_Highways and Byways in Sussex_ BY E. V. LUCAS WITH · ILLUSTRATIONS · BY FREDERICK L. GRIGGS MACMILLAN AND CO. , LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1921 _COPYRIGHT. _ _First Edition printed February 1904. _ _Reprinted, April 1904, 1907, 1912, 1919, 1921. _ [Illustration: _The Barbican, Lewes Castle. _ _Frontispiece. _] PREFACE Readers who are acquainted with the earlier volumes of this series willnot need to be told that they are less guide-books than appreciations ofthe districts with which they are concerned. In the pages that follow myaim has been to gather a Sussex bouquet rather than to present the factswhich the more practical traveller requires. The order of progress through the country has been determined largely bythe lines of railway. I have thought it best to enter Sussex in the westat Midhurst, making that the first centre, and to zig-zag thence acrossto 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 thecounty finally at Withyham, on the borders of Ashdown Forest. For thetraveller in a carriage or on a bicycle this route is not the best; butfor those who would explore it slowly on foot (and much of the morecharacteristic scenery of Sussex can be studied only in this way), withoccasional assistance from the train, it is, I think, as good a schemeas any. I do not suggest that it is necessary for the reader who travels throughSussex to take the same route: he would probably prefer to cover thecounty literally strip by strip--the Forest strip from Tunbridge Wellsto Horsham, the Weald strip from Billingshurst to Burwash, the Downsstrip from Racton to Beachy Head--rather than follow my course, north tosouth, and south to north, across the land. But the book is, I think, the gainer by these tangents, and certainly its author is happier, forthey bring him again and again back to the Downs. It is impossible at this date to write about Sussex, in accordance withthe plan of the present series, without saying a great many things thatothers have said before, and without making use of the historians of thecounty. To the collections of the Sussex Archæological Society I amgreatly indebted; also to Mr. J. G. Bishop's _Peep into the Past_, andto Mr. W. D. Parish's _Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect_. Many otherworks are mentioned in the text. The history, archæology, and natural history of the county have beenthoroughly treated by various writers; but there are, I have noticed, fewer books than there should be upon Sussex men and women. Carlyle'ssaying that every clergyman should write the history of his parish(which one might amend to the history of his parishioners) has borne toolittle fruit in our district; nor have lay observers arisen in anynumber to atone for the shortcoming. And yet Sussex must be as rich ingood character, pure, quaint, shrewd, humorous or noble, as any otherdivision of England. In the matter of honouring illustrious Sussex menand women, the late Mark Antony Lower played his part with _The Worthiesof Sussex_, and Mr. Fleet with _Glimpses of Our Sussex Ancestors_; butthe Sussex "Characters, " where are they? Who has set down their "littleunremembered acts, " their eccentricities, their sterling southerntenacities? The Rev. A. D. Gordon wrote the history of Harting, andquite recently the Rev. C. N. Sutton has published his interesting_Historical Notes of Withyham, Hartfield, and Ashdown Forest_; and theremay be other similar parish histories which I am forgetting. But theonly books that I have seen which make a patient and sympatheticattempt to understand the people of Sussex are Mr. Parish's_Dictionary_, Mr. Egerton's _Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways_, and "JohnHalsham's" _Idlehurst_. How many rare qualities of head and heart mustgo unrecorded in rural England. I have to thank my friend Mr. C. E. Clayton for his kindness in readingthe proofs of this book and in suggesting additions. E. V. L. _December 12, 1903. _ P. S. --The sheets of the one-inch ordnance map of Sussex are fourteen inall, their numbers running thus: _________________________________________________________| | | | | || 300 | 301 | 302 | 303 | 304 || Alresford | Haslemere | Horsham | T. Wells | Tenterden ||___________|___________|_________|__________|___________|| | | | | || 316 | 317 | 318 | 319 | 320 || Fareham |Chichester |Brighton | Lewes | Hastings ||___________|___________|_________|__________|___________|| | | | || 331 | 332 | 333 | 334 ||Portsmouth | Bognor | Worthing|Eastbourne||___________|___________|_________|__________| PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION In the present edition a number of small errors have been corrected anda new chapter amplifying certain points and supplying a deficit here andthere has been added. The passage about Stane Street is reprinted fromthe _Times Literary Supplement_ by kind permission. E. V. L. _April 20, 1904_ CONTENTS PAGECHAPTER I MIDHURST 1 CHAPTER II MIDHURST'S VILLAGES 9 CHAPTER III FIRST SIGHT OF THE DOWNS 23 CHAPTER IV CHICHESTER 28 CHAPTER V CHICHESTER AND THE HILLS 39 CHAPTER VI CHICHESTER AND THE PLAIN 54 CHAPTER VII ARUNDEL AND NEIGHBOURHOOD 68 CHAPTER VIII LITTLEHAMPTON 75 CHAPTER IX AMBERLEY AND PARHAM 84 CHAPTER X PETWORTH 93 CHAPTER XI BIGNOR 107 CHAPTER XII HORSHAM 112 CHAPTER XIII ST. LEONARD'S FOREST 123 CHAPTER XIV WEST GRINSTEAD, COWFOLD AND HENFIELD 130 CHAPTER XV STEYNING AND BRAMBER 135 CHAPTER XVI CHANCTONBURY, WASHINGTON, AND WORTHING 145 CHAPTER XVII BRIGHTON 160 CHAPTER XVIII ROTTINGDEAN AND WHEATEARS 177 CHAPTER XIX SHOREHAM 184 CHAPTER XX THE DEVIL'S DYKE AND HURSTPIERPOINT 192 CHAPTER XXI DITCHLING 207 CHAPTER XXII CUCKFIELD 211 CHAPTER XXIII FOREST COUNTRY AGAIN 221 CHAPTER XXIV EAST GRINSTEAD 227 CHAPTER XXV HORSTED KEYNES TO LEWES 233 CHAPTER XXVI LEWES 239 CHAPTER XXVII THE OUSE VALLEY 255 CHAPTER XXVIII ALFRISTON 264 CHAPTER XXIX SMUGGLING 273 CHAPTER XXX GLYNDE AND RINGMER 280 CHAPTER XXXI UCKFIELD AND BUXTED 292 CHAPTER XXXII CROWBOROUGH AND MAYFIELD 301 CHAPTER XXXIII HEATHFIELD AND THE "LIES" 307 CHAPTER XXXIV EASTBOURNE 318 CHAPTER XXXV PEVENSEY AND HURSTMONCEUX 328 CHAPTER XXXVI HASTINGS 340 CHAPTER XXXVII BATTLE ABBEY 348 CHAPTER XXXVIII WINCHELSEA AND RYE 358 CHAPTER XXXIX ROBERTSBRIDGE 376 CHAPTER XL TUNBRIDGE WELLS 390 CHAPTER XLI THE SUSSEX DIALECT 405 CHAPTER XLII BEING A POSTSCRIPT TO THE SECOND EDITION 417 INDEX 439 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE BARBICAN, LEWES CASTLE _Frontispiece_ COWDRAY 4 BLACKDOWN 10 COWDRAY 22 CHICHESTER CATHEDRAL 31 CHICHESTER CROSS 35 THE RUINED NAVE OF BOXGROVE 39 BOXGROVE PRIORY CHURCH 41 BOXGROVE FROM THE SOUTH 43 EAST LAVANT 49 BOSHAM 54 ARUNDEL 68 THE ARUN AT NORTH STOKE 71 GATEWAY, AMBERLEY CASTLE 84 AMBERLEY CASTLE 87 AMBERLEY CASTLE, ENTRANCE TO CHURCHYARD 89 AMBERLEY CHURCH 91 PULBOROUGH CHURCH 93 AT PULBOROUGH 95 STOPHAM BRIDGE 97 THE ROTHER AT FITTLEWORTH 99 ALMSHOUSE AT PETWORTH 101 PETWORTH CHURCHYARD 104 THE CAUSEWAY, HORSHAM 112 COTTAGES AT SLINFOLD 118 RUDGWICK 121 CHURCH STREET, STEYNING 135 STEYNING CHURCH 138 BRAMBER 140 COOMBES CHURCH 142 CHANCTONBURY RING 145 SOMPTING 153 LANCING 157 NEW SHOREHAM CHURCH 185 OLD SHOREHAM BRIDGE 188 OLD SHOREHAM CHURCH 189 POYNINGS, FROM THE DEVIL'S DYKE 193 HANGLETON HOUSE 196 MALTHOUSE FARM, HURSTPIERPOINT 200 DITCHLING 207 OLD HOUSE AT DITCHLING 208 CUCKFIELD CHURCH 212 EAST MASCALLS--BEFORE RENOVATION 219 THE JUDGE'S HOUSES, EAST GRINSTEAD 228 ON THE OUSE, ABOVE LEWES 239 HIGH STREET, SOUTHOVER 241 ANN OF CLEVES' HOUSE, SOUTHOVER 246 ST. ANN'S CHURCH, SOUTHOVER 251 THE OUSE AT SOUTH STREET, LEWES 253 THE OUSE AT PIDDINGHOE 255 RODMELL 256 PIDDINGHOE 258 SOUTHOVER GRANGE 261 NEAR TARRING NEVILLE 263 GLYNDE 282 FRAMFIELD 293 IN BUXTED PARK 298 BEACHY HEAD 318 BEACHY HEAD FROM THE SHORE 325 PEVENSEY CASTLE 329 WESTHAM 333 HURSTMONCEUX CASTLE 335 BATTLE ABBEY--THE GATEWAY 349 MOUNT STREET, BATTLE 352 BATTLE ABBEY, THE REFECTORY 355 THE LANDGATE, RYE 359 SEDILIA AND TOMBS OF GERVASE ANDSTEPHEN ALARD, WINCHELSEA 363 THE YPRES TOWER, RYE 365 COURT LODGE, UDIMORE 370 UDIMORE CHURCH 372 BREDE PLACE 373 BREDE PLACE, FROM THE SOUTH 375 BODIAM CASTLE 377 SHOYSWELL, NEAR TICEHURST 388 THE PANTILES, TUNBRIDGE WELLS 391 BAYHAM ABBEY 396 ASHDOWN FOREST, FROM EAST GRINSTEAD 403 MAP OF THE COUNTY OF SUSSEX _End paper_ [Illustration] HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS IN SUSSEX CHAPTER I MIDHURST 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. If it is better, in exploring a county, to begin with its leastinteresting districts and to end with the best, I have made a mistake inthe order of this book: I should rather have begun with thecomparatively dull hot inland hilly region of the north-east, and haveleft it at the cool chalk Downs of the Hampshire border. But if one'sfirst impression of new country cannot be too favourable we have donerightly in starting at Midhurst, even at the risk of a loss ofenthusiasm in the concluding chapters. For although historically, socially, and architecturally north Sussex is as interesting as southSussex, the crown of the county's scenery is the Downs, and its mostfascinating districts are those which the Downs dominate. The farther wetravel from the Downs and the sea the less unique are our surroundings. Many of the villages in the northern Weald, beautiful as they are, mightequally well be in Kent or Surrey: a visitor suddenly alighting in theirmidst, say from a balloon, would be puzzled to name the county he wasin; but the Downs and their dependencies are essential Sussex. Hence aSussex man in love with the Downs becomes less happy at every stepnorthward. [Sidenote: THE INVIOLATE HILLS] One cause of the unique character of the Sussex Downs is their virginalsecurity, their unassailable independence. They stand, a silentundiscovered country, between the seething pleasure towns of theseaboard plain and the trim estates of the Weald. Londoners, for whomSussex has a special attraction by reason of its proximity (Brighton'sbeach is the nearest to the capital in point of time), either pausenorth of the Downs, or rush through them in trains, on bicycles, or incarriages, to the sea. Houses there are among the Downs, it is true, butthey are old-established, the homes of families that can remember noother homes. There is as yet no fashion for residences in thesealtitudes. Until that fashion sets in (and may it be far distant) theDowns will remain essential Sussex, and those that love them willexclaim with Mr. Kipling, God gave all men all earth to love, But since man's heart is small, Ordains for each one spot shall prove Beloved over all. * * * * * Each to his choice, and I rejoice The lot has fallen to me In a fair ground--in a fair ground-- Yea, Sussex by the sea! [Sidenote: MIDHURST] If we are to begin our travels in Sussex with the best, then Midhurst isthe starting point, for no other spot has so much to offer: a quietcountry town, gabled and venerable, unmodernised and unambitious, with ariver, a Tudor ruin, a park of deer, heather commons, immense woods, andthe Downs only three miles distant. Moreover, Midhurst is also thecentre of a very useful little railway system, which, having only asingle line in each direction, while serving the traveller, never annoyshim by disfiguring the country or letting loose upon it crowds ofvandals. Single lines always mean thinly populated country. As apedestrian poet has sung:-- My heart leaps up when I behold A single railway line; For then I know the wood and wold Are almost wholly mine. And Midhurst being on no great high road is nearly always quiet. Nothingever hurries there. The people live their own lives, passing along theirfew narrow streets and the one broad one, under the projecting eaves oftimbered houses, unrecking of London and the world. Sussex has no morecontented town. The church, which belongs really to St. Mary Magdalen, but is popularlycredited to St. Denis, was never very interesting, but is less so nowthat the Montagu tomb has been moved to Easebourne. Twenty years ago, Iremember, an old house opposite the church was rumoured to harbour apig-faced lady. I never had sight of her, but as to her existence andher 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-heeledJack is over. Sussex once had her Spring-heeled Jacks, too, in someprofusion. [Illustration: _Cowdray. _] [Sidenote: ELIZABETH AT COWDRAY] 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 buta shell, never having been rebuilt since the fire which ate out itsheart in 1793: yet a beautiful shell, heavily draped in rich green ivythat before very long must here and there forget its earlier duty ofsupporting the walls and thrust them too far from the perpendicular tostand. Cowdray, built in the reign of Henry VIII. , did not come to itsfull glory until Sir Anthony Browne, afterwards first Viscount Montagu, took possession. The seal was put upon its fame by the visit of QueenElizabeth in 1591 (Edward VI. Had been banqueted there by Sir Anthony in1552, "marvellously, nay, rather excessively, " as he wrote), as somereturn for the loyalty of her host, who, although an old man, in 1588, on the approach of the Armada, had ridden straightway to Tilbury, withhis sons and his grandson, the first to lay the service of his house ather Majesty's feet. A rare pamphlet is still preserved describing thefestivities during Queen Elizabeth's sojourn. On Saturday, about eighto'clock, her Majesty reached the house, travelling from Farnham, whereshe had dined. Upon sight of her loud music sounded. It stopped when sheset foot upon the bridge, and a real man, standing between two woodendummies whom he exactly resembled, began to flatter her exceedingly. Until she came, he said, the walls shook and the roof tottered, but oneglance from her eyes had steadied the turret for ever. He went on tocall her virtue immortal and herself the Miracle of Time, Nature'sGlory, Fortune's Empress, and the World's Wonder. Elizabeth, when he hadmade an end, took the key from him and embraced Lady Montagu and herdaughter, the Lady Dormir; whereupon "the mistress of the house (as itwere weeping in the bosome) said, 'O happie time! O joyfull daie!'" [Sidenote: A QUEEN'S DIVERSIONS] These preliminaries over, the fun began. At breakfast next morning threeoxen and a hundred and forty geese were devoured. On Monday, August17th, Elizabeth rode to her bower in the park, took a crossbow from anymph who sang a sweet song, and with it shot "three or four" deer, carefully brought within range. After dinner, standing on one of theturrets she watched sixteen bucks "pulled down with greyhounds" in alawn. On Tuesday, the Queen was approached by a pilgrim, who firstcalled her "Fairest of all creatures, " and expressed the wish that theworld might end with her life and then led her to an oak whereon werehanging escutcheons of her Majesty and all the neighbouring noblemen andgentlemen. As she looked, a "wilde man" clad all in ivy appeared anddelivered an address on the importance of loyalty. On Wednesday, theQueen was taken to a goodlie fish-pond (now a meadow) where was anangler. After some words from him a band of fishermen approached, drawing their nets after them; whereupon the angler, turning to herMajesty, 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 withthe sentence, "That evening she hunted. " On Thursday the lords andladies dined at a table forty-eight yards long, and there was a countrydance with tabor and pipe, which drew from her Majesty "gentleapplause. " On Friday, the Queen knighted six gentlemen and passed on toChichester. [Sidenote: A DESPERADO POET] A year later the first Lord Montagu died. He was succeeded by anotherAnthony, the author of the "Book of Orders and Rules" for the use of thefamily at Cowdray, and the dedicatee of Anthony Copley's _Fig forFortune_, 1596. Copley has a certain Sussex interest of his own, havingastonished not a little the good people of Horsham. A contemporaryletter describes him as "the most desperate youth that liveth. He didshoot at a gentleman last summer, and did kill an ox with a musket, andin Horsham church he threw his dagger at the parish clerk, and it stuckin a seat of the church. There liveth not his like in England for suddenattempts. " Subsequently the conspirator-poet must have calmed down, forhe states in the dedication to my lord that he is "now winnowed by thefan of grace and Zionry. " To-day he would say "saved. " Copley, afternarrowly escaping capital punishment for his share in a Jesuit plot, disappeared. The instructions given in Lord Montagu's "Booke of Orders and Rules"illustrate very vividly the generous amplitude of the old Cowdrayestablishment. Thus:-- MY CARVER AND HIS OFFICE. 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. MY GENTLEMEN WAYTERS. 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 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. [Sidenote: THE HOUSE OF MONTAGU] The third Viscount Montagu was not remarkable, but his account books arequaint reading. From July, 1657, to July, 1658, his steward spent_£_1, 945 10_s. _ solely in little personal matters for his master. Amongthe disbursements were, on September 11th, fourteen pence "for washingWill Stapler"; on November 22nd, 1_s. _ 4_d. _ to the Lewes carrier "forbringing a box of puddings for my mistress and my master"; on January17th, _£_4 to "Mr. Fiske the dancing-master for teaching my master todance, being two months"; and on April 21st, seven shillings "for aTooth for my Lord. " The fifth Viscount was a man of violent temper. On reaching Mass one dayand finding it half done, he drew his pistol and shot the chaplain. Theoutcry all over the country was loud and vengeful, and my lord layconcealed for fifteen years in a hiding-hole contrived in the masonry ofCowdray for the shelter of persecuted priests. The peer emerged only atnight, when he roamed the close walks, repentant and sad. Lady Montaguwould then steal out to him, dressing all in white to such good purposethat the desired rumours of a ghost soon flew about the neighbourhood. The curse of Cowdray, which, if genuinely pronounced, has certainly beenwonderfully fulfilled, dates from the gift of Battle Abbey by HenryVIII. To Sir Anthony Browne, the father of Queen Elizabeth's host andfriend. Sir Anthony seized his new property, and turned the monks outof the gates, in 1538. Legend says that as the last monk departed, hewarned his despoiler that by fire and water his line should perish. Byfire and water it perished indeed. A week after Cowdray House wasburned, in 1793, the last Viscount Montagu was drowned in the Rhine. Hisonly sister (the wife of Mr. Stephen Poyntz) who inherited, was themother 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 supposethe curse to have been withdrawn. [Sidenote: DR. JOHNSON AT COWDRAY] Among the treasures that were destroyed in the fire were the Roll ofBattle Abbey and many paintings. Dr. Johnson visited Cowdray a few yearsbefore its demolition; "Sir, " he said to Boswell, "I should like to stayhere four-and-twenty hours. We see here how our ancestors lived. "According to the _Tour of Great Britain_, attributed to Daniel Defoe, but probably by another hand, Cowdray's hall was of Irish oak. In thelarge parlour were the triumphs of Henry VIII. By Holbein. In the longgallery were the Twelve Apostles "as large as life"; while the marriageof Cupid and Psyche, a tableau that never failed to please ourancestors, was not wanting. The glory of the Montagus has utterly passed. The present Earl of Egmontis either an absentee or he lives in a cottage near the gates; and thenew house, which is hidden in trees, is of no interest. The park, however, is still ranged by its beautiful deer, and still possesses anavenue of chestnut trees and rolling wastes of turf. It is everywhere asfree as a heath. CHAPTER II MIDHURST'S VILLAGES 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. The road from Midhurst to Blackdown ascends steadily to Henley, threading vast woods and preserves. On the left is a great common, onthe right North Heath, where the two Drewitts were hanged in chainsafter being executed at Horsham, in 1799, for the robbery of thePortsmouth mail--probably the last instance of hanging in chains in thiscountry. For those that like wild forest country there was once nobetter ramble than might be enjoyed here; but now (1903) that the King'snew sanatorium is being built in the midst of Great Common, some of thewildness must necessarily be lost. A finer site could not have beenfound. Above Great Common is a superb open space nearly six hundred feethigh, with gorse bushes advantageously placed to give shelter while onestudies the Fernhurst valley, the Haslemere heights and, blue in thedistance, the North Downs. Sussex has nothing wilder or richer than thecountry we are now in. A few minutes' walk to the east from this lofty common, and we areimmediately above Henley, clinging to the hill side, an almost Alpinehamlet. Henley, however, no longer sees the travellers that once it did, for the coach road, which of old climbed perilously through it, has beendiverted in a curve through the hanger, and now sweeps into Fernhurst byway of Henley Common. [Illustration: _Blackdown. _] [Sidenote: FERNHURST] Fernhurst, beautifully named, is in an exquisite situation among theminor eminences of the Haslemere range, but the builder has been busyhere, and the village is not what it was. [Sidenote: SHULBREDE PRIORY] Two miles to the north-west, on the way to Linchmere, immediately underthe green heights of Marley, is the old house which once was ShulbredePriory. As it is now in private occupation and is not shown tostrangers, I have not seen it; but of old many persons journeyedthither, attracted by the quaint mural paintings, in the Prior's room, of domestic animals uttering speech. "Christus natus est, " crows thecock. "Quando? Quando?" the duck inquires. "In hac nocte, " says theraven. "Ubi? Ubi?" asks the cow, and the lamb satisfies her: "Bethlehem, Bethlehem. " One may return deviously from Shulbrede to Midhurst (passing in theheart of an unpopulated country a hamlet called Milland, where is an oldcuriosity shop of varied resources) by way of one of the pleasantest andnarrowest lanes that I know, rising and falling for miles through silentwoods, coming at last to Chithurst church, one of the smallest andsimplest and least accessible in the county, and reaching Midhurst againby the hard, dry and irreproachable road that runs between the heatherof Trotton Common. On the eastern side of Fernhurst, to which we may now return, a mile onthe way to Lurgashall, was once Verdley Castle; but it is now a castleno more, merely a ruined heap. Utilitarianism was too much for it, andits stones fell to Macadam. After all, if an old castle has to go, thereare 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 beyondthe village, and make for the hill across country. Blackdown, whoseblackness is from its heather and its firs, frowns before one all thewhile. The climb to the summit is toilsome, over nine hundred feet, butwell worth the effort, for the hill overlooks hundreds of square milesof Sussex and Surrey, between Leith Hill in the north and Chanctonburyin the south. [Sidenote: TENNYSON'S SUSSEX HOME] Aldworth, Tennyson's house, is on the north-east slope, 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 ourhands, O prosper thou our handiwork. " Of the site Aubrey de Verewrote:--"It lifted England's great poet to a height from which he couldgaze on a large portion of that English land which he loved so well, seeit basking in its most affluent summer beauty, and only bounded by 'theinviolate sea. ' Year after year he trod its two stately terraces withmen the most noted of their time. " Pilgrims from all parts journeyedthither--not too welcome; among them that devout American who had workedhis way across the Atlantic in order to recite _Maud_ to its author: arecitation from which, says the present Lord Tennyson, his father"suffered. " Tennyson has, I think, no poems upon his Sussex home, but Ialways imagine that the dedication of _The Death of Oenone and otherPoems_, in 1894, must belong to Blackdown:-- There on the top of the down, The wild heather round me and over me June's high blue, When I look'd at the bracken so bright and the heather so brown, I thought to myself I would offer this book to you, This, and my love together, To you that are seventy-seven, With a faith as clear as the heights of the June-blue heaven, And a fancy as summer-new As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of the heather. The most interesting village between Midhurst and the western boundary, due west, is Trotton, three miles distant on the superb road toPetersfield, of which I have spoken above. There is no better road inEngland. Trotton is quiet and modest, but it has two great claims onlovers of the English drama. In the "Ode to Pity" of one of our Sussexpoets we read thus of another:-- But wherefore need I wander wide To old Ilissus' distant side, Deserted streams and mute? Wild Arun, too, has heard thy strains, And echo, 'midst my native plains, Been soothed by pity's lute. There first the wren thy myrtles shed On gentlest Otway's infant head, To him thy cell was shown; And while he sung the female heart, With youth's soft notes unspoiled by art, Thy turtles mixed their own. [Sidenote: THOMAS OTWAY] So wrote William Collins, adding in a note that the Arun (more properlythe Rother, a tributary of the Arun) runs by the village of Trotton, inSussex, where Thomas Otway had his birth. The unhappy author of _VenicePreserv'd_ and _The Orphan_ was born at Trotton in 1652, the son ofHumphrey Otway, the curate, who afterwards became rector of Woolbedingclose by. Otway died miserably when only thirty-three, partly ofstarvation, partly of a broken heart at the unresponsiveness of Mrs. Barry, the actress, whom he loved, but who preferred the Earl ofRochester. His two best plays, although they are no longer acted, livedfor many years, providing in Belvidera, in _Venice Preserv'd_ andMonimia, in _The Orphan_ (in which he "sung the female heart") congenial_rôles_ 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 isof unusual plainness, not unlike an ecclesiastical barn. Here also isthe earliest known brass to a woman--Margaret de Camoys, who lived about1300. [Sidenote: HOTSPUR'S LADY] The transition is easy (at Trotton) from Otway to Shakespeare, from_Venice Preserv'd_ to _Henry IV. _ HOTSPUR (to LADY PERCY). Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy lap. _Lady P. _ Go, ye giddy goose. [_The music plays. _ _Hot. _ Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh; And 't is no marvel' he's so humorous, By'r lady, he's a good musician. _Lady P. _ 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. _Hot. _ I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. _Lady P. _ Wouldst have thy head broken? _Hot. _ No. _Lady P. _ Then be still. _Hot. _ Neither: 'tis a woman's fault. _Lady P. _ Now God help thee! _Hot. _ To the Welsh lady's bed. _Lady P. _ What's that? _Hot. _ Peace! she sings. [_A Welsh song sung by_ LADY MORTIMER. _Hot. _ Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. _Lady P. _ Not mine, in good sooth. _Hot. _ 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, 'As God shall mend me'; and, 'As sure as day': And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath; and leave 'in sooth, ' And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing. _Lady P. _ I will not sing. _Hot. _ '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. [_Exit. _ My excuse for introducing this little scene is that Kate, whose realname was Elizabeth, lies here. Her tomb is in the chancel, where shereposes beside her second husband Thomas, Lord Camoys, beneath a slab onwhich are presentments in brass of herself and her lord. It was thisLord Camoys who rebuilt Trotton's church, about 1400, and who also gavethe village its beautiful bridge over the Rother at a cost, it used tobe said, of only a few pence less than that of the church. Trotton has still other literary claims. At Trotton Place lived ArthurEdward Knox, whose _Ornithological Rambles in Sussex_, published in1849, is one of the few books worthy to stand beside White's _NaturalHistory of Selborne_. In Sussex, as elsewhere, the fowler has prevailed, and although rare birds are still occasionally to be seen, they nowvisit 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 timeto time I shall borrow from Mr. Knox's pages: here I may quote a shortpassage which refers at once to his home and to his attitude to thosecreatures whom he loved to study and studied to love:--"I have thesatisfaction of exercising the rites of hospitality towards a pair ofbarn owls, which have for some time taken up their quarters in one ofthe attic roofs of the ancient, ivy-covered house in which I reside. Idelight in listening to the prolonged snoring of the young when I ascendthe old oak stairs to the neighbourhood of their nursery, and in hearingthe shriek of the parent birds on the calm summer nights as they pass toand fro near my window; for it assures me that they are still safe; andas I know that at least a qualified protection is afforded themelsewhere, and that even their arch-enemy the gamekeeper is beginningreluctantly, but gradually, to acquiesce in the general belief of theirinnocence and utility, I cannot help indulging the hope that this birdwill eventually meet with that general encouragement and protection towhich its eminent services so richly entitle it. " [Sidenote: COBBETT LOOKS AT THE SQUIRE] One more literary association: it was at Trotton that William Cobbettlooked 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 churchclose by the squire's house. I saw the squire looking at some poordevils who were making 'wauste improvements, ma'am, ' on the road whichpasses by the squire's door. He looked uncommonly hard at me. It was ascrutinising 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 canbe?' My look at the squire was with the head a little on one side, andwith the cheek drawn up from the left corner of the mouth, expressive ofanything rather than a sense of inferiority to the squire, of whom, however, I had never heard speak before. " [Sidenote: HARTING'S RICHES] By passing on to Rogate, whose fine church not long since was restoredtoo freely, and turning due south, we come to what is perhaps the mostsatisfying village in all Sussex--South Harting. Cool and spacious andretired, it lies under the Downs, with a little subsidiary range of itsown to shelter it also from the west. Three inns are ready to refreshthe traveller--the Ship, the White Hart (a favourite Sussex sign), andthe Coach and Horses (with a new signboard of dazzling freshness); thesurrounding country is good; Petersfield and Midhurst are less than anhour's drive distant; while the village has one of the most charmingchurches in Sussex, both without and within. Unlike most of the county'sspires, South Harting's is slate and red shingle, but the slate is of anagreeable green hue, resembling old copper. (Perhaps it is copper. ) Theroof is of red tiles mellowed by weather, and the south side of thetower is tiled too, imparting an unusual suggestion of warmth--more, ofcomfort--to the structure; while on the east wall of the chancel is aVirginian creeper, which, as autumn advances, emphasises this effect. Within, the church is winning, too, with its ample arches, perfectproportions, and that æsthetic satisfaction that often attends thecruciform shape. An interesting monument of the Cowper and Colesfamilies is preserved in the south transept--three full-size colouredfigures. In the north transept is a spiral staircase leading to thetower, and elsewhere are memorials of the Fords and Featherstonhaughs ofUp-Park, a superb domain over the brow of Harting's Down, and of theCarylls of Lady Holt, of whom we shall see more directly. The eastwindow is a peculiarly cheerful one, and the door of South Hartingchurch is kept open, as every church door should be, but as too many inSussex are not. In the churchyard, beneath a shed, are the remains of two tombs, withrecumbent stone figures, now in a fragmentary state. At the church gatesare the old village stocks. [Sidenote: MRS. JONES' MULYGRUBES] Harting has a place in literature, for one of the Carylls was Pope'sfriend, John (1666-1736), a nephew of the diplomatist and dramatist. Pope's Caryll, who suggested _The Rape of the Lock_, lived at Lady Holtat West Harting (long destroyed) and also at West Grinstead, where, aswe shall see, the poem was largely written. Mr. H. D. Gordon, rector ofHarting for many years, wrote a history of his parish in 1877: a veryinteresting, gossipy book; where we may read much of the Caryll family, including passages from their letters--how Lady Mary Caryll had the kindimpulse to take one of the parson's nine daughters to France to educateand befriend, but was so thoughtless as to transform into a prettyPapist; how Lady Mary disliked Mrs. Jones, the steward's wife; and manyother matters. I quote a passage from a letter of Lady Mary's about Mrs. Jones, showing that human nature was not then greatly different fromwhat it is to-day:--"Mr. Joans and his fine Madam came down two daysbefore your birthday and expected to lye in the house, but as Iapprehended the consequence of letting them begin so, I made an excusefor want of roome by expecting company, and sent them to Gould's [ArthurGould married