lap. A few enclosed +estates interrupt the forest's open freedom, but nothing can tame it. +Sombre dark heather gives the prevailing note, but between Old Lodge and +Pippinford Park I once came upon a green and luxuriant valley that would +not have been out of place in Tyrol; while there is a field near Chuck +Hatch where in April one may see more dancing daffodils than ever +Wordsworth did.</p> + +<p>And here we leave the county.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI</h2> + +<h3>THE SUSSEX DIALECT</h3> + +<blockquote><p>French words at Hastings and Rye—Saxon on the farms—Mr. W. D. +Parish's <i>Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect</i>—The rules of the +game—The raciest of the words—A Sussex criticism of Disraeli—The +gender of a Sussex nose—A shepherd's adventures—Sussex words in +America—"The Song of Solomon" in the Sussex vernacular.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The body of the Sussex dialect is derived from the Saxon. Its +accessories can be traced to the Celts, to the Norse—thus <i>rape</i>, a +division of the county, is probably an adaptation of the Icelandic +<i>hreppr</i>—and to the French, some hundreds of Huguenots having fled to +our shores after the Edict of Nantes. The Hastings fishermen, for +example, often say <i>boco</i> for plenty, and <i>frap</i> to strike; while in the +Rye neighbourhood, where the Huguenots were strongest, such words as +<i>dishabil</i> meaning untidy, undressed, and <i>peter grievous</i> (from +<i>petit-grief</i>) meaning fretful, are still used.</p> + +<p>But Saxon words are, of course, considerably more common. You meet them +at every turn. A Sussex auctioneer's list that lies before me—a +catalogue of live and dead farming stock to be sold at a homestead under +the South Downs—is full of them. So blunt and sturdy they are, these +ancient primitive terms of the soil: "Lot 1. Pitch prong, two half-pitch +prongs, two 4-speen spuds, and a road hoe. Lot 5. Five short prongs, +flint spud, dung drag, two turnip pecks, and two shovels. Lot 9. Six hay +rakes, two scythes and sneaths, cross-cut saw, and a sheep hook. Lot 39. +Corn chest, open tub, milking stool, and hog form. Lot 43. Bushel +measure,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> shaul and strike. Lot 100. Rick borer. Lot 143. Eight knaves +and seven felloes. Lot 148. Six dirt boards and pair of wood hames. Lot +152. Wheelwright's sampson. Lot 174. Set of thill harness. Lot 201. +Three plough bolts, three tween sticks. Lot 204. Sundry harness and +whippances. Lot 208. Tickle plough. Lot 222. Iron turnwrist [pronounced +turn-riced] plough. Lot 242. 9-time scarifier. Lot 251. Clod crusher. +Lot 252. Hay tedder." From another catalogue more ram=alogues, these +abrupt and active little words might be called, butt at one. As "Lot 4. +Flint spud, two drain scoops, bull lead and five dibbles. Lot 10. Dung +rake and dung devil. Lot 11. Four juts and a zinc skip." Farm labourers +are men of little speech, and it is often needful that voices should +carry far. Hence this crisp and forcible reticence. The vocabulary of +the country-side undergoes few changes; and the noises to-day made by +the ox-herd who urges his black and smoking team along the hill-side are +precisely those that Piers Plowman himself would have used.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SAXON PERSISTENT</div> + +<p>Another survival may be noticed in objurgation. A Sussex man swearing by +Job, as he often does, is not calling in the aid of the patient sufferer +of Uz, but Jobe, the Anglo-Saxon Jupiter.</p> + +<p>A few examples of Sussex speech, mainly drawn from Mr. Parish's +<i>Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect</i> will help to add the true flavour to +these pages. Mr. Parish's little book is one of the best of its kind; +that it is more than a contribution to etymology a very few quotations +will show.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SUSSEX RULES</div> + +<p>Mr. Parish lays down the following general principles of the Sussex +tongue:—</p> + +<p><i>a</i> before double <i>d</i> becomes <i>ar</i>; whereby ladder and adder are +pronounced larder and arder.</p> + +<p><i>a</i> before double <i>l</i> is pronounced like <i>o</i>; fallow and tallow become +foller and toller.</p> + +<p><i>a</i> before <i>t</i> is expanded into <i>ea</i>; rate, mate, plate, gate, are +pronounced rêât, mêât, plêât, gêât.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span><i>a</i> before <i>ct</i> becomes <i>e</i>; as satisfection, for satisfaction.</p> + +<p><i>e</i> before <i>ct</i> becomes <i>a</i>; and affection, effect and neglect are +pronounced affaction, effact and neglact.</p> + +<p>Double <i>e</i> is pronounced as <i>i</i> in such words as sheep, week, called +ship and wick; and the sound of double <i>e</i> follows the same rule in fild +for field.</p> + +<p>Having pronounced <i>ee</i> as <i>i</i>, the Sussex people in the most impartial +manner pronounce <i>i</i> as <i>ee</i>; and thus mice, hive, dive, become meece, +heeve, and deeve.</p> + +<p><i>i</i> becomes <i>e</i> in pet for pit, spet for spit, and similar words.</p> + +<p><i>io</i> and <i>oi</i> change places respectively; and violet and violent become +voilet and voilent, while boiled and spoiled are bioled and spioled.</p> + +<p><i>o</i> before <i>n</i> is expanded into <i>oa</i> in such words as pony, dont, bone; +which are pronounced pôâny, dôânt, bôân.</p> + +<p><i>o</i> before <i>r</i> is pronounced as <i>a</i>; as carn and marning, for corn and +morning.</p> + +<p><i>o</i> also becomes <i>a</i> in such words as rad, crass, and crap, for rod, +cross, and crop.</p> + +<p><i>ou</i> is elongated into <i>aou</i> in words like hound, pound, and mound; +pronounced haound, paound, and maound.</p> + +<p>The final <i>ow</i>, as in many other counties, is pronounced er, as foller +for fallow.</p> + +<p>The peculiarities with regard to the pronunciation of consonants are not +so numerous as those of the vowels, but they are very decided, and seem +to admit of less variation.</p> + +<p>Double <i>t</i> is always pronounced as <i>d</i>; as liddle for little, &c., and +the <i>th</i> is invariably <i>d</i>; thus the becomes <i>de</i>; and these, them, +theirs—dese, dem, deres.</p> + +<p><i>d</i> in its turn is occasionally changed into <i>th</i>; as in fother for +fodder.</p> + +<p>The final <i>sp</i> in such words as wasp, clasp, and hasp are reversed to +wapse, clapse and hapse.</p> + +<p>Words ending in <i>st</i> have the addition of a syllable in the possessive +case and the plural, and instead of saying that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> "some little birds had +built their nests near the posts of Mr. West's gate," a Sussex boy would +say, "the birds had built their nestes near the postes of Mr. Westes' +gate."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">EAST AND WEST</div> + +<p>Roughly speaking, Sussex has little or no dialect absolutely its own; +for the country speech of the west is practically that also of +Hampshire, and of the east, that of Kent. The dividing line between east +and west, Mr. Cripps of Steyning tells me, is the Adur, once an estuary +of the sea rather than the stream it now is, running far inland and +separating the two Sussexes with its estranging wave.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parish's pages supply the following words and examples of their use, +chosen almost at random:—</p> + +<p>Adone (Have done, Leave off): I am told on good authority that when a +Sussex damsel says, "Oh! do adone," she means you to go on; but when she +says, "Adone-do," you must leave off immediately.</p> + +<p>Crownation (Coronation): "I was married the day the Crownation was, when +there was a bullock roasted whole up at Furrel [Firle] Park. I +dôân't know as ever I eat anything so purty in all my life; but I +never got no further than Furrel cross-ways all night, no more didn't a +good many."</p> + +<p>Dentical (Dainty): "My Master says that this here Prooshian (query +Persian) cat what you gave me is a deal too dentical for a poor man's +cat; he wants one as will catch the meece and keep herself."</p> + +<p>Dunnamany (I do not know how many): "There was a dunnamany people come +to see that gurt hog of mine when she was took bad, and they all guv it +in as she was took with the information. We did all as ever we could for +her. There was a bottle of stuff what I had from the doctor, time my leg +was so bad, and we took and mixed it in with some milk and give it to +her lew warm, but naun as we could give her didn't seem to do her any +good."</p> + +<p>Foreigner (A stranger; a person who comes from any other county but +Sussex): I have often heard it said of a woman in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> this village, who +comes from Lincolnshire, that "she has got such a good notion of work +that you'd never find out but what she was an Englishwoman, without you +was to hear her talk."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"FRENCHYS"</div> + +<p>Frenchy (A foreigner of any country who cannot speak English, the +nationality being added or not, as the case seems to require): thus an +old fisherman, giving an account of a Swedish vessel which was wrecked +on the coast a year or two ago, finished by saying that he thought the +French Frenchys, take 'em all in all, were better than the Swedish +Frenchys, for he could make out what they were driving at, but he was +all at sea with the others.</p> + +<p>Heart (Condition; said of ground): "I've got my garden into pretty good +heart at last, and if so be as there warn't quite so many sparrs and +greybirds and roberts and one thing and t'other, I dunno but what I +might get a tidy lot of sass. But there! 'taint no use what ye do as +long as there's so much varmint about."</p> + +<p>Hill (The Southdown country is always spoken of as "The Hill" by the +people in the Weald): "He's gone to the hill, harvesting."</p> + +<p>Ink-horn (Inkstand): "Fetch me down de inkhorn, mistus; I be g'wine to +putt my harnd to dis here partition to Parliament. 'Tis agin de Romans, +mistus; for if so be as de Romans gets de upper harnd an us, we shall be +burnded, and bloodshedded, and have our Bibles took away from us, and +dere'll be a hem set out."</p> + +<p>Justabout (Certainly, extremely): "I justabout did enjoy myself up at +the Cristial Palace on the Forresters' day, but there was a terr'ble +gurt crowd; I should think there must have been two or three hundred +people a-scrouging about."</p> + +<p>Know (Used as a substantive for knowledge): "Poor fellow, he has got no +know whatsumdever, but his sister's a nice knowledgeable girl."</p> + +<p>Lamentable (Very): This word seems to admit of three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> degrees of +comparison, which are indicated by the accentuation, thus:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">POSITIVE, COMPARATIVE, SUPERLATIVE</div> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>Positive</i>—Lamentable (as usually pronounced).<br /> +<i>Comparative</i>—Larmentable.<br /> +<i>Superlative</i>—Larmentââble.<br /></p></blockquote> + +<p>"'Master Chucks,' he says to me says he, ''tis larmentable purty +weather, Master Crockham.' 'Larmentââble!' says I."</p> + +<p>Larder (Corruption of ladder): "Master's got a lodge down on the land +yonder, and as I was going across t'other day-morning to fetch a larder +we keeps there, a lawyer catched holt an me and scratched my face." +(Lawyer: A long bramble full of thorns, so called because, "When once +they gets a holt on ye, ye dôânt easy get shut of 'em.")</p> + +<p>Leetle (diminutive of little): "I never see one of these here gurt men +there's s'much talk about in the pêâpers, only once, and that was +up at Smiffle Show adunnamany years agoo. Prime minister, they told me +he was, up at Lunnon; a leetle, lear, miserable, skinny-looking chap as +ever I see [Disraeli, I imagine]. 'Why,' I says, 'we dôân't count +our minister to be much, but he's a deal primer-looking than what yourn +be.'"</p> + +<p>Loanst (A loan): "Will you lend mother the loanst of a little tea?"</p> + +<p>Master (Pronounced Mass). The distinctive title of a married labourer. A +single man will be called by his Christian name all his life long; but a +married man, young or old, is "Master" even to his most intimate friend +and fellow workmen, as long as he can earn his own livelihood; but as +soon as he becomes past work he turns into "the old gentleman," leaving +the bread-winner to rank as master of the household. "Master" is quite a +distinct title from "Mr." which is always pronounced Mus, thus: "Mus" +Smith is the employer. "Master" Smith is the man he employs. The old +custom of the wife speaking of her husband as her "master" still lingers +among elderly people; but both the word and the reasonableness of its +use are rapidly disappearing in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> present generation. It may be +mentioned here that they say in Sussex that the rosemary will never +blossom except where "the mistus" is master.</p> + +<p>May be and Mayhap (Perhaps). "May be you knows Mass Pilbeam? No! +dôân't ye? Well, he was a very sing'lar marn was Mass Pilbeam, a +very sing'lar marn! He says to he's mistus one day, he says, 'tis a long +time, says he, sence I've took a holiday—so cardenly, nex marnin' he +laid abed till purty nigh seven o'clock, and then he brackfustes, and +then he goos down to the shop and buys fower ounces of barca, and he +sets hisself down on the maxon, and there he set, and there he smoked +and smoked and smoked all the whole day long, for, says he, 'tis a long +time sence I've had a holiday! Ah, he was a very sing'lar marn—a very +sing'lar marn indeed."</p> + +<p>Queer (To puzzle): "It has queered me for a long time to find out who +that man is; and my mistus she's been quite in a quirk over it. He +dôânt seem to be quaint with nobody, and he dôânt seem to +have no business, and for all that he's always to and thro', to and +thro', for everlastin'."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"MUS REYNOLDS"</div> + +<p>Reynolds ("Mus Reynolds" is the name given to the fox): When I was first +told that "Muss Reynolds come along last night" he was spoken of so +intimately that I supposed he must be some old friend, and expressed a +hope that he had been hospitably received. "He helped hisself," was the +reply; and thereupon followed the explanation, illustrated by an +exhibition of mutilated poultry.</p> + +<p>Short (Tender): A rat-catcher once told me that he knew many people who +were in the habit of eating barn-fed rats, and he added, "When they're +in a pudding you could not tell them from a chick, they eat so short and +purty."</p> + +<p>Shruck (Shrieked): An old woman who was accidentally locked up in a +church where she was slumbering in a high pew, said, "I shruck till I +could shruck no longer, but no one comed, so I up and tolled upon the +bell."</p> + +<p>Spannel (To make dirty foot-marks about a floor, as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> spaniel dog +does): "I goos into the kitchen and I says to my mistus, I says ('twas +of a Saddaday), 'the old sow's hem ornary,' I says. 'Well,' says she, +'there ain't no call for you to come spanneling about my clean kitchen +any more for that,' she says; so I goos out and didn't say naun, for you +can't never make no sense of women-folks of a Saddaday."</p> + +<p>Surelye: There are few words more frequently used by Sussex people than +this. It has no special meaning of its own, but it is added at the end +of any sentence to which particular emphasis is required to be given.</p> + +<p>Tedious (Excessive; very): "I never did see such tedious bad stuff in +all my life." Mr. Parish might here be supplemented by the remark that +his definition explains the use of the word by old Walker, as related by +Nyren, when bowling to Lord Frederick Beauclerk, "Oh," he said, "that +was tedious near you, my lord."</p> + +<p>Unaccountable: A very favourite adjective which does duty on all +occasions in Sussex. A countryman will scarcely speak three sentences +without dragging in this word. A friend of mine who had been +remonstrating with one of his parishioners for abusing the parish clerk +beyond the bounds of neighbourly expression, received the following +answer:—"You be quite right, sir; you be quite right. I'd no ought to +have said what I did, but I dōānt mind telling you to your head +what I've said a many times behind your back.—We've got a good +shepherd, I says, an axcellent shepherd, but he's got an unaccountable +bad dog!"</p> + +<p>Valiant (Vaillant, French. Stout; well-built): "What did you think of my +friend who preached last Sunday, Master Piper?" "Ha! he was a valiant +man; he just did stand over the pulpit! Why you bēānt nothing at +all to him! See what a noble paunch he had!"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">"PAUL PODGAM"</div> + +<p>Yarbs (Herbs): An old man in East Sussex said that many people set much +store by the doctors, but for his part, he was one for the yarbs, and +Paul Podgam was what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> went by. It was not for some time that it was +discovered that by Paul Podgam he meant the polypodium fern.</p> + +<p>Such are some of the pleasant passages in Mr. Parish's book. In Mr. +Coker Egerton's <i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i> is an amusing example of +gender in Sussex. The sun, by the way, is always she or her to the +Sussex peasant, as to the German savant; but it is not the only +unexpected feminine in the county. Mr. Egerton gives a conversation in a +village school, in which the master bids Tommy blow his nose. A little +later he returns, and asks Tommy why he has not done so. "Please, sir, I +did blow her, but her wouldn't bide blowed."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SHEPHERD'S PERILS</div> + +<p>In the foregoing examples Mr. Parish has perhaps made the Sussex +labourer a thought too epigrammatic: a natural tendency in the +illustrations to such a work. The following narrative of adventure from +the lips of a South Down shepherd, which is communicated to me by my +friend, Mr. C. E. Clayton, of Holmbush, is nearer the normal loquacity +of the type:—"I mind one day I'd been to buy some lambs, and coming +home in the dark over the bostal, I gets to a field, and I knows there +was a gēāt, and I kep' beating the hedge with my stick to find the +gēāt, and at last I found 'en, and I goos to get over 'en, and +'twas one of these here gurt ponds full of foul water I'd mistook for +the gēāt, and so in I went, all over my head, and I tumbles out +again middlin' sharp, and I slips, 'cause 'twas so slubby, and in I goos +again, and I do think I should ha' been drownded if it warn't for my +stick, and I was that froughtened, and there were some bullocks close +by, and I froughtened them splashing about and they began to run round, +and that froughtened me; and there—well, I was all wet through and +grabby, and when I got home I looked like one of these here water-cress +men. But I kep' my pipe in my mouth all the time. I didn't lose 'en."