Kate Caryll, and lived at Harting Place], where theystayed 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 toBarnard's, and wou'd not so much as see the desert [dessert]; however, Idon't repent it, he has been here at all the merryment, and I believeyou'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 beensick ever since of the mulygrubes. " Mrs. Jones soon afterwards succumbedeither to the mulygrubes or a worse visitation. Lady Mary thus broke thenews:--"Mr. Jones's wife dyed on Sunday, just as she lived, anIndependent, and wou'd have no parson with her, because she sayd shecou'd pray as well as they. He is making a great funerall, but I believenot in much affection, for he was all night at a merry bout two daysbefore she died. " 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 villagersconducted their lord and lady home "with the upermost satisfaction"--agood phrase. Mr. Gordon writes elsewhere in his book of a famous writer whomHampshire claims: "For at least forty years (1754-1792) Gilbert Whitewas an East Harting squire. The bulk of his property was at Woodhouseand Nye woods, on the northern slope of East Harting, and bounded on thewest by the road to Harting station. The passenger from Harting to therailway has on his right, immediately opposite the 'Severals' wood, Gilbert White's Farm, extending nearly to the station. White had alsoother Harting lands. These were upon the Downs, viz. :--a portion of thePark of Uppark on the south side, and a portion of Kildevil Lane, on theNorth Marden side of Harting Hill. Gilbert White was on his mother'sside a Ford, and these lands had been transmitted to him through hisgreat uncle, Oliver Whitby, nephew to Sir Edward Ford. " [Sidenote: THE OLD FIELD ROUTINE] A glimpse of the old Sussex field routine, not greatly changed in theremote districts to-day, was given to Mr. Gordon thirty years ago by anaged 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 harvestfield. Rippin and moen [reaping and mowing] till eight. Then morningbrakfast and small beer. Brakfast--a piece of fat pork as thick as yourhat [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. E. _, forenooner; 'farnooner's-lunch, ' we called it]. Work till twelve. Then at dinner in the farm-house; sometimes a leg ofmutton, sometimes a piece of ham and plum pudding. Then work till five, then a _nunch_ and a quart of ale. Nunch was cheese, 'twas skimmedcheese though. Then work till sunset, then home and have supper and apint 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 gallonsin a day. All of us were in the house [_i. E. _, the usual hired servants, and those specially engaged for the harvest]: the yearly servants usedto go with the monthly ones. "There were two thrashers, and the head thrasher used always to gobefore the reapers. A man could cut according to the goodness of thejob, half-an-acre a day. The terms of wages were _£_3 10_s. _ to 50_s. _for the month. "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 theTitheman didn't come at the time, you tithed yourself. He marked hissheaves with a bough or bush. You couldn't get over the Titheman. If youbegan at a hedge and made the tenth cock smaller than the rest, theTitheman might begin in the middle just where he liked. The Titheman atHarting, 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'enhis tithe. The usual day's work was from 7 to 5. " [Sidenote: A SUSSEX WITCH] Like all Sussex villages, Harting has had its witches and possessors ofthe evil eye. Most curious of these was old Mother Digby (_née_ Mollen), who, in Mr. Gordon's words, lived at a house in Hog's Lane, EastHarting, and had the power of witching herself into a hare, and wascontinually, 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'shouse. One day the dogs caught hold of the hare by its hind quarters, but it escaped down the drain, and Squire Russell, instantly opening theold beldame's door, found her rubbing the part of her body correspondingto that by which the hound had seized the hare. Squire Caryll, however, declined to be hard on the broomstick and its riders, as the followingentry in the records of the Court Leet, held for the Hundred of Dumfordin 1747, shows:--"Also we present the Honble. John Caryll, Esq. , Lord ofthis Mannor, for not having and keeping a Ducking Stool within the saidHundred of Dumford according to law, for the ducking of scolds and otherdisorderly persons. " [Sidenote: THE BEACON FIRES] The road from South Harting to Elsted runs under the hills, which hererise abruptly from the fields, to great heights, notably Beacon Hill, like a huge green mammoth, 800 feet high, on which, before the days oftelegraphy, lived the signaller, who passed on the tidings of danger onthe coast to the next beacon hill, above Henley, and so on to London. Inthe days of Napoleon, when any moment might reveal the French fleet, theSussex hill tops must often have smouldered under false alarms. The nexthill in the east is Treyford Hill, above Treyford village, whose churchtower, standing on a little hill of its own nearly three hundred feethigh, might take a lesson in beauty from South Harting's, although itsspire has a slenderness not to be improved. Next to Treyford Hill isDidling Hill, above Didling, and then Linch Down, highest of all inthese parts, being 818 feet. Elsted, which has no particular interest, possesses an inn, the ThreeHorse Shoes, on a site superior to that of many a nobleman's house. Itstands high above a rocky lane, commanding a superb sidelong view of theDowns and the Weald. Midhurst's river is the Rother (not to be confounded with the Rother inthe east of Sussex), which flows into the Arun near Hardham. It is wideenough at Midhurst for small boats, and is a very graceful stream onwhich to idle and watch the few kingfishers that man has spared. One maywalk by its side for miles and hear no sound save the music ofrepose--the soft munching of the cows in the meadows, the chuckle of thewater as a rat slips in, the sudden yet soothing plash caused by ajumping fish. Around one's head in the evening the stag-beetle buzzeswith its multiplicity of wings and fierce lobster-like clawsout-stretched. Following the Rother to the west one comes first to Easebourne, a shadycool village only a few steps from Midhurst, once notable for itsBenedictine Priory of nuns. Henry VIII. Put an end to its religiouslife, which, however, if we may believe the rather disgracefulrevelations divulged at an episcopal examination, for some years had notbeen of too sincere a character. In Easebourne church is the handsometomb of the first Viscount Montagu (the host of Queen Elizabeth), whichwas brought hither from Midhurst church some forty years ago. BeyondEasebourne, on the banks of the Rother, is Woolbeding, amid lush grassand foliage, as green a spot as any in green England. [Sidenote: MR. LA THANGUE'S HOME] On the eastern side of the town (with a diversion into Queen Elizabeth'ssombre wood-walk) one may come by the side of the river part of the wayto West Lavington, which stands high on a slope facing the Downs, withpine woods immediately beneath it, perhaps as fair a site as any churchcan claim. The grave of Richard Cobden, the Free Trader, a native ofHeyshott, near by, is in the churchyard. Here, in 1850, Henry EdwardManning, afterwards Cardinal, preached his last sermon for the Church ofEngland. It is, indeed, Manning country, for besides being curate andrector of Woollavington with Graffham (four or five miles to thesouth-east) from 1833 until his secession, he was for nine yearsArchdeacon of Chichester; he married Miss Sargent, daughter of the laterector and sister of Mrs. Samuel Wilberforce of Woollavington; and whilerector, he rebuilt both churches. Graffham is interesting also as beingthe present home of one of the most truthful of living painters, Mr. Henry La Thangue, whose scenes of peasants at work (in the manner ofBarbizon) and studies of sunlight spattering through the trees are amongthe triumphs of modern English art. [Sidenote: CIDER'S DISAPPEARANCE] One more village and we will make for the hills. A mile beyond theeastern gate of Cowdray Park is Lodsworth, still a paradise of appleorchards, but no longer famous for its cider as once it was. ArthurYoung had the pleasure of tasting some Lodsworth cider of a superiorquality at Lord Egremont's table at the beginning of the last century, but I doubt if Petworth House honours the beverage to-day. Cider, exceptin the cider country, becomes less and less common. [Illustration: _Cowdray. _] CHAPTER III FIRST SIGHT OF THE DOWNS The Sussex hills--Gilbert White's praise--Britons, Romans, Saxons--Charles the Second's ride through Sussex. Between Midhurst and Chichester, our next centre, rise the Downs, to aheight of between seven hundred and eight hundred feet. Although weshall often be crossing them again before we leave the county, I shouldlike to speak of them a little in this place. The Downs are the symbol of Sussex. The sea, the Weald, the heatherhills of her great forest district, she shares with other counties, butthe Downs are her own. Wiltshire, Berkshire, Kent and Hampshire, it istrue, have also their turf-covered chalk hills, but the Sussex Downs arevaster, more remarkable, and more beautiful than these, with moreindividuality and charm. At first they have been known to disappoint thetraveller, but one has only to live among them or near them, within theinfluence of their varying moods, and they surely conquer. They are thesmoothest things in England, gigantic, rotund, easy; the eye rests upontheir gentle contours and is at peace. They have no sublimity, nograndeur, only the most spacious repose. Perhaps it is due to thisquality that the Wealden folk, accustomed to be overshadowed by thisunruffled range, are so deliberate in their mental processes and soaverse from speculation or experiment. There is a hypnotism of form: arugged peak will alarm the mind where a billowy green undulation willlull it. The Downs change their complexion, but are never other thansoothing and still: no stress of weather produces in them any of thatsense of fatality that one is conscious of in Westmoreland. Thunder-clouds empurple the turf and blacken the hangers, but theycannot break the imperturbable equanimity of the line; rain throws overthe range a gauze veil of added softness; a mist makes them morewonderful, unreal, romantic; snow brings them to one's doors. At sunrisethey are magical, a background for Malory; at sunset they are the lovelyhome of the serenest thoughts, a spectacle for Marcus Aurelius. Theircombes, or hollows, are then filled with purple shadow cast by thesinking sun, while the summits and shoulders are gold. [Sidenote: GILBERT WHITE IN SUSSEX] Gilbert White has an often-quoted passage on these hills:--"Though Ihave now travelled the Sussex downs upwards of thirty years, yet I stillinvestigate that chain of majestic mountains with fresh admiration yearby year, and I think I see new beauties every time I traverse it. Thisrange, which runs from Chichester eastward as far as East Bourn, isabout sixty miles in length, and is called the South Downs, properlyspeaking, only round Lewes. As you pass along you command a noble viewof the wild, or weald, on one hand, and the broad downs and sea on theother. Mr. Ray used to visit a family [Mr. Courthope, of Danny] just atthe foot of these hills, and was so ravished with the prospect fromPlumpton Plain, near Lewes, that he mentions those scapes in his _Wisdomof God in the Works of the Creation_ with the utmost satisfaction, andthinks 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 amusingin the shapely-figured aspect of the chalk hills in preference to thoseof stone, which are rugged, broken, abrupt, and shapeless. Perhaps I maybe singular in my opinion, and not so happy as to convey to you the sameidea; but I never contemplate these mountains without thinking Iperceive somewhat analogous to growth in their gentle swellings andsmooth fungus-like protuberances, their fluted sides, and regularhollows and slopes, that carry at once the air of vegetative dilatationand expansion:--Or, was there even a time when these immense masses ofcalcareous matter were thrown into fermentation by some adventitiousmoisture, were raised and leavened into such shapes by some plasticpower; and so made to swell and heave their broad backs into the sky, somuch above the less animated clay of the wild below?" The Downs have a human and historic as well as scenic interest. On manyof their highest points are the barrows or graves of our Britishancestors, who, could they revisit the glimpses of the moon, would findlittle change, for these hills have been less interfered with than anydistrict within twice the distance from London. The English dislike ofclimbing has saved them. They will probably be the last stronghold ofthe horse when petrol has ousted him from every other region. [Sidenote: ROMAN AND SAXON] After the Briton came the Roman, to whose orderly military mind such achain of hills seemed a series of heaven-sent earthworks. Every point ina favourable position was at once fortified by the legionaries. Standingupon these ramparts to-day, identical in general configuration in spiteof the intervening centuries, one may imagine one's self a Cæsariansoldier and see in fancy the hinds below running for safety. After the Romans came the Saxons, who did not, however, use the heightsas their predecessors had. Yet they left even more intimate traces, for, as I shall show in a later chapter on Sussex dialect, the language ofthe Sussex labourer is still largely theirs, the farms themselves oftenfollow 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 isa stanza which no one that knows Sussex can read without visualisinginstantly a Sussex hill-side farm:-- The Saxon lies, too, in his grave where the plough-lands swell; And he feels with the joy that is Earth's The Spring with its myriad births; And he scents as the evening falls The rich deep breath of the stalls; And he says, "Still the seasons bring increase and joy to the world--It is well!" [Sidenote: THE ESCAPE OF CHARLES II. ] Standing on one of these hills above the Hartings one may remember anevent in English history of more recent date than any of the periodsthat we have been recalling--the escape of Charles II in 1651. It wasover these Downs that he passed; and it has been suggested that atraveller wishing for a picturesque route across the Downs might do wellto follow his course. According to the best accounts Charles was met, on the evening ofOctober 13, near Hambledon, in Hampshire (afterwards to be famous as thecradle of first-class cricket), by Thomas and George Gunter of Racton, with a leash of greyhounds as if for coursing. The King slept at thehouse of Thomas Symonds, Gunter's brother-in-law, in the character of aRoundhead. The next morning at daybreak, the King, Lord Wilmot and thetwo Gunters crossed Broad Halfpenny Down (celebrated by Nyren), andproceeding by way of Catherington Down, Charlton Down, and IbsworthDown, reached Compting Down in Sussex. At Stanstead House Thomas Gunterleft the King, and hurried on to Brighton to arrange for the crossing toFrance. The others rode on by way of the hills, with a descent fromDuncton Beacon, until they reached what promised to be the security ofHoughton Forest. There they were panic-stricken nearly to meet CaptainMorley, governor of Arundel Castle, and therefore by no means a King'sman. The King, on being told who it was, replied merrily, "I did notmuch like his starched mouchates. " This peril avoided, they descended toHoughton village, where the Arun was crossed, and so to Amberley, wherein Sir John Briscoe's castle the King slept. [1] [Sidenote: ROUNDHEADS OUTWITTED] On Amberley Mount the King's horse cast a shoe, necessitating a drop toone of the Burphams, at Lee Farm, to have the mishap put right. Ascending the hills again the fugitives held the high track as far asSteyning. At Bramber they survived a second meeting with Cromwellians, three or four soldiers of Col. Herbert Morley of Glynde suddenlyappearing, but being satisfied merely to insult them. At Beeding, GeorgeGunter rode on by way of the lower road to Brighton, while the King andLord Wilmot climbed the hill at Horton, crossing by way of White Lot toSouthwick, where, according to one story, in a cottage at the west ofthe Green was a hiding-hole in which the King lay until Captain NicholasTattersall of Brighton was ready to embark him for Fécamp. GeorgeGunter'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 fourinches high"--to wit, the Merry Monarch. Such is the bare narrative of Charles' Sussex ride. If the reader wouldhave it garnished and spiced he should turn to the pages of Ainsworth's_Ovingdean Grange_, where much that never happened is set forth asentertainingly (or so I thought when I read it as a boy) as if it weretruth. FOOTNOTE: [1] That is the story as the Amberley people like to have it, butanother version makes him ride from Hambledon to Brighton in one day; inwhich case he may have avoided Amberley altogether. CHAPTER IV CHICHESTER 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. I have already quoted some lines by Collins on Otway; it is time to cometo Collins himself. When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell-- The perfect ode which opens with these unforgettable lines belongs toChichester, for William Collins was born there on Christmas Day, 1721, and educated there, at the Prebendal school, until he went toWinchester. William Collins was the son of the Mayor of Chichester, ahatter, from whom Pope's friend Caryll bought his hats. I have no wishto tell here the sad story of Collins' life; it is better to rememberthat few as are his odes they are all of gold. He died at Chichester in1759, and was buried in St. Andrew's Church. With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And, dashing soft from rocks around Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. [Sidenote: GEORGE SMITH'S ECLOGUE] 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, andGeorge and John, born in 1713 and 1717, who painted landscapes, --knowncollectively as the Smiths of Chichester. I mention them rather onaccount of George Smith's poetical experiments than for the brothers'fame as artists; but there is such a pleasant flavour in one at least ofhis _Pastorals_ that I have copied a portion of it. It is called "TheCountry Lovers; or, Isaac and Marget going to Town on a Summer'sMorning. " The town is probably Chichester--certainly one in Sussex andnear the Downs. Isaac speaks first:-- Come! Marget, come!--the team is at the gate! Not ready yet!--you always make me wait! I omit a certain amount of the dialogue which follows, but at lastMarget exclaims:-- Well, now I'm ready, long I have not staid. ISAAC. One kiss before we go, my pretty maid. MARGET. Go! don't be foolish, Isaac--get away! Who loiters now?--I thought I could not stay! There!--that's enough! why, Isaac, sure you're mad! ISAAC. One more, my dearest girl-- MARGET. Be quiet, lad. See both my cap and hair are rumpled o'er! The tying of my beads is got before! ISAAC. There let it stay, thy brighter blush to show, Which shames the cherry-colour'd silken bow. Thy lips, which seem the scarlet's hue to steal, Are sweeter than the candy'd lemon peel. MARGET. Pray take these chickens for me to the cart; Dear little creatures, how it grieves my heart To see them ty'd, that never knew a crime, And formed so fine a flock at feeding time! The pretty poem ends with fervid protestations of devotion from Isaac:-- For thee the press with apple-juice shall foam! For thee the bees shall quit their honey-comb! For thee the elder's purple fruit shall grow! For thee the pails with cream shall overflow! But see yon teams returning from the town, Wind in the chalky wheel-ruts o'er the down: We now must haste; for if we longer stay, They'll meet us ere we leave the narrow way. Another of Chichester's illustrious sons is Archbishop Juxon, who stoodby the side of Charles I. On the scaffold and bade farewell to him inthe words "You are exchanging from a temporal to an eternal crown--agood exchange. " [Sidenote: HARDHAM'S SNUFF] Yet another, of a very different type, is John Hardham. "When theytalked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, " wrote Goldsmith of SirJoshua Reynolds, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. Had it not been for Chichester the great painter might never have hadthe second of these consolations, for the only snuff he liked wasHardham's No. 37, and Hardham was a native of Chichester. Before hebecame famous as a tobacconist, Hardham was, by night, a numberer of thepit for Garrick at Drury Lane. One day he happened to blend Dutch andrappee and poured the mixture into a drawer labelled 37. Garrick soliked the pinch of it which he chanced upon, that he introduced areference to its merits in some of his comic parts, with the result thatHardham's little shop in Fleet Street soon became a resort, and no nosewas properly furnished without No. 37. As Colton wrote, in his_Hypocrisy_:-- A name is all. From Garrick's breath a puff Of praise gave immortality to snuff; Since which each connoisseur a transient heaven Finds in each pinch of Hardham's 37. The wealth that came to the tobacconist he left to the city ofChichester to relieve it of certain of its poor rates; and the citizensstill magnify Hardham's name. He died in 1772 and had the good sense torestrict the expense of his funeral to ten pounds. [Sidenote: WILKIE'S BUMPS] Chichester was the scene of a pleasant incident recorded by Leslie inhis _Autobiographical Recollections_. He was staying with Wilkie atPetworth, the guest of their patron, and the patron of so many otherpainters, Lord Egremont, of whom we shall learn more when Petworth isreached. They all drove over to Chichester after a visit to Goodwood. Lord Egremont, says Leslie, "had some business to transact atChichester; but one of his objects was to show us a young girl, thedaughter of an upholsterer, who was devoted to painting, and consideredto be a genius by her friends. She was not at home; but her mother saidshe could soon be found, 'if his lordship would have the goodness towait a short time. ' The young lady soon appeared, breathless andexhausted with running. Lord Egremont mentioned our names, and she said, looking up to Wilkie with an expression of great respect, 'Oh, sir! itwas but yesterday I had your head in my hands. ' This puzzled him, as hedid not know she was a phrenologist. "'And what bumps did you find?' said Lord Egremont. "'The organ of veneration, very large, ' was her answer; and Wilkie, making her a profound bow, said: "'Madam, I have a great veneration for genius. ' "She showed us an unfinished picture from _The Bride of Lammermoor_. Thefigure of Lucy Ashton was completed, and, she told us, was the portraitof a young friend of hers; but Ravenswood was without a head, and thisshe explained by saying, 'there are no handsome men in Chichester. But, 'she continued, her countenance brightening, 'the Tenth are expected heresoon. '" (The Tenth was noted for its handsome officers. ) Leslie does not carry the story farther. Whether poor Ravenswood evergained his head; whether if he did so it was a military one, or, as alast resource, a Chichester one; and where the picture, if completed, now is, I do not know, nor have I succeeded in discovering any more ofthe young lady. But passing through the streets of the town I wasconscious of the absence of the Tenth. Chichester is a perfect example of an English rural capital, thronged onmarket days with tilt carts, each bringing a farmer or farmer's wife, and rich in those well-stored ironmongers' shops that one never seeselsewhere. But it is more than this: it is also a cathedral town, withthe ever present sense of domination by the cloth even when the cloth isnot visible. Chichester has its roughs and its public houses (Mr. Hudsonin his _Nature in Downland_ gives them a caustic chapter); it also hasits race-week every July, and barracks within hail; yet it is always acathedral town. Whatever noise may be in the air you know in your heartthat quietude is its true characteristic. One might say that above theloudest street cries you are continually conscious of the silence of theclose. [Illustration: _Chichester Cathedral. _] [Sidenote: CHICHESTER CATHEDRAL] Chichester's cathedral is not among the most beautiful or the mostinteresting, but there is none cooler. It dates from the eleventhcentury and contains specimens of almost every kind of churcharchitecture; but the spire is comparatively new, having been built in1866 to take the place of its predecessor, which suddenly dropped likean extinguisher five years before. Seen from the Channel it rises, afriendly landmark (white or gray, according to the clouds), and whilewalking on the Downs above or on the plain around, one is frequentlypleased to catch an unexpected glimpse of its tapering beauty. I haveheard it said that Chichester is the only English cathedral that isvisible at sea. Within, the cathedral is disappointing, offering one neither richness onthe one hand nor the charm of pure severity on the other. A cathedralmust either be plain or coloured, and Chichester comes short of bothideals; it has no colour and no purity. Its proportions are, however, exquisite, and it is impossible to remain here long without passingunder the spell of the stone. Yet had it, one feels, only radiance, howmuch finer it would be. For the completest contrast to the vastness of the cathedral one maycross into North Street and enter the portal of the toy church of St. Olave, which dates from the 14th century, and is remarkable, not onlyfor its minuteness, but as being one of the churches of Chichesterwhich, in my experience, is not normally locked and barred. [Sidenote: ROMAN CHICHESTER] That Chichester was built by the Romans in the geometrical Roman way youmay see as you look down from the Bell Tower upon its four mainstreets--north, south, east and west--east becoming Stane-street andrunning direct to London. Chichester then was Regnum. On the departureof the Romans, Cissa, son of Ella, took possession, and the name waschanged to Cissa's Ceastre, hence Chichester. Remnants of the old wallsstill stand; and a path has been made on the portion running from NorthStreet down to West Gate. [Sidenote: A CLERICAL STRONGHOLD] More attractive, because more human, than the cathedral itself are itsprecincts: the long resounding cloisters, the still, discreet lanespopulous with clerics, and most of all that little terrace ofecclesiastical residences parallel with South Street, in the shadow ofthe mighty fane, covered with creeping greenness, from wistaria toampelopsis, with minute windows, inviolable front doors and trim frontgardens, which (like all similar settlements) remind one of alms-housescarried out to the highest power. Surely the best of places in which toedit Horace afresh or find new meanings in St. Augustine. [Illustration: _Chichester Cross. _] There is a tendency for the cathedral to absorb all the attention of thetraveller, but Chichester has other beauties, including the MarketCross, which is a mere child of stone, dating only from the reign ofHenry VIII. ; St. Mary's Hospital in North Street; and the remains of themonastery of the Grey Friars in the Priory Park. Young Chichester nowplays cricket where of old the monks caught fish and performed theirduties. It was probably on the mound that their Calvary stood; the lasttime I climbed it was to watch Bonnor, the Australian giant, practisingin the nets below, too many years ago. Like all cathedral towns Chichester has beautiful gardens, as one maysee 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 MissAusten's characters might have lived in; at least one superb specimen ofthe art of Sir Christopher Wren, a masterpiece of substantial red brick;and a noble inn, the Dolphin, where one dines in the Assembly room, arelic of the good times before inns became hotels. [Sidenote: SPERSHOTT'S RECOLLECTIONS] We have some glimpses of old Chichester in the reminiscences (about1720-1730) of James Spershott, a Chichester Baptist Elder, who died in1789, aged eighty. I quote a passage here and there from his paper ofrecollections printed in the Sussex Archæological Collections:-- "Spinning of Household Linnen was in use in most Families, also makingtheir own Bread, and likewise their own Household Physick. No Tea, butmuch Industrey and good Cheer. The Bacon racks were loaded with Bacon, for little Porke was made in these times. The farmers' Wifes andDaughters were plain in Dress, and made no such gay figures in ourMarket as nowadays. At Christmas, the whole Constellation of Pattypanswhich adorn'd their Chimney fronts were taken down. The Spit, the Pot, the Oven, were all in use together; the Evenings spent in Jollity, andtheir Glass Guns smoking Top'd the Tumbler with the froth of GoodOctober, till most of them were slain or wounded, and the Prince ofOrange, and Queen Ann's Marlborough, could no longer be resounded. .. . " [Sidenote: THE DEATH OF A SWEARER] Here is Mr. Spershott's account of a Chichester calamity:--"Jno. Page, Esq. , native of this city, coming from London to Stand Candidate Here, agreat 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 offlighty Passions. As he was setting out, one of his Scollers, PattySmith (afterwards my Spouse) asked him for a Coppy, and in haste hewrote the following:-- Extreames beget Extreames, Extreames avoid Extreames without Extreames are not Enjoyed. "He set off in High Carrier, and turning down Rooks's Hill before theSqr. , rideing like a madman To and fro, forward and backward Hallooingamong 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 inCleaning the outside of the Steeple, " fell, owing to a breaking rope, and soon after died. Mr. Spershott adds: "A warning to Swarers. " Anotherentry states: "In my younger years there were many very large corpulentPersons in the City, both of Men and Women. I could now recite by namebetween twenty and thirty, the great part of that number so Prodigiousthat like other animals Thoroughly fatted, they could hardly moveabout. " One of Chichester's epitaphs runs thus:-- Here lies a true soldier, whom all must applaud; Much hardship he suffer'd at home and abroad; But the hardest engagement he ever was in, Was the battle of Self in the conquest of Sin. [Sidenote: THE PERFECT ALMSHOUSE] I have left until the last the prettiest thing in this city of comelystreets and houses--St. Mary's Hospital, at the end of Lion Street (outof North Street): the quaintest almshouse in the world. The buildingstands back, behind the ordinary houses, and is gained by a passage anda courtyard. You then enter what seems to be a church, for at the farend is an altar beneath an unmistakably ecclesiastical window. But whenthe first feeling of surprise has passed, you discover that there isonly a small chancel at the east end of the building, on either side ofwhich are little dwellings. Each of these is occupied by a nice littleold woman, who has two rooms, very minute and cosy, with a little supplyof faggots close at hand, and all the dignity of a householder, althoughthe occupant only of an infinitesimal toy house within a house. How dothey agree, one wonders, these little old ladies of a touchy age undertheir great roof? 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 thirteenbedesmen. In 1562 a warden and five inmates were the prescribedoccupants. Now there are eight sets of rooms, each with its demuretenant, all of whom troop into the little chapel at fixed hours. Mrs. Evans, sacristan, who does the honours, would tell me nothing as to theprocess of selection by which she and the seven other occupants came tobe living there; all that she could say was that she was very happy tobe a Hospitaller, and that by no possibility could one of the littledomiciles ever fall to me. [Illustration: _The Ruined Nave of Boxgrove. _] CHAPTER V CHICHESTER AND THE HILLS. 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. Chichester may have a cathedral and a history, but nine out of tenstrangers know of it only as a station for Goodwood race-course; towardswhich, in that hot week at the end of July, hundreds of carriages toilby the steep road that skirts the Duke of Richmond and Gordon's park. Goodwood Park gives me little pleasure. I miss the deer; and when thefirst park that one ever knew was Buxted, with its moving antlers abovethe brake fern, one almost is compelled to withhold the word park fromany enclosure without them. It is impossible to lose the feeling thatthe right place for cattle--even for Alderneys--is the meadow. Cows in apark are a poor makeshift; parks are for deer. To my eyes GoodwoodHouse has a chilling exterior; the road to the hill-top is steep andlengthy; and when one has climbed it and crossed the summit wood, it isto come upon the last thing that one wishes to find in the heart of thecountry, among rolling Downs, sacred to hawks and solitude--a GrandStand and the railings of a race-course! Race-courses are for theoutskirts of towns, as at Brighton and Lewes; or for hills that have nomystery and no magic, like the heights of Epsom; or for such mockeriesof parks as Sandown and Kempton. The good park has many deer and norace-course. And yet Goodwood is superb, for it has some of the finest trees inSussex within its walls, including the survivors of a thousand cedars ofLebanon planted a hundred and fifty years ago; and with every stephigher one unfolds a wider view of the Channel and the plain. Best ofthese prospects is, perhaps, that gained from Carne's seat, as theBelvedere to the left of the road to the racecourse is called; its namederiving from an old servant of the family, whose wooden hut wassituated here when Carne died, and whose name and fame were thusperpetuated. The stones of the building were in part those of old Hovechurch, near Brighton, then lately demolished. [Sidenote: THE CENOTAPH OF DARNLEY] In Goodwood House, which is shown on regular days, are fine Vandycks andLelys, relics of the two Charles', and above all the fascinatinglyabsorbing "Cenotaph of Lord Darnley, " a series of scenes in the life ofthat ill-fated husband. It may be said that among all the treasures ofSussex there is nothing quite so interesting as this. [Illustration: _Boxgrove Priory Church. _] [Sidenote: BOXGROVE] Leaving Chichester by East Street (or Stane Street, the old Roman roadto London) one comes first to West Hampnett, famous as the birthplace, in 1792, of Frederick William Lillywhite, the "Nonpareil" bowler, whomwe shall meet again at Brighton. A mile and a half beyond is Halnaker, midway between two ruins, those of Halnaker House to the north andBoxgrove Priory to the south. Of the remains of Halnaker House, a Tudormansion, once the home of the De la Warrs, little may now be seen; butBoxgrove is still very beautiful, as Mr. Griggs' drawings prove. ThePriory dates from the reign of Henry I. , when it was founded verymodestly for three Benedictine monks, a number which steadily grew. Seven Henries later came its downfall, and now nothing remains but someexquisite Norman arches and a few less perfect fragments. Boxgrovechurch is an object of pilgrimage for antiquaries and architects, thevaulting being peculiarly interesting. At the Halnaker Arms in 1902 wasa landlady whom few cooks could teach anything in the matter of pastry. [Sidenote: THE EARTHAM DILLETANTE] The next village on Stane Street, or rather a little south of it, abouttwo miles beyond Halnaker, is Eartham; which brings to mind WilliamHayley, the friend and biographer of Cowper and the author of _TheTriumphs of Temper_, perhaps the least read of any book that once waspopular. Hayley succeeded his father as squire of Eartham; here heentertained Cowper and other friends; here Romney painted. When needcame 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 inHayley's account of the visit: "_Homer_ was not the immediate object ofour attention while Cowper resided at Eartham. The morning hours that wecould bestow on books were chiefly devoted to a complete revisal andcorrection of all the translations, which my friend had finished, fromthe Latin and Italian poetry of Milton; and we generally amusedourselves after dinner in forming together a rapid metrical version ofAndreini's _Adamo_. But the constant care which the delicate health ofMrs. Unwin required rendered it impossible for us to be very assiduousin study, and perhaps the best of all studies was to promote and sharethat most singular and most exemplary tenderness of attention with whichCowper incessantly laboured to counteract every infirmity, bodily andmental, with which sickness and age had conspired to load thisinteresting guardian of his afflicted life. .. . The air of the southinfused a little portion of fresh strength into her shattered frame, andto give it all possible efficacy, the boy, whom I have mentioned, and ayoung associate and fellow student of his, employed themselves regularlytwice a day in drawing this venerable cripple in a commodiousgarden-chair round the airy hill of Eartham. To Cowper and to me it wasa very pleasing spectacle to see the benevolent vivacity of bloomingyouth thus continually labouring for the ease, health, and amusement ofdisabled age. " [Sidenote: COWPER IN SUSSEX] The poet and Mrs. Unwin, after much trepidation and doubt, had leftWeston Underwood on August 1, 1792; they slept at Barnet the firstnight, 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 ofthe most delightful pleasure grounds in the world. "I had no conceptionthat a poet could be the owner of such a paradise, and his house is aselegant as his scenes are charming. " The poet, apart from his rapidtreatment of _Adamo_, did not succeed independently in attaining toHayley's fluency among these surroundings. "I am in truth sounaccountably 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 atRhodes, I seem incapable of writing at all except at Weston. " Hence theonly piece that he composed in our county was the epitaph on Fop, a dogbelonging to Lady Throckmorton. But while he was at Eartham Romney drewhis portrait in crayons. [Illustration: _Boxgrove from the South. _] Cowper always looked back upon his visit with pleasure, but, as heremarked, the genius of Weston Underwood suited him better--"It has anair of snug concealment in which a disposition like mine feels itselfpeculiarly gratified; whereas now I see from every window woods likeforests and hills like mountains--a wilderness, in short, that ratherincreases my natural melancholy. .. . Accordingly, I have not looked outfor a house in Sussex, nor shall. " The simplest road from Chichester to the Downs is the railway. Thelittle train climbs laboriously to Singleton, and then descends toCocking and Midhurst. By leaving it at Singleton one is quickly in theheart of this vast district of wooded hills, sometimes wholly forested, sometimes, as in West Dean park, curiously studded with circular clumpsof trees. [Sidenote: THE CHARLTON HUNT] The most interesting spot to the east of the line is Charlton, once sofamous among sporting men, but now, alas, unknown. For Charlton was ofold a southern Melton Mowbray, the very centre of the aristocratichunting county. The Charlton Hunt had two palmy periods: before the Dukeof 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 houndsresumed their old condition, and the Charlton pack became the mostfamous in the world. On the death of Mr. Roper--in the hunting field, in1715, 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 PollyPeachum of _The Beggars' Opera_) lured him to the tents of the women. Then came the glorious reign of the second Duke of Richmond, when sportwith the Charlton was at its height. The Charlton Hunt declined upon hisdeath, in 1750, became known as the Goodwood Hunt, and wholly ceased tobe at the beginning of the last century. The crowning glory of the Charlton Hunt was the run of Friday, January26, 1738, which is thus described in an old manuscript:-- [Sidenote: A FAMOUS RUN] A FULL AND IMPARTIAL ACCOUNT OF THE REMARKABLE CHASE AT CHARLTON, ON FRIDAY, 26TH JANUARY, 1738. 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. PRESENT IN THE MORNING:-- 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. 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 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. [Sidenote: JOHNSON THE EXEMPLAR] In Singleton church is a record of the Charlton Hunt in the shape of amemorial to one of the huntsmen, the moral of which seems to be that wemust all be huntsmen too:-- "Near this place lies interred THOMAS JOHNSON, who departed this life at Charlton, December 20th, 1774. "From his early inclination to fox-hounds, he soon became an experiencedhuntsman. 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, ofseveral of the nobility and gentry. Among these were the Lord CONWAY, Earl of CARDIGAN, the Lord GOWER, the Duke of MARLBOROUGH, the Hon. M. SPENCER. The last master whom he served, and in whose service he died, was CHARLES, Duke of RICHMOND, LENNOX, and AUBIGNY, who erected thismonument in memory of a good and faithful servant, as a reward to thedeceased, and an incitement to the living. 'Go, and do thou likewise. ' (St. Luke, x. 37). 'Here Johnson lies; what human can deny Old Honest Tom the tribute of a sigh? Deaf is that ear which caught the opening sound; Dumb that tongue which cheer'd the hills around. Unpleasing truth: Death hunts us from our birth In view, and men, like foxes, take to earth. '" [Sidenote: THE SUSSEX PACKS] A few words on the packs of Sussex at the present time may beinteresting in this connection. Chief is the Southdown Fox Hounds, avery fine, fast pack brought to a high state of perfection by the latemaster, the Hon. Charles Brand. They hunt the open and hill countrybetween the Adur and Cuckmere, between Haywards Heath and the sea. Inthe north are the Crawley and Horsham Fox Hounds, which have largewoodlands, high hedges, and some stiff ploughed soil to their less easylot. The hounds are bigger and heavier than the South Downers. Smallerpacks are Lord Leconfield's Fox Hounds, which have the Charlton country;the Eastbourne Fox Hounds, to which the East Sussex Fox Hounds allotteda share of the western part of their country east of the Cuckmere; andthe Burstow and Eridge packs. Of Harriers, the best are the BrightonHarriers, so long hunted by Mr. Hugh Gorringe of Kingston-by-Sea, a verysmart pack lately covering the ground between the Adur and Falmer, andnow adding the Brookside Harriers' country to their own domain, the twopacks having been amalgamated. In the east are the Bexhill Harriers andthe Hailsham Harriers; and in the west the South Coast Harriers, for theChichester country. Sussex, in addition to possessing the WarnhamStaghounds, is much raided by the Surrey Staghounds. The Crowhurst OtterHounds also visit the Sussex streams now and then. Foot Beagles may benumerous but I know only of the Brighton pack. [Sidenote: MR. KNOX'S SETTER] And here let me give Mr. Knox's description of a day's shooting, in thegentlemanly way, on the Sussex Downs, following, in his _OrnithologicalRambles_, upon some remarks on the battue. "How different is the pursuitof the pheasant with the aid of spaniels in the thick covers of theweald, or tracking him with a single setter among some of the wilderportions of the forest range!--intently observing your dog andanticipating the wily artifices of some old cock, with spurs as long asa dragon's, who will sometimes lead you for a mile through bog, brake, fern, and heather, before the sudden drop of your staunch companion, anda rigidity in all his limbs, satisfy you that you have at last compelledthe bird to squat under that wide holly-bush, from whence you kick himup, and feel some little exultation as you bring him down with asnap-shot, having only caught a glimpse of him through the evergreenboughs, as he endeavoured to escape by a rapid flight at the oppositeside of the tree. [Sidenote: A SUSSEX BAG] "And then the woodcock-shooting in November--I must take you back oncemore to my favourite Downs. With the first full moon during that month, especially if the wind be easterly or the weather calm, arrive flightsof woodcocks, which drop in the covers, and are dispersed among thebushy valleys, and even over the heathery summits of the hills. If itshould happen to be a propitious year for beech-mast--the greatattraction to pheasants on the Downs, as is the acorn in the weald--youmay procure partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits in perhaps equalproportions, with half a dozen woodcocks to crown the bag. [Illustration: _East Lavant. _] "The extensive, undulating commons and heaths dotted with broken patchesof Scotch firs and hollies on the ferruginous sand north of the Downs, afford--where the manorial rights are enforced--still greater variety ofsport. On this wild ground, accompanied by my spaniels and an oldretriever, and attended only by one man, to carry the game, I haveenjoyed as good sport as mortal need desire on this side of the Tweed. Here is a rough sketch of a morning's work. [Sidenote: PARTRIDGE AND WOODCOCK] "Commencing operations by walking across a turnip-field, two or threecoveys spring wildly from the farther end, and fly, as I expect, to theadjoining common, where they are marked down on a brow thickly clothedwith furze. Marching towards them with spaniels at heel, up jumps a hareunder my nose, then another, then a rabbit. I reload rapidly, and onreaching the gorse 'put in' the dogs. Whirr! there goes a partridge! Thespaniels drop to the report of my gun, but the fluttering wings of thedying bird rouse two of his neighbours before I am ready, and away theyfly, screaming loudly. The remainder are flushed in detail and I succeedin securing the greater part of them. Now for the next covey. They weremarked down in that little hollow where the heather is longer thanusual--a beautiful spot! But before I reach it, up they all spring in anunexpected quarter; that cunning old patriarch at their head hadcleverly called them together to a naked part of the hill from whence hecould observe my manoeuvres, and a random shot sent after him withhearty good will proved totally ineffective. "Now the spaniels are worming through the thick sedges on either side ofthe brook which intersects the moor, and by their bustling anxiety it iseasy to see that game is afoot. Keeping well in front of them, I am justin time for a satisfactory right and left at two cock pheasants, whichthey had hunted down to the very edge of the water before they couldpersuade them to take wing. Now for that little alder coppice at thefurther end of the marshy swamp. Hark to that whipping sound sodifferent from the rush of the rising pheasant or the drumming flight ofthe partridge! I cannot see the bird, but I know it is a woodcock. Thismust be one of his favourite haunts, for I perceive the tracks of hisfeet and the perforations of his bill in every direction on the blackmud around. Mark! again. A second is sprung, and as he flits between thenaked alders a snap-shot stops his career. I now emerge at the fartherend, just where the trees are thinner than elsewhere. A wisp of snipesutter their well-known cry and scud over the heath; one of these issecured. The rest fly towards a little pool of dark water lying at aconsiderable distance from the common, a well-known rendezvous forthose birds. Cautiously approaching, down wind, I reach the margin. Upsprings a snipe; but just as my finger is on the trigger, and when toolate to alter my intention, a duck and mallard rise from among therushes and wheel round my head. One barrel is fortunately left, and thedrake comes tumbling to the ground. Three or four pheasants, anothercouple of woodcocks, a few more snipes, a teal or two, and half a dozenrabbits picked up at various intervals, complete the day's sport, and Ireturn home, better pleased with myself and my dogs than if we hadcompassed the destruction of all the hares in the county, or assisted atthe immolation of a perfect hecatomb of pheasants. " [Sidenote: KINGLY BOTTOM] Kingly Bottom is the most interesting spot to the west of Singleton. Onemay reach it either through Chilgrove, or by walking back towardsChichester as far as Binderton House, turning then to the right andwalking due west for a couple of miles. Report says that the yews inKingly Bottom, or Kingly Vale, mark a victory of Chichester men over aparty of marauding Danes in 900, and that the dead were buried beneaththe barrows on the hill. The story ought to be true. The vale isremarkable for its grove of yews, some of enormous girth, which extendsalong the bottom to the foot of the escarpment. The charge that might bebrought against Sussex, that it lacks sombre scenery and the elements ofdark romance, that its character is too open and transparent, would beurged to no purpose in Kingly Vale, which, always grave and silent, istransformed at dusk into a sinister and fantastic forest, a home forwitchcraft and unquiet spirits. So it seems to me; but among the verses of Bernard Barton, the Quakerpoet and the friend of Charles Lamb, I lately chanced upon a sonnet"written on hearing it remarked that the scenery [of Kingly Bottom] wastoo gloomy to be termed beautiful; and that it was also associated withdolorous recollections of Druidical sacrifices. " In this poem Bartontakes a surprisingly novel line. "Nay, nay, it is not gloomy" he begins, and the end is thus:-- Nor fancy Druid rites have left a stain Upon its gentle beauties:--loiter there In a calm summer night, confess how fair Its moonlight charms, and thou wilt learn how vain And transitory Superstition's reign Over a spot which gladsome thoughts may share. The ordinary person, not a poet, would, I fear, prefer to think ofKingly Bottom's Druidical past. [Sidenote: THE MARDEN VIOLETS] The last time I was in Kingly Bottom--it was in April--after leaving thebarrows on the summit of the Bow Hill, above the Vale, I walked bydevious ways to East Marden, between banks thick with the whitest andsweetest of sweet white violets. East Marden, however, has no inn and istherefore not the best friend of the traveller; but it has the mostmodest and least ecclesiastical-looking church in the world, and byseeking it out I learned two secrets: the finest place for white violetsand the finest place to keep a horse. There is no riding country toexcel this hill district between Singleton and the Hampshire border. At the neighbouring village of Stoughton, whither I meant to walk (sincean inn is there) was born, in 1783, the terrible George Brown--Brown ofBrighton--the fast bowler, whose arm was as thick as an ordinary man'sthigh. He had two long stops, one of whom padded his chest with straw. Along stop once held his coat before one of Brown's balls, but the ballwent through it and killed a dog on the other side. Brown could throw a4-1/2 oz. Ball 137 yards, and he was the father of seventeen children. He died at Sompting in 1857. [Sidenote: CHURCHYARD POETRY] Of Racton, on the Hampshire border, and its association with CharlesII. , I have already spoken. Below, it is Westbourne, a small bordervillage in whose churchyard are two pleasing epitaphs. Of Jane, wife ofThomas Curtis, who died in 1719, it is written:-- She was like a lily fresh and green, Soon cast down and no more seen. and of John Cook: Pope said an honest man Is the noblest work of God. If Pope's assertion be from error clear, One of God's noblest works lies buried here. [Illustration: _Bosham. _] CHAPTER VI CHICHESTER AND THE PLAIN 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. On leaving Chichester West Street becomes the Portsmouth Road and passesthrough 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 ofChichester Harbour, once of some importance but now chiefly mud. Boshamis the most interesting village in what may be called the Selseypeninsula. Yet how has its glory diminished! What is now a quiet abodeof fishermen and the tarrying-place of yachtsmen and artists (there arefew Royal Academy exhibitions without the spire of Bosham church) hasbeen in its time a very factory of history. Vespasian's camp was hardby, and it is possible that certain Roman remains that have been foundhere were once part of his palace. Bosham claims to be the scene ofCanute's encounter with the encroaching tide; which may be the case, although one has always thought of the king rebuking his flatterersrather by the margin of the ocean itself than inland at an estuary'sedge. But beyond question Canute had a palace here, and his daughter wasburied in the church. [Sidenote: A COSTLY PUN] Earl Godwin, father of Harold, last of the Saxons, dwelt here also. "Damihi basium"--give me a kiss--he is fabled to have said to ArchbishopAethelnoth, and on receiving it to have taken the salute as acquiescencein the request--"Da mihi Bosham": probably the earliest and also themost expensive recorded example in England of this particular form ofhumour. It was from Bosham that Harold sailed on that visit to the Duke ofNormandy which resulted in the battle of Hastings. In the Bayeuxtapestry he may be seen riding to Bosham with his company, and alsoputting up prayers for the success of his mission. Of this success weshall see more when we come to Battle. Bosham furthermore claims Hubertof Bosham, the author of the _Book of Becket's Martyrdom_, who was withSaint Thomas of Canterbury when the assassins stabbed him to the death. The church is of great age; it is even claimed that the tower is theoriginal Saxon. The circumstance that in the representation of theedifice in the Bayeux tapestry there is no tower has been urged againstthis theory, although architectural realism in embroidery has never beenvery noticeable. The bells (it is told) were once carried off in aDanish raid; but they brought their captors no luck--rather the reverse, since they so weighed upon the ship that she sank. When the presentbells ring, the ancient submerged peal is said to ring also in sympathyat the bottom of the Channel--a pretty habit, which would suggest thatbell metal is happily and wisely superior to changes of religion, wereit not explained by the unromantic principles of acoustics. A heavy pole, known as the staff of Bevis of Southampton (and Arundel), was of old kept in Bosham church. At high water Bosham is the fair abode of peace. When every stragglingarm of the harbour is brimming full, when their still surfaces reflectthe sky with a brighter light, and the fishing boats ride erect, Boshamis serenely beautiful and restful. But at low tide she is a slut: thewithdrawing floods lay bare vast tracts of mud; the ships heel over intoattitudes disreputably oblique; stagnation reigns. [Sidenote: CHIDHAM WHEAT] Chidham, by Bosham, is widely famous for its wheat. Chidham White, orHedge, wheat was first produced a little more than a century ago by Mr. Woods, a farmer. He noticed one afternoon (probably on a Sunday, whenfarmers are most noticing) an unfamiliar patch of wheat growing in ahedge. It contained thirty ears, in which were fourteen hundred corns. Mr. Woods carefully saved it and sowed it. The crop was eight pounds anda half. These he sowed, and the crop was forty eight gallons. Thus itmultiplied, until the time came to distribute it to other farmers at ahigh price. The cultivation of Chidham wheat by Mr. Woods at one side ofthe county, synchronised with the breeding of the best Southdown sheepby John Ellman at the other, as we shall see later. South of Chichester stretches the Manhood peninsula, of which Selsey isthe principal town: the part of Sussex most neglected by the traveller. In a county of hills the stranger is not attracted by a district thatmight almost have been hewn out of Holland. But the ornithologist knowsits value, and in a world increasingly bustling and progressive there isa curious fascination in so remote and deliberate a region, over which, even in the finest weather and during the busiest harvest, a suggestionof desolation broods. Nothing, one feels, can ever introduce Successinto this plain, and so thinking, one is at peace. [Sidenote: THE MONOTONY OF MANHOOD] A tramway between Chichester and Selsey has to some extent opened up theeast side of the peninsula, but the west is still remote and willprobably remain so. The country is, however, not interesting: a deadlevel of dusty road and grass or arable land, broken only by hedges, dykes, white cottages, and the many homesteads within their ramparts ofwind-swept elms. Wheat and oats are the prevailing crops, still for themost part cut and bound by hand. Of the villages in the centre of thepeninsula Sidlesham is the most considerable, with its handsome squarechurch tower and its huge red tide-mill, now silent and weather-worn, standing mournfully at the head of the dry harbour of Pagham, whosewaters once turned its wheels. On the west, on the shores of the Boshamestuary, or Chichester Harbour, are the sleepy amphibious villages ofAppledram, famous once for its salt and its smugglers, Birdham, andEarnley. Let no one be tempted to take a direct line across the fieldsfrom Selsey to Earnley, for dykes and canals must effectually stop him. Indeed, cross country walking in this part of the country is practicallyan impossibility, except by continuous deviations and doublings. Inattempting one day to reach Earnley from Selsey in this way (aftergiving up the beach in despair), I came upon several adders, and I oncefound one crossing a road absolutely in Selsey. Selsey is a straggling white village, or town, over populous withvisitors in summer, empty, save for its regular inhabitants, in winter. The oldest and truest part of Selsey is a fishing village on the eastshore of the Bill, a little settlement of tarred tenements and lobsterpots. Selsey church, now on the confines of the town, once stood a mileor 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. Selsey Bill is a tongue of land projecting into a shallow sea. Alighthouse being useless to warn strange mariners of the sandbanks ofthis district, a lightship known as the Owers flashes its rays far outin 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 dayextended for miles. The shallow water covering it is still called thepark by the fishermen, who drop their nets where the bucks and does ofSelsey were wont to graze. [Sidenote: SUSSEX REPELS ST. WILFRID] But the sea has obliterated more than the pasturage of the deer; a miledistant from the present shore stood the first monastery erected inSussex after Wilfrid's conversion of the South Saxons to Christianity. Although Saint Wilfrid eventually found a home in Sussex and worked hardamong its people, his first attempt to bring Christianity to the countywas, according to his friend Edda's _Vita Wilfridi_, ill-starred. Iquote the story:-- "A great gale blowing from the South-east, the swelling waves threw themon the unknown coast of the South Saxons. The sea too left the ship andmen, and retreating from the land and leaving the shore uncovered, retired into the depths of the abyss. "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 toput to the sword those who resisted. To whom our great bishop spokegently and peaceably, offering much money, wishing to redeem theirsouls. "But they with stern and cruel hearts like Pharaoh would not let thepeople of the Lord go, saying proudly that, 'All that the sea threw onthe land became as much theirs as their own property. ' "And the idolatrous chief priest of the heathen, standing on a loftymound, strove like Balaam to curse the people of God, and to bind theirhands by his magic arts. "Then one of the bishop's companions hurled, like David, a stone, blessed by all the people of God, which struck the cursing magician inthe forehead and pierced his brain, when an unexpected death surprised, as it did Goliath, falling back a corpse in sandy places. "The heathen therefore preparing to fight, vainly attacked the people ofGod. But the Lord fought for the few, even as Gideon by the command ofthe Lord, with 300 warriors slew at one attack 12, 000 of the Midianites. "And so the comrades of our holy bishop, well-armed and brave, thoughfew 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 theother, but would either win death with glory, or life with victory (forboth alike are easy to the Lord). So S. Wilfrith with his clerk fell onhis knees, and lifting his hands to Heaven again sought help from theLord. For, as Moses triumphed when Hur and Aaron supported his hands, byfrequently imploring the protection of the Lord, when Joshua the son ofNun was fighting with the people of God against Amalek, thus these fewChristians after thrice repulsing the fierce and untamed heathen, routedthem with great slaughter, with a loss strange to say of only five ontheir side. "And their great priest (Wilfrith) prayed to the Lord his God, whoimmediately ordered the sea to return a full hour before its wont. Sothat when the heathen, on the arrival of their king, were preparing fora fourth attack with all their forces, the rising sea covered with itswaves the whole of the shore, and floated the ship, which sailed intothe deep. But, greatly glorified by God, and returning Him thanks, witha South wind they reached Sandwich, a harbour of safety. " [Sidenote: JOHN WESLEY'S TESTIMONY] 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 inall England. Between Selsey and Bognor lies Pagham, famous in the pages of Knox's_Ornithological Rambles_, but otherwise unknown. Of the lost glories ofPagham, which was once a harbour, but is now dry, let Mr. Knoxspeak:--"Here in the dead long summer days, when not a breath of airhas been stirring, have I frequently remained for hours, stretched onthe hot shingle, and gazed at the osprey as he soared aloft, or watchedthe little islands of mud at the turn of the tide, as each graduallyrose from the receding waters, and was successively taken possession ofby flocks of sandpipers and ring-dotterels, after variouscircumvolutions on the part of each detachment, now simultaneouslypresenting their snowy breasts to the sunshine, now suddenly turningtheir dusky backs, so that the dazzled eye lost sight of them from thecontrast; while the prolonged cry of the titterel, [2] and the melancholynote of the peewit from the distant swamp, have mingled with the screamof the tern and the taunting laugh of the gull. [Sidenote: PAGHAM'S LOST GLORIES] "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, thatpattern of a fisherman, as with retracted neck, and eyes fixed onvacancy, he has stood for hours without a single snap, motionless as astatue. Here, too, have I pursued the guillemot, or craftily endeavouredto cut off the retreat of the diver, by mooring my boat across thenarrow passage through which alone he could return to the open seawithout having recourse to his reluctant wings. Nor can I forget howoften, during the Siberian winter of 1838, when 'a whole gale, ' as thesailors have it, has been blowing from the north-east, I used to take upmy position on the long and narrow ridge of shingle which separated thisparadise from the raging waves without, and sheltered behind a hillockof seaweed, with my long duck-gun and a trusty double, or half buried ina hole in the sand, I used to watch the legions of water-birds as theyneared the shore, and dropped distrustfully among the breakers, at adistance from the desired haven, until, gaining confidence fromaccession of numbers, some of the bolder spirits--the pioneers of thearmy--would flap their wings, rise from the white waves, and make forthe calm water. Here they come! I can see the pied golden-eyepre-eminent among the advancing party; now the pochard, with hiscopper-coloured head and neck, may be distinguished from the darkerscaup-duck; already the finger is on the trigger, when, perhaps, theysuddenly veer to the right and left, far beyond the reach of my longestbarrel or, it may be, come swishing overhead, and leave a companion ortwo struggling on the shingle or floating on the shallow waters of theharbour. " Pagham Harbour is now reclaimed, and where once was mud, or, at hightide, shallow water, is rank grass and thistles. One ship that seems tohave waited a little too long before making for the open sea again, nowlies high and dry, a forlorn hulk. Pagham church is among the airiestthat I know, with a shingle spire, the counterpart of Bosham's on theother side of the peninsula. The walk from Pagham to Bognor, along the sand, is uninspiring and nottoo easy, for the sand can be very soft. About a mile west of Bognor oneis driven inland, just after passing as perfect an example of the simpleyet luxurious seaside home as I remember to have seen: all on one floor, thatched, shaded by trees, surrounded by its garden and facing theChannel. [Sidenote: EARLY BOGNOR] Among the unattractive types of town few are more dismal than thewatering-place _manqué_. Bognor must, I fear, come under this heading. Its reputation, such as it is, was originally made by PrincessCharlotte, daughter of George III. , who found the air recuperative, andwho was probably not unwilling to lend her prestige to a resort, as herbrother George was doing at Brighton, and her sister Amelia had done atWorthing. But before the Princess Charlotte Sir Richard Hotham, thehatter, had come, determined at any cost to make the town popular. Oneof his methods was to rename it Hothampton. His efforts were, however, only moderately successful, and he died in 1799, leaving to whatHorsfield calls "his astonished heirs" only _£_8, 000 out of a greatfortune. The name Hothampton soon vanished. The local authorities of Bognor seem to be keenly alive to the value ofenterprise, for their walls are covered with instructions as to what mayor may not be done in the interests of cleanliness and popularity; a newsea-wall has been built; receptacles for waste paper continuallyconfront one, and deck chairs at twopence for three hours arepractically unavoidable. And yet Bognor remains a dull place, once thevisitor has left his beach abode--tent or bathing box, whichever it maybe. It seems to be a town without resources. But it has the interest, denied one in more fashionable watering-places, of presenting old andnew Bognor at the same moment; not that old Bognor is really old, but itis instructive to see the kind of crescent which was considered the lastword in architectural enterprise when our great-grandmothers were youngand would take the sea air. [Sidenote: A POET ON HORSEBACK] From Bognor it is a mere step to Felpham, a village less than a mile tothe east. Whether or not one goes there to-day is a matter of taste; buta 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 hiscastellated stucco house became a shrine. At that day it seems to havebeen no uncommon sight for the visitor to Bognor to be