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX WORDS IN AMERICA</div> + +<p>The late Mr. F. E. Sawyer, another student of Sussex dialect, has +remarked on the similarity between Sussex provincialisms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span> and many words +which we are accustomed to think peculiarly American. One cause may be +the two hundred Sussex colonists taken over by William Penn, who, as we +have seen, was at one time Squire of Warminghurst. "In recent years we +have gathered from the works of American comic writers and others many +words which at first have been termed 'vulgar Americanisms,' but which, +on closer examination, have proved to be good old Anglo-Saxon and other +terms which had dropped out of notice amongst us, but were retained in +the <i>New</i> World! Take, for instance, two 'Southern words,' (probably +Sussex) quoted by Ray (1674). <i>Squirm</i>:—Artemus Ward describes 'Brother +Uriah,' of 'the Shakers,' as '<i>squirming</i> liked a speared eel,' and, +curiously enough, Ray gives 'To <i>squirm</i>, to move nimbly about after the +manner of an eel. It is spoken of eel.' Another word is 'sass' (for +sauce), also quoted by Artemus Ward.... Mrs. Phœbe Earl Gibbons (an +American lady), in a clever and instructive article in <i>Harper's +Magazine</i> on 'English Farmers' (but, in fact, describing the +agriculture, &c., of Sussex in a very interesting way), considers that +the peculiarities of the present Sussex dialect resemble those of New +England more than of Pennsylvania. She mentions as Sussex phrases used +in New England—'You hadn't ought to do it,' and 'You shouldn't ought'; +'Be you'? for 'Are you'? 'I see him,' for 'I saw.' 'You have a <i>crock</i> +on your nose,' for a smut; <i>nuther</i> for neither; <i>pâssel</i> for parcel, +and a <i>pucker</i> for a fuss. In addition she observes that Sussex people +speak of 'the <i>fall</i>' for autumn and 'guess' and 'reckon' like genuine +Yankees." So far Mr. Sawyer. Sussex people also, I might add, +"disremember," as Huck Finn used to do.</p> + +<p>I should like to close the list of examples of Sussex speech by quoting +a few verses from the Sussex version of the "Song of Solomon," which Mr. +Lower prepared for Prince Lucien Buonaparte some forty years ago. The +experiment was extended to other southern and western dialects, the +collection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> making a little book of curious charm and homeliness. Here +is the fourth chapter:—</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE SONG OF SOLOMON</div> + +<blockquote><p class="center"><br /><br /><br />IV</p> + +<p>1. Lookee, you be purty, my love, lookee, you be purty. You've got +dove's eyes adin yer locks; yer hair is like a flock of goäts dat +appear from Mount Gilead.</p> + +<p>2. Yer teeth be lik a flock of ship just shared, dat come up from +de ship-wash; every one of em bears tweens, an nare a one among em +is barren.</p> + +<p>3. Yer lips be lik a thread of scarlet, an yer speech is comely; +yer temples be lik a bit of a pomgranate adin yer locks.</p> + +<p>4. Yer nick is lik de tower of Daöved, built for an armoury, what +dey heng a thousan bucklers on, all shields of mighty men.</p> + +<p>5. Yer two brestès be lik two young roes, what be tweens, dat feed +among de lilies.</p> + +<p>6. Till de dee break, an der shadders goo away, I'll git me to de +mountain of myrrh, and to de hill of frankincense.</p> + +<p>7. You be hem purty, my love; der aünt a spot in ye.</p> + +<p>8. Come along wud me from Lebanon, my spouse, wud me from Lebanon: +look from de top of Amana, from de top of Shenir an Hermon, from de +lions' dens, from de mountain of de leopards.</p> + +<p>9. Ye've stole away my heart, my sister, my spouse. Ye've stole +away my heart wud one of yer eyes, wud one chain of yer nick.</p> + +<p>10. How fair is yer love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is +yer love dan wine! an de smell of yer ïntments dan all spices.</p> + +<p>11. Yer lips, O my spouse, drap lik de honeycomb; dere's honey an +melk under yer tongue; an de smell of yer garments is lik de smell of Lebanon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span>12. A fenced garn is my sister, my spouse, a spring shet up, a +fountain seäled.</p> + +<p>13. Yer plants be an archard of pomegranates wud pleasant fruits, +camphire an spikenard.</p> + +<p>14. Spikenard an saffron, calamus an cinnamon, wud all trees of +frankincense, myrrh, an allers, wud all de best of spices.</p> + +<p>15. A fountain of garns, a well of livin waters, an straims from +Lebanon.</p> + +<p>16. Wake, O north win, an come, ye south; blow upon my garn, dat de +spices of it may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garn, an +ait his pleasant fruits.</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/page416.png" width='700' height='401' alt="end illstration" /></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII</h2> + +<h3>BEING A POSTSCRIPT TO THE SECOND EDITION.</h3> + +<p>It almost necessarily follows that in a book such as this, which in +brief compass attempts to take some account of every interesting or +charming spot in a large tract of country, there must be certain +omissions. To the stranger the survey may seem adequate; but it is a +hundred to one that a reader whose home is in Sussex will detect a +flippancy or a want of true insight in the treatment of his own village. +Nor (rightly) does he sit silent under the conviction.</p> + +<p>I find that, with the keenest desire to be just in criticism, I have +been unfair to several villages. I have been unfair, for example, to +Burpham, which lies between Arundel and Amberley and of which nothing is +said; and more than one reader has discovered unfairness to East Sussex. +For this the personal equation is perhaps responsible: a West Sussex +man, try as he will, cannot have the same enthusiasm for the other side +of his county as for his own. For me the sun has always seemed to rise +over Beachy Head, the most easterly of our Downs.</p> + +<p>The call for a second edition has however enabled me to set right a few +errors in the body of the book, and in this additional chapter to +amplify and fortify here and there. The result must necessarily be +disconnected; but a glance at the index will point the way to what is new.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span>Concerning Aldworth in Tennyson's poetry (see <a href="#Page_12">page 12</a>), there is the +exquisite stanza to General Hamley:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"You came, and looked, and loved the view</div> +<div class="i1">Long known and loved by me,</div> +<div>Green Sussex fading into blue</div> +<div class="i1">With one gray glimpse of sea."</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"Green Sussex fading into blue"—it is the motto for every Down summit, +South or North.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SHELLEY AND TRELAWNY</div> + +<p>With reference to Shelley and Sussex, my attention has been drawn to an +interesting account of Field Place by Mr. Hale White, the author of the +Mark Rutherford novels, in an old <i>Macmillan's Magazine</i>. Says Mr. +White, "Denne Park [at Horsham] might easily have suggested—more easily +perhaps than any part of the country near Field Place—the well-known +semi-chorus in the <i>Prometheus</i> which begins</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>'The path through which that lovely twain</div> +<div>Have passed, by cedar, pine, and yew,</div> +<div>And each dark tree that ever grew</div> +<div>Is curtained out from heaven's wide blue.'</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The <i>Prometheus</i>, however, was written when Horsham was well-nigh +forgotten"—by its author.</p> + +<p>Owing to a curious lapse of memory, I omitted to say that Sompting, near +Worthing, should be famous as the home of Edward John Trelawny, author +of <i>The Adventures of a Younger Son</i>, and the friend of Shelley and +Byron. In his Sompting garden, in his old age, Trelawny grew figs, +equal, he said, to those of his dear Italy, and lived again his +vigorous, picturesque, notable life. Sussex thus owns not only the poet +of "Adonais," but the friend who rescued his heart from the flames that +consumed his body on the shores of the Gulf, and bearing it to Rome +placed over its resting place in the Protestant cemetery the words from +the <i>Tempest</i> (his own happy choice):—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Nothing of him that doth fade,</div> +<div>But doth suffer a sea-change</div> +<div>Into something rich and strange."</div> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span>The old man, powerful and capricious to the last, died at Sompting in +1881, within a year of ninety. His body was removed to Gotha for +cremation, and his ashes lie beside Shelley's heart in Rome.</p> + +<p>Among the wise men of Lewes I ought not to have overlooked William +Durrant Cooper (1812-1875), a shrewd Sussex enthusiast and antiquary, +who as long ago as 1836 printed at his own cost a little glossary of the +county's provincialisms. The book, publicly printed in 1853, was, of +course, superseded by Mr. Parish's admirable collection, but Mr. Cooper +showed the way. One of his examples of the use of the West Sussex +pronoun <i>en</i>, <i>un</i>, or <i>um</i> might be noted, especially as it involves +another quaint confusion of sex. <i>En</i> and <i>un</i> stand for him, her or it; +<i>um</i> for them. Thus, "a blackbird flew up and her killed 'n"; that is to +say, he killed it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE ANGEL'S FAN</div> + +<p>Among the Harleian MSS. at the British Museum is the account of a +supernatural visitation to Rye in 1607. The visitants were angels, their +fortunate entertainer being a married woman. She, however, by a lapse in +good breeding, undid whatever good was intended for her. "And after that +appeared unto her 2 angells in her chamber, and one of them having a +white fan in her hand did let the same fall; and she stooping to take it +upp, the angell gave her a box on the eare, rebukinge her that she a +mortall creature should presume to handle matters appertayninge to +heavenlie creatures."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ROBERTSON OF BRIGHTON</div> + +<p>It was an error to omit from <a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII</a> all reference to Frederick +William Robertson—Robertson of Brighton—who from 1847 until 1853 +exerted his extraordinary influence from the pulpit of Trinity Chapel, +opposite the post-office, and from his home at 9, Montpellier Terrace.</p> + +<p>Of Robertson's quickening religion I need not speak; but it is +interesting to know that much of his magnetic eloquence was the result +of the meditations which he indulged in his long and feverish rambles +over the Downs. His favourite walk was to the Dyke (before exploitation +had come upon it), and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> loved also the hills above Rottingdean. +Robertson, says Arnold's memoir, "would walk any man 'off his legs,' as +the saying goes. He not only walked; he ran, he leaped, he bounded. He +walked as fast and as incessantly as Charles Dickens, and, like Dickens, +his mind was in a state of incessant activity all the time. There was +not a bird of the air or a flower by the wayside that was not known to +him. His knowledge of birds would have matched that of the collector of +the Natural History Museum in his favourite Dyke Road."</p> + +<p>Robertson often journeyed into Sussex on little preaching or lecturing +missions (he found the auditors of Hurstpierpoint "very bucolic"), and +his family were fond of the retirement of Lindfield. On one occasion +Robertson brought them back himself, writing afterwards to a friend that +in that village he "strongly felt the beauty and power of English +country scenery and life to calm, if not to purify, the hearts of those +whose lives are habitually subjected to such influences."</p> + +<p>Mr. Arnold's book, I might add, has some pleasant pages about Sussex and +Brighton in Robertson's day, with glimpses of Lady Byron, his ardent +devotee, and, at Old Shoreham, of Canon Mozley.</p> + +<p>And here I might mention that for a very charming account of a still +earlier Brighton, though not the earliest, the reader should go to a +little story called <i>Round About a Brighton Coach Office</i>, which was +published a few years ago. It has a very fragrant old-world flavour.</p> + +<p>To Chichester, I should have recorded, belongs a Sussex saint, Saint +Richard, Bishop of Chichester in the thirteenth century, and a great +man. In 1245 he found the Sussex see an Augæan stable; but he was equal +to the labour of cleansing it. He deprived the corrupt clergy of their +benefices with an unhesitating hand, and upon their successors and those +that remained he imposed laws of comeliness and simplicity. His reforms +were many and various: he restored hospitality to its high place among +the duties of rectors; he punished <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span>absentees; he excommunicated +usurers; while (a revolutionist indeed!) priests who spoke indistinctly +or at too great a pace were suspended. Also, I doubt not, he was hostile +to locked churches. Furthermore, he advocated the Crusades like another +Peter the Hermit.</p> + +<p>Richard's own life was exquisitely thoughtful and simple. An anecdote of +his brother, who assisted him in the practical administration of the +diocese, helps us to this side of his character. "You give away more +than your income," remarked this almoner-brother one day. "Then sell my +silver," said Richard, "it will never do for me to drink out of silver +cups while our Lord is suffering in His poor. Our father drank heartily +out of common crockery, and so can I. Sell the plate."</p> + +<p>Richard penetrated on foot to the uttermost corners of his diocese to +see that all was well. He took no holiday, but would often stay for a +while at Tarring, near Worthing, with Simon, the parish priest and his +great friend. Tradition would have Richard the planter of the first of +the Tarring figs, and indeed, to my mind, he is more welcome to that +honour than Saint Thomas à Becket, who competes for the credit—being +more a Sussex man. In his will Richard left to Sir Simon de Terring +(sometimes misprinted Ferring) his best palfrey and a commentary on the +Psalms.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">SAINT RICHARD</div> + +<p>The Bishop died in 1253 and he was at once canonised. To visit his grave +in the nave of Chichester Cathedral (it is now in the south transept) +was a sure means to recovery from illness, and it quickly became a place +of pilgrimage. April 3 was set apart in the calendar as Richard's day, +and very pleasant must have been the observance in the Chichester +streets. In 1297 we find Edward I. giving Lovel the harper 6<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> +for singing the Saint's praises; but Henry VIII. was to change all this. +On December 14th, 1538, it being, I imagine, a fine day, the Defender of +the Faith signed a paper ordering Sir William Goring and William Ernely, +his Commissioners, to repair to Chichester Cathedral and remove "the +bones, shrine, &c., of a certain Bishop —— <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> which they call S. +Richard," to the Tower of London. That the Commissioners did their work +we know from their account for the same, which came to <i>£</i>40. In the +reformed prayer-book, however, Richard's name has been allowed to stand +among the black letter saints.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BISHOP WILBERFORCE</div> + +<p>Under Chichester I ought also to have mentioned John William Burgon +(1813-1888), Dean of Chichester for the last twelve years of his life +and the author of that admirable collection of half-length +appreciations, <i>The Lives of Twelve Good Men</i>, one of whom, Bishop +Wilberforce, lived within call at Woollavington, under the shaggy +escarpment of the Downs some ten miles to the north-east. Dean Burgon +thus happily touches off the Bishop in his South Down retreat:—</p> + +<p>... "But it was on the charms of the pleasant landscape which surrounded +his Sussex home that he chiefly expatiated on such occasions, leaning +rather heavily on some trusty arm—(I remember how he leaned on +<i>mine</i>!)—while he tapped with his stick the bole of every favourite +tree which came in his way (by-the-by, <i>every</i> tree seemed a favourite), +and had something to tell of its history and surpassing merits. Every +farm-house, every peep at the distant landscape, every turn in the road, +suggested some pleasant remark or playful anecdote. He had a word for +every man, woman, and child he met,—for he knew them all. The very +cattle were greeted as old acquaintances. And how he did delight in +discussing the flora of the neighbourhood, the geological formations, +every aspect of the natural history of the place!"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BURPHAM AND HARDHAM</div> + +<p>A very properly indignant friend has reminded me of the claims of +Burpham in the following words. "Two miles up the Arun valley from +Arundel is Burpham, a pretty village on the west edge of the Downs and +overhanging the river. Between South Stoke and Arundel the old course of +the Arun runs in wide curves, and in modern times a straight new bed has +been cut, under Arundel Park and past the Black Rabbit, making, with the +old curves, the form of the letter B. Burpham lies at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> the head of the +lower loop of the B, and while there is plenty of water in the loop to +row up with the flood tide and down with the ebb, the straight main +stream diverts nearly all the holiday traffic and leaves Burpham the +most peaceful village within fifty miles of London. The seclusion is the +more complete because the roads from the South end in the village and +there is no approach by road from East or West or North. The Church +contains a Lepers' window, and passengers by the railway can see, to the +right of the red roofs of the village and over the line of low chalk +cliffs, a white path still called the Lepers' Path, which winds away in +to the lonely hollows of the Downs.</p> + +<p>"A curious feature of Burpham is a high rampart of earth, running +eastward from the cliff by the river, which according to local tradition +was constructed in the days of the Danish pirates. It is said to be +doubtful whether the rampart was erected by the Saxon villagers for +their own protection, or by the Danes as their first stronghold on the +rising ground after they had sailed up the Arun from Littlehampton. The +fine name of the neighbouring Warningcamp Hill, from which there is a +great outlook over the flat country past Arundel Castle to Chichester +Cathedral and the cliffs of the Isle of Wight, suggests memories of the +same period."</p> + +<p>Of the little retiring church of St. Botolph, Hardham, lying among low +meadows between Burpham and Pulborough, I ought also to have spoken, for +it contains perhaps the earliest complete series of mural painting in +England. The church dates from the eleventh century, and the paintings, +says Mr. Philip Mainwaring Johnson, who has studied them with the +greatest care, cannot be much less old. The subjects are the +Annunciation, the Nativity, the appearance of the Star, the Magi +presenting their Gifts, and so forth, with one or two less familiar +themes added, such as Herod conferring with his Counsellors and the +Torments of Hell. There are the remains also of a series of Moralities +drawn from the parable of Dives<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> and Lazarus, and of a series +illustrating the life of St. George. The little church, which perhaps +has every right to call itself the oldest picture gallery in England, +should not be missed by any visitor to Pulborough.