refreshed by thespectacle of the poet falling from his horse. According to hisbiographer, Cowper's Johnny of Norfolk, Hayley descended to earth almostas often as Alice's White Knight, partly from the high spirit of hissteed, and partly from a habit which he never abandoned of wearingmilitary spurs and carrying an umbrella. The memoir of the poet containsthis agreeable passage: "The Editor was once riding gently by his side, on the stony beach of Bognor, when the wind suddenly reversed hisumbrella as he unfolded it; his horse, with a single but desperateplunge, pitched him on his head in an instant. .. . On another occasion, on the same visit . .. He was tost into the air on the Downs, at theprecise moment when an interested friend whom they had just left, beingapprehensive of what would happen, was anxiously viewing him from hiswindow, through a telescope. " Those who look through telescopes arerarely so fortunate. It is odd that Hayley, a delicate and heavy mansuffering from hip-disease, should have taken so little hurt. Althoughhe 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 wayhas been removed, but a mulberry tree planted by Hayley stillflourishes. Whenever Hayley was ill he became an object of intense interest tovisitors at Bognor. Binsted's Library in the town exhibited a dailybulletin; and in 1819 the Prince and Princess of Saxe-Coburg called uponhim, while the Princess of Hesse Homburg on her return sent aprescription from Germany. [Sidenote: HAYLEY HOUR BY HOUR] Mrs. Opie, the novelist, who stayed with Mr. Hayley every summer, andalso served as a magnet to devout sojourners at Bognor, has left anaccount of the poet's habits which is vastly more entertaining than hispoetry. He rose at six or earlier and at once composed some devotionalverse. At breakfast, he read to Mrs. Opie; afterwards Mrs. Opie read tohim. At eleven they drank coffee, and before he dressed for dinner, avery temperate meal, Mrs. Opie sang. After dinner there was more readingaloud, the matter being either manuscript compositions of Mr. Hayley's, or modern publications. Mr. Hayley took cocoa and Mrs. Opie tea, andafterwards Mrs. Opie read aloud or sang. At nine, the servants came toprayers, which were original compositions of Mr. Hayley's, read by himin a very impressive manner, and before bed, Mrs. Opie sang one of Mr. Hayley's hymns. Hayley's grave is at Felpham, and his epitaph by Mrs. Opie may be readby the industrious on the wall of the church. Among the many epitaphs onhis neighbours by Hayley himself, who had a special knack of mortuaryverse, is this on a Felpham blacksmith:-- My sledge and hammer lie reclined; My bellows too have lost their wind; My fire's extinct; my forge decay'd, And in the dust my vice is laid; My coal is spent, my iron gone; The nails are driven--my work is done. The last verses that Hayley wrote have more charm and delicacy thanperhaps anything else among his works: Ye gentle birds that perch aloof, And smooth your pinions on my roof, Preparing for departure hence Ere winter's angry threats commence; Like you, my soul would smooth her plume For longer flights beyond the tomb. May God, by whom is seen and heard Departing man and wandering bird, In mercy mark us for his own, And guide us to the land unknown. [Sidenote: A FAIRY'S FUNERAL] But it is not Hayley that gives its glory to Felpham. The glory ofFelpham is that William Blake was happy there for nearly three years. Itwas at Felpham that he saw the fairy's funeral. "Did you ever see afairy's funeral, ma'am?" he asked a visitor. "Never, sir!" "I have!. .. Iwas walking alone in my garden; there was great stillness among thebranches and flowers, and more than common sweetness in the air; I hearda low and pleasant sound, and I knew not whence it came. At last I sawthe broad leaf of a flower move, and underneath I saw a procession ofcreatures, 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!" Blake settled at Felpham to be near Hayley, for whom he had a number ofcommissions to execute. He engraved illustrations to Hayley's works, and painted eighteen heads for Hayley's library--among them, Shakespeare, Homer, and Hayley himself; but all have vanished, thepresent owner knows not where. In some verses which Blake addressed to Anna Flaxman, the wife of thesculptor, in September, 1800, a few days before moving from London tothe Sussex coast, he says:-- This song to the flower of Flaxman's joy; To the blossom of hope, for a sweet decoy; Do all that you can and all that you may To entice him to Felpham and far away. Away to sweet Felpham, for Heaven is there; The ladder of Angels descends through the air, On the turret its spiral does softly descend, Through the village then winds, at my cot it does end. [Sidenote: THE PROPHETS AT FELPHAM] 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, hesays, "Felpham is a sweet place for study, because it is more spiritualthan London. Heaven opens here on all sides its golden gates; thewindows are not obstructed by vapours; voices of celestial inhabitantsare more distinctly heard, their forms more distinctly seen; and mycottage is also a shadow of their houses. " Beside the sea Blake communedwith the spirits of Dante and Homer, Milton and the Hebrew Prophets. Blake's sojourn at Felpham ended in 1803. A grotesque and annoyingincident marred its close, the story of which, as told by the poet in aletter to Mr. Butler, certainly belongs to the history of Sussex. Itshould, however, first be stated that an ex-soldier in the RoyalDragoons, named John Scholfield, had accused Blake of uttering seditiouswords. The letter runs:--"His enmity arises from my having turned himout of my garden, into which he was invited as an assistant by agardener at work therein, without my knowledge that he was so invited. Idesired him, as politely as possible, to go out of the garden; he mademe an impertinent answer. I insisted on his leaving the garden; herefused. I still persisted in desiring his departure. He then threatenedto knock out my eyes, with many abominable imprecations, and with somecontempt for my person; it affronted my foolish pride. I therefore tookhim 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 himselfinto a posture of defiance, threatening and swearing at me. I, perhapsfoolishly and perhaps not, stepped out at the gate, and, putting asidehis 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 whileendeavouring to turn round and strike me, and raging and cursing, whichdrew out several neighbours. At length when I had got him to where hewas quartered, which was very quickly done, we were met at the gate bythe master of the house--the Fox Inn--(who is the proprietor of mycottage) and his wife and daughter, and the man's comrade, and severalother people. My landlord compelled the soldiers to go indoors, aftermany abusive threats against me and my wife from the two soldiers; butnot one word of threat on account of sedition was uttered at that time. " [Sidenote: WILLIAM BLAKE, TRAITOR] As a result, Blake was haled before the magistrates and committed fortrial. The trial was held in the Guildhall at Chichester, on January11th, 1804. Hayley, in spite of having been thrown from his horse on aflint with, says Gilchrist, Blake's biographer, "more than usualviolence" was in attendance to swear to the poet's character, andCowper's friend Rose, a clever barrister, had been retained. Accordingto the report in the County paper, "William Blake, an engraver atFelpham, was tried on a charge exhibited against him by two soldiers forhaving uttered seditious and treasonable expressions, such as 'd--n theking, 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 theweakest must go to the wall; I will help him; &c. , &c. '" Blakeelectrified the court by calling out "False!" in the midst of themilitary evidence, the invented character of which was, however, soobvious that an acquittal resulted. "In defiance of all decency, " thespectators cheered, and Hayley carried off the sturdy Republican (as hewas at heart) to Mid Lavant, to sup at Mrs. Poole's. [Sidenote: BLAKE'S FLASHING EYE] Mr. Gilchrist found an old fellow who had been present at the trial, drawn thither by the promise of seeing the great man of theneighbourhood, Mr. Hayley. All that he could remember was Blake'sflashing eye. 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 refreshmenta museum containing such treasures as a petrified cocoanut, the skeletonof a lobster twenty-eight years old, and a representation of Moses inthe bulrushes. A third and fourth great man, of a different type both from Hayley andBlake, met at Felpham in 1819. One was Cyril Jackson, Dean of ChristChurch, who, lying on his death-bed in the Manor House, was visited bythe other--his old pupil, the First Gentleman in Europe. FOOTNOTE: [2] The Sussex provincial name for the whimbrel. [Illustration: _Arundel. _] CHAPTER VII ARUNDEL AND NEIGHBOURHOOD 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. Seen from the river or from the east side of the Arun valley, Arundel isthe most imposing town in Sussex. Many are larger, many are equally old, or older; but none wears so unusual and interesting an air, not evenLewes among her Downs. 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 massof battlemented stone, with a keep, a gateway, and a history, and yetmore habitable than ever. So many of the rich make no effort to live intheir ancestral halls; and what might be a home, carrying on thetradition of ages, is so often only a mere show, that to find anhistoric castle like Arundel still lived in is very gratifying. InSussex alone are several half-ruined houses that the builders couldquickly make habitable once more. Arundel Castle, in spite of time andthe sieges of 1102, 1139, and 1643, is both comfortable and modern;Arundel still depends for her life upon the complaisance of herover-lord. [Sidenote: MODERN MEDIEVALISM] I know of no town with so low a pulse as this precipitous littlesettlement under the shadow of Rome and the Duke. In spite of picnicparties in the park, in spite of anglers from London, in spite of therailway 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 bein old France, and certainly in the Middle Ages. Time's revenges have had their play in this town. Although the church isstill bravely of the establishment, half of it is closed to the Anglicanvisitor (the chancel having been adjudged the private property of theDukes of Norfolk), and the once dominating position of the edifice hasbeen 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; butthe spire has yet to come. The old Irish soldier, humorous andbemedalled, who keeps watch and ward over the fane, is not the least ofits merits. Although the chancel of the parish church has been closed, permission toenter may occasionally be obtained. It is rich in family tombs of greatinterest 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, firedtheir cannon from the church tower. They also turned the church into abarracks, and injured much stone work beyond repair. A fire beaconblazed of old on the spire to serve as a mark for vessels enteringLittlehampton harbour. 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 oxevery week with bread and mustard, and drank two hogsheads of beer. Hence "Bevis Tower. " His sword Morglay is still to be seen in thearmoury of the castle; his bones lie beneath a mound in the park; andthe town was named after his horse. So runs a pretty story, which is, however, demolished with the ruthlessness that comes so easily to theantiquary and philologist. Bevis Tower, science declares, was namedprobably after another Bevis--there was one at the Battle of Lewes, whotook prisoner Richard, King of the Romans, and was knighted forit--while Arundel is a corruption of "hirondelle, " a swallow. Mr. Lowermentions that in recent times in Sussex "Swallow" was a common name instables, even for heavy dray horses. But before accepting finally theswallow theory, we ought to hear what Fuller has to say:--"Some willhave it so named from _Arundel_ the _Horse_ of _Beavoice_, the great_Champion_. I confess it is not without precedence in _Antiquity_ for_Places_ to take _names_ from _Horses_, meeting with the _PromontoryBucephalus_ in Peloponesus, where some report the _Horse_ of _Alexander_buried, and Bellonius will have it for the same cause called _Cavalla_at this day. But this _Castle_ was so called long before that _ImaginaryHorse_ was _foled_, who cannot be fancied elder than his MasterBeavoice, flourishing after the Conquest, long before which _Arundel_was so called from the river _Arund_ running hard by it. " [Sidenote: LORD THURLOW LAYS AN EGG] The owls that once multiplied in the keep have now disappeared. Theywere 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, yourGrace, Lord Thurlow has laid an egg, " is an historic speech handed downby tradition. Lord Thurlow, the owl in question, died at a great age in1859. [Illustration: _The Arun at North Stoke. _] [Sidenote: ARUNDEL PARK] To walk through Arundel Park is to receive a vivid impression of thesize and richness of our little isolated England. Two or three greattowns could be hidden in it unknown to each other. Valley succeeds tovalley; new herds of deer come into sight at almost every turn; as faras the eye can see the grass hills roll away. Those accustomed to parkswhose deer are always huddled close and whose wall is never distant, arebewildered by the vastness of this enclosure. Yet one has also thefeeling that such magnificence is right: to so lovely a word as Arundel, to the Premier Duke and Hereditary Earl Marshal of England, shouldfittingly fall this far-spreading and comely pleasaunce. Had ArundelPark been small and empty of deer what a blunder it would be. Walking west of Arundel through the vast Rewell Wood, we come suddenlyupon Punch-bowl Green, and open a great green valley, dominated by thewhite façade of Dale Park House, below Madehurst, one of the most remoteof Sussex villages. [Sidenote: SLINDON] By keeping due west for another mile Slindon is reached. This village isone of the Sussex backwaters, as one might say. It lies on no road thatany one ever travels except for the purpose of going to Slindon orcoming 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 SlindonHouse is nobly Elizabethan, with fine pictures and hiding-places, andSlindon beeches are among the aristocracy of trees. And here I shouldlike to quote a Sussex poem of haunting wistfulness and charm, which waswritten by Mr. Hilaire Belloc, who once walked to Rome and is an olddweller at Slindon:-- [Sidenote: A SOUTH COUNTRY SONG] THE SOUTH COUNTRY. When I am living in the Midlands, That are sodden and unkind, I light my lamp in the evening: My work is left behind; And the great hills of the South Country Come back into my mind. The great hills of the South Country They stand along the sea: And it's there walking in the high woods That I could wish to be, And the men that were boys when I was a boy Walking along with me. The men that live in North England I saw them for a day: Their hearts are set upon the waste fells, Their skies are fast and grey: From their castle-walls a man may see The mountains far away. The men that live in West England They see the Severn strong, A-rolling on rough water brown Light aspen leaves along. They have the secret of the Rocks, And the oldest kind of song. But the men that live in the South Country Are the kindest and most wise, They get their laughter from the loud surf, And the faith in their happy eyes Comes surely from our Sister the Spring, When over the sea she flies; The violets suddenly bloom at her feet, She blesses us with surprise. I never get between the pines, But I smell the Sussex air, Nor I never come on a belt of sand But my home is there; And along the sky the line of the Downs So noble and so bare. A lost thing could I never find, Nor a broken thing mend; And I fear I shall be all alone When I get towards the end. Who will there be to comfort me, Or who will be my friend? I will gather and carefully make my friends Of the men of the Sussex Weald, They watch the stars from silent folds, They stiffly plough the field. By them and the God of the South Country My poor soul shall be healed. If I ever become a rich man, Or if ever I grow to be old, I will build a house with deep thatch To shelter me from the cold, And there shall the Sussex songs be sung And the story of Sussex told. I will hold my house in the high wood Within a walk of the sea, And the men who were boys when I was a boy Shall sit and drink with me. [Sidenote: NEWLAND, NYREN, AND SILVER BILLY] 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 Englandagainst Kent. He was left-handed, and the finest bat ever seen in thosedays. He taught Richard Nyren, of Hambledon, all the skill and judgmentthat that noble general possessed; Nyren communicated his knowledge tothe Hambledon eleven, and the game was made. An interest in historicalveracity compels me to add that William Beldham--Silver Billy--talkingto 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 in1766]; but that there was no good play I know by this, that RichardNewland, of Slindon in Sussex, as you say, sir, taught old RichardNyren, and that no Sussex man could be found to play Newland. Now asecond-rate man of our parish beat Newland easily; so you may judge whatthe rest of Sussex then were. " But this is disregarding thecharacteristic uncertainty of the game. If one would spend a day far from mankind, on high ground, there is nobetter way than to walk from Arundel through Houghton Forest (where, aswe have seen, Charles II. Avoided the Governor) to Cocking. CHAPTER VIII LITTLEHAMPTON 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. Littlehampton is favoured in having both sea and river. It also haslawns between the houses and the beach, as at Dieppe, and is as nearly achildren's paradise as exists. The sea at low tide recedes almost beyondthe reach of the ordinary paddler, which is as it should be except forthose that would swim. A harbour, a pier, a lighthouse, a windmill--allthese are within a few yards of each other. On the neighbouring beach, springing from the stones, you find the yellow-horned poppy, beautifulboth in flower and leaf, and the delicate tamarisk makes a natural hedgeparallel with the sea, to Worthing on the one side, and to Bognor on theother. The little villages in the flats behind the eastern tamariskhedge--Rustington, Preston, Ferring, are, in summer, veritable suntraps, with their white walls dazzling in radiance. Such trees as growabout here all bow to the north-east, bent to that posture by theprevailing south-west winds. A Sussex man, on the hills or south ofthem, lost at night, has but to ascertain the outline of a tree, and hemay get his bearings. If he cannot see so much as that he has but tofeel the bark for lichen, which grows on the north east, or lee, side. It was at Littlehampton in September, 1817, that Coleridge met Cary, thetranslator of Dante. Cary was walking on the beach, reciting Homer tohis son. Up came a noticeable man with large grey eyes: "Sir, yours is aface I should know. I am Samuel Taylor Coleridge. " [Sidenote: A CHURCH DUEL] The county paper for February 27, 1796, has this paragraph: "On Mondaylast a duel was fought betwixt Mr. R----n and Lieut. B----y, both ofLittlehampton, in a field near that place, which, after the discharge ofeach a pistol, terminated without bloodshed. The dispute, we understand, originated about a pew in the parish church. " A local proverb says that if you eat winkles in March it is as good as adose of medicine; which reminds me that Sussex has many wise sayings ofits own. Here is a piece of Sussex counsel in connection with theroaring month:-- If from fleas you would be free, On the first of March let all your windows closed be. I quote two other rhymes:-- If you would wish your bees to thrive Gold must be paid for every hive; For when they're bought with other money There will be neither swarm nor honey. The first butterfly you see, Cut off his head across your knee, Bury the head under a stone And a lot of money will be your own. On Whit Sunday the devout Sussex man eats roast veal and gooseberrypudding. A Sussex child born on Sunday can neither be hanged nordrowned. [Sidenote: "CLIMPING FOR PERFECTION"] West of Littlehampton is an architectural treasure, in the shape ofClimping church, which no one should miss. The way is over the ferry andalong the road to the first signboard, when one strikes northwardtowards Ford, and comes suddenly upon this squat and solid fane. A Saxonchurch stood here, built by the Prioress of Leominster, before theConquest: to Roger de Montgomerie was the manor given by the Conqueror, as part of the earldom of Arundel and Chichester, together withAtherington manor, much of which is now, like Selsey's park, under theChannel. De Montgomerie gave Climping manor to the nuns of Almanesches, by whom the present Norman fortress-tower (with walls 4-1/4 feet thick)was added, and in 1253 John de Climping, the vicar, rebuilt theremainder. The church is thus six and a half centuries old, and parts ofit are older. "Bosham, for antiquity; Boxgrove, for beauty; andClimping, for perfection" is the dictum of an antiquary quoted by thepresent vicar in a little pamphlet-history of his parish. As regards theNorman doorway, at any rate, he is right: there is nothing in Sussex toexcel that; while in general architectural attraction the building is ofthe richest. It is also a curiously homely and ingratiating church. 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 afterCaractacus, the British Chief, whose daughter, Claudia, married Pudens, both friends of the Apostle (2 Tim. Iv. 21). Pudens afterwards commandedthe Roman soldiers stationed at Regnum (Chichester), and if St. Paulcame to Britain, at Claudia's request (as ancient writers testify), hecertainly would visit Sussex. How close this brings us here in Sussex tothe Bible story!" At Baylies Court, now a farmhouse, the Benedictine monks of Seez, alsoprotégés of Robert de Montgomerie, had their chapel, remains of whichare still to be seen. 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 "aHeathen Festival") and of the sportsmen of the Sussex Coursing Club, whofind that the terrified Climping hare gives satisfaction beyond most inthe county. Of Ford, north of Climping, there is nothing to say, except that popularrumour has it that its minute and uninteresting church (the antithesisof Climping) was found one day by accident in a bed of nettles. [Sidenote: JEFFERIES IN SUSSEX] A good eastern walk from Littlehampton takes one by the sea to Goring, and then inland over Highdown Hill to Angmering, and so to Littlehamptonagain or to Arundel, our present centre. Goring touches literature intwo places. The great house was built by Sir Bysshe Shelley, grandfatherof the poet; and in the village died, in 1887, Richard Jefferies, authorof _The Story of My Heart_, after a life of ill-health spent in theservice of nature. Many beautiful and sympathetic descriptions of Sussexare scattered about in Jefferies' books of essays, notably, "ToBrighton, " "The South Down Shepherd, " and "The Breeze on Beachy Head" in_Nature near London_; "Clematis Lane, " "Nature near Brighton, " "Sea, Skyand Down, " and "January in the Sussex Woods" in _The Life of theFields_; "Sunny Brighton" in _The Open Air_, and "The Country-Side, Sussex" and "Buckhurst Park" in _Field and Hedgerow_. Jefferies had away of blending experiences and concealing the names of places, whichmakes 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 inits hedges is unsurpassed. John Taylor, the water poet, has a doggerel narrative entitled "A NewDiscovery by Sea with a Wherry from London to Salisbury, " 1623, whereinhe mentions a woful night with fleas at Goring, and pens a coupletworthy to take a place with the famous description of a similarvisitation in _Eothen_:-- Who in their fury nip'd and skip'd so hotly, That all our skins were almost turned to motley. [Sidenote: JOHN TAYLOR AND THE CONSTABLE] Taylor gives us in the same record a pleasant picture of the Sussexconstable in 1623:-- The night before a Constable there came, Who asked my trade, my dwelling, and my name, My businesse, and a troupe of questions more, And wherefore we did land vpon that shore? To whom I fram'd my answers true and fit, (According to his plenteous want of wit) But were my words all true or if I ly'd With neither I could get him satisfi'd. He ask'd if we were Pyrats? We said No, (_As if we had we would haue told him so_) He said that Lords sometimes would enterprise T' escape and leaue the Kingdome in disguise: But I assur'd him on my honest word That I was no disguisèd Knight or Lord. He told me then that I must goe sixe miles T' a Justice there, Sir John or else Sir Giles: I told him I was lothe to goe so farre, And he told me he would my journey barre. Thus what with Fleas and with the seuerall prates Of th' officer, and his _Ass_-sociats We arose to goe, but Fortune bade us stay: The Constable had stolne our oares away, And borne them thence a quarter of a mile Quite through a Lane beyond a gate and stile; And hid them there to hinder my depart, For which I wish'd him hang'd with all my heart. A plowman (for us) found our Oares againe, Within a field well fil'd with Barley Graine. Then madly, gladly, out to sea we thrust, 'Gainst windes and stormes, and many a churlish Gust, By _Kingston_ Chappelle and by _Rushington_, By _Little-Hampton_ and by _Middleton_. [Sidenote: THE MILLER AND SWEET DEATH] Highdown, above Goring, is a good hill in itself, conical in shape, as ahill should be according to the exacting ideas of childhood, with asweeping view of the coast and the Channel; but its fame as a resort ofholiday makers comes less from its position and height than from thecircumstance that John Oliver is buried upon it. John Oliver was themiller of Highdown Hill. When not grinding corn he seems to have busiedhimself with thoughts upon the necessary end of all things, to such anextent that his meditations on the subject gradually became a mania. His coffin was made while he was still a young man, and it remainedunder his bed until its time was ripe, fitted--to bring it to a point ofpreparedness unusual even with the Chinese, those masters ofanticipatory obsequies--with wheels, which the miller, I doubt not, regularly oiled. John Oliver did not stop there. Having his coffincomfortably at hand, he proceeded to erect his tomb. This was built in1766, with tedious verses upon it from the miller's pen; while in analcove near the tomb was a mechanical arrangement of death's-heads whichmight keep the miller's thoughts from straying, when, as with Dr. Johnson's philosopher, cheerfulness would creep in. The miller lived in the company of his coffin, his tomb, and his_mementi mori_, until 1793, when at the age of eighty-four his hopeswere realised. Those who love death die old. Between two and three thousand persons attended the funeral; no one waspermitted to wear any but gay clothes; and the funeral sermon was readby a little girl of twelve, from the text, Micah vii. 8, 9. [Sidenote: A DIGRESSION ON MILLS] The mill of John Oliver has vanished, nothing but a depression in theturf now indicating where its foundations stood. Too many Sussexwindmills have disappeared. Clayton still has her twain, landmarks formany miles--I have seen them on exceptionally clear days from theKentish hills--and other windmills are scattered over the county; butmany more than now exist have ceased to be, victims of the power ofsteam. There is probably no contrast æsthetically more to thedisadvantage of the modern substitute than that of the steam mill ofto-day with the windmill of yesterday. The steam mill is always ugly, always dusty, always noisy, usually in a town. The windmill stands highand white, a thing of life and radiance and delicate beauty, surroundedby grass, in communion with the heavens. Such noise as it has iselemental, justifiable, like a ship's cordage in a gale. No one wouldpaint a steam mill; a picture with a windmill can hardly be a failure. Constable, who knew everything about the magic of windmills, paintedseveral in Sussex--one even at Brighton. Brighton now has but one mill. There used to be many: one in the WestHill road, a comelier landmark than the stucco Congregational tower thathas taken its place close by and serves as the town's sentinel fromalmost every point of approach. In 1797 a miller near Brightonanticipated American enterprise by moving his mill bodily to a place twomiles distant by the help of eighty oxen. Another weakness of steam mills is that they are apparently withoutmillers--at least there is no unmistakable dominating presence in awhite hat, to whom one can confidently apply the definite article, as inthe mill on the hill. Millers' men there are in plenty, but the milleris lacking. This is because steam mills belong to companies. Thus, withthe passing of the windmill we lose also the miller, that notable figurein English life and tradition; always jolly, if the old songs are true;often eccentric, as the story of John Oliver has shown; and usually acharacter, as becomes one who lives by the four winds, or by water--forthe miller of tradition was often found in a water-mill too. Thewater-miller's empire has been threatened less than that of thewindmill, for there is no sudden cessation of water power as of windpower. Sussex still has many water-mills--cool and splashing homes ofpeaceful bustle. Long may they endure. Highdown Hill has other associations. In 1812 the Gentlemen of the Wealdmet 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, theGentlemen of the Weald winning by only seven runs. Among the Gentlemenof the Sea-coast was Mr. Osbaldeston, while the principal Gentleman ofthe Weald was Mr. E. H. Budd. A mile north of Highdown Hill, in a thickly wooded country, are Patchingand Clapham; Patching celebrated for its pond, which washes thehigh-road to Arundel, and Clapham for its woods. Three hundred and moreyears ago Patching Copse was the scene of a treasonable meeting betweenWilliam Shelley, an ancestor of the poet, one branch of whose familylong held Michelgrove (where Henry VIII. Was entertained by ourplotter's grandfather), and Charles Paget: sturdy Roman Catholics both, who thus sought each other out, on the night of September 16, 1583, toconfer as to the possibility of invading England, deposing Elizabeth, and setting Mary Queen of Scots upon the throne. Nothing came of theplot save the imprisonment of Shelley (who was condemned to death butescaped the sentence) and the flight of Paget, to hatch further treasonabroad. [Sidenote: THE PERFECT WIFE] 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, soldit in 1800. This was the Sir John Shelley who composed the followingepitaph in Clapham church (one of Sir Gilbert Scott's restorations) tocommemorate the very remarkable virtues of his lady--untimely snatchedfrom his side:-- Here Lyeth the Body of Wilhelmina Shelley who departed this Life the 21st of March 1772 Aged Twenty three years. She was a pattern for the World to follow: Such a being both in form and mind perhaps never existed before. A most dutiful, affectionate, and Virtuous Wife, A most tender and Anxious parent, A most sincere and constant Friend, A most amiable and elegant companion; Universally Benevolent, generous, and humane; The Pride of her own Sex, The admiration of ours. She lived universally belov'd, and admir'd She died as generally rever'd, and regretted, A loss felt by all who had the happiness of knowing Her, By none to be compar'd to _that_ of her disconsolate, affectionate, Loving, & in this World everlastingly Miserable Husband, Sir JOHN SHELLEY, Who has caused this inscription to be Engrav'd. Horsfield tells us that "the beechwoods in this parish [Patching] andits immediate neighbourhood are very productive of the Truffle(_Lycoperdon tuber_). About forty years ago William Leach came from theWest Indies, with some hogs accustomed to hunt for truffles, andproceeding along the coast from the Land's End, in Cornwall, to themouth of the River Thames, determined to fix on that spot where he foundthem most abundant. He took four years to try the experiment, and atlength settled in this parish, where he carried on the business oftruffle-hunter till his death. " Angmering, which we may take on our return to Arundel, is a typicallydusty Sussex village, with white houses and thatched roofs, and a ratherfiner church than most. On our way back to Arundel, in the middle of awood, a little more than a mile from Angmering, to the west, we comeupon an interesting relic of a day when tables bore nobler loads thannow they do: a decoy pond formed originally to supply wild duck to thekitchen of Arundel Castle, but now no longer used. The long taperingtunnels of wire netting, into which the tame ducks of the decoy luredtheir wild cousins, are still in place, although the wire has largelyperished. [Sidenote: THE PALMER TRIPLETS] At an old house near the Decoy (now converted into cottages), which anynative will gladly and amusedly point out, lived, in the reign of HenryVIII. , Lady Palmer, the famous mother of the Palmer triplets, who weredistinguished from other triplets, not only by being born each on asuccessive Sunday but by receiving each the honour of knighthood. Thecurious circumstances of their birth seem to be well attested. [Illustration: _Gateway, Amberley Castle. _] CHAPTER IX AMBERLEY AND PARHAM 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. [Sidenote: SUSSEX FISH] Five miles to the north of Arundel by road (over the Arun at Houghton'sancient bridge, restored by the bishops of Chichester in the fifteenthcentury), and a few minutes by rail, is Amberley, the fishing metropolisof Sussex, where, every Sunday in the season, London anglers meet todrop their lines in friendly rivalry. "Amerley trout" (as Walton callsthem) and Arundel mullet are the best of the Arun's treasures; and thisreminds me of Fuller's tribute to Sussex fish, which may well be quotedin this watery neighbourhood: "Now, as this County is eminent for both_Sea_ and _River-_fish, namely, an _Arundel Mullet_, a _ChichesterLobster_, a _Shelsey Cockle_, and an _Amerly Trout_; so _Sussex_aboundeth with more _Carpes_ than any other of this Nation. And thoughnot so great as _Jovius_ reporteth to be found in the _Lurian Lake_ in_Italy_, weighing more than fifty pounds, yet those generally of greatand goodly proportion. I need not adde, that _Physicians_ account thegalls of _Carpes_, as also a stone in their heads, to be _Medicinable_;only I will observe that, because _Jews_ will not eat _Caviare_ made of_Sturgeon_ (because coming from a fish wanting Scales, and thereforeforbidden in the _Levitical Law_); therefore the _Italians_ make greaterprofit of the _Spaun_ of _Carps_, whereof they make a _Red Caviare_, well pleasing the _Jews_ both in _Palate_ and _Conscience_. All I willadde of _Carps_ is this, that _Ramus_ himself doth not so much redoundin _Dichotomies_ as they do; seeing no one bone is to be found in theirbody, which is not _forked_ or divided into two parts at the endthereof. " Amberley proper, as distinguished from Amberley of the anglers, is amile from the station and is built on a ridge. The castle is the extremewestern end of this ridge, the north side of which descendsprecipitously to the marshy plain that extends as far as Pulborough. Standing on the castle one sees Pulborough church due north--heightcalling unto height. The castle is now a farm; indeed, all Amberley is ahuge stockyard, smelling of straw and cattle. It is sheer Sussex--chalkysoil, whitewashed cottages, huge waggons; and one of the best of Sussexpainters, and, in his exquisite modest way, of all painters living, dwells in the heart of it--Edward Stott, who year after year showsLondon connoisseurs how the clear skin of the Sussex boy takes theevening light; and how the Southdown sheep drink at hill ponds beneath aviolet sky; and that there is nothing more beautiful under the starsthan a whitewashed cottage just when the lamp is lit. [Sidenote: AMBERLEY AND PARHAM] Amberley has no right to lay claim to a castle, for the old ruins arenot truly, as they seem, the remains of a castellated stronghold, butof a crenellated mansion. John Langton, Bishop of Chichester in thefourteenth century, was the first builder. Previously the Church landshere had been held very jealously, and in 1200 we find Bishop Gilbert deLeofard twice excommunicating, and as often absolving, the Earl ofArundel for poaching (as he termed it) in Houghton Forest. The Churchlost Amberley in the sixteenth century. William Rede, who succeededLangton 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 hostileand defensive. Hence its lion-like mien; but it has known no warfare, and the castle's mouldering walls now give what assistance they can inharbouring live stock. Twentieth-century sheds lean againstfourteenth-century masonry; faggots are stored in the moat; lawn tennisis played in the courtyard; and black pigeons peep from the slits cutfor arquebusiers. [Illustration: _Amberley Castle. _] Amberley Castle only once intrudes itself in history: Charles II. , during his flight in 1651, spent a night there under the protection ofSir John Briscoe, as we saw in Chapter III. In winter, if you ask an Amberley man where he dwells, he says, "Amberley, God help us. " In summer he says, "Amberley--where _would_ youlive?" From Amberley to Parham one keeps upon the narrow ridge for a mile orso, branching off then to the left. Parham's advance guard is seen allthe way--a clump of fir trees, indicating that the soil there changes tosand. [Sidenote: A NOBLE DAME] For two possessions is Parham noted: a heronry in the park, and in thehouse a copy of Montaigne with Shakespeare's autograph in it. The house, a spreading Tudor mansion, is the seat of Lord Zouche, a descendant ofthe traveller, Robert Curzon, who wrote _The Monasteries of the Levant_, that long, leisurely, and fascinating narrative of travel. In additionto Montaigne, it enshrines a priceless collection of armour, ofincunabula and Eastern MSS. Among the pictures are full lengths of SirPhilip Sidney and Lady Sidney, and that Penelope D'Arcy--one of Mr. Hardy's "Noble Dames"--who promised to marry three suitors in turn anddid so. We see her again at Firle Place. A hiding hole for priests and other refugees is in the long gallery, access to it being gained through a window seat. There was hiddenCharles Paget after the Babington conspiracy. [Sidenote: THE PARHAM HERONS] 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 thefamous herons build. The most interesting time to visit the heronry isin the breeding season, for then one sees the lank birds continuallyhoming from the Amberley Wild Brooks with fishes in their bills and longlegs streaming behind. The noise is tremendous, beyond all rookeries. Mr. Knox's _Ornithological Rambles_, from which I have already quotedfreely, has this passage: "The herons at Parham assemble early inFebruary, and then set about repairing their nests, but the trees arenever entirely deserted during the winter months; a few birds, probablysome of the more backward of the preceding season, roosting among theirboughs every night. They commence laying early in March, and the greaterpart 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 theadjacent boughs, and bask for hours in the warm sunshine; but althoughnow comparatively quiet during the day, they become clamorous for foodas the evening approaches, and indeed for a long time appear to be moredifficult to wean, and less able to shift for themselves, than mostbirds of a similar age. They may be observed, as late as August, stillon the trees, screaming for food, and occasionally fed by their parents, who forage for them assiduously; indeed, these exertions, so far frombeing relaxed after the setting of the sun, appear to be redoubledduring the night; for I have frequently disturbed herons when riding bymoonlight among the low grounds near the river, where I have seldom seenthem during the day, and several cottagers in the neighbourhood ofParham have assured me that their shrill cry may be heard at all hoursof the night, during the summer season, as they fly to and fro overhead, on their passage between the heronry and the open country. [Illustration: _Amberley Castle, entrance to Churchyard. _] [Sidenote: MANY MIGRATIONS] "The history or genealogy of the progenitors of this colony isremarkable. They were originally brought from Coity Castle, in Wales, byLord Leicester's steward, in James the First's time, to Penshurst, inKent, the seat of Lord de Lisle, where their descendants continued formore than two hundred years; from thence they migrated to Michelgrove, about seventy miles from Penshurst and eight from Parham; here theyremained for nearly twenty years, until the proprietor of the estatedisposed of it to the late Duke of Norfolk, who, having purchased it, not as a residence, but with the view of increasing the local propertyin the neighbourhood of Arundel, pulled down the house, and felled oneor two of the trees on which the herons had constructed their nests. Themigration commenced immediately, but appears to have been gradual; forthree seasons elapsed before all the members of the heronry had foundtheir way over the Downs to their new quarters in the fir-woods ofParham. This occurred about seventeen years ago [written c. 1848]. " Sussex, says Mr. Borrer, author of _The Birds of Sussex_, has two otherlarge heronries--at Windmill Hill Place, near Hailsham, and Brede, nearWinchelsea--and some smaller ones, one being at Molecomb, aboveGoodwood. Betsy's Oak in Parham Park is said to be so called because QueenElizabeth sat beneath it. But another and more probable legend calls itBates's Oak, after Bates, an archer at Agincourt in the retinue of theEarl of Arundel (and in _Henry V. _). Good Queen Bess, however, dined inthe hall of Parham House in 1592. At Northiam, in East Sussex, we shallcome (not to be utterly baulked) to a tree under which she truly did sitand dine too. [Sidenote: JACK PUDDING'S WISDOM] Beyond Parham, less than two miles to the east, is Storrington, a quietSussex village far from the rail and the noise of the world, with theDowns within hail, and fine sparsely-inhabited country between them andit to wander in. The church is largely modern. I find the followingsententious paragraph in the county paper for 1792:--"This is an age of_Sights_ and _polite entertainment_ in the country as well as in thecity. --The little town of _Storrington_ has lately been visited by a_Company of Comedians_, --_a Mountebank Doctor_, --and a _Puppet Show_. One day the Doctor's _Jack Pudding_ finding the shillings come in butslowly, exclaimed to his Master, 'Gad, Sir, it is not worth _our_ whileto stay here any longer, _players_ have got all the _gold_, _we_ all the_silver_, and _Punch_ all the _copper_, so, like sagacious locusts, letus migrate from the place we helped to impoverish. " [Illustration: _Amberley Church. _] [Sidenote: A TRAVELLING CIRCUS] [Sidenote: A TIME-HONOURED JOKE] This reminds me that I saw recently at Petworth, whither we are nowmoving, a travelling circus whose programme included a comic interludethat cannot have received the slightest modification since it was firstplanned, perhaps hundreds of years ago. It was sheer essential elementalhorse-play straight from Bartholomew Fair, and the audience received itwith rapture that was vouchsafed to nothing else. The story would be toolong to tell; but briefly, it was a dumb show representation of thevisit of a guest (the clown) to a wife, unknown to her husband. Thescenery consisted of a table, a large chest, a heap of straw and a hugebarrel. The fun consisted in the clown, armed with a bladder on astring, hiding in the barrel, from which he would spring up and delivera sounding drub upon the head of whatever other character--husband orpoliceman--might be passing, to their complete perplexity. They were, ofcourse, incapable of learning anything from experience. At other timeshe 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 thatgreets so venerable a piece of pantomime, one is surprised that circusowners think it worth while to secure novelties at all. The primitivetaste of West Sussex, at any rate, cannot require them. [Illustration: _Pulborough Church. _] CHAPTER X PETWORTH 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. Petworth is not on the direct road to Horsham, which is our next centre, but it is easily gained from Arundel by rail (changing at Pulborough), or by road through Bury, Fittleworth, and Egdean. [Sidenote: AN ANCIENT FORTRESS] Pulborough is now nothing: once it was a Gibraltar, guarding StaneStreet for Rome. The fort was on a mound west of the railway, corresponding with the church mound on the east. Here probably was acatapulta and certainly a vigilant garrison. Pulborough has no invadernow but the floods, which every winter transform the green waste at herfeet into a silver sea, of which Pulborough is the northern shore andAmberley the southern. The Dutch _polder_ are not flatter or greenerthan are these intervening meadows. The village stands high and dryabove the water level, extended in long line quite like a seaside town. Excursionists come too, as to a watering place, but they bring rods andcreels and return at night with fish for the pan. Between Pulborough and Petworth lie Stopham and Fittleworth, both on theRother, which joins the Arun a little to the west of Pulborough. Stophamhas the most beautiful bridge in Sussex, dating from the fourteenthcentury, and a little church filled with memorials of the Bartelottfamily. One of Stopham's rectors was Thomas Newcombe, a descendant ofthe author of _The Faerie Queene_, the friend of the author of _NightThoughts_, and the author himself of a formidable poem in twelve books, after Milton, called _The Last Judgment_. Fittleworth has of late become an artists' Mecca, partly because of itspretty woods and quaint architecture, and partly because of the warmwelcome that is offered by the "Swan, " which is probably the mostingeniously placed inn in the world. Approaching it from the north itseems to be the end of all things; the miles of road that one hastravelled apparently have been leading nowhere but to the "Swan. "Runaway horses or unsettled chauffeurs must project their passengersliterally into the open door. Coming from the south, one finds that theroad narrows by this inn almost to a lane, and the "Swan's" hospitablesign, barring the way, exerts such a spell that to enter is a farsimpler matter than to pass. [Illustration: _At Pulborough. _] [Sidenote: AN IRRESISTIBLE INN] The "Swan" is a venerable and rambling building, stretching itselflazily with outspread arms; one of those inns (long may they bepreserved from the rebuilders!) in which one stumbles up or down intoevery room, and where eggs and bacon have an appropriateness that makethem a more desirable food than ambrosia. The little parlour iswainscoted with the votive paintings--a village Diploma Gallery--ofartists who have made the "Swan" their home. 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-coveredcommons at the feet of the walker. Between its southern border andBignor Park is a superb common of sand and heather, an inland paradisefor children. 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, closeprisons with windows that annihilate thought by their shatteringunfixedness. Petworth's spire is before one all the way, Petworth itselfclustering on the side of the hill, a little town with several streetsrather 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 theeffect that a long timber waggon once entered Petworth's single, circular street, and has never yet succeeded in emerging. I certainlymet it. [Sidenote: THE SHADOW OF THE PEER] The town seems to be beneath the shadow of its lord even more thanArundel: it is like Pompeii, with Vesuvius emitting glory far above. Onemust, of course, live under the same conditions if one is to feel theauthentic thrill; the mere sojourner cannot know it. One wonders, inthese feudal towns, what it would be like to leave democratic London orthe independence of one's country fastness, and pass for a while beneaththe spell of a Duke of Norfolk, or a Baron Leconfield--a spell possiblynot consciously cast by them at all, but existing none the less, largelythrough the fostering care of the townspeople on the rent-roll, largelythrough the officers controlling the estates; at any rate unmistakable, as present in the very air of the streets as is the presage of athunderstorm. Surely, to be so dominated, without actual influence, must be very restful. Petworth must be the very home of low-pulsedpeace; and yet a little oppressive too, with the great house and itstraditions at the top of the town--like a weight on the forehead. Ishould not like to make Petworth my home, but as a place of pilgrimage, and a stronghold of architectural taste, it is almost unique. [Illustration: _Stopham Bridge. _] [Sidenote: PETWORTH'S HISTORY] [Sidenote: HOTSPUR'S DESCENDANTS] In the Domesday Book Petworth is called Peteorde. It was rated at 1, 080acres, and possessed a church, a mill worth a sovereign, a rivercontaining 1, 620 eels, and pannage for 80 hogs. In the time of theConfessor the manor was worth _£_18; a few years later the price went downto ten shillings. Robert de Montgomerie held Petworth till 1102, when hedefied the king and lost it. Adeliza, widow of Henry I. , having abrother Josceline de Louvaine whom she wished to benefit, Petworth wasgiven to him. Josceline married Agnes, daughter of William de Percy, thedescendant of one of the Conqueror's chief friends, and, doing so, tookhis name. In course of time came Harry Hotspur, whose sword, which heswung at the Battle of Shrewsbury, is kept at Petworth House. The secondEarl 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, wasassassinated at Cock Lodge, Thirsk; Henry, the fifth Earl, led aregiment at the Battle of the Spurs; Henry, the sixth Earl, fell in lovewith Anne Boleyn, but had the good sense not to let Henry the Eighth seeit. Thomas, his brother, was beheaded for treason; Thomas, the seventhEarl, took arms against Queen Elizabeth, and was beheaded in Scotland;Henry, the eighth Earl, attempted to liberate Mary Queen of Scots, andwas imprisoned in the Tower, where he slew himself; Henry, the ninthEarl, was accused of assisting Guy Fawkes and locked up for fifteenyears. He was set at liberty only after paying _£_30, 000, and promisingnever to go more than thirty miles from Petworth House. This kept himout of London. The last two noble Earls of Northumberland were Algernon, Lord HighAdmiral of England, who married Lady Anna Cecil, and planted an oak inthe Park (it is still there) to commemorate the union; and Josceline, eleventh Earl, who died in 1670, leaving no son. He left, however, adaughter, a little Elizabeth, Baroness Percy, who had countless suitorsand was married three times before she was sixteen. Her third husbandwas Charles Seymour, sixth Duke of Somerset, who became in time thefather of thirteen children. Of these all died save three girls, and aboy, Algernon, who became seventh Duke of Somerset. Through one of thedaughters, Catherine, who married Sir William Wyndham, the estates fellto the present family. The next important Lord of Petworth was GeorgeO'Brien Wyndham, third Earl of Egremont, the friend of art andagriculture, who collected most of the pictures. The present owner isthe third Baron Leconfield. [Illustration: _The Rother at Fittleworth. _] [Sidenote: THE EARL AND THE HOUSEMAID] C. R. Leslie, who painted more than one picture in the Petworth gallery, has much to say in his _Autobiographical Recollections_ of its noblefounder the third Earl, his generosity, courtesy, kindly thoughtfulness, and extreme modesty of bearing. One story contains half his biography. Igive it in Leslie's words. After referring to his Lordship'smen-servants and their importance in the house, the painter continues:"His own dress, in the morning, being very plain, he was sometimes bystrangers mistaken for one of them. This happened with a maid of one ofhis lady guests, who had not been at Petworth before. She met him, crossing the hall, as the bell was ringing for the servants' dinner, andsaid: 'Come, old gentleman, you and I will go to dinner together, for Ican't find my way in this great house. ' He gave her his arm, and led herto the room where the other maids were assembled at their table, andsaid: 'You dine here, I don't dine till seven o'clock. '" [Sidenote: THE PETWORTH PICTURES] On certain days in the week visitors are allowed to walk through thegalleries of Petworth House. The parties are shown by a venerableservitor into the audit room, a long bare apartment furnished with astatue and the heads of stags; and at the stroke of the hour acommissionaire 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 commissionaireknows 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 theintimate appreciation of good art. One finds one's attention wanderingtoo often from the soldier with his little index rattan to the deer onthe vast lawn that extends from the windows to the lake--the lake thatTurner painted and fished in. Hobbemas, Vandycks, Murillos--what arethese when the sun shines and the ceaseless mutations of a herd of deerrender the middle distance fascinating? Among the more famous picturesis a Peg Woffington by Hogarth, not here "dallying and dangerous, " butdemure as a nun; also the "Modern Midnight Conversation" from the samehand; three or four bewitching Romneys; a room full of beauties of theCourt of Queen Anne; Henry VIII by Holbein; a wonderful Claude Lorraine;a head of Cervantes attributed to Velasquez; and four views of theThames by Turner. Hazlitt, in his _Sketches of the Picture Galleries ofEngland_, says of this collection:--"We wish our readers to go toPetworth . .. Where they will find the coolest grottoes and the finestVandykes in the world. " [Sidenote: A PICTORAL PARK] Lord Leconfield's park has not the remarkable natural formation of theDuke of Norfolk's, nor the superb situation of the Duke of Richmond andGordon'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 belargely due to the circumstance that _fêtes_ in Petworth Park have beenmore than once painted; but it is due also, I think, to the shape andcolour of the house, to the lake, to the extent of the lawn, to thedisposition of the knolls, and to the deer. A scene-painter, bidden todepict an English park, would produce (though he had never been out ofthe Strand) something very like Petworth. It is the normal park of theaverage imagination on a large scale. [Illustration: _Almshouse at Petworth. _] Cobbett wrote thus of Petworth:--"The park is very fine, and consists ofa parcel of those hills and dells which nature formed here when she wasin one of her most sportive moods. I have never seen the earth flungabout in such a wild way as round about Hindhead and Blackdown, and thispark 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 tothe distance of many miles. From the south-east to the north-west thehills are so lofty and so near that they cut the view rather short; butfor 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 ableto get it from the _present_ owner, though if he live many years theywill give even him a _twist_. " [Sidenote: THE YOUNG RAVENS] 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 maybe seen: Cowdray to the west, the highest points of Goodwood to thesouth-west, the highest points of Arundel to the south-east, andParham's dark forest more easterly still. Mr. Knox's account of thevicissitudes of the Petworth ravens sixty years ago is as interesting asany history of equal length on the misfortunes of man. Their sufferingsat the hands of keepers and schoolboys read like a page of Foxe. Thefinal disaster was the spoliation of their nest by a boy, who removedall four of the children, or "squabs" as he called them. Mr. Knox, whoused to come every day to examine them through his glass, was indespair, until after much meditation he thought of an expedient. Seekingout the boy he persuaded him to give up the one "squab" whose wings hadnot yet been clipped, and this the ornithologist carried to the clumpand deposited in the ruined nest. The next morning the old birds were tobe seen, just as of old, and that was their last molestation. Just under the park on the road to Midhurst is Tillington, a littlevillage with a rather ornamental church, which dates from 1807. There isnothing to say of Tillington, but I should like to quote a prettysentence from Horsfield's _History of Sussex_ concerning the monumentsin the church, in a kind of writing of which we have littleto-day:--"And as the volume, for which this has been written, is likelyto fall chiefly into the hands of men who are occupied almost solelywith the cares and business of this life, this slight reference is madeto the monuments of the dead in order that, should the reader of thisbook find, in the present dearth of honesty, of faithfulness, ofdisinterested valour and of loyalty, an aching want in his spirit forsuch high qualities, let him hence be taught where to go--let him learnthat, though they are rarely found in the busy haunts of men, they arestill preserved and have their home around the sanctuary of the altar ofhis God. " [Sidenote: A TREASURY OF ARCHITECTURE] 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 forthe ordinary buildings in the town. It is a paradise of old-fashionedarchitecture. The church is hideous; the new hotel, the "Swan, " might beat Balham; but the old part of the town is perfect. There is analmshouse (which Mr. Griggs has drawn), in which in its palmy days aLady Bountiful might have lived; even the workhouse has charms--it isthe only pretty workhouse I remember: with the exception, perhaps, ofBattle, but that is, however, self-conscious. Petworth has known, at any rate, one poet. In the churchyard was oncethis epitaph, now perhaps obliterated, from a husband's hand:-- "She was! She was! She was, what? She was all that a woman should be, she was that. " [Sidenote: NOAH MANN] In a book which takes account of Sussex men and women of the past, it ishard to keep long from cricket. To the north of Petworth, whither we nowturn, is Northchapel, where was born and died one of the great men ofthe Hambledon Club, Noah Mann, who once made ten runs from one hit, andwhose son was named Horace, after the cricketing baronet of the samename, by special permission. "Sir Horace, by this simple act ofgraceful humanity, hooked for life the heart of poor Noah Mann, " saysNyren; "and in this world of hatred and contention, the love even of adog is worth living for. " [Illustration: _Petworth Churchyard. _] [Sidenote: GEORGE LEAR'S STRATEGY] This is Nyren's account of Noah Mann: "He was from Sussex, and lived at Northchapel, not far from Petworth. Hekept an inn there, and used to come a distance of at least twenty milesevery 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 moreof his companions would throw down handkerchiefs, and these he wouldcollect, stooping from his horse while it was going at full speed. Hewas a fine batter, a fine field, and the swiftest runner I everremember: indeed, such was his fame for speed, that whenever there was amatch going forward, we were sure to hear of one being made for Mann torun against some noted competitor; and such would come from the wholecountry 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 betyour 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 sureof the ball, his activity was so extraordinary that he would dart allover the ground like lightning. In those days of fast bowling, theywould put a man behind the long-stop, that he might cover both long-stopand slip; the man always selected for this post was Noah. Now and thenlittle George Lear (whom I have already described as being so fine along-stop), would give Noah the wink to be on his guard, who wouldgather close behind him: then George would make a slip on purpose, andlet the ball go by, when, in an instant, Noah would have it up, and intothe wicket-keeper's hands, and the man was put out. This I have seendone many times, and this nothing but the most accomplished skill infielding could have achieved. .. . "At a match of the Hambledon Club against All England, the club had togo in to get the runs, and there was a long number of them. It becamequite apparent that the game would be closely fought. Mann kept onworrying old Nyren to let him go in, and although he became quiteindignant at his constant refusal, our General knew what he was about inkeeping him back. At length, when the last but one was out, he sent Mannin, and there were then ten runs to get. The sensation now all over theground was greater than anything of the kind I ever witnessed before orsince. All knew the state of the game, and many thousands were hangingupon this narrow point. There was Sir Horace Mann, walking about outsidethe ground, cutting down the daisies with his stick--a habit with himwhen he was agitated; the old farmers leaning forward upon their tallold staves, and the whole multitude perfectly still. After Noah had hadone or two balls, Lumpy tossed one a little too far, when our fellow gotin, and hit it out in his grand style. Six of the ten were gained. Never shall I forget the roar that followed this hit. Then there was adead stand for some time, and no runs were made; ultimately, however, hegained them all, and won the game. After he was out, he upbraided Nyrenfor 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 oldtactician was right, for he knew Noah to be a man of such nerve andself-possession, that the thought of so much depending upon him wouldnot have the paralysing effect that it would upon many others. He wassure of him, and Noah afterwards felt the compliment. Mann was short instature, 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 (thesun could not affect _his_ complexion), and he took a liking to me as aboy, because I did the same. " [Sidenote: A LURGASHALL SATIRIST] Lurgashall, on the road to Northchapel, is a pleasant village, with agreen, and a church unique among Sussex churches by virtue of a curiouswooden gallery or cloister, said to have been built as a shelter forparishioners from a distance, who would eat their nuncheon there. Thechurch, which has distinct Saxon remains, once had for rector thesatirical James Bramston, author of "The Art of Politics" and "The Manof Taste, " two admirable poems in the manner of Pope. This is hisunimpeachable advice to public speakers:-- Those who would captivate the well-bred throng, Should not too often speak, nor speak too long: Church, nor Church Matters ever turn to Sport, Nor make _St. Stephen's Chappell, Dover-Court_. CHAPTER XI BIGNOR 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. Two miles due south from Petworth is Burton Park, a modest sandypleasaunce, with some beautiful deer, an ugly house, and a church forthe waistcoat pocket, which some American relic hunter will assuredlycarry off unless it is properly chained. Mr. Knox has an interesting anecdote of a sparrowhawk at Burton. "InMay, 1844, " he writes, "I received from Burton Park an adult malesparrowhawk in full breeding plumage, which had killed itself, or rathermet its death, in a singular manner. The gardener was watering plants inthe greenhouse, the door being open, when a blackbird dashed insuddenly, taking refuge between his legs, and at the same moment theglass roof above his head was broken with a loud crash, and a hawk felldead at his feet. The force of the swoop was so great that for a momenthe imagined a stone hurled from a distance to have been the cause of thefracture. " At Duncton, the neighbouring village, under the hill, James Broadbridgewas born in 1796--James Broadbridge, who was considered the bestall-round cricketer in England in his day. He had a curious hit tosquare-leg between the wicket and himself, and he was the first of whomit was said that he could do anything with the ball except make itspeak. In order to get practice with worthy players he would walk fromDuncton to Brighton, just as Lambert would walk from Reigate to London, or Noah Mann ride to Hambledon from Petworth. Jim Broadbridge's firstgreat match was in 1815, for Sussex against the Epsom Club, includingLambert and Lord Frederick Beauclerk, for a Thousand Guineas. Broadbridge, after his wont, walked from Duncton to Brighton in themorning, and he looked so much like a farmer and so little like acricketer that there was some opposition to his playing. But he bowledout three and caught one and Sussex won the money. Above Duncton rises Duncton Down, which is eight hundred andthirty-seven feet high, one of our mountains. But we are not to climb itjust now, having business in the weald some four miles away to the east, past Barlavington and Sutton, at Bignor. [Sidenote: THE OLDEST GROCER'S SHOP] Admirers of yew trees should make a point of visiting Bignor churchyard. The village has also what is probably the quaintest grocer's shop inEngland; certainly the completest contrast that imagination could deviseto the modern grocer's shop of the town, plate-glassed, illumined andstored to repletion. It is close to the yew-shadowed church, and isgained by a flight of steps. I should not have noticed it as a shop atall, but rather as a very curious survival of a kindly and attractiveform of architecture, had not a boy, when asked the way to the Romanpavement, which is Bignor's glory, mentioned "the grocer's" as one ofthe landmarks. One's connotation of "grocer" excluding diamond panes, oak timbers, difficult steps, and reverend antiquity, I was like to losethe way in earnest, had not a customer emerged opportunely from thecrazy doorway with a basket of goods. It was natural for the boy, whosepennies had gone in oranges and sweets, to lay the emphasis on thegrocery; but the house externally is the only one of its kind withinmiles. [Sidenote: A ROMAN VILLA] In some respects there is no more interesting spot in Sussex than themangold field on Mr. Tupper's farm that contains the Roman pavements. Approaching this scene of alien treasure one observes nothing but themangolds; 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 handinstead a large key. So far, we are in Sussex pure and simple; mangoldsall around, cattle sheds in front, a Sussex farmer for a companion, thesky of Sussex over all, and the twentieth century in her nonage. Mr. Tupper turns the key, throws open the creaking door--and nearly twothousand years roll away. We are no longer in Sussex but in the provinceof the Regni; no longer at Bignor but Ad Decimum, or ten miles fromRegnum (or Chichester) on Stane Street, the direct road to Londinum, inthe residence of a Roman Colonial governor of immense wealth, probablysupreme in command of the province. The fragments of pavement that have been preserved are mere indicationsof the splendour and extent of the building, which must have coveredsome acres--a welcome and imposing sight as one descended Bignor Hill byStane Street, with its white walls and columns rising from the darkweald. The pavement in the first shed which Mr. Tupper unlocks has thefigure of Ganymede in one of its circular compartments; and here thehot-air pipes, by which the villa was heated, may be seen where thefloor has given way. A head of Winter in another of the sheds is veryfine; but it is rather for what these relics stand for, than anyintrinsic beauty, that they are interesting. They are perfect symbols ofa power that has passed away. Nothing else so brings back the Romanoccupation of Sussex, when on still nights the clanking of armour in thecamp on the hill-top could be heard by the trembling Briton in the Wealdbeneath; or by day the ordered sounds of marching would smite upon hisears, and, looking fearfully upwards, he would see a steady file ofwarriors descending the slope. I never see a Sussex hill crowned by acamp, as at Wolstonbury, without seeing also in imagination a flash ofsteel. Perhaps one never realises the new terror which the Romans musthave brought into the life of the Sussex peasant--a terror which utterlychanged the Downs from ramparts of peace into coigns of minatoryadvantage, and transformed the gaze of security, with which their grassycontours had once been contemplated, into anxious glances of dismay andtrepidation--one never so realises this terror as when one descendsDitchling Beacon by the sunken path which the Romans dug to allow astring of soldiers to drop unperceived into the Weald below. Thatsemi-subterranean passage and the Bignor pavements are to me the mostvivid tokens of the Roman rule that England possesses. [Sidenote: PARSON DORSET] Charlotte Smith, the sonneteer and novelist, was the daughter ofNicholas Turner, of Bignor Park, which contains, I think, the plainesthouse I ever saw in the country. Charlotte Smith, who was all her lifevery true to Sussex both in her work and in her homes--she was at schoolat Chichester, and lived at Woolbeding and Brighton--was born in 1749. Acentury 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 willthey, I fear, be re-discovered. Her sister, Catherine Turner, afterwardsMrs. Dorset, was the author of _The Peacock at Home_, a very popularbook for children at the beginning of the last century, suggested byRoscoe's _Butterfly's Ball_. Mrs. Dorset, by the way, married a son ofthe vicar of Walberton and Burlington, whose curious head-dress gave toan odd-looking tree on Bury hill the name of Parson Dorset's wig--forthe parson was known by his eccentricities far from home. The old storyof advice to a flock: "Do as I say, not as I do, " is told also of him. [Sidenote: VILLAGE HUMILITY] The little village of West Burton, east of Bignor, is associated in mymind with an expression of the truest humility. A kindly villager hadgiven me a glass of water, and I unfolded my map and spread it on hergarden wall to consult while I drank. "Why, " she said, "you don't meanto say a little place like West Burton is marked on a map. " This is thevery antipodes of the ordinary provincial pride, which would have theworld's axis project from the ground hard by the village pump. But prideof place is not, I think, a Sussex characteristic. Bury, the next hamlet in the east, under the hills, has curious crickettraditions. In June, 1796, the married women of Bury beat the singlewomen by 80 runs, and thereupon, uniting forces, challenged any team ofwomen 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'sdaughters assuming the names of Big Ben and Mendoza and engaging in ahardly contested prize fight before a large gathering. Big Ben won. [Illustration: _The Causeway, Horsham. _] CHAPTER XII HORSHAM 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. Horsham is the capital of West Sussex: a busy agricultural town withhorse dealers in its streets, a core of old houses, and too many thatare new. There is in England no more peaceful and prosperous row ofvenerable homes than the Causeway, joining Carfax and the church, withits pollarded limes and chestnuts in line on the pavement's edge, itsgraceful gables, jutting eaves, and glimpses of green gardens throughthe doors and windows. The sweetest part of Horsham is there. Elsewherethe town bustles. (I should, however, mention the very picturesquehouse--now cottages--on the left of the road as 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 relicsare numbered. ) [Sidenote: HORSHAM STONE] Horsham not only has beautiful old houses of its own, but it has beenthe cause of beautiful old houses all over the county; since nothing soadds to the charm of a building as a roof of Horsham stone, those largegrey flat slabs on which the weather works like a great artist inharmonies of moss, lichen, and stain. No roofing so combines dignity andhomeliness, and no roofing except possibly thatch (which, however, isshort-lived) so surely passes into the landscape. But Horsham stone isno longer used. It is to be obtained for a new house only by thedemolition of an old; and few new houses have rafters sufficientlystable to bear so great a weight. Our ancestors built for posterity: webuild for ourselves. Our ancestors used Sussex oak where we use fir. Not only is Horsham stone on the roofs of the neighbourhood: it is alsoon the paths, so that one may step from flag to flag for miles, dryshod, or at least without mud. Horsham's place in history is unimportant: but indirectly it played itspart in the fourteenth century, by supplying the War Office of that erawith bolts for cross bows, excellent for slaying Scots and Frenchmen. The town was famous also for its horseshoes. In the days of Cromwell wefind Horsham to have been principally Royalist; one engagement withParliamentarians is recorded in which it lost three warriors toCromwell's one. In the reign of William III. A young man claiming to bethe Duke of Monmouth, and travelling with a little court who addressedhim as "Your Grace, " turned the heads of the women in many an Englishtown--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, foundhim to be the son of an innkeeper named Savage, and imprisoned him as avagrant and swindler. [Sidenote: PRESSING TO DEATH] Horsham was the last place in which pressing to death was practised. Theyear was 1735, and the victim a man unknown, who on being charged withmurder and robbery refused to speak. Witnesses having been called toprove him no mute, this old and horrible sentence, proper (as the lawconsidered) to his offence and obstinacy, was passed upon him. Theexecutioner, the story goes, while conveying the body in a wheelbarrowto burial, turned it out in the roadway at the place where the King'sHead now stands, and then putting it in again, passed on. Not longafterwards he fell dead at this spot. The church of St. Mary, which rises majestically at the end of theCauseway, has a slender shingled spire that reaches a great height--notaltogether, however, without indecision. There is probably an altitudebeyond which shingles are a mistake: they are better suited to the moremodest spire of the small village. The church is remarkable also forlength of roof (well covered with Horsham stone), and it is altogether asingularly commanding structure. Within is an imposing plainness. Thestone effigy of a knight in armour reclines just to the south of thealtar: son of a branch of the Braose family--of Chesworth, hard by, nowin ruins--of whose parent stock we shall hear more when we reachBramber. The knight, Thomas, Lord Braose, died in 1395. The youth ofHorsham, hostile invincibly, like all boys, to the stone nose, havereduced that feature to the level of the face; or was it the work of thePuritans, who are known to have shared in the nasal objection? South ofthe churchyard is the river, from the banks of which the church wouldseem to be all Horsham, so effectually is the town behind it blotted outby its broad back. On the edge of the churchyard is perhaps the smallesthouse in Sussex: certainly the smallest to combine Gothic windows withthe sale of ginger-beer. [Sidenote: A SCHOOL OF CHAMPIONS] Horsham seems always to have been fond of pleasure. Within iron railingsin the Carfax, in a trim little enclosure of turf and geraniums, is theancient iron ring used in the bull-baiting which the inhabitantsindulged in and loved until as recently as 1814. That the town is stilldisposed to entertainment, although of a quieter kind, its wallstestify; for the hoardings are covered with the promise of circus orconjuror, minstrels or athletic sports, drama or lecture. In July, whenI was there last, Horsham was anticipating a _fête_, in which a mockbull-fight and a battle of confetti were mere details; while it wasactually in the throes of a fair. The booths filled an open space to thewest of the town known as the Jew's Meadow, and among the attractionswas Professor Adams with his "school of undefeated champions. " Theplural is in the grand manner, giving the lie to Cashel Byron's patheticplaint:-- It is a lonely thing to be a champion. Avoiding Professor Adams, and walking due west, one comes after a coupleof miles to Broadbridge Heath, where is Field Place, the birthplace ofthe greatest of Sussex poets, and perhaps the greatest of the county'ssons--Percy Bysshe Shelley. The author of _Adonais_ was born in a littlebedroom with a south aspect on August 4, 1792. His father's mother, _née_ Michell, was the daughter of a late vicar of Horsham and member ofan old Sussex family; another Horsham cleric, the Rev. Thomas Edwards, gave the boy his first lessons. Field Place is still very much what itwas in Shelley's early days--the only days it was a home to him. Itstands low, in a situation darkened by the surrounding trees, a ramblinghouse neither as old as one would wish for æsthetic reasons nor as newas comfort might dictate. There is no view. In the garden one may infancy see again the little boy, like all poetic children, "deep in hisunknown day's employ. " Indeed, like all children, might be said, for isnot every child a poet for a little while? In the _Life of Shelley_ byhis cousin Thomas Medwin is printed the following letter to a friend atHorsham, written when he was nine, which I quote not for any particularintrinsic merit, but because it helps to bring him before us in hisField Place days, of which too little is known:-- "_Monday, July 18, 1803. _ "MISS KATE, "HORSHAM, "SUSSEX. "DEAR KATE, --We have proposed a day at the pond next Wednesday, and ifyou will come to-morrow morning I would be much obliged to you, and ifyou could any how bring Tom over to stay all the night, I would thankyou. We are to have a cold dinner over at the pond, and come home to eata bit of roast chicken and peas at about nine o'clock. Mama depends uponyour bringing Tom over to-morrow, and if you don't we shall be very muchdisappointed. Tell the bearer not to forget to bring me a fairing, whichis some ginger-bread, sweetmeat, hunting-nuts, and a pocket-book. Now Iend. "I am not "Your obedient servant, "P. B. SHELLEY. " [Sidenote: SHELLEY IN SUSSEX] We are proud to call Shelley the Sussex poet, but he wrote no Sussexpoems, and a singularly uncongenial father (for the cursing of whom andthe King the boy was famous at Eton) made him glad to avoid the countywhen he was older. It was, however, to a Sussex lady, Miss Hitchener ofHurstpierpoint, that Shelley, when in Ireland in 1812, forwarded the boxof inflammatory matter which the Custom House officersconfiscated--copies of his pamphlet on Ireland and his "Declaration ofRights" broadside, which Miss Hitchener was to distribute among Sussexfarmers who would display them on their walls. These were the samedocuments that Shelley used to put in bottles and throw out to sea, greatly to the perplexity of the spectators and not a little to theannoyance of the Government. Miss Hitchener, as well as therevolutionary, was kept under surveillance, as we learn from the letterfrom the Postmaster-General of the day, Lord Chichester:--"I return thepamphlet declaration. The writer of the first is son of Mr. Shelley, member for the Rape of Bramber, and is by all accounts a mostextraordinary man. I hear he has married a servant, or some person ofvery low birth; he has been in Ireland for some time, and I heard of hisspeaking at the Catholic Convention. Miss Hitchener, of Hurstpierpoint, keeps a School there, and is well spoken of; her Father keeps a PublickHouse in the Neighbourhood, he was originally a Smuggler and changed hisname from Yorke to Hitchener before he took the Public House. I shallhave a watch upon the daughter and discover whether there is anyConnection between her and Shelley. " [Sidenote: "THE SUSSEX MUSE"] 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 someverses by Mr. C. W. Dalmon called "The Sussex Muse, " I find theinfluence of Shelley's surroundings on his mind happily recorded:-- "When Shelley's soul was carried through the air Toward the manor house where he was born, I danced along the avenue at Denne, And praised the grace of Heaven, and the morn Which numbered with the sons of Sussex men A genius so rare! So high an honour and so dear a birth, That, though the Horsham folk may little care To laud the favour of his birthplace there, My name is bless'd for it throughout the earth. I taught the child to love, and dream, and sing Of witch, hobgoblin, folk and flower lore; And often led him by the hand away Into St. Leonard's Forest, where of yore The hermit fought the dragon--to this day, The children, ev'ry Spring, Find lilies of the valley blowing where The fights took place. Alas! they quickly drove My darling from my bosom and my love, And snatched my crown of laurel from his hair. " [Illustration: _Cottages at Slinfold. _] [Sidenote: SLINFOLD] Two miles south-west of Field Place, by a footpath which takes us besidethe Arun, here a narrow stream, and a deserted water mill, we come tothe churchyard of Slinfold, a little quiet village with a church ofalmost suburban solidity and complete want of Sussex feeling. JamesDallaway, the historian of Western Sussex, was rector here from 1803 to1834. He lived, however, at Leatherhead, Slinfold being a sinecure. ASlinfold epitaph on an infant views bereavement with more philosophythan is usual: in conclusion calling upon Patience thus to comfort theparents: Teach them to praise that God with grateful mind For babes that yet may come, for one still left behind. A quarter of a mile west is Stane Street, striking London-wards fromBillingshurst, 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 asstraight as might be as far as Billingsgate, but is now diverted andlost in many spots) at the drive to Dedisham, on the left, and thus savea considerable corner. Dedisham, in its hollow, is an ancientagricultural settlement: a farm and feudatory cottages in perfectcompleteness, an isolated self-sufficing community, lacking nothing--noteven the yellow ferret in the cage. The footpath beyond the homesteadcrosses a field where we find the Arun once again--here a stream windingbetween steep banks, sure home of kingfisher and water-rats. [Sidenote: RUDGWICK] Rudgwick, which is three miles farther west along the hard high road, isa small village on a hill, with the most comfortable lookingchurch-tower in Sussex hiding behind the inn and the general shop. Inthe churchyard lies a Frusannah--a name new to me. Rudgwick was the birthplace, in 1717, of Reynell Cotton, destined to bethe author of the best song in praise of cricket. He entered WinchesterCollege in 1730, took orders and became master of Hyde Abbey school inthe same city, and died in 1779. Nyren prints his song in full. This isthe heart of it:-- The wickets are pitch'd now, and measur'd the ground, Then they form a large ring, and stand gazing around, Since AJAX fought HECTOR, in sight of all TROY, No contest was seen with such fear and such joy. Ye bowlers, take heed, to my precepts attend, On you the whole fate of the game must depend; Spare your vigour at first, nor exert all your strength, But measure each step, and be sure pitch a length. Ye fieldsmen, look sharp, lest your pains ye beguile; Move close, like an army, in rank and in file, When the ball is return'd, back it sure, for I trow Whole states have been ruin'd by one overthrow. Ye strikers, observe when the foe shall draw nigh, Mark the bowler advancing with vigilant eye: Your skill all depends upon distance and sight, Stand firm to your scratch, let your bat be upright. Further west is Loxwood, on the edge of a little-known tract of country, untroubled by railways, the most unfamiliar village in which is perhapsPlaistow. Plaistow is on the road to nowhere and has not its equal forquietude in England. It is a dependency of Kirdford, whence comes thePetworth marble which we see in many Sussex churches. Shillinglee Park, the seat of the Earl of Winterton, is hard by. From these remote parts one may return to Horsham by way of Warnham, onwhose pond Shelley as a boy used to sail his little boat, and whereperhaps he gained that love of navigation which never left him andbrought about his death. Warnham, always a cricketing village, untillately supplied the Sussex eleven with dashing Lucases; but it does sono more. [Sidenote: STANE STREET] Before passing to the east of Horsham, something ought to be said of oneat least of the villages of the south-west, namely, Billingshurst, onStane Street, once an important station between Regnum and Londinum, orChichester and London, as we should now say. It has been conjecturedthat Stane Street (which we first saw at Chichester under the name ofEast Street, and again as it descended Bignor hill in the guise of abostel) was constructed by Belinus, a Roman engineer, who gave to thewoods through which he had to cut his way in this part of Sussex thename, Billingshurst, and to the gate by which London was entered, Billingsgate. Billingshurst's place in literature was made by William Cobbett, for itwas here that he met the boy in a smock frock who recalled to his mindso many of his deeds of Quixotry. The incident is described in the_Rural Rides_:-- [Sidenote: COBBETT AND THE LITTLE CHAP] "This village is seven miles from Horsham, and I got here to breakfastabout seven o'clock. A very pretty village, and a very nice breakfast, in a very neat little parlour of a very decent public-house. Thelandlady sent her son to get me some cream, and he was just such a chapas I was at his age, and dressed just in the same sort of way, his maingarment being a blue smock-frock, faded from wear, and mended withpieces of _new_ stuff, and, of course, not faded. The sight of thissmock-frock brought to my recollection many things very dear to me. Thisboy will, I daresay, perform his part at Billingshurst, or at some placenot far from it. If accident had not taken me from a similar scene, howmany villains and fools, who have been well teased and tormented, wouldhave slept in peace at night, and have fearlessly swaggered about byday! [Illustration: _Rudgwick. _] "When I look at this little chap--at his smock-frock, his nailed shoes, and his clean, plain, coarse shirt, I ask myself, will anything, Iwonder, ever send this chap across the ocean to tackle the base, corrupt, perjured Republican Judges of Pennsylvania? Will this littlelively, but, at the same time, simple boy, ever become the terror ofvillains and hypocrites across the Atlantic? What a chain of strangecircumstances there must be to lead this boy to thwart a miscreanttyrant like M'keen, the Chief Justice, and afterwards Governor, ofPennsylvania, and to expose the corruptions of the band of rascals, called a 'Senate and a House of Representatives, ' at Harrisburgh, inthat state!" [Sidenote: A VILLAGE DISPUTE] Billingshurst church has an interesting ceiling, an early brass (toThomas and Elizabeth Bartlet), and the record of one of those disputesover pews which add salt to village life and now and then, as we saw atLittlehampton, lead to real trouble. The verger (if he be the same) willtell the story, the best part of which describes the race which was heldevery Sunday for certain seats in the chancel, and the tactical"packing" of the same by the winning party. In the not very remote pasta noble carved chair used to be placed in one of the galleries for theschoolmaster, and there would he sit during service surrounded by hisboys. One returns to Horsham from Billingshurst through Itchingfield, wherethe new Christ's Hospital has been built in the midst of green fields: aglaring red-brick settlement which the fastidiously urban ghost ofCharles Lamb can now surely never visit. "Lamb's House, " however, is thename of one of the buildings; and Time the Healer, who can do allthings, may mellow the new school into Elian congeniality. CHAPTER XIII ST. LEONARD'S FOREST 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. To the east of Horsham spreads St. Leonard's Forest, that vast tract ofmoor and preserve which, merging into Tilgate Forest, Balcombe Forest, and Worth Forest, extends a large part of the way to East Grinstead. Only on foot can we really explore this territory; and a compass as wellas a good map is needed if one is to walk with any decision, for thereare many conflicting tracks, and many points whence no broad outlook ispossible. Remembering old days in St. Leonard's Forest, I recall, ingeneral, the odoriferous damp open spaces of long grass, suddenlylighted upon, over which silver-washed fritillaries flutter; and, inparticular, a deserted farm, in whose orchard (it must have been lateJune) was a spreading tree of white-heart cherries in full bearing. Onemay easily, even a countryman, I take it, live to a great age and neverhave the chance of climbing into a white-heart cherry tree and eatingone's fill. Certainly I have never done it since; but that day gave mean understanding of blackbirds' temptations that is still stronger thanthe desire to pull a trigger. The reader must not imagine that St. Leonard's Forest is rich in deserted farms with attractive orchards. Ihave found no other, and indeed it is notably a place in which theexplorer should be accompanied by provisions. [Sidenote: LEONARDSLEE] 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 ofthe 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 strikenorth over Plummer's Plain. This route leads by Coolhurst and throughManning Heath, just beyond which, by following the south, that runs fora mile, one could see Nuthurst. Lower Beeding is not in itselfinteresting; but close at hand is Leonardslee, the seat of Sir EdmundLoder, which is one of the most satisfying estates in the county. Northand south runs a deep ravine, on the one side richly wooded, and on theother, the west, planted with all acclimatisable varieties of Alpineplants and flowering shrubs. The chain of ponds at the bottom of theravine forms one of the principal sources of the Adur. In an enclosureamong the woods the kangaroo has been acclimatised; and beavers aregiven all law. North of Plummer's Plain, in a hollow, are two immense ponds, HammerPond and Hawkin's Pond, our first reminder that we are in the old ironcountry. St. Leonard's Forest, and all the forests on this the forestridge of Sussex, were of course maintained to supply wood with which tofeed the furnaces of the iron masters--just as the overflow of theseponds was trained to move the machinery of the hammers for the breakingof the iron stone. The enormous consumption of wood in the ironfoundries was a calamity seriously viewed by many observers, among themMichael Drayton, of the _Poly Olbion_, who was, however, distressed lessas a political economist than as the friend of the wood nymphs driven bythe encroaching and devastating foundrymen from their native sanctuariesto the inhospitable Downs. Thus he writes, illustrating Lamb's criticismof him that in this work he "has animated hills and streams with lifeand passion above the dreams of old mythology":-- The daughters of the Weald (That in their heavy breasts had long their griefs concealed), Foreseeing their decay each hour so fast come on, Under the axe's stroke, fetched many a grievous groan. When as the anvil's weight, and hammer's dreadful sound, Even rent the hollow woods and shook the queachy ground; So that the trembling nymphs, oppressed through ghastly fear, Ran madding to the downs, with loose dishevelled hair. The Sylvans that about the neighbouring woods did dwell, Both in the tufty frith and in the mossy fell, Forsook their gloomy bowers, and wandered far abroad, Expelled their quiet seats, and place of their abode, When labouring carts they saw to hold their daily trade, Where they in summer wont to sport them in the shade. "Could we, " say they, "suppose that any would us cherish Which suffer every day the holiest things to perish? Or to our daily want to minister supply? These iron times breed none that mind posterity. 'Tis but in vain to tell what we before have been, Or changes of the world that we in time have seen; When, now devising how to spend our wealth with waste, We to the savage swine let fall our larding mast, But now, alas! ourselves we have not to sustain, Nor can our tops suffice to shield our roots from rain. Jove's oak, the warlike ash, veined elm, the softer beech, Short hazel, maple plain, light asp, the bending wych, Tough holly, and smooth birch, must altogether burn; What should the builder serve, supplies the forger's turn, When under public good, base private gain takes hold, And we, poor woful woods, to ruin lastly sold. " [Sidenote: GREAT GUNS] We shall learn later more of this old Sussex industry, but here, in theheart of St. Leonard's Forest, I might quote also what another oldauthor, with less invention, says of it. Under the heading of Sussexmanufactures, Thomas Fuller writes, in the _Worthies_, of great guns:-- "It is almost incredible how many are made of the Iron in this County. Count _Gondomer_ 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) is generally reputed the first Founder of them. Surely _ingenuity_ may seem _transpos'd_, and to have _cross'd her hands_, 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 _Instruments of cruelty_; partly, because subjecting _valour_ to _chance_; partly, because _Guns give no quarter_ (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 _he was curs'd in his Mother's belly, who is kill'd with a Cannon_, ' seeing many prime persons have been slain thereby. " [Sidenote: SUSSEX IRON WORKS] Cannon were not, of course, the only articles which the old Sussexironmasters contrived. The old railings around St. Paul's were cast inSussex; and iron fire-backs were turned out in great numbers. These arestill to be seen in a few of the older Sussex cottages in their originalposition. Most curiosity dealers in the country have a few fire-backs onsale. Iron tombstones one meets with too in a few of the churches andchurchyards in the iron district. There are several at Wadhurst, forexample. [Sidenote: THE "LAND SERPENT"] I have seen grass snakes in plenty in St. Leonard's Forest, and was oncethere with a botanist who, the day being fine, killed a particularlybeautiful one; but the Forest is no longer famous, as once it was, forreally alarming reptiles. The year 1614 was the time. A rambler in theneighbourhood, in August of that year, ran the risk of meeting somethingworth running away from; just as John Steel, Christopher Holder, and awidow woman did. Their story may be read in the Harleian Miscellany. _True and Wonderful_ is the title of the narrative, _A Discourserelating a strange and monstrous Serpent (or Dragon) lately discovered, and yet living, to the great Annoyance and divers Slaughters both of Menand Cattell, by his strong and violent Poyson: In Sussex, two Milesfrom Horsam, in a Woode called St. Leonard's Forrest, and thirtie Milesfrom London, this present Month of August, 1614. With the trueGeneration of Serpents. _ The discourse runs thus:--"In Sussex, there isa pretty market-towne, called Horsam, neare unto it a forrest, calledSt. 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 orfour miles compasse, are its usual haunts, oftentimes at a place calledFaygate, 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 verycorrupt and offensive to the scent; insomuch that they perceive the airto be putrified withall, which must needes be very dangerous. For thoughthe corruption of it cannot strike the outward part of a man, unlessheated into his blood; yet by receiving it in at any of our breathingorgans (the mouth or nose) it is by authoritie of all authors, writingin that kinde, mortall and deadlie, as one thus saith: "_Noxia serpentum est admixto sanguine pestis. _--LUCAN. "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 axeltreeof a cart; a quantitie of thickness in the middest, and somewhat smallerat both endes. The former part, which he shootes forth as a necke, issupposed to be an elle long; with a white ring, as it were, of scalesabout it. The scales along his backe seem to be blackish, and so much asis discovered under his bellie, appeareth to be red; for I speak of nonearer description than of a reasonable ocular distance. For coming tooneare it, hath already beene too dearely payd for, as you shall hearehereafter. "It is likewise discovered to have large feete, but the eye may bethere deceived; for some suppose that serpents have no feete, but glideupon certain ribbes and scales, which both defend them from the upperpart of their throat unto the lower part of their bellie, and also causethem to move much the faster. For so this doth, and rids way (as we callit) as fast as a man can run. He is of countenance very proud, and atthe sight or hearing of men or cattel, will raise his necke upright, andseem to listen and looke about, with great arrogancy. There are likewiseon either side of him discovered, two great bunches so big as a largefoote-ball, and (as some thinke) will in time grow to wings; but God, Ihope, will (to defend the poor people in the neighbourhood) that heshall be destroyed before he grow so fledge. "He will cast his venome about four rodde from him, as by woefullexperience it was proved on the bodies of a man and a woman comming thatway, who afterwards were found dead, being poysoned and very muchswelled, but not prayed upon. Likewise a man going to chase it, and ashe imagined, to destroy it with two mastive dogs, as yet not knowing thegreat danger of it, his dogs were both killed, and he himselfe glad toreturne 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 hisfood is thought to be, for the most part, in a conie-warren, which hemuch frequents; and it is found much scanted and impaired in theencrease it had woont to afford. [Sidenote: SIGNED AND WITNESSED] "These persons, whose names are hereunder printed, have seene thisserpent, beside divers others, as the carrier of Horsam, who lieth atthe White Horse in Southwarke, and who can certifie the truth of allthat has been here related. John Steele. Christopher Holder. And a Widow Woman dwelling nere Faygate. " It would be very interesting to know what John Steele, ChristopherHolder, and the widow woman really saw. Such a story must have had abasis of some kind. A printed narrative such as this would hardly haveproceeded from a clear sky. St. Leonard's Forest has another familiar; for there the headlesshorseman rides, not on his own horse, but on yours, seated on thecrupper with his ghostly arms encircling your waist. His name isPowlett, but I know no more, except that his presence is an additionalreason why one should explore the forest on foot. [Sidenote: SUSSEX NIGHTINGALES] Sussex, especially near the coast, is naturally a good nightingalecountry. Many of the birds, pausing there after their long journey atthe end of April, do not fly farther, but make their home where theyfirst alight. I know of one meadow and copse under the north escarpmentof the Downs where three nightingales singing in rivalry in a triangle(the perfect condition) can be counted upon in May, by night, and oftenby 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, asMr. John Burroughs once did, come to England in the spring to hear thenightingale, must remember this. CHAPTER XIV WEST GRINSTEAD, COWFOLD AND HENFIELD "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. West Grinstead is perhaps the most remarkable of the villages on theline from Horsham to Steyning, by reason of its association withliterature, _The Rape of the Lock_ having been to a large extentcomposed beneath a tree in the park. Yet as one walks through this broadexpanse of brake-fern, among which the deer are grazing, with the lineof the Downs, culminating in Chanctonbury Ring, in view, it requires asevere effort to bring the mind to the consideration of Belinda's lossand all the surrounding drama of the toilet and the card table. If thereis one thing that would not come naturally to the memory in WestGrinstead park, it is the poetry of Pope. The present house, the seat of the Burrells, was built in 1806. It wasin the preceding mansion that John Caryll, Pope's friend, made his home, moving hither from West Harting, as we have seen. Caryll suggested toPope the subject of _The Rape of the Lock_, the hero of which was hiscousin, Lord Petre. The