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">THE TIPTEERS</div> + +<p>At West Wittering in the Manhood Peninsula, a little village on which +the sea has hostile designs, is still performed at Christmas a +time-honoured play the actors of which are half a dozen boys or men +known as the Tipteers. Their words are not written, but are transmitted +orally from one generation of players to another. Mr. J. I. C. Boger, +however, has taken them down for the S. A. C. The subject once again, as +in some of the Hardham mural paintings, is the life of St. George, here +called King George; and the play has the same relation to drama that the +Hardham frescoes have to a picture. I quote a little:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Third Man—Noble Captain:</i></div> +<div class="i3">In comes I, the Noble Captain,</div> +<div class="i3">Just lately come from France;</div> +<div class="i3">With my broad sword and jolly Turk [dirk]</div> +<div class="i3">I will make King George dance.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Fourth Man—King George</i> [<i>i.e.</i>, Saint George]:</div> +<div class="i3">In comes I, King George,</div> +<div class="i3">That man of courage bold,</div> +<div class="i3">With my broad sword and sphere [spear]</div> +<div class="i3">I have won ten tons of gold.</div> +<div class="i3">I fought the fiery Dragon</div> +<div class="i3">And brought it to great slaughter,</div> +<div class="i3">And by that means I wish to win</div> +<div class="i3">The King of Egypt's daughter.</div> +<div class="i3">Neither unto thee will I bow nor bend.</div> +<div class="i3">Stand off! stand off!</div> +<div class="i3">I will not take you to be my friend.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Noble Captain:</i></div> +<div class="i3">Why, sir, why, have I done you any kind of wrong?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>King George:</i></div> +<div class="i3">Yes, you saucy man, so get you gone.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Noble Captain:</i></div> +<div class="i3">You saucy man, you draw my name,</div> +<div class="i3">You ought to be stabb'd, you saucy man.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span><i>King George:</i></div> +<div class="i3">Stab or stabs, the least is my fear;</div> +<div class="i3">Point me the place</div> +<div class="i3">And I will meet you there.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>Noble Captain:</i></div> +<div class="i3">The place I 'point is on the ground</div> +<div class="i3">And there I will lay your body down</div> +<div class="i3">Across the water at the hour of five.</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div><i>King George:</i></div> +<div class="i3">Done, sir, done! I will meet you there,</div> +<div class="i3">If I am alive I will cut you, I will slay you,</div> +<div class="i3">All for to let you know that I am King George over Great Britain O!</div> +<div class="i3">[<span class="smcap">Fight</span>: <i>King George wounds the Noble Captain.</i>]</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Until the close is almost reached the West Wittering Tipteers preserve +the illusion of mediæval mummery. But the concluding song transports us +to the sentiment of the modern music hall. Its chorus runs, with some +callousness:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"We never miss a mother till she's gone,</div> +<div>Her portrait's all we have to gaze upon,</div> +<div class="i2">We can fancy see her there,</div> +<div class="i2">Sitting in an old armchair;</div> +<div>We never miss a mother till she's gone."</div> +</div></div> + +<div class="sidenote">GRANDMOTHER FOWINGTON</div> + +<div class="sidenote">THE PHARISEES</div> + +<p>Mark Antony Lower's <i>Contributions to Literature</i>, 1845, contains a +pleasant essay on the South Downs which I overlooked when I was writing +this book, but from which I now gladly take a few passages. It gives me, +for example, a pendent to William Blake's description of a fairy's +funeral on <a href="#Page_64">page 64</a>, in the shape of a description of a fairy's revenge, +from the lips of Master Fowington, a friend of Mr. Lower, who was one +that believed in Pharisees (as Sussex calls fairies) as readily and +unreservedly as we believe in wireless telegraphy. Mas' Fowington had, +indeed, two very good reasons for his credulity. One was that the +Pharisees are mentioned in the Bible and therefore must exist; the other +was that his grandmother, "who was a very truthful woman," had seen them +with her own eyes "time and often." "They was liddle folks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> not more +than a foot high, and used to be uncommon fond of dancing. They jound<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> +hands and formed a circle, and danced upon it till the grass came three +times as green there as it was anywhere else. That's how these here +rings come upon the hills. Leastways so they say; but I don't know +nothing about it, in tye,<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> for I never seen none an 'em; though to be +sure it's very hard to say how them rings do come, if it is'nt the +Pharisees that makes 'em. Besides there's our old song that we always +sing at harvest supper, where it comes in—'We'll drink and dance like +Pharisees.' Now I should like to know why it's put like that 'ere in the +song, if it a'nt true."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">MAS' MEPPOM'S ADVENTURE</div> + +<p>Master Fowington's story of the fairy's revenge runs thus:—</p> + +<p>"An ol' brother of my wife's gurt gran'mother <i>see</i> some Pharisees once, +and 'twould a been a power better if so be he hadn't never seen 'em, or +leastways never offended 'em. I'll tell ye how it happened. Jeems +Meppom—dat was his naüm—Jeems was a liddle farmer, and used to thresh +his own corn. His barn stood in a very <i>elenge</i> lonesome place, a +goodish bit from de house, and de Pharisees used to come dere a nights +and thresh out some wheat and wuts for him, so dat de hep o' threshed +corn was ginnerly bigger in de morning dan what he left it overnight. +Well, ye see, Mas' Meppom thought dis a liddle odd, and didn't know +rightly what to make ant. So bein' an out-and-out bold chep, dat didn't +fear man nor devil, as de saying is, he made up his mind dat he'd goo +over some night to see how 'twas managed. Well accordingly he went out +rather airly in de evenin', and laid up behind de mow, for a long while, +till he got rather tired and sleepy, and thought 'twaunt no use a +watchin' no longer. It was gittin' pretty handy to midnight, and he +thought how he'd goo home to bed. But jest as he was upon de move he +heerd a odd sort of a soun' comin' tóe-ards the barn, and so he stopped +to see what it was. He looked out of de strah, and what should he catch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> +sight an but a couple of liddle cheps about eighteen inches high or +dereaway come into de barn without uppening the doores. Dey pulled off +dere jackets and begun to thresh wud two liddle frails as dey had brung +wud em at de hem of a rate. Mas' Meppom would a been froughten if dey +had been bigger, but as dey was such tedious liddle fellers, he couldn't +hardly help bustin right out a laffin'. Howsonever he pushed a hanful of +strah into his mouth and so managed to kip quiet a few minutes a lookin' +at um—thump, thump; thump, thump, as riglar as a clock.</p> + +<p>"At last dey got rather tired and left off to rest derselves, and one an +um said in a liddle squeakin' voice, as it might a bin a mouse a +talkin':—'I say Puck, I tweat; do you tweat?' At dat Jeems couldn't +contain hisself no how, but set up a loud haw-haw; and jumpin' up from +de strah hollered out, 'I'll tweat ye, ye liddle rascals; what bisness a +you got in my barn?' Well upon dis, de Pharisees picked up der frails +and cut away right by him, and as dey passed by him he felt sich a queer +pain in de head as if somebody had gi'en him a lamentable hard thump wud +a hammer, dat knocked him down as flat as a flounder. How long he laid +dere he never rightly knowed, but it must a bin a goodish bit, for when +he come to 'twas gittin' dee-light. He could'nt hardly contrive to +doddle home, and when he did he looked so tedious bad dat his wife sent +for de doctor dirackly. But bless ye, <i>dat</i> waunt no use; and old Jeems +Meppom knowed it well enough. De doctor told him to kip up his sperits, +beein' 'twas onny a fit he had had from bein' a most smothered wud de +handful of strah and kippin his laugh down. But Jeems knowed better. +'Tā-ünt no use, sir,' he says, says he, to de doctor; 'de cuss of de +Pharisees is uppán me, and all de stuff in your shop can't do <i>me</i> no +good.' And Mas' Meppom was right, for about a year ahtawuds he died, +poor man! sorry enough dat he'd ever intafēred wud things dat didn't +consarn him. Poor ol' feller, he lays buried in de church-aird over +yender—leastways so I've heerd my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> wife's mother say, under de bank +jest where de bed of snow-draps grows."</p> + +<div class="sidenote">FAIRY RINGS AND DEW PONDS</div> + +<p>All who know the Downs must know the fairies' or Pharisees' rings, into +which one so often steps. Science gives them a fungoid origin, but +Shakespeare, as well as Master Fowington's grandmother, knew that Oberon +and Titania's little people alone had the secret. Further proof is to be +found in the testimony of John Aubrey, the Wiltshire antiquary, who +records that Mr. Hart, curate at Yatton Keynel in 1633-4, coming home +over the Downs one night witnessed with his own eyes an "innumerable +quantitie of pigmies" dancing round and round and singing, "making all +manner of small, odd noises."</p> + +<p>A word ought to have been said of the quiet and unexpected dew-ponds of +the Downs, upon which one comes so often and always with a little +surprise. Perfect rounds they are, reflecting the sky they are so near +like circular mirrors set in a white frame. Gilbert White, who was +interested in all interesting things, mentions the unfailing character +of a little pond near Selborne, which "though never above three feet +deep in the middle, and not more than thirty feet in diameter, ... yet +affords drink for three hundred or four hundred sheep, and for at least +twenty head of cattle beside." He then asks, having noticed that in May, +1775, when the ponds of the valley were dry, the ponds of the hills were +still "little affected," "have not these elevated pools some unnoticed +recruits, which in the night-time counterbalance the waste of the day?" +The answer, which White supplies, is that the hill pools are recruited +by dew. "Persons," he writes, "that are much abroad, and travel early +and late, such as shepherds, fishermen, &c., can tell what prodigious +fogs prevail in the night on elevated downs, even in the hottest part of +summer; and how much the surfaces of things are drenched by those +swimming vapours, though, to the senses, all the while, little moisture +seems to fall."</p> + +<p>Kingsley has a passage on the same subject in his essay,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> "The +Air-Mothers"—"For on the high chalk downs, you know, where farmers make +a sheep pond, they never, if they are wise, make it in the valley or on +a hillside, but on the bleakest top of the very highest down; and there, +if they can once get it filled with snow and rain in winter, the blessed +dews of night will keep some water in it all the summer thro', while +ponds below are utterly dried up." There is, however, another reason why +the highest points are chosen, and that is that the chalk here often has +a capping of red clay which holds the water.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">NICK COSSUM'S HUMOUR</div> + +<p>To the <a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">smuggling chapter</a> might have been added, again with Mr. Lower's +assistance, a few words on the difficulties that confronted the London +revenue officers in the Sussex humour. To be confounded by too swift a +horse or too agile a "runner" was all in the night's work; but to be +hoodwinked and bamboozled by the deliberate stealthy southern fun must +have been eternally galling. The Sussex joker grinds slowly and +exceeding small; but the flour is his. "There was Nick Cossum the +blacksmith [the words are a shepherd's, talking to Mr. Lower]; he was a +sad plague to them. Once he made an exciseman run several miles after +him, to take away a keg of <i>yeast</i> he was a-carrying to Ditchling! +Another time as he was a-going up New Bostall, an exciseman, who knew +him of old, saw him a-carrying a tub of hollands. So he says, says he, +'Master Cossum, I must have that tub of yours, I reckon!' 'Worse luck, I +suppose you must,' says Nick in a civil way, 'though it's rather again' +the grain to be robbed like this; but, however, I am a-going your road, +and we can walk together—there's no law again' that I expect.' 'Oh, +certainly not,' says the other, taking of the tub upon his shoulders. So +they chatted along quite friendly and <i>chucker</i><a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> like till they came +to a cross road, and Nick wished the exciseman good bye. After Nick had +got a little way, he turned round all of a sudden and called out: 'Oh, +there's one thing I forgot; here's a little bit o' paper that belongs to +the keg.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> +'Paper,' says the exciseman, 'why, that's a <i>permit</i>,' says he; 'why +didn't you show me that when I took the hollands?' 'Oh,' says Nick, as +saucy as Hinds, 'why, if I had done that,' says he, 'you wouldn't a +carried my tub for me all this way, would you?'"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ANOTHER PARISH CLERK</div> + +<p>The story, at the end of <a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX</a>, of the clerk in Old Shoreham +church, whose loyalty was too much for his ritualism, may be capped by +that of a South Down clerk in the east of the county, whose seat in +church commanded a view of the neighbourhood. During an afternoon +service one Sunday a violent gale was raging which had already unroofed +several barns. The time came, says Mr. Lower, for the psalm before the +sermon, and the clerk rose to announce it. "Let us sing to the praise +and glo—Please, sir, Mas' Cinderby's mill is blowed down!"</p> + +<div class="sidenote">ANOTHER MILLER</div> + +<p>Another word on Sussex millers. John Oliver, the Hervey of Highdown +Hill, had a companion in eccentricity in William Coombs of Newhaven, +who, although active as a miller to the end, was for many years a +stranger to the inside of his mill owing to a rash statement one night +that if what he asseverated was not true he would never enter his mill +again. It was not true and henceforward, until his death, he directed +his business from the top step—such is the Sussex tenacity of purpose.</p> + +<p>Coombs was married at West Dean, but not fortunately. On the way to the +church a voice from heaven called to him, "Will-yam Coombs! Will-yam +Coombs! if so be that you marry Mary —— you'll always be a miserable +man." Coombs, who had no false shame, often told the tale, adding, "And +I be a miserable man."</p> + +<p>Coombs' inseparable companion was a horse which bore him and his +merchandise to market. In order to vary the monotony of the animal's own +God-given hue, he used to paint it different colours, one day yellow and +the next pink, one day green and the next blue, and so on. But this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> +cannot have perplexed the horse so much as his master's idea of mercy; +for when its back was over-loaded, not only with sacks of flour, but +also with Coombs, that humanitarian, experiencing a pang of sympathy, +and exclaiming "The marciful man is marciful to his beast," would lift +one of the sacks on to his own shoulders. His marcy, however, did not +extend to dismounting. Our Sussex droll, Andrew Boorde, when he invented +the wisdom of Gotham, invented also the charity of Coombs. But the story +is true.</p> + +<p>Coombs must not be considered typical of Sussex. Nor can the tricyclist +of Chailey be called typical of Sussex—the weary man who was overtaken +by a correspondent of mine on the acclivity called the King's Head Hill, +toiling up its steepness on a very old-fashioned, solid-tyred tricycle. +He had the brake hard down, and when this was pointed out to him, he +replied shrewdly, "Eh master, but her might goo backards." Such +whimsical excess of caution, such thorough calculation of all the +chances, is not truly typical, nor is the miller's oddity truly typical; +and yet if one set forth to find humorous eccentricity, humorous +suspicion, and humorous cautiousness at their most flourishing, Sussex +is the county for the search.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">LONDON TO CHICHESTER</div> + +<p>It ought to be known that those Londoners who would care to reach Sussex +by Roman road have still Stane Street at their service. With a little +difficulty here and there, a little freedom with other people's land, +the walker is still able to travel from London to Chichester almost in a +bee-line, as the Romans used. Stane Street, which is a southern +continuation of Erming Street, pierced London's wall at Billingsgate, +and that would therefore be the best starting point. The modern +traveller would set forth down the Borough High Street (as the +Canterbury Pilgrims did), crossing the track of Watling Street near the +Elephant and Castle, and so on the present high road for several not too +interesting miles; along Newington Butts, and Kennington Park Road, up +Clapham<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> Rise and Balham Hill, and so on through Tooting, Morden, North +Cheam, and Ewell. So far all is simple and a little prosaic, but at +Epsom difficulties begin. The road from Epsom town to the racecourse +climbs to the east of the Durdans and strikes away south-west, on its +true course again, exactly at the inn. The point to make for, as +straight as may be (passing between Ashstead on the right and Langley +Bottom farm on the left), is the Thirty-acres Barn, right on the site. +Then direct to Leatherhead Down, through Birchgrove, over Mickleham +Down, and so to the high road again at Juniper Hall. Part of the track +on this high ground is still called Erming Street by the country folk; +part is known as Pebble Lane, where the old Roman road metal has come +through. The old street probably followed the present road fairly +closely, with a slight deviation near the Burford Bridge Inn, as far as +Boxhill Station, whence it took a bee-line to the high ground at +Minnickwood by Anstiebury, four miles distant, a little to the west of +Holmwood. This, if the line is to be followed, means some deliberate +trespassing and a scramble through Dorking churchyard, which is partly +on the site.