line:-- This verse to Caryll, Muse, is due, is the poet's testimony and thanks. John Gay, who found life a jest, hasalso walked amid the West Grinstead bracken. West Grinstead church is isolated in the fields, a curiously pretty andcheerful building, with a very charming porch and a modest shingledspire rising from its midst. Brasses to members of the Halsham familyare within, and a monument to Captain Powlett, whose unquiet ghost, hunting without a head, we have just met. Hard by the church is one ofthe most attractive and substantial of the smaller manor houses ofSussex, square and venerable and well-roofed with Horsham stone. A mile to the west, in a meadow by the Worthing road, stands the forlornfragment of the keep which is all that remains of the Norman strongholdof Knepp. For its other stones you must seek the highways, theroad-menders having claimed them a hundred years ago. William de Braose, whom we shall meet at Bramber, built it; King John more than once wasentertained in it; and now it is a ruin. Yet if Knepp no longer has itscastle, it has its lake--the largest in the county, a hundred acres inextent, a beautiful sheet of water the overflow of which feeds the Adur. Within a quarter of a mile of the ruin is the new Knepp Castle, whichwas built by Sir Charles Merrik Burrell, son of Sir William Burrell, theantiquary, whose materials for a history of Sussex on a grand scale, collected by him for many years, are now in the British Museum. ButKnepp Castle, the new, with all its Holbeins, was destroyed by fire this1904. [Sidenote: THE NELOND BRASS] [Sidenote: THE COWL IN SUSSEX] To the east of the line lies Cowfold, balancing West Grinstead, avillage ranged on either side of a broad road. It is famous chiefly forpossessing, in its very pretty church, the Nelond brass, being theeffigy of Thomas Nelond, Prior of Lewes, who died in 1433. Few brassesare finer or larger; in length it is nearly ten feet, its state ispractically perfect, and pilgrims come from all quarters to rub it. JohnNelond, in the dress of a Cluniac monk, stands with folded hands beneathan arch, protected by the Virgin and Child, St. Pancras, and St. Thomasà Becket. This splendid relic would, perhaps, were ours an idealcommunity, be handed over to the keeping of the Carthusian monks nearby, in the Monastery of St. Hugh, the commanding building to the southof Cowfold, whose spire is to the Weald what that of ChichesterCathedral is to the plain between the Downs and the sea, and whoseAngelus may be heard, on favourable evenings, for many miles. TheCarthusian monks of St. Hugh's lend a very foreign air to the villagewhen they walk through it. Visitors are encouraged to call at theporter's gate and explore this huge settlement--often in the verycompetent care of an Irish brother; while to suffer an accident anywherein the neighbourhood is to be certain of a cordial glass of themonastery's own Chartreuse. It was at Brook Hill, just to the north of Cowfold, that William Borrer, the ornithologist and the author of _The Birds of Sussex_, lived andmade many of his interesting observations. Near Cowfold is Oakendene, a stronghold of cricket at the beginning ofthe last century. William Wood was the greatest of the Oakendene men. Hewas the best bowler in Sussex, the art having been acquired as he walkedabout his farm with his dog, when he would bowl at whatever he saw andthe dog would retrieve the ball. Borrer of Ditchling, Marchant of Hurst, Voice of Hand Cross, and Vallance of Brighton, also belonged to theOakendene club. Borrer and Vallance played for Brighton againstMarylebone, at Lord's, in 1792, and, when all the betting was againstthem, including gold rings and watches, won the match in the secondinnings by making respectively 60 and 68 not out. Another player in thatmatch was Jutten, the fast bowler, who when things were going againsthim bowled at his man and so won by fear what he could not compass byskill. There are too many Juttens on village greens. Five miles south of Cowfold is Henfield, separated from Steyning, in thesouth-west, by the low-lying meadows through which the Adur runs andwhich in winter are too often a sheet of water. Henfield consists of the usual street, and a quiet, retired common, flat and marshy, with a flock of geese, some Scotch firs, and a fineview of Wolstonbury rising in the east. It was on Henfield common thatMr. Borrer once saw fourteen Golden Orioles on a thorn bush. Adventuresare to the adventurous, birds to the ornithologist; most of us havenever succeeded in seeing even one Oriole. [Sidenote: STAPLETON'S MERITS] William Borrer, the botanist, uncle of the ornithologist, was born inHenfield and is buried there. In his Henfield garden, in 1860, as manyas 6, 600 varieties of plants were growing. Beyond a small memoir onLichens, written in conjunction with Dawson Turner, he left no book. Another illustrious son of Henfield was Dr. Thomas Stapleton, once Canonof 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 milddemeanour and unsuspected integrity. " Fuller has him characteristicallytouched off in the _Worthies_:--"He was bred in New Colledge in Oxford, and then by the Bishop (Christopherson, as I take it) made Cannon ofChichester, which he quickly quitted in the first of Queen _Elizabeth_. Flying beyond the Seas, he first fixed at _Douay_, and there commendablyperformed the office of _Catechist_, which he discharged to hiscommendation. "Reader, pardon an Excursion caused by just _Grief_ and _Anger_. Many, counting themselves Protestants in England, do slight and neglect that_Ordinance_ of _God_, by which their Religion was _set up_, and _gaveCredit_ to it in the first _Reformation_; I mean, CATECHISING. Did notour _Saviour_ say even to Saint _Peter_ himself, 'Feed my Lambs, feed mySheep'? And why _Lambs_ first? 1. Because they were _Lambs_ before theywere _Sheep_. 2. Because, if they be not fed whilst _Lambs_ they couldnever be _Sheep_. 3. Because _Sheep_ can in some sort feed themselves;but _Lambs_ (such their tenderness) must either be _fed_ or _famished_. Our Stapleton was excellent at this _Lamb-feeding_. " An epitaph in Henfield Church is worth copying for its quaint mixtureof mythology and theology. It bears upon the death of a lad, MenelebRaynsford, aged nine, who died in 1627:-- Great Jove hath lost his Gannymede, I know, Which made him seek another here below-- And finding none--not one--like unto this, Hath ta'en him hence into eternal bliss. Cease, then, for thy dear Meneleb to weep, God's darling was too good for thee to keep: But rather joy in this great favour given, A child on earth is made a saint in heaven. Three miles east of Henfield, and a little to the north, is a farm thepresent tenant of which has made an interesting experiment. He found inthe 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 hesaw distinct traces of this ancient lake, and at once set about buildinga dam to restore it. Water now, once again, fills the hollow, completelytransforming this part of the country, and bringing into it wild duckand herons as of old. The lake is completely hidden from theneighbouring roads and is accessible only by field paths, but it is wellworth finding. [Sidenote: A WOODCOCK ON AN OAK] There once hung in the parlour of Henfield's chief inn--I wonder if itis there still--a rude etching of local origin, rather in the manner ofBuss's plates to _Pickwick_, representing an inn kitchen filled with ajolly company listening uproariously to a fat farmer by the fire, who, with arm raised, told his tale. Underneath was written, "Mr. Westdescribing how he saw a woodcock settle on an oak"--a perfect specimenof the Sussex joke. [Illustration: _Church Street, Steyning. _] CHAPTER XV STEYNING AND BRAMBER 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. Of great interest and antiquity is Steyning, the little grey and redtown which huddles under the hill four miles to Henfield's south-west. [Sidenote: THE ADVENTURES OF CUTHMAN] The beginnings of Steyning are lost in the distance. Its church wasfounded, probably in the eighth century, by St. Cuthman, an earlyChristian whose adventures were more than usually quaint. He began bytending his father's sheep, with which occupation his first miracle wasassociated. Being called one day to dinner, and having no one to takehis place as shepherd, he drew a circle round the flock with his crook, and bade the sheep, in the name of the Lord, not to stray beyond it. Thesheep obeyed, and thenceforward on repeating the same manoeuvre heleft them with an easy mind. In course of time his father died, andCuthman determined to travel; intense filial piety determined him totake his aged mother with him. In order to do this he constructed awheelbarrow couch, which he partly supported by a cord over hisshoulders. Thus united, mother and son fared forth into the cold world;which was, however, warmed for them by the watchful interest taken inCuthman by a vigilant Providence. One day, for example, the cord of thebarrow broke in a hayfield, where Cuthman, who supplied its place byelder twigs, was the subject of much ridicule among the haymakers. Immediately a heavy storm broke over the field, destroying the crop; andnot only then, but ever afterwards in the same field--possibly to thisday--has haymaking been imperilled by a similar storm. So runs thelegend. The second occasion on which the cord broke and let down Cuthman'smother was at Steyning. Cuthman took the incident as a divine intimationthat the time had come to settle, and he thereupon first built for hismother and himself a hut and afterwards a church. The present churchstands on its site. Cuthman was buried there. So, also, was Ethelwulf, father of Alfred the Great, whose body afterwards was moved toWinchester. Alfred the Great had estates at Steyning, as elsewhere inSussex. While Cuthman was building his church a beam shifted, making a vastamount of new labour necessary. But as the Saint sorrowfully waspreparing to begin again, a stranger appeared, who pointed out how themischief could be repaired in a more speedy manner and with less toil. Cuthman and his men followed his instructions, and all was quickly wellagain. Cuthman thereupon fell on his knees and asked the stranger who hewas. "I am He in whose name thou buildest this temple, " he replied, andvanished. [Illustration: _Steyning Church. _] The present church, which stands on the site of St. Cuthman's, is only areminder of what it must have been in its best days. When one faces thecuriously chequered square tower, an impression of quiet dignity isimparted; but a broadside view is disappointing by reason of the highdeforming roof, giving an impression as of a hunched back. (One sees thesame effect at Udimore, in the east of Sussex. ) Within are two rows ofsuperb circular arches, with zigzag mouldings, on massive columns. [Sidenote: STEYNING AND HISTORY] Steyning has an importance in English history that is not generallycredited to it. Edward the Confessor gave a great part of the land tothe Abbey at Fécamp, whose church is, or was, the counterpart ofSteyning's. These possessions Harold took away, an act that, amongothers, decided William, Duke of Normandy, upon his assailing, andconquering, course. Steyning should be proud. To have brought theConqueror over is at least as worthy as to have come over with him, andfar more uncommon. In Church Street stands Brotherhood Hall, a very charming ancientbuilding, 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 isvisibly present in its streets. The late Louis Jennings, in his _Rambles among the Hills_, wasfascinated by the placid air of this unambitious town--as an Americanmight be expected to be in the uncongenial atmosphere of age andserenity. "One almost expects, " he wrote, "to see a fine green moss allover an inhabitant of Steyning. One day as I passed through the town Isaw a man painting a new sign over a shop, a proceeding that so arousedmy curiosity that I stood for a minute or two to look on. The painterfilled in one letter, gave a huge yawn, looked up and down two or threetimes as if he had lost something, and finally descended from his perchand disappeared. Five weeks later I passed that way again, and it is afact that the same man was at work on the same sign. Perhaps when thereader takes the walk I am about to recommend to his attention--a walkwhich comprises some of the finest scenery in Sussex--that sign will befinished, and the accomplished artist will have begun another; but Idoubt it. There is plenty of time for everything in Steyning. " I am toldthat Steyning was incensed when this criticism was printed (there waseven talk of an action for libel); but it seems to me that whatever mayhave been intended, the words contain more of compliment than censure. In this hurrying age, it is surely high praise to have one's "wisepassiveness" (as Wordsworth called it) so emphasised. The passage callsto mind Diogenes requesting, as the greatest of possible boons, thatAlexander the Great would stand aside and not interrupt the sunshine;only at Steyning would one seek for Diogenes to-day. No commendation ofSteyning in the direction of its enterprise, briskness, smartness, orany of the other qualities which are now most in fashion, would sospeedily decide a wise man to pitch his tent there as Mr. Jennings'certificate of inertia. [Sidenote: STEYNING HARBOUR] Steyning, if still disposed to stand on its defence, might pleadexternal influence, beyond the control of man, as an excuse for some ofits interesting placidity. For this curiously inland town was once aport. In Saxon times (when Steyning was more important than Birmingham), the Adur was practically an estuary of the sea, and ships came intoSteyning Harbour, or St. Cuthman's Port, as it was otherwise called. There is notoriously no such quiet spot as a dry harbour town. In thosedays, Steyning also had a mint. Bramber, a little roadside village less than a mile south-east ofSteyning, also a mere relic of its great days, was once practically onthe coast, for the arm of the sea which narrowed down at Steyning washere of great breadth, and washed the sides of the castle mound. Thelast time I came into Steyning was by way of the bostel down SteyningRound Hill. The old place seems more than ever medieval as one descendsupon it from the height (the best way to approach a town); and sittingamong the wild thyme on the turf I tried to reconstruct in imaginationthe scene a thousand years ago, with the sea flowing over the meadows ofthe Adur valley, and the masts of ships clustered beyond Steyningchurch. Once one had the old prospect well in the mind's eye, thelandscape became curiously in need of water. [Illustration: _Bramber. _] [Sidenote: BRAMBER] After rain, Bramber is a pleasant village, but when the dust flies it isgood neither for man nor beast. All that remains of the castle iscrumbling battlement and a wall of the keep, survivals of the renovationof the old Saxon stronghold by William de Braose, the friend of theConqueror and the Sussex founder of the Duke of Norfolk's family. Picnicparties now frolic among the ruins, and enterprising boys explore therank overgrowth in the moat below. The castle played no part in history, its demolition being due probablyto gunpowder pacifically fired with a view to obtaining buildingmaterials. But during the Civil War the village was the scene of anencounter between Royalists and Roundheads. A letter from John Coultonto Samuel Jeake of Rye, dated January 8, 1643-4, thus describes theevent:--"The enemy attempted Bramber bridge, but our brave Carleton andEvernden with his Dragoons and our Coll. 's horse welcomed them withdrakes and musketts, sending some 8 or 9 men to hell (I feare) and onetrooper to Arundel Castle prisoner, and one of Capt. Evernden's Dragoonsto heaven. " A few years later, as we have seen, Charles II. Ran a graverisk at Bramber while on his way to Brighton and safety. [Sidenote: A POCKET BOROUGH] Bramber was, for many years, a pocket borough of the worst type. GeorgeSpencer, writing to Algernon Sidney after the Bramber election in 1679, says:--"You would have laughed to see how pleased I seemed to be inkissing of old women; and drinking wine with handfuls of sugar, andgreat glasses of burnt brandy; three things much against the stomach. "In 1768, eighteen votes were polled for one candidate and sixteen forhis rival. One of the tenants, in a cottage valued at about threeshillings a week, refused _£_1000 for his vote. Bramber remained a pocketborough until the Reform Bill. William Wilberforce, the abolitionist, sat for it for some years; there is a story that on passing one daythrough the village he stopped his carriage to inquire the name. "Bramber? Why, that's the place I'm Member for. " Bramber possesses a humorist in taxidermy, whose efforts win moreattention than the castle. They are to be seen in a small museum in itssingle street, the price of admission being for children one penny, foradults 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 thepaper and play dominoes; in a third, rabbits learn their lessons inschool; in a fourth, the last scene in the tragedy of the _Babes of theWood_ is represented, Bramber Castle in the distance strictlylocalising the event, although Norfolk usually claims it. Isolated in the fields south of Bramber are two of the quaintestchurches in the county--Coombes and Botolphs. Neither has an attendantvillage. [Illustration: _Coombes Church. _] [Sidenote: JOSEPH POORGRASS IN FACT] The owl story, which crops up all over the country and is found inliterature in Mr. Hardy's novel _Far from the Madding Crowd_, the scenewhereof is a hundred miles west of Sussex, has a home also at UpperBeeding, the little dusty village beyond Bramber across the river. Mr. Hardy gives the adventure to Joseph Poorgrass; at Beeding, the hero isone Kiddy Wee. His rightful name was Kidd; but being very small thevillage had invented this double diminutive. Lost in the wood he criedfor help, just as Poorgrass did. "Who? who?" asked the owl. "Kiddy Weeo' Beedin', " was the reply. [Sidenote: A DEALER OUTWITTED] It was not long ago that a masterpiece was discovered at Beeding, in oneof those unlikely places in which with ironical humour fine pictures sooften hide themselves. It hung in a little general shop kept by anelderly widow. After passing unnoticed or undetected for many years, itwas silently identified by a dealer who happened to be buying somebiscuits. He made a casual remark about it, learned that any value thatmight be set upon it was sentimental rather than monetary, and returnedhome. He laid the matter before one or two friends, with the result thatthey visited Beeding in a party a day or so later in order to bear awaythe prize. Outside the shop they held a council of war. One was forbidding at the outset a small but sufficient sum for the picture, another for affecting to want something else and leading round to thepicture, and so forth; but in the discussion of tactics they raisedtheir voices too high, so that a visitor of the widow, sitting in theroom over the shop, heard something of the matter. Suspecting danger, but wholly unconscious of its nature, she hurried downstairs and warnedher friend of a predatory gang outside who were not to be supplied onany account with anything they asked for. The widow obeyed blindly. Theyasked for tea--she refused to sell it; they asked for biscuits--she sether 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 thenext train to Brighton to lay the whole matter before her landlord. Hetook it up, consulted an expert, and the picture was found to be aportrait of Mrs. Jordan, the work either of Romney or Lawrence. [Sidenote: THE FURNITURE SWINDLE] Furniture is the usual prey of the dealer who lounges casually throughold villages in the guise of a tourist, asking for food or water at oldcottages 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 otherindigenous articles of the old simple homestead which are thought sodecorative in the sophisticated villa and establish the artistic creditand taste of their new owner, has been prosecuted in Sussex with as muchenergy as elsewhere--not only by the professional dealer, but byamateurs no less unwilling to give an ignorant peasant fifteenshillings for an article which they know to be worth as many pounds. Butsuspicion of the plausible furniture collector has, I am glad to say, begun to spread, and the palmiest days of the spoliation of the countryare probably over. It must not, however, be thought that the peasant isalways the under dog, the amateur the upper. A London dealer informs methat the planting of spurious antiques in old cottages has become arecognised form of fraud among less scrupulous members of the trade. Anoak chest bearing every superficial mark of age that a clever workmancan give it (and the profession of wormholer, is now, I believe, recognised) is deposited in a tumble-down, half-timbered home in acountry village, whose occupant is willing to take a share in the game;a ticket marked "Ginger-beer; sold Here" is placed in the window, andthe trap is ready. It is almost beyond question that everyone who bidsfor this chest, which has, of course, been in the family forgenerations, is hoping to get it at a figure much lower than is just; itis quite certain that whatever is paid for it will be too much. Ugly asthe situation is, I like to think of this biting of the biter. [Illustration: _Chanctonbury Ring. _] CHAPTER XVI CHANCTONBURY, WASHINGTON, AND WORTHING 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. For nothing within its confines is Steyning so famous as for the hillwhich rises to the south-west of it--Chanctonbury Ring. Other of theSouth Downs are higher, other are more commanding: Wolstonbury, forexample, standing forward from the line, makes a bolder show, and FirleBeacon daunts the sky with a braver point; but when one thinks of theSouth Downs as a whole it is Chanctonbury that leaps first to theinward eye. Chanctonbury, when all is said, is the monarch of the range. The words of the Sussex enthusiast, refusing an invitation to spend asummer abroad, express the feeling of many of his countrymen:-- For howsoever fair the land, The time would surely be That brought our Wealden blackbird's note Across the waves to me. And howsoever strong the door, 'Twould never keep at bay The thought of Fulking's violets, The scent of Holmbush hay. And ever when the day was done, And all the sky was still, How I should miss the climbing moon O'er Chanctonbury's hill! [Sidenote: CHANCTONBURY RING] It is Chanctonbury's crown of beeches that lifts it above the otherhills. Uncrowned it would be no more noticeable than Fulking Beacon or ascore of others; but its dark grove can be seen for many miles. InWiston House, under the hill, the seat of the Goring family, to whombelong the hill and a large part of the country that it dominates, is anold painting of Chanctonbury before the woods were made, bare as thebarest, without either beech or juniper, and the eye does not notice ituntil all else in the picture has been examined. The planter ofChanctonbury's Ring, in 1760, was Mr. Charles Goring of Wiston, whowrote in extreme old age in 1828 the following lines:-- How oft around thy Ring, sweet Hill, A Boy, I used to play, And form my plans to plant thy top On some auspicious day. How oft among thy broken turf With what delight I trod, With what delight I placed those twigs Beneath thy maiden sod. And then an almost hopeless wish Would creep within my breast, Oh! could I live to see thy top In all its beauty dress'd. That time's arrived; I've had my wish, And lived to eighty-five; I'll thank my God who gave such grace As long as e'er I live. Still when the morning Sun in Spring, Whilst I enjoy my sight, Shall gild thy new-clothed Beech and sides, I'll view thee with delight. Most of the trees on the side of Chanctonbury and its neighbours wereself-sown, children of the clumps which Mr. Goring planted. I might addthat 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 livescover a period of one hundred and sixty years--true Sussex longevity. Wiston House (pronounced Wisson) is a grey Tudor building in the midstof a wide park, immediately under the hill. The lofty hall, dating fromElizabeth's reign, is as it was; much of the remainder of the house wasrestored in the last century. The park has deer and a lake. The Goringfamily acquired Wiston by marriage with the Faggs, and a superb portraitof Sir John Fagg, in the manner of Vandyck with a fine flavour ofVelasquez, is one of the treasures of the house. [Sidenote: SIR ANTHONY SHIRLEY] Before the Faggs came the Shirleys, a family chiefly famous for thethree wonderful brothers, Anthony, Robert, and Thomas. Fuller, in the _Worthies_, gives them full space indeed considering thatnone was interested in the Church. I cannot do better than quotehim:--"SIR ANTHONY SHIRLEY, second Son to Sir _Thomas_, set forth from_Plimouth_, _May_ the 21st, 1596, in a Ship called the _Bevis ofSouthampton_, attended with six lesser vessels. His design for _SaintThome_ was violently diverted by the contagion they found on the SouthCoast of Africa, where the rain did stink as it fell down from theheavens, and within six hours did turn into magots. This made him turnhis course to _America_, where he took and kept the city of _St. Jago_two days and nights, with two hundred and eighty men (whereof eightywere wounded in the service), against three thousand _Portugalls_. "Hence he made for the Isle of _Fuego_, in the midst whereof aMountaine, Ætna-like, always burning; and the wind did drive such ashower of ashes upon them, that one might have wrote his name with hisfinger on the upper deck. However, in this fiery Island, they furnishedthemselves with good water, which they much wanted. "Hence he sailed to the Island of _Margarita_, which to him did notanswer its name, not finding here the _Perl Dredgers_ which he expected. Nor was his gaine considerable in taking the Town of _Saint Martha_, theIsle and chief town of _Jamaica_, whence he sailed more than _thirty_leagues up the river _Rio-dolci_, where he met with great extremity. "At last, being diseased in person, distressed for victuals, anddeserted by all his other ships, he made by _New-found-land_ to_England_, where he arrived June 15, 1597. Now although some behold hisvoyage, begun with more courage then counsel, carried on with morevalour then advice, and coming off with more honour than profit tohimself or the nation (the Spaniard being rather frighted then harmed, rather braved then frighted therewith); yet unpartial judgments, whomeasure not worth by success, justly allow it a prime place amongst theprobable (though not prosperous) English Adventures. [Sidenote: SIR ROBERT SHIRLEY] "SIR ROBERT SHIRLEY, youngest Son to Sir _Thomas_, was, by his Brother_Anthony_, entred in the _Persian_ Court. Here he performed greatService against the _Turkes_, and shewed the difference betwixt_Persian_ and _English_ Valour; the latter having therein as muchCourage, and more Mercy, giving Quarter to Captives who craved it, andperforming Life to those to whom he promised it. These his Actions drewthe Envie of the _Persian_ Lords, and Love of the Ladies, amongst whomone (reputed a Kins-man to the great _Sophy_) after some Opposition, wasmarried unto him. She had more of _Ebony_ than _Ivory_ in herComplexion; yet amiable enough, and very valiant, a quality considerablein that Sex in those Countries. With her he came over to _England_, andlived many years therein. He much affected to appear in _forreignVestes_; and, as if his _Clothes_ were his limbs, accounted himselfnever ready till he had something of the Persian Habit about him. "At last a Contest happening betwixt him and the Persian Ambassadour (towhom some reported Sir Robert gave a Box on the Ear) the King sent themboth into _Persia_, there mutually to impeach one another, and joynedDoctor _Gough_ (a Senior Fellow of _Trinity colledge_ in _Cambridge_) incommission with Sir Robert. In this Voyage (as I am informed) both diedon the Seas, before the controverted difference was ever heard in theCourt of _Persia_, about the beginning of the Reign of King _Charles_. [Sidenote: SIR THOMAS SHIRLEY] "Sir THOMAS SHIRLEY, I name him the last (though the eldest Son of hisFather) because last appearing in the world, men's _Activity_ not alwaysobserving the method of their _Register_. As the Trophies of _Miltiades_would not suffer _Themistocles_ to sleep; so the Atchievements of histwo younger brethren gave an Alarum unto his spirit. He was ashamed tosee them worne like Flowers 'in the _Breasts_ and _Bosomes_ of forreignPrinces, whilst he himself withered upon the stalk he grew on'. Thismade him leave his aged Father and fair Inheritance in this _County_, and to undertake _Sea Voyages_ into forreign parts, to the great_honour_ of his _Nation_, but small _inriching_ of _himself_; so that hemight say to his Son, as _Æneas_ to _Æscanius_:-- 'Disce, puer, Virtutem ex me verumque Laborem, Fortunam ex aliis. ' 'Virtue and Labour learn from me thy Father, As for Success, Child, learn from others rather. ' "As to the generall performance of these _three brethren_, I know the_Affidavit_ of a Poet carrieth but a small credit in the _court ofHistory_; and the _Comedy_ made of them is but a _friendly foe_ to theirMemory, as suspected more accomodated to please the present spectators, then inform posterity. However, as the belief of Mitio (when an_Inventory_ of his adopted _Sons misdemeanours_ was brought unto him)embraced a middle and moderate way, _nec omnia credere nec nihil_, neither to _believe all things nor nothing_ of what was told him: so inthe _list of their Atchievements_ we may safely pitch on the sameproportion, and, when abatement is made for _poeticall embelishments_, the remainder will speak them Worthies in their generations. "--Such werethe three Shirleys. Wiston church, which shelters under the eastern wall of the house, almost leaning against it, has some interesting tombs. [Sidenote: BIOHCHANDOUNE] Walking west from Wiston we come to the tiny hamlet of Buncton, one ofthe oldest settlements in Sussex, a happy hunting ground for excavatorsin search of Roman remains, and possessing in Buncton chapel a quaintlittle Norman edifice. The word Buncton is a sign of modern carelessnessfor beautiful words: the original Saxon form was "Biohchandoune, " whichis charming. Buncton belongs to Ashington, two miles to the north-west on theWorthing road, a quiet village with a fifteenth-century church (a merechild compared with Buncton Chapel) and a famous loss. The loss istragic, being no less than that of the parish register containing a fulland complete account, by Ashington's best scribe, of a visit of GoodQueen Bess to the village in 1591. A destroyed church may be builtagain, but who shall restore the parish register? The book, however, isperhaps still in existence, for it was deliberately stolen, early in theeighteenth century, by a thief who laid his plans as carefully as didColonel Blood in his attack on the regalia, abstracting the volume froma cupboard in the rectory, through a hole which he made in the outsidewall. No interest in the progress of Queen Elizabeth prompted him: theregister was taken during the hearing of a law suit in order that itsdamning evidence might not be forthcoming. [Sidenote: WILLIAM PENN IN SUSSEX] While at Ashington we ought to see Warminghurst, only a mile distant, once the abode of the Shelleys, and later of William Penn, who boughtthe great house in 1676. One of his infant children is buried atCoolham, close by, where he attended the Quakers' meeting and whereservices are still held. The meeting-house was built of timber from oneof Penn's ships. A later owner than Penn, James Butler, rebuilt Warminghurst andconverted a large portion of the estate into a deer park; but it wasthrown back into farm land by one of the Dukes of Norfolk, while thehouse was destroyed, the deer exiled, and the lake drained. Perhaps itwas time that the house came down, for in the interim it had beenhaunted; the ghost being that of the owner of the property, who one day, although far distant, was seen at Warminghurst by two persons andafterwards was found to have died at the time of his appearance. Warminghurst in those days of park and deer, lake and timber (it had achestnut two hundred and seventy years old), might well be the firstspot to which an enfranchised spirit winged its way. From Warminghurst is a road due south, over high sandy heaths, toWashington, which, unassuming as it is, may be called the capital of alarge district of West Sussex that is unprovided with a railway. Steyning, five miles to the east, Amberley, seven miles to the west, andWest Worthing, eight miles to the south, on the other side of the Downs, are the nearest stations. In the midst of this thinly populated areastands Washington, at the foot of the mountain pass that leads toFindon, Worthing and the sea. It was once a Saxon settlement (Wasa ingatun, town of the sons of Wasa); it is now derelict, memorable only as abaiting place for man and beast. But there are few better spots in thecountry for a modest contented man to live and keep a horse. Rents arelow, turfed hills are near, and there is good hunting. [Sidenote: A COSTLY QUART] The church, which was restored about fifty years ago, but retains itsTudor tower, stands above the village. In 1866 three thousand pennies ofthe reign of Edward the Confessor and Harold were turned up by a ploughin this parish, and, says Mr. Lower, were held so cheaply by theirfinders that half a pint measure of them was offered at the inn by oneman in exchange for a quart of beer. Possibly Mr. Hilaire Belloc wouldnot think the price excessive, for I find him writing, in a "SussexDrinking Song": They sell good beer at Haslemere And under Guildford Hill; At little Cowfold, as I've been told, A beggar may drink his fill. There is a good brew in Amberley too, And by the Bridge also; But the swipes they take in at the Washington Inn Is the very best beer I know. The white road to Worthing from Washington first climbs the hills andthen descends steadily to the sea. The first village is Findon, threemiles distant, but one passes on the way two large houses, Highden andMuntham. Muntham, which was originally a shooting box of ViscountMontagu, lord of Cowdray, was rebuilt in the nineteenth century by aneccentric traveller in the East, named Frankland, a descendant of OliverCromwell, who, settling at home again, gave up his time to collectingmechanical appliances. Findon is a pleasant little village at the bottom of the valley, thehome of the principal Sussex training stable, which has its gallopingcourse under Cissbury. Training stables may be found in many parts ofthe Downs, but the Sussex turf has not played the same part in themaking of race horses as that of Hampshire and Berkshire. Lady Butler painted the background of her picture of Balaclava atFindon, the neighbourhood of which curiously resembles in configurationthe Russian battlefield. [Sidenote: A FINISHED PLURALIST] The rector of Findon in 1276, Galfridus de Aspall, seems to have broughtthe art of pluralising to a finer point than most. In addition to beingrector of Findon, he had, Mr. Lower tells us, a benefice in London, twoin the diocese of Lincoln, one in Rochester, one in Hereford, one inCoventry, one in Salisbury, and seven in Norwich. He was also Canon ofSt. Paul's and Master of St. Leonard's Hospital at York. Above Findon on the south-east rises Cissbury, one of the finest of theSouth Downs, but, by reason of its inland position, less noticeable thanthe hills on the line. There have been many conjectures as to itshistory. The Romans may have used it for military purposes, as certainlythey did for the pacific cultivation of the grape, distinct terraces asof a vineyard being still visible; traces of a factory of flint arrowheads have been found (giving it the ugly name of the "FlintSheffield"); while Cissa, lord of Chichester, may have had a bury orfort there. Mr. Lower's theory is that the earthworks on the summit, whatever their later function, were originally religious, and probablydruidical. Salvington (a little village which is gained by leaving the main roadtwo miles beyond Cissbury and bearing to the west) is distinguished asthe birthplace, in 1584, of one who was considered by Hugo Grotius to bethe glory of the English nation--John Selden. Nowadays, when we chooseour glories among other classes of men than jurists and wits, it is morethan possible for even cultured persons who are interested in books togo 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 ofany of his day. From Selden's _Table Talk_ I take a few passages on thehomelier side, to be read at Salvington:-- [Sidenote: JOHN SELDEN'S WISDOM] FRIENDS. Old Friends are best. King James used to call for his old Shoes; they were easiest for his Feet. CONSCIENCE. 