</p> + +<p>Hitherto the Roman engineer has wavered now and then, but from +Minnickwood to Tolhurst Farm, fifteen miles to the south, the line is +absolute. Two miles below Ockley (where it is called Stone Street), at +Halehouse Farm, the road must be left again, but after three miles of +footpath, field, and wood we hit it once more just above Dedisham, on +the road between Guildford and Horsham, and keep it all the way to +Pulborough, through Billingshurst, thus named, as I have said, like +Billingsgate, after Belinus, Stane Street's engineer. At Pulborough we +must cut across country to the camp by Hardham, over water meadows that +are too often flooded, and thence, through other fields, arable and +pasture, to the hostel on Bignor Hill, which once was Stane Street; +passing on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> right Mr. Tupper's farm and the field which contains the +famous Bignor pavements, relic of the palatial residence of the Governor +of the Province of Regnum in the Romans' day; or better still, pausing +there, as Roman officers faring to Regnum certainly would in the hope of +a cup of Falernian.</p> + +<p>The track winding up Bignor Hill is still easily recognisable, and from +the summit half Sussex is visible: the flat blue weald in the north, +Blackdown's dark escarpment in the north-west, Arundel's shaggy wastes +in the east, the sea and the plain in the south, and the rolling turf of +the downs all around. Henceforward the road is again straight, nine +unfaltering miles to Chichester, which we enter by St. Pancras and East +Street. For the first four miles, however, the track is over turf and +among woods, Eartham Wood on the right and North Wood on the left, and, +after a very brief spell of hard road again, over the side of Halnaker +Down. But from Halnaker to Chichester it is turnpike once more, with the +savour of the Channel meeting one all the way, and Chichester's spire a +friendly beacon and earnest of the contiguous delights of the Dolphin, +where one may sup in an assembly room spacious enough to hold a Roman +century.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">BY ROMAN ROAD</div> + +<p>Or one might reverse the order and walk out of Sussex into London by the +Roman way, or, better still, through London, and on by Erming Street to +the wall of Antoninus. Merely to walk to London and there stop is +nothing; merely to walk from London is little; but to walk through +London ... there is glamour in that! To come bravely up from the sea at +Bosham, through Chichester, over the Downs to the sweet domestic +peaceful green weald, over the Downs again and plunge into the grey city +(perhaps at night) and out again on the other side into the green again, +and so to the north, <i>left-right</i>, <i>left-right</i>, just as the clanking +Romans did; that would be worth doing and worth feeling.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">JOHN HORNE</div> + +<p>The best knower of Sussex of recent times has died since<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> this book was +printed: one who knew her footpaths and spinneys, her hills and farms, +as a scholar knows his library. John Horne of Brighton was his name: a +tall, powerful man even in his old age—he was above eighty at his +death—with a wise, shrewd head stored with old Sussex memories: hunting +triumphs; the savour of long, solitary shooting days accompanied by a +muzzle-loader and single dog—such days as Knox describes in <a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V</a>; +historic cricket matches; stories of the Sussex oddities, the +long-headed country lawyers, the Quaker autocrats, the wild farmers, the +eccentric squires; characters of favourite horses and dogs (such was the +mobility of his countenance and his instinct for drama that he could +bring before you visibly any animal he described); early railway days +(he had ridden in the first train that ran between Brighton and +Southwick); fierce struggles over rights-of-way; reminiscences of old +Brighton before a hundredth part of its present streets were made; and +all the other body of curious lore for which one must go to those whose +minds dwell much in the past. Coming of Quaker stock, as he did, his +memory was good and well-ordered, and his observation quick and sound. +What he saw he saw, and he had the unusual gift of vivid precise +narrative and a choice of words that a literary man should envy.</p> + +<p>A favourite topic of conversation between us was the best foot route +between two given points—such as Steyning and Worthing, for example, or +Lewes and Shoreham. Seated in his little room, with its half-a-dozen +sporting prints on the wall and a scene or two of old Brighton, he +would, with infinite detail, removing all possibility of mistake, +describe the itinerary, weighing the merits of alternative paths with +profound solemnity, and proving the wisdom of every departure from the +more obvious track. Were Sussex obliterated by a tidal wave, and were a +new county to be constructed on the old lines, John Horne could have +done it.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">A SUSSEX ENTHUSIAST</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span>Of his talk I found it impossible to tire, and I shall never cease to +regret that circumstances latterly made visits to him very infrequent. +Towards the end his faculties now and then were a little dimmed; but the +occlusion carried compensation with it. To sit with an old man and, +being mistaken by him for one's own grandfather, to be addressed as +though half a century had rolled away, is an experience that I would not +miss.</p> + +<p>To the end John Horne dressed as the country gentlemen of his young days +had dressed; he might have stepped out of one of Alken's pictures, for +he possessed also the well nourished complexion, the full forehead, and +the slight fringe of whiskers which distinguished Alken's merry +sportsmen. His business taking him deep into the county among the farms, +he was always in walking trim, with an umbrella crooked over one arm, +his other hand grasping the obtuse-angled handle of a ground-ash stick. +These sticks, of which he had scores, he cut himself, his eye never +losing its vigilance as he passed through a copse. Under the handle, +about an inch from the end, he screwed a steel peg, so that the stick, +when it was not required, might hang upon his arm; while a long, stout +pin, with a flat brass head, was also inserted, in case his pipe needed +cleaning out. Thus furnished, with umbrella and stick, pipe and a sample +of his merchandise, John Horne, in his wide collar, his ample coat with +vast pockets over the hips, his tight trousers, and his early-Victorian +headgear, has been, these fifty years, a familiar figure in the Weald as +he passed from farm to farm at a steady gait, his interested glances +falling this way and that, noting every change (and perhaps a little +resenting it, for he was of the old Tory school), and his genial +salutation ready for all acquaintances. But he is now no more, and +Sussex is the poorer, and the historian of Sussex poorer still. I +believe he would have liked this book; but how he would have shaken his +wise head over its omissions!</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> This is the Sussex preterite of the verb "to join."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> <i>In tye</i>—not I.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> <i>Chucker</i>; in a cheerful, cordial manner.</p></div> +</div> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><img src="images/mapth.png" width='700' height='327' alt="map of sussex" /></p> + +<h4>MAP OF THE COUNTY OF SUSSEX</h4> + +<p class="center">CLICK <a href="images/map.png">HERE</a> FOR LARGER VERSION </p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</h2> + +<div class="index"> +<ul> + <li><b>A</b> + <ul> + <li>à Becket, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_156">156,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_238">238</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ainsworth, W. H., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_27">27</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Albourne, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Alciston, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_271">271</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Aldrington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_184">184</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Aldworth, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_418">418</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Alexander, Mr. W. C., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_308">308</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Alexander of Russia, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Alfriston, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_266">266,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Almshouses, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_38">38,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Amberley, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_26">26,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_84">84</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Amberstone, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Angels at Rye, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_419">419</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Angmering, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_83">83</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ann of Cleves, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Architecture, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_401">401</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ardingly, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_220">220</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Arundel, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_68">68</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ashburnham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_356">356</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ashdown Forest, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_301">301,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_402">402</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ashington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>B</b> + <ul> + <li>Balcombe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_221">221</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Barton, Bernard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Battle Abbey, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_7">7,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_348">348</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Battle of Lewes, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bayham Abbey, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_395">395</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Beachy Head, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_321">321</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Beddingham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Beer, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_152">152,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_257">257,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_383">383,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_400">400</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Beldham, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Belloc, Mr. Hilaire, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_72">72,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bells, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_216">216,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_368">368,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_399">399</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Berwick, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_271">271</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bevis of Southampton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_56">56,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_70">70</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bexhill, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_347">347</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bignor, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Big on Little," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Billingshurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Birling Gap, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_325">325</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bishopstone tide mills, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Black, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_173">173</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Blackdown, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Blake, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_64">64</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Blunt, Mr. W. S., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bodiam, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_378">378</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bognor, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_61">61</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bolney, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Book-borrowing, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_377">377</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Booth Museum, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_175">175</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Borde, Andrew, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_214">214,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_332">332</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Borrer, William, the botanist, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_133">133</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— —— the ornithologist, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_90">90,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_132">132,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_133">133,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_182">182,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bosham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_54">54</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bowls, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Boxgrove, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_41">41</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bramber, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_27">27,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_139">139</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Brambletye House, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bramston, James, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_106">106</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Brede, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Brightling, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_380">380</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Brighton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_81">81,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_160">160,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_419">419</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Brighton," a poem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Broadbridge, James, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_107">107</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Brown of Brighton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Browne, Sir Anthony, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Buckhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_400">400</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Buncton Chapel, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burgess, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_209">209</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burgon, Dean, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_422">422</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burne-Jones, Sir E., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burpham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_422">422</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burrell, Timothy, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_211">211</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burton, Dr., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burton Park, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_107">107</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burton, West, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_110">110</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burwash, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_278">278,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_382">382</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Burwash, Henry, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_386">386</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bury, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_111">111</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Bustards, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Butler, James, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Buxted, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Byron, Lord, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span><b>C</b> + <ul> + <li>Cade, Jack, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_309">309</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Camber Castle, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_360">360</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Canute, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Capel, Edward, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_342">342</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cary, C. F., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Caryll, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_17">17,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_20">20,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_28">28,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Lady Mary, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_17">17</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Catt, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Cenotaph of Lord Darnley," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chailey, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chanctonbury Ring, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_146">146</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Charles II., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_26">26,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_169">169</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Charlotte, Princess, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_61">61</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Charlton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_44">44</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chichester, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_33">33,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_420">420</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chiddingly, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_314">314</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chidham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_56">56</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chithurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Chowne, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_267">267</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Christ's Hospital, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_122">122</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Churches locked, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cissbury, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Clapham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_81">81</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Clayton, Mr. C. E., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_413">413</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Climping, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cobbett, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_15">15,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_101">101,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_175">175,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cobden, Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Coleridge, S. T., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Collins, Stanton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_12">12,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Coombs, Master, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_430">430</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cooper, W. D., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_419">419</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Copley, Anthony, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_6">6</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cotton, Reynell, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Covert Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cowdray, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_3">3,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_6">6,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_7">7</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cowfold, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cowper, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_42">42</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Crabbet, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_221">221</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Crane, Stephen, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Crawley, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_218">218</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cricket, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_74">74,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_81">81,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_103">103,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_132">132,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_165">165,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_235">235,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_268">268,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_384">384</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Crowborough, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_301">301</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Crowhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_357">357</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cuckfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_211">211,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cuckoo, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Culloden, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_371">371</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Cuthman, Saint, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_135">135</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>D</b> + <ul> + <li>Dacres, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_307">307,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_337">337</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dale Park House, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dalmon, Mr. C. W., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Danish vessel, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_379">379</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Danny, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Darby, Parson, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_323">323</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>D'Arcy, Penelope, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_87">87</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Death presages, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_305">305,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_326">326</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dedisham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Deer, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Defoe, Daniel, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_8">8,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_285">285</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>De Montfort, Simon, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_235">235,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Denis Duval," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_363">363</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Devil in Sussex, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_195">195,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Devil's Dyke, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_192">192</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Devonshire, Duke of, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_318">318,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_331">331</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>De Warenne, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_243">243</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dew ponds, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_428">428</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dialect, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_405">405</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Diaries, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_200">200,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_204">204,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_211">211,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_233">233,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_305">305,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_313">313,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_397">397</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dickens, Charles, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_171">171</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dinners, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_213">213</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ditchling, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_208">208</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Donkey race, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_385">385</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dorset, Sixth Earl of, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_398">398</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Mrs., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_110">110</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Parson, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_110">110</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Downs, The + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_2">2,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_23">23,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_258">258</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Drayton, Michael, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_124">124</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Drewitts, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_9">9</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Duckings," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_401">401</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dudeney, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Duelling, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_386">386</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Duncton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_107">107</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Dunstan, Saint, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_303">303</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>E</b> + <ul> + <li>Eartham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_42">42</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Easebourne, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Eastbourne, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_318">318</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>East Dean, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_325">325</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>East Grinstead, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>East Hoathly, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_312">312</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>East Mascalls, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_219">219</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Egerton, J. E. Coker, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_382">382</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Egremont, Earl of, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_32">32,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Eld, Lieut.-Col., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_169">169</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Electioneering, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_141">141,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_188">188,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_262">262</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Elizabeth, Queen, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_4">4,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_303">303,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_366">366,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_379">379,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_395">395</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ellman, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_282">282</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Elsted, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Epitaphs, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_82">82,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_103">103,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_107">107,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_111">111,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_134">134,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_169">169,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_188">188,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_198">198,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_219">219,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_245">245,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_249">249,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_250">250,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_285">285,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_294">294,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_304">304,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_312">312,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_333">333,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_344">344,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_371">371,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_398">398</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Eridge, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_393">393</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Etchingham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_387">387</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>F</b> + <ul> + <li>Fairies, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_245">245</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fairy rings, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_426">426,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_428">428</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Felpham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_62">62</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fernhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_10">10</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ferring, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Field Place, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_115">115</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fig gardens, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Figs, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Findon, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span>Fireworks, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_252">252</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Firle, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fishbourne, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_54">54</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fish culture, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fishermen, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_173">173</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fittleworth, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Flaxman, Anna, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fletching, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_235">235</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Folk-lore, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ford, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_77">77</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Forest Row, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_403">403</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fowington, Master, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_425">425</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Framfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_293">293</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Frewen Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_379">379</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Friston, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_326">326</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fulking, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_197">197</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Fuller, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_70">70,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_84">84,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_125">125,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_133">133,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_147">147,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_180">180,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_237">237,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_267">267,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_351">351,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_386">386</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Jack, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_380">380</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Furniture-hunters, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_143">143</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>G</b> + <ul> + <li>Gage Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gale, Leonard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Walter, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_305">305</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>George IV., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_67">67,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_162">162,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_164">164,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_170">170,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_240">240,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_383">383,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_387">387</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gibbets, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_209">209</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gibbon, Edward, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_235">235</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gilchrist, Alexander, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gipsy queen, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_195">195</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Glynde, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Godwin, Earl, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Goodwood, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_39">39,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gordon, Mr. H. D., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_17">17</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Goring, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_78">78</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Goring Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_146">146</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Graffham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gravetye, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Gunn, Martha, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_164">164</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>H</b> + <ul> + <li>Hailsham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Halland, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_313">313</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Halnaker, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hampnett, West, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hand Cross, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_218">218</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hanging in chains, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_9">9</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hangleton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_196">196</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hardham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_423">423</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hardham, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_30">30</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hare, Julius, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_336">336</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Harmer, Sylvan, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_308">308</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Harold, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_55">55,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_243">243,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_351">351</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hartfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_403">403</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Harting, South, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_16">16</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Harvest home, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_343">343</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hastings, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_340">340</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hawker, R. S., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hayward's Heath, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_211">211</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hay, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hayley, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_42">42,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_62">62</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hazlitt, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_100">100,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_168">168</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Headless Horseman, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_129">129</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Heathfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_296">296,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_307">307</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Heathfield, Lord, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_308">308</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Henfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_132">132</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Henley, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_9">9</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Henley, W. E., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_158">158,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Herons, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Heron's Ghyll, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_299">299</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hessel, Phoebe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_170">170</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hickstead Place, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Highdown Hill, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hitchener, Miss, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_116">116</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hogge, Ralph, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hole, Mr. W. G., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_25">25</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Holinshed, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_360">360</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hollington Rural, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_345">345</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Hollow Ways," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_278">278</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Horne, John, of Brighton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_434">434</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hops, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_293">293</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Horsfield, T. W., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_61">61,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_83">83,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_103">103,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_216">216,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_217">217,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_230">230,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_236">236,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_249">249,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_256">256,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_262">262,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_292">292,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_319">319,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_320">320,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_325">325,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_346">346</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Horsham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_6">6,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Stone, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_113">113</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Horsted Keynes, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hotham, Sir Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_61">61</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hotspur, Kate, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_13">13</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hove, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_184">184</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hubert of Bosham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hudson, Mr. W. H., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_33">33,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_181">181</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hurdis, Rev. James, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_263">263,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_385">385</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hurstmonceux, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_334">334</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hurstpierpoint, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Hutchinson, Mr. Horace, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_278">278,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_323">323</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>I</b> + <ul> + <li>Icklesham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_370">370</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Iden, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_372">372</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Iden, Alexander, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_309">309</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><i>Idlehurst</i>, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_220">220,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_241">241,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_384">384</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Iford, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ironworks, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_124">124,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_221">221,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_298">298,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Isfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_292">292</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>J</b> + <ul> + <li>Jackson, Cyril, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_67">67</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>James, Mr. Henry, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_369">369</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Jeakes, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_366">366</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Jefferays, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_315">315</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Jefferies, Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_78">78,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_174">174,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_302">302,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_321">321,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_324">324,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_382">382,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_401">401</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Jennings, Louis, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_137">137</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Johnson, Dr., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_8">8,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_171">171,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_46">46</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Juxon, Archbishop, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_30">30,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span><b>K</b> + <ul> + <li>Kimber, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Kingly Bottom, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Kingsley, Charles, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_428">428</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Kipling, Mr., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_2">2,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Kirdford, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Knepp, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Knox, A. E., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_14">14,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_48">48,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_59">59,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_88">88,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_102">102,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_107">107,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_182">182,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>L</b> + <ul> + <li>Lade, Sir John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_387">387</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lamb, Charles, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_124">124,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_345">345</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lamberhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_396">396</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lambert, Mr. Clem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_256">256</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lang, Mr. Andrew, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_225">225</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>La Thangue, Mr. H. H., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Laughton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_314">314</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lavington, West, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Leonardslee, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_124">124</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Leslie, C. R., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_32">32,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Letter-writing, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_321">321</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lewes, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_239">239,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_351">351</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lillywhite, F. W., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_40">40,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_166">166</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lindfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_219">219,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_420">420</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Littlehampton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><i>Lives of Twelve Good Men</i>, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_422">422</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Locker-Lampson, F., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lodsworth, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_22">22</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Long Man, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_271">271</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lovers' Seat, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_346">346</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lower, Mark Antony, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_38">38,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_70">70,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_154">154,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_214">214,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_260">260,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_296">296,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_304">304,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_315">315,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_380">380,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_414">414,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_425">425</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Loxwood, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lullington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_268">268</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lunsford, Col., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_312">312</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Lurgashall, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_106">106</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>M</b> + <ul> + <li>Madehurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Malling Deanery, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_238">238</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Manhood Peninsula, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_56">56</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mann, Noah, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_103">103</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Manning, Cardinal, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Marchant, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Marden, East, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Maresfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_296">296</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Markland, Jeremiah, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Marley, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Marriott-Watson, Mrs., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Martello towers, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_320">320</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Martyrs, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_229">229,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_253">253</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mascall, Leonard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mayfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_303">303,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_402">402</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Medicine, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_205">205,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_268">268</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Meredith, Mr. George, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_392">392</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Michelham Priory, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Midhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_3">3,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Milland, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Millers, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_79">79,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_430">430</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mills, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_80">80</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Montagu, Viscounts, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_4">4,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_6">6,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_7">7,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Moore, Giles, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mortimer, John Hamilton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_319">319</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Motor cars, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_269">269</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mount Caburn, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_280">280</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mud, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_285">285</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Muntham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Mural paintings, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_423">423</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>N</b> + <ul> + <li>Names, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_296">296,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_333">333</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Neale, John Mason, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Nelond, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Newbery, Francis, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_308">308,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Newcombe, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Newhaven, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Newhaven Tipper," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Newick, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_235">235</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Newland, Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Newtimber, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_197">197</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Nightingales, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_129">129,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ninfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_356">356</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Norfolk, Duke of, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_69">69</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Northiam, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_378">378</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>November 5th, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Nyren, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_74">74,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_104">104,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_119">119,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_412">412</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>O</b> + <ul> + <li>Oakendene, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_132">132</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Oates, Titus, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_341">341</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Oatmeal pudding, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_205">205</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Old Squire, The," a poem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_223">223</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Oliver, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"On the Downs," a poem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"On the South Coast," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_187">187</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Opie, Mrs., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_63">63</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ospreys, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Otway, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_13">13</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ovingdean, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Owls at Arundel, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_70">70</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Oxen, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Oxenbridge Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_371">371,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>P</b> + <ul> + <li>Paget, Charles, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_82">82,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pagham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_59">59,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_61">61</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Paine, Tom, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Palmer, Lady, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_83">83</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Parham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_86">86</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Parish, Mr. W. D., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_195">195,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_265">265,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_406">406</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Parish clerks, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_191">191,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_430">430</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Patcham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_198">198</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Patching, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_81">81</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Paul, Saint, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_77">77</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span>Peasmarsh, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_372">372</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pelham, Joan, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_321">321</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Sir Nicholas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_245">245,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_312">312</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pelling, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Penn, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_151">151,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Percy Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_97">97</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pett, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_370">370</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Petworth, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_22">22,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_91">91,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_96">96,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_100">100,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pevensey, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_328">328</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Piddinghoe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pitt, William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_171">171</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Plaistow, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Plashetts, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_291">291</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Playden, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_371">371</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Plumpton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pluralism in Sussex, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Politics, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_383">383</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><i>Poly-Olbion</i>, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_125">125</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pope, Alexander, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_130">130,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_398">398</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Portslade, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Portus Adurni, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pottery, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_175">175,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_369">369</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Powlett, Captain, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_129">129,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Poynings, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_196">196</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Poyntz, Mr., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_8">8</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pressing to death, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Preston, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_75">75,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_199">199</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pronunciation, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pulborough, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pun, A costly, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Puritan names, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_296">296</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Pyecombe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_198">198</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>Q</b> + <ul> + <li>Quakers, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Queen of the Gipsies, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_195">195</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>R</b> + <ul> + <li>Racton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_26">26</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ravens at Petworth, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Realf, Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_293">293</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rewell Wood, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Richard, Saint, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_420">420</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rickman, "Clio," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Nathaniel, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_316">316</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Ride to Church, The," a ballad, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Ringmer, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Roads in Sussex, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Robertsbridge, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_376">376</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Robertson of Brighton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_419">419</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Robinson, Mr. William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rocks, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_295">295,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_230">230,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_395">395</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rodmell, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_256">256</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rogate, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_16">16</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Roman pavements, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_109">109</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Romans, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_25">25,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_34">34,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_109">109,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_207">207,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_330">330</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Romney, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_43">43</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Roper, Squire, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_44">44</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rother, at Midhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rotherfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_302">302</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rottingdean, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rowfant, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rudgwick, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rushington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_75">75</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Russell, Dr., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Rye, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_358">358,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_419">419</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>S</b> + <ul> + <li>Sackville College, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_397">397</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Saddlescombe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_197">197</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>St. Leonards Forest, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_123">123</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Saint Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_420">420</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Salehurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_378">378</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Salvington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Sawyer, F. E., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_413">413</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Saxons, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_25">25,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_330">330,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_405">405</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Saxonbury, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_394">394</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Seaford, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_262">262</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Selden, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Selmeston, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Selsey Bill, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Selwyn Monument, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_326">326</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Serpent of St. Leonards Forest, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_126">126</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shakespeare, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_13">13,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_308">308,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_321">321</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Sheep, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Sheffield Park, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_235">235</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shelley, Percy Bysshe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_115">115,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_418">418</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Sir John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_82">82</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_82">82</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shirleys, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shooting, Knox's description of, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_48">48</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shoreham, New, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Old, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Shoreham River," a poem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_190">190</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_341">341</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shulbrede Priory, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Shurley Family, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_292">292</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Sidlesham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Silly Sussex," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_384">384</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Single lines, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_3">3</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Singleton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_44">44,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_46">46</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Slaugham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_217">217</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Slaughter Common, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Slinfold, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Smith, Charlotte, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_110">110</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— George, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_29">29</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Horace, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Sidney, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_169">169,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_174">174</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Smoaker, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_164">164</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Smuggling, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_273">273,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_429">429</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Sompting, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_159">159</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Song against Speed," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_269">269</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Song of Solomon," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_414">414</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Sops and Ale," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_320">320</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"South County, The," a poem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Southease, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>South Harting, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_16">16</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Southover, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span>Southwick, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Spencer, Herbert, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_173">173</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Spershott, James, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_36">36</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Springett, Sir Herbert, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stane Street, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_40">40,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_119">119,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_431">431</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stapleton, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_133">133</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stapley, Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Steyning, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_135">135</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stogton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stopham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_94">94</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Storrington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_90">90</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stott, Mr. Edward, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_85">85</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Stoughton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Superstitions, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_305">305,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_382">382</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Sussex," a poem, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Sussex character, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_383">383,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_429">429,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_431">431,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_433">433</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><i>Sussex Daily News</i>, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Sussex Drinking-Song," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i>, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_315">315,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_382">382,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_413">413</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Sussex Nurse, The," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Swift, Dean, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_375">375</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Swinburne, Mr. A. C., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_187">187,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_190">190,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_322">322</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>T</b> + <ul> + <li>Tarring, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_156">156,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_421">421</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tattersall, Captain, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_27">27,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_169">169</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Taylor, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_78">78,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_180">180,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_320">320</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Telham Hill, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_348">348</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Telscombe, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tennyson, Lord, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_12">12,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_418">418</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Thackeray, W. M., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_363">363</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tillington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tipper, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tipteers, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_424">424</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Titmice, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_226">226</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"To all you Ladies," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_398">398</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"To a Seaman," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_322">322</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Trelawny, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_418">418</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Trespassing, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_394">394</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Treyford, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Trotton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_12">12</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li><i>True and Wonderful</i>, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_126">126</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Truffles, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_83">83</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>"Trugs," + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_339">339</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tunbridge Wells, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_303">303,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_390">390</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Tupper, Mr., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_109">109</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Turner, J. M. W., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_355">355,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_381">381</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_313">313</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Twineham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Twyne, Thomas, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>U</b> + <ul> + <li>Uckfield, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Udimore, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_374">374</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Up-Park, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_16">16</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>V</b> + <ul> + <li>Verdley Castle, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_11">11</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Vere, Aubrey de, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_12">12</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>W</b> + <ul> + <li>Wadhurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_389">389</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wagers, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_388">388</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Walking craze, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_218">218</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Walpole, Horace, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_338">338,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_376">376</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Warbleton, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Warminghurst, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Warnham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Washington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Waylett, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_399">399</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Webster, Sir Godfrey, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_262">262</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wesley, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_59">59,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_365">365</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Westbourne, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>West Grinstead, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Westham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_332">332</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>West Hoathly, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Westons, The, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_362">362</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>West Wittering, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_424">424</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wheatears, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_180">180</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Whistler, Rev. Webster, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_342">342</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>White, Gilbert, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_18">18,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_24">24,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_290">290,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_428">428</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wickliffe, John, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_305">305</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wilberforce, Bishop, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_422">422</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>—— William, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_141">141</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wildflowers, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_302">302</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wilfred, Saint, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wilkie, David, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_32">32</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>William IV., + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_191">191</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>William the Conqueror, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_320">320,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_348">348</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wills, Sussex, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wilmington, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_271">271</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Winchelsea, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_358">358</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wiston, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Witchcraft, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Withyham, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_397">397</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Wolstonbury, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_199">199</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Woodman, Richard, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_253">253,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_311">311</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Woolbeding, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Worth, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_222">222</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <ul> + <li>Worthing, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> + <li><b>Y</b> + <ul> + <li>Young, Arthur, + <ul> + <li><a href="#Page_22">22,</a></li> + <li><a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + </li> +</ul> +</div> + +<h4>THE END</h4> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, bungay, suffolk.</span></p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="ADVERTISEMENTS" id="ADVERTISEMENTS"></a>ADVERTISEMENTS</h2> + +<h1>THE HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS SERIES.</h1> + +<p class="center">Extra crown 8vo.<b> 8s. 6d.</b> net each.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>London.</b> By Mrs. E. T. <span class="smcap">Cook</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span> and <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>GRAPHIC.</i>—"Mrs. Cook is an admirable guide; she knows her London in and +out; she is equally at home in writing of Mayfair and of City courts, +and she has a wealth of knowledge relating to literally and historical +associations. This, taken together with the fact that she is a writer +who could not be dull if she tried, makes her book very delightful +reading."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Middlesex.</b> By <span class="smcap">Walter Jerrold</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>EVENING STANDARD.</i>—"Every Londoner who wishes to multiply fourfold the +interest of his roamings and excursions should beg, borrow, or buy it +without a day's delay."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Hertfordshire.</b> By <span class="smcap">Herbert W. Tompkins</span>, F.R.Hist.S.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.</i>—"A very charming book.... Will delight equally +the artistic and the poetic, the historical and the antiquarian, the +picturesque and the sentimental kinds of tourist."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Buckinghamshire.</b> By <span class="smcap">Clement Shorter</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>WORLD.</i>—"A thoroughly delightful little volume. Mr. Frederick L. +Griggs contributes a copious series of delicately graceful +illustrations."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Surrey.</b> By <span class="smcap">Eric Parker</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>SPECTATOR.</i>—"A very charming book, both to dip into and to read.... +Every page is sown with something rare and curious."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Kent.</b> By <span class="smcap">Walter Jerrold</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—"A book over which it is a pleasure to pore, and +which everyman of Kent or Kentish Man, or 'foreigner,' should promptly +steal, purchase, or borrow.... The illustrations alone are worth twice +the money charged for the book."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Sussex.</b> By E. V. <span class="smcap">Lucas</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.</i>—"A delightful addition to an excellent +series.... Mr. Lucas's knowledge of Sussex is shown in so many fields, +with so abundant and yet so natural a flow, that one is kept entertained +and charmed through every passage of his devious progress."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Berkshire.</b> By <span class="smcap">James Edmund Vincent</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY CHRONICLE.</i>—"We consider this book one of the best in an +admirable series, and one which should appeal to all who love this kind +of literature."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Oxford and the Cotswolds.</b> By H. A. <span class="smcap">Evans</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH.</i>—"The author is everywhere entertaining and fresh, +never allowing his own interest to flag, and thereby retaining the close +attention of the reader."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Shakespeare's Country.</b> By the Ven. W. H. <span class="smcap">Hutton</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Edmund H. New</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—"Mr. Edmund H. New has made a fine book a thing of +beauty and a joy for ever by a series of lovely drawings."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Hampshire.</b> By D. H. <span class="smcap">Moutray Read</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Arthur B. Connor</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>STANDARD.</i>—"In our judgement, as excellent and lively a book as has +yet appeared in the Highways and Byways Series."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Dorset.</b> By Sir <span class="smcap">Frederick Treves</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>STANDARD.</i>—"A breezy, delightful, book, full of sidelights on men and +manners, and quick in the interpretation of all the half-inarticulate +lore of the countryside."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Wiltshire.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edward Hutton</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Nelly Erichsen</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY GRAPHIC.</i>—"Replete with enjoyable and informing reading.... +Illustrated by exquisite sketches."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Somerset.</b> by <span class="smcap">Edward Hutton</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Nelly Erichsen</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH.</i>—"A book which will set the heart of every +West-country-man beating with enthusiasm, and with pride for the goodly +heritage into which he has been born as a son of Somerset."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Devon and Cornwall.</b> By <span class="smcap">Arthur H. Norway</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span> and <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY CHRONICLE.</i>—"So delightful that we would gladly fill columns +with extracts were space as elastic as imagination.... The text is +excellent; the illustrations of it are even better."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>South Wales.</b> By A. G. <span class="smcap">Bradley</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>SPECTATOR.</i>—"Mr. Bradley has certainly exalted the writing of a +combined archæological and descriptive guide-book into a species of +literary art. The result is fascinating."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>North Wales.</b> By A. G. <span class="smcap">Bradley</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span> and <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—"To read this fine book makes us eager to visit +every hill and every valley that Mr. Bradley describes with such +tantalising enthusiasm. It is a work of inspiration, vivid, sparkling, +and eloquent—a deep well of pleasure to every lover of Wales."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Cambridge and Ely.</b> By Rev. <span class="smcap">Edward Conybeare</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>ATHENÆUM.</i>—"A volume which, light and easily read as it is, deserves +to rank with the best literature about the county."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>East Anglia.</b> By <span class="smcap">William A. Dutt</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>WORLD.</i>—"Of all the fascinating volumes in the 'Highways and Byways' +series, none is more pleasant to read.... Mr. Dutt, himself an East +Anglian, writes most sympathetically and in picturesque style of the +district."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Lincolnshire.</b> By W. F. <span class="smcap">Rawnsley</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—"A splendid record of a storied shire."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Nottinghamshire.</b> By J. B. <span class="smcap">Firth</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH.</i>—"A book that will rank high in the series which it +augments; a book that no student of our Midland topography and of +Midland associations should miss."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Northamptonshire and Rutland.</b> By <span class="smcap">Herbert A. Evans</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Frederick L. Griggs</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>TIMES.</i>—"A pleasant, gossiping record.... Mr. Evans is a guide who +makes us want to see for ourselves the places he has seen."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Derbyshire.</b> By J. B. <span class="smcap">Firth</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Nelly Erichsen</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH.</i>—"The result is altogether delightful, for +'Derbyshire' is attractive to the reader in his arm-chair as to the +tourist wandering amid the scenes Mr. Firth describes so well."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Yorkshire.</b> By <span class="smcap">Arthur H. Norway</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span> and <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—"The wonderful story of Yorkshire's past provides +Mr. Norway with a wealth of interesting material, which he has used +judiciously and well; each grey ruin of castle and abbey he has +re-erected and re-peopled in the most delightful way. A better guide and +story teller it would be hard to find."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Lake District.</b> By A. G. <span class="smcap">Bradley</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE.</i>—"A notable edition—an engaging volume, packed +with the best of all possible guidance for tourists. For the most part +the artist's work is as exquisite as anything of the kind he has done."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Northumbria.</b> By P. <span class="smcap">Anderson Graham</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>NATION.</i>—"None of the contributors to the series has been more +successful than Mr. Graham."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>The Border.</b> By <span class="smcap">Andrew Lang</span> and <span class="smcap">John Lang</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>STANDARD.</i>—"The reader on his travels, real or imaginary, could not +have pleasenter or more profitable companionship. There are charming +sketches by Mr. Hugh Thomson to illustrate the letterpress."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Galloway and Carrick.</b> By the Rev. C. H. <span class="smcap">Dick</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>SATURDAY REVIEW.</i>—"The very book to take with one into that romantic +angle of Scotland, which lies well aside of the beaten tourist track."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Donegal and Antrim.</b> By <span class="smcap">Stephen Gwynn</span>.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Hugh Thomson</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH.</i>—"A perfect book of its kind, on which author, +artist, and publisher have lavished of their best."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center"><b>Normandy.</b> By <span class="smcap">Percy Dearmer</span>, M.A.</p> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Joseph Pennell</span>.</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE.</i>—"A charming book.... Mr. Dearmer is as arrestive +in his way as Mr. Pennell. He has the true topographical eye. He handles +legend and history in entertaining fashion."</p></blockquote> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span>, LONDON.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Highways & Byways in Sussex, by E.V. Lucas + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS IN SUSSEX *** + +***** This file should be named 20696-h.htm or 20696-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/9/20696/ + +Produced by Peter Yearsley, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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