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. CHARITY. 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. CEREMONY. 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. 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. RELIGION. 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. Alteration of Religion is dangerous, because we know not where it will stay: 'tis like a _Millstone_ 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. We look after Religion as the Butcher did after his Knife, when he had it in his Mouth. WIT. Nature must be the ground-work of Wit and Art; otherwise whatever is done will prove but Jack-pudding's work. WIFE. 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. Selden's father was a small farmer who played the fiddle well. The boyis said at the age of ten to have carved over the door a Latin distich, which, being translated, runs:-- Walk in and welcome, honest friend; repose. Thief, get thee gone! to thee I'll not unclose. [Sidenote: SAINT THOMAS'S FIGS] Between Salvington and Worthing lies Tarring, noted for its fig gardens. It is a fond belief that Thomas à Becket planted the original trees fromwhich the present Tarring figs are descended; and there is one treestill in existence which tradition asserts was set in the earth by hisown hand. Whether this is possible I am not sufficiently anarboriculturist to say; but Becket certainly sojourned often in theArchbishop of Canterbury's palace in the village. The larger part of thepresent fig garden dates from 1745. I have seen it stated that duringthe season a little band of _becca ficos_ fly over from Italy to tastethe fruit, disappearing when it is gathered; but a Sussex ornithologisttells me that this is only a pretty story. The fig gardens are perhaps sufficient indication that the climate ofthis part of the country is very gentle. It is indeed unique inmildness. There is a little strip of land between the sea and the hillswhose climatic conditions approximate to those of the Riviera: hence, inaddition to the success of the Tarring fig gardens, Worthing's fame fortomatoes and other fruit. I cannot say when the tomato first came to theEnglish table, but the first that I ever saw was at Worthing, andWorthing is now the centre of the tomato-growing industry. Miles ofglass houses stretch on either side of the town. Worthing (like Brighton and Bognor) owed its beginning as a healthresort to the house of Guelph, the visit of the Princess Amelia in 1799having added a _cachet_, previously lacking, to its invigoratingcharacter. But, unlike Brighton, neither Worthing nor Bognor hassucceeded in becoming quite indispensable. Brighton has the advantagenot only of being nearer London but also nearer the hills. One must walkfor some distance from Worthing before the lonely highland districtbetween Cissbury and Lancing Clump is gained, whereas Brighton is partlybuilt upon the Downs and has her little Dyke Railway to boot. But thevisitor to Worthing who, surfeited of sea and parade, makes for the hillcountry, knows a solitude as profound as anything that Brighton'sheights can give him. [Sidenote: "HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER"] Worthing has at least two literary associations. It was there that thatmost agreeable comedy _The Importance of Being Earnest_ was written: thetown even gave its name to the principal character--John Worthing; andit was there that Mr. Henley lived while the lyrics in _Hawthorn andLavender_ were coming to him. The beautiful dedication to the book isdated "Worthing, July 31, 1901. " Ask me not how they came, These songs of love and death, These dreams of a futile stage, These thumb-nails seen in the street: Ask me not how nor why, But take them for your own, Dear Wife of twenty years, Knowing--O, who so well?-- You it was made the man That made these songs of love, Death, and the trivial rest: So that, your love elsewhere, These songs, or bad or good-- How should they ever have been? [Illustration: _Sompting. _] [Sidenote: SOMPTING] Of the villages to the west we have caught glimpses in an earlierchapter--Goring, Angmering, Ferring, and so forth; to the north and eastare Broadwater, Sompting and Lancing. Broadwater is perhaps a shade toonear Worthing to be interesting, but Sompting, lying under the Downs, isunspoiled, with its fascinating church among the elms and rocks. Thechurch (of which Mr. Griggs has made an exquisite drawing) was builtnearly eight hundred years ago. Within are some curious fragments ofsculpture, and a tomb which Mr. Lower considered to belong to RichardBury, Bishop of Chichester in the reign of Henry VIII. East of Somptinglie the two Lancings, North Lancing on the hill, South Lancing on thecoast. East of North Lancing, the true village, stands Lancing College, high above the river, with its imposing chapel, a landmark in the valleyof the Adur and far out to sea. [Illustration: _Lancing. _] CHAPTER XVII BRIGHTON 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. 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 hasbeen too severe; the Mecca of day-excursionists, the steady friend ofinvalids and half-pay officers. It is vast, glittering, gay; but it isnot interesting. To persons who care little for new towns the value of Brighton lies inits position as the key to good country. In a few minutes one can travelby train to the Dyke, and leaving booths and swings behind, be free ofmiles of turfed Down or cultivated Weald; in a few minutes one can reachHassocks, the station for Wolstonbury and Ditchling Beacon; in a fewminutes one can gain Falmer and plunge into Stanmer Park; or, travellingto the next station, correct the effect of Brighton's hard brillianceamid the soothing sleepinesses of Lewes; in a few minutes on the westernline one can be at Shoreham, amid ship-builders and sail-makers, or onthe ramparts of Bramber Castle, or among the distractions of Steyningcattle market, with Chanctonbury Ring rising solemnly beyond. Brighton, however, knows little of these homes of peace, for she looks only out tosea or towards London. [Sidenote: BRIGHTON'S STORIED PAST] Brighton was, however, interesting a hundred years ago; when thePavilion was the favourite resort of the First Gentleman in Europe(whose opulent charms, preserved in the permanency of mosaic, may beseen in the Museum); when the Steyne was a centre of fashion and folly;coaches dashed out of Castle Square every morning and into Castle Squareevery evening; Munden and Mrs. Siddons were to be seen at one or otherof the theatres; Martha Gunn dipped ladies in the sea; Lord FrederickBeauclerck played long innings on the Level; and Mr. Barrymore took apair of horses up Mrs. Fitzherbert's staircase and could not get themdown again without the assistance of a posse of blacksmiths. Brighton was interesting then, reposing in the smiles of the Prince ofWales and his friends. But it is interesting no more, --with the Paviliona show place, the Dome a concert hall, the Steyne an enclosure, MarthaGunn in her grave, the Chain Pier a memory, Mrs. Fitzherbert's house theheadquarters of the Young Men's Christian Association, and the Brightonroad a racing track for cyclists, motor cars and walking stockbrokers. Brighton is entertaining, salubrious, fashionable, what you will. Itsinterest has gone. The town's rise from Brighthelmstone (pronounced Brighton) a fishingvillage, to Brighton, the marine resort of all that was most dashing inEnglish society, was brought about by a Lewes doctor in the days whenLewes was to Brighton what Brighton now is to Lewes. This doctor wasRichard Russell, born in 1687, who, having published in 1750 a book onthe remedial effects of sea water, in 1754 removed to Brighton to beable to attend to the many patients that were flocking thither. Thatbook was the beginning of Brighton's greatness. The seal was set upon itin 1783, when the Prince of Wales, then a young man just one and twenty, first visited the town. [Sidenote: LE PRINCE S'AMUSE] The Prince's second visit to Brighton was in July 1784. He then stayedat the house engaged for him by his cook, Louis Weltje, which, when hedecided to build, became the nucleus of the Pavilion. The Prince at thistime (he was now twenty-two) was full of spirit and enterprise, and inthe company of Colonel Hanger, Sir John Lade of Etchingham, and otherbloods, was ready for anything: even hard work, for in July 1784 he rodefrom Brighton to London and back again, on horse-back, in ten hours. Oneof his diversions in 1785 is thus described in the Press: "On Monday, June 27, His Royal Highness amused himself on the Steyne for some timein attempting to _shoot doves with single balls_; but with what resultwe 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, _loweredthe tops of several of the chimneys of the Hon. Mr. Windham's house_. "The Prince seemed to live for the Steyne. When the first scheme of thePavilion was completed, in 1787, his bedroom in it was so designed thathe could recline at his ease and by means of mirrors watch everythingthat was happening on his favourite promenade. The Prince was probably as bad as history states, but he had the qualityof his defects, and Brighton was the livelier for the presence of hisfriends. Lyme Regis, Margate, Worthing, Lymington, Bognor--these hadnothing to offer beyond the sea. Brighton could lay before her guests athousand odd diversions, in addition to concerts, balls, masquerades, theatres, races. The Steyne, under the ingenious direction of ColonelHanger, the Earl of Barrymore, and their associates, became an arena forcurious contests. Officers and gentlemen, ridden by other officers andgentlemen, competed in races with octogenarians. Strapping young womenwere induced to run against each other for a new smock or hat. Everykind of race was devised, even to walking backwards; while a tame stagwas occasionally liberated and hunted to refuge. [Sidenote: AN EARTHLY PARADISE] To the theatre came in turn all the London players; and once themysterious Chevalier D'Eon was exhibited on its stage in a fencing boutwith a military swordsman. The Promenade Grove, which covered part ofthe ground between New Road, the Pavilion, North Street and ChurchStreet, was also an evening resort in fine weather (and to read aboutBrighton in its heyday is to receive an impression of continual fineweather, tempered only by storms of wind, such as never failed to blowwhen Rowlandson and his pencil were in the town, to supply that robusthumorist with the contours on which his reputation was based). The Grovewas a marine Ranelagh. Masquers moved among the trees, orchestrasdiscoursed the latest airs, rockets soared into the sky. In the countypaper for October 1st, 1798, I find the following florid reference to acoming event in the Grove:--"The glittering Azure and the noble Or ofthe peacock's wings, under the meridian sun, cannot afford greaterexultation to that bird, than some of our beautiful belles of fashionpromise themselves, from a display of their captivating charms at theintended masquerade at Brighton to-morrow se'nnight. " In another issue of the paper for the same year are some extempore lineson Brighton, dated from East Street, which end thus ecstatically:-- Nature's ever bounteous hand Sure has bless'd this happy land. 'Tis here no brow appears with care, What would we be, but what we are? Before leaving this genial county organ I must quote from a paragraph in1796 on the Prince himself:--"The following couplet of Pope may be fitlyapplied to his Royal Highness:-- If to his share some manly errors fall, Look on his face and you'll forget them all. " What could be kinder? A little earlier, in a description of theseanodyne features, the journalist had said of his Royal Highness's "archeyes, " that they "seem to look more ways than one at a time, andespecially when they are directed towards the fair sex. " Quieter and more normal pastimes were gossip at the libraries, ridingand driving, and bathing in the sea. Bathing seems to have been takenvery seriously, with none of the present matter-of-course haphazardness. In an old Guide to Brighton, dated 1794, I find the followingdescription of the intrepid dippers of that day:--"It may not beimproper here to introduce a short account of the manner of bathing inthe sea at Brighthelmston. By means of a hook-ladder the bather ascendsthe machine, which is formed of wood, and raised on high wheels; he isdrawn to a proper distance from the shore, and then plunges into thesea, the guides attending on each side to assist him in recovering themachine, which being accomplished, he is drawn back to shore. The guidesare strong, active, and careful; and, in every respect, adapted to theiremployments. " [Sidenote: "SMOAKER"] [Sidenote: MARTHA GUNN] Chief of the bathing women for many years was Martha Gunn, whosedescendants still sell fish in the town; chief among the men was thefamous Smoaker (his real name, John Miles) the Prince of Wales'sswimming tutor. There is a story of his pulling the Prince back by theear, 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, heplaced 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 youwere drowned? He would say, 'This is all owing to you, Smoaker. If you'dtaken proper care of him, Smoaker, poor George would still be alive. '"Another of the pleasant stories of the Prince refers to Smoaker'sfeminine correlative--Martha Gunn. One day, being in the act ofreceiving an illicit gift of butter in the pavilion kitchen just as thePrince entered the room, she slipped the pat into her pocket. But notquite in time. Talking with the utmost affability, the Prince proceededto 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 andbutter were both ruined. Doubtless his Royal Highness made both good, for he had all the minor generosities. An old book, quoted in Mr. Bishop's interesting volume _A Peep into thePast_, gives the following scrap of typical conversation between Marthaand a visitor:--"'What, my old friend, Martha, ' said I, 'still queen ofthe ocean, still industrious, and busy as ever; and how do you findyourself'? 'Well and hearty, thank God, sir, ' replied she, 'but ratherhobbling. I don't bathe, because I a'nt so strong as I used to be, so Isuperintend on the beach, for I'm up before any of 'em; you may alwaysfind 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'? 'Onlyeighty-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 relishand hearty appetite as anybody. ' 'I'm glad to hear it; Brighton wouldnot 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'vehealth and life, I must be bustling amongst my old friends andbenefactors; I think I ought to be proud, for I've as many bows fromman, woman, and child, as the Prince hisself; aye, I do believe, thevery 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 anyprime pickled salmon, or oysters, there you have 'em. '" On the Prince's birthday, and on the birthday of his royal brothers, Brighton went mad with excitement. Oxen were roasted whole, strong beerran like water, and among the amusements single-wicket matches wereplayed. One of the good deeds of the Prince was the making of a cricketground. Before 1791, when the Prince's ground was laid out, matches hadbeen played on the neighbouring hills, or on the Level. The Prince'sground stood partly on the Level as it now is, and partly on ParkCrescent. In 1823, it became Ireland's Gardens, upon whose turf the mostfamous cricketers of England played until 1847. In 1848 the Brunswickground at Hove was opened, close to the sea, into which the ball wasoccasionally hit by Mr. C. I. Thornton. The present Hove ground datesfrom 1871. I like to think that George IV. , though no great cricketerhimself (he played now and then when young "with great condescension andaffability"), is the true father of Sussex cricket. He may deserve allthat Lamb, Leigh Hunt, and Thackeray said of him, but without hisinfluence and patronage the history of cricket would be the poorer bymany bright pages. [Sidenote: THE NONPAREIL] Where Montpellier Crescent now stands, was, eighty years ago, the groundon which Frederick William Lillywhite, the Nonpareil, used to bowl togentlemen young or old who were prepared to put down five shillings forthe privilege. Little Wisden acted as a long stop. Lillywhite was thereal creator of round-arm bowling, although Tom Walker of the HambledonClub was the pioneer and James Broadbridge an earlier exponent. It wasnot 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 pronouncedto rhyme with owl, "then you'll see cricket. " He was thirty-five beforehe began his first-class career, he bowled fewer than a dozen wides intwenty-seven years, and his myriad wickets cost only seven runs a-piece. Brighton in its palmiest days was practically contained within thestreets that bear boundary names, North Street, East Street, WestStreet, and the sea, with the parish church high on the hill. On theother side of the Steyne were the naked Downs, while the Lewes road andthe London Road were mere thoroughfares between equally bare hills, witha few houses here and there. During the town's most fashionable period, which continued for nearlyfifty years--say from 1785 to 1835--everyone journeyed thither; andindeed everyone goes to Brighton to-day, although its visitors are nowanonymous where of old they were notorious. I believe that RobertBrowning 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 theChannel, and who afterwards was discovered to be a girl. [Sidenote: HORACE SMITH] A minor poet, Horace Smith, gives us, in _Horace in London_, a sprightlypicture of the town in 1813, from which we see that the changes betweennow and then are only in externals:-- BRIGHTON. _Solvitur acris hyems gratâ vice veris. _ Now fruitful autumn lifts his sunburnt head, The slighted Park few cambric muslins whiten, The dry machines revisit Ocean's bed, And Horace quits awhile the town for _Brighton_. The cit foregoes his box at Turnham Green, To pick up health and shells with Amphitrite, Pleasure's frail daughters trip along the Steyne, Led by the dame the Greeks call Aphrodite. Phoebus, the tanner, plies his fiery trade, The graceful nymphs ascend Judea's ponies, Scale the west cliff, or visit the parade, While poor papa in town a patient drone is. Loose trowsers snatch the wreath from pantaloons; Nankeen of late were worn the sultry weather in; But now, (so will the Prince's light dragoons, ) White jean have triumph'd o'er their Indian brethren. Here with choice food earth smiles and ocean yawns, Intent alike to please the London glutton; This, for our breakfast proffers shrimps and prawns, That, for our dinner, South-down lamb and mutton. Yet here, as elsewhere, death impartial reigns, Visits alike the cot and the _Pavilion_, And for a bribe with equal scorn disdains My half a crown, and _Baring's_ half a million. Alas! how short the span of human pride! Time flies, and hope's romantic schemes, are undone; Cosweller's coach, that carries four inside, Waits to take back the unwilling bard to London. Ye circulating novelists, adieu! Long envious cords my black portmanteau tighten; Billiards, begone! avaunt, illegal loo! Farewell old Ocean's bauble, glittering Brighton. Long shalt thou laugh thine enemies to scorn, Proud as Phoenicia, queen of watering places! Boys yet unbreech'd, and virgins yet unborn, On thy bleak downs shall tan their blooming faces. I believe that the phrase "Queen of Watering Places" was first used inthis poem. [Sidenote: EXTINCT COURTESY] An odd glimpse of a kind of manners (now extinct) in Brighton visitorsin its palmy days is given in Hazlitt's _Notes of a Journey throughFrance and Italy_. Hazlitt, like his friends the Lambs, when theyvisited Versailles in 1822, embarked at Brighton. That was in 1824. Hereached 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. InHazlitt's words:--"A lad offered to conduct us to an inn. 'Did he thinkthere was room?' He was sure of it. 'Did he belong to the inn?' 'No, ' hewas from London. In fact, he was a young gentleman from town, who hadbeen stopping some time at the White-horse Hotel, and who wished toemploy his spare time (when he was not riding out on a blood-horse) inserving the house, and relieving the perplexities of hisfellow-travellers. No one but a Londoner would volunteer his assistancein this way. Amiable land of _Cockayne_, happy in itself, and in makingothers happy! Blest exuberance of self-satisfaction, that overflowsupon others! Delightful impertinence, that is forward to oblige them!" [Sidenote: THE LORD OF THE TIDES] Brighton's decline as a fashionable resort came with the railway. Coaches were expensive and few, and the number of visitors which theybrought to the town was negotiable; but when trains began to pour crowdsupon the platforms the distinction of Brighton was lost. Societyretreated, and the last Master of Ceremonies, Lieut. Col. Eld, died. Itwas of this admirable aristocrat that Sydney Smith wrote so happily inone of his letters from Brighton: "A gentleman attired _point device_, walking down the Parade, like Agag, 'delicately. ' He pointed out histoes like a dancing-master; but carried his head like a potentate. As hepassed the stand of flys, he nodded approval, as if he owned them all. As he approached the little goat carriages, he looked askance over theedge of his starched neckcloth and blandly smiled encouragement. Surethat in following him, I was treading in the steps of greatness, I wenton to the Pier, and there I was confirmed in my conviction of hiseminence; for I observed him look first over the right side and thenover the left, with an expression of serene satisfaction spreading overhis countenance, which said, as plainly as if he had spoken to the seaaloud, 'That is right. You are low-tide at present; but never mind, in acouple of hours I shall make you high-tide again. '" Beyond its connection with George IV. Brighton has played but a smallpart in history, her only other monarch being Charles II. , who merelytarried in the town for awhile on his way to France, in 1651, as we haveseen. The King's Head, in West Street, claims to be the scene of themerry monarch's bargain with Captain Nicholas Tattersall, who conveyedhim across the Channel; but there is good reason to believe that the innwas the George in Middle Street, now demolished, but situated on thesite of No. 44. The epitaph on Tattersall in Brighton old parish churchcontains the following lines:-- When Charles ye great was nothing but a breath This valiant soul stept betweene him and death. .. . Which glorious act of his for church and state Eight princes in one day did gratulate. The episode of the captain's cautious bargaining with the King, of whichColonel Gunter tells in the narrative from which I have quoted in anearlier chapter, is carefully suppressed on the memorial tablet. [Sidenote: PHEBE HESSEL] Another famous Brighton character and friend of George IV. Was PhebeHessel, who died at the age of 106, and whose tombstone may be seen inthe old churchyard. Phebe had a varied career, for having fallen in lovewhen only fifteen with Samuel Golding, a private in Kirk's Lambs, shedressed herself as a man, enlisted in the 5th Regiment of Foot, andfollowed him to the West Indies. She served there for five years, andafterwards at Gibraltar, never disclosing her sex until her lover waswounded and sent to Plymouth, when she told the General's wife, and wasallowed to follow and nurse him. On leaving hospital Golding marriedher, and they lived, I hope happily, together for twenty years. WhenGolding died Phebe married Hessel. In her old age she became an important Brighton character, andattracting the notice of the Prince was provided by him with a pensionof eighteen pounds a year, and the epithet "a jolly good fellow. " It wasalso the Prince's money which paid the stone cutter. When visited by acurious student of human nature as she lay on her death-bed, Phebetalked much of the past, he records, and seemed proud of having kept hersecret when in the army. "But I told it to the ground, " she added; "Idug a hole that would hold a gallon and whispered it there. " Phebe kepther faculties to the last, and to the last sold her apples to theQuality by the sea, returned repartees with extraordinary verve andcontempt for false delicacy, and knew as much of the quality of Brightonliquor as if she were a soldier in earnest. One ought to mention Pitt's visit to Brighton, in 1785, as an historicalevent, if only for the proof which it offers that Sussex folk have aneffective if not nimble wit. I use Mr. Bishop's words: "Pitt during hisjourney to Brighton, in the previous week, had some experience ofpopular feeling in respect of the obnoxious Window Tax. Whilst horseswere being changed at Horsham, he ordered _lights_ for his carriage; andthe persons assembled, learning who was within, indulged pretty freelyin ironical remarks on _light_ and _darkness_. The only effect upon theMinister was, that he often laughed heartily. Whilst in Brighton, acountry glove-maker hung about the door of his house on the Steyne; andwhen the Minister came out, showed him a _hedger's cuff_, which he heldin one hand, and a _bush_ in the other, to explain the use of it, andasked him if the former, being an article he made and sold, was subjectto a _Stamp Duty_? Mr. Pitt appeared rather struck with the oddity andbluntness of the man's question, and, mounting his horse, waived asatisfactory answer by referring him to the _Stamp Office_ forinformation. " [Sidenote: DR. JOHNSON IN THE SEA] 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 stayedin West Street with the Thrales, rode on the Downs and, after his wont, abused their bareness, making a joke about our dearth of trees similarto 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 yearsago!"--much to the Doctor's satisfaction. [Sidenote: MRS. PIPCHIN'S CASTLE] It was, I always think, in Hampton Place that Mrs. Pipchin, whosehusband broke his heart in the Peruvian mines, kept her establishmentfor children and did her best to discourage Paul Dombey. How does thedescription run? 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 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. 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. From Mrs. Pipchin's Paul Dombey passed to the forcing-house of Dr. Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, Miss Blimber and Mr. Feeder, B. A. , also atBrighton, where he met Mr. Toots. "The Doctor's, " says Dickens, "was amighty fine house, fronting the sea. Not a joyful style of housewithin, but quite the contrary. Sad-coloured curtains, whose proportionswere spare and lean, hid themselves despondently behind the windows. Thetables and chairs were put away in rows, like figures in a sum; fireswere so rarely lighted in the rooms of ceremony, that they felt likewells, and a visitor represented the bucket; the dining-room seemed thelast place in the world where any eating or drinking was likely tooccur; there was no sound through all the house but the ticking of agreat clock in the hall, which made itself audible in the very garrets;and sometimes a dull cooing of young gentlemen at their lessons, likethe murmurings of an assemblage of melancholy pigeons. "--Dr. Blimber'smust have been, I think, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the BedfordHotel. [Sidenote: THACKERAY'S PRAISE] Among other writers who have found Brighton good to work in I might namethe authors of _The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton_ and _A System ofSynthetic Philosophy_. Mr. William Black was for many years a familiarfigure on the Kemp Town parade, and Brighton plays a part in at leasttwo of his charming tales--_The Beautiful Wretch_, and an early and verysprightly novel called _Kilmeny_. Brighton should be proud to think thatMr. Herbert Spencer chose her as a retreat in which to come to hisconclusions; 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 servedas a background for many of his scenes. Although Brighton has still a fishing industry, the spectacle of itsfishermen refraining from work is not an uncommon one. It was once thecustom, I read, and perhaps still is, for these men, when casting theirnets for mackerel or herring, to stand with bare heads repeating inunison these words: "There they goes then. God Almighty send us ablessing it is to be hoped. " As each barrel (which is attached to everytwo nets out of the fleet, or 120 nets) was cast overboard they wouldcry:-- Watch, barrel, watch! Mackerel for to catch, White may they be, like a blossom on a tree. God send thousands, one, two, and three, Some by their heads, some by their tails, God sends thousands, and never fails. When the last net was overboard the master said, "Seas all!" and thenlowered the foremast and laid to the wind. If he were to say, "Lastnet, " he would expect never to see his nets again. [Sidenote: BRIGHTON'S FAIR DAUGHTERS] "There are more handsome women in Brighton than anywhere else in theworld, " wrote Richard Jefferies some twenty years ago. "They are socommon that gradually the standard of taste in the mind rises, andgood-looking women who would be admired in other places pass by withoutnotice. Where all the flowers are roses you do not see a rose. " (ShirleyBrooks must have visited Brighton on a curiously bad day, for seeing nopretty face he wrote of it as "The City of the Plain. ") RichardJefferies, who lived for a while at Hove, blessed also the treelessnessof Brighton. Therein he saw much of its healing virtue. "Let nothing, "he wrote, "cloud the descent of those glorious beams of sunlight whichfall at Brighton. Watch the pebbles on the beach; the foam runs up andwets them, almost before it can slip back, the sunshine has dried themagain. So they are alternately wetted and dried. Bitter sea and glowinglight, bright clear air, dry as dry--that describes the place. Spain isthe country of sunlight, burning sunlight; Brighton is a Spanish town inEngland, a Seville. " [Sidenote: THE PAVILION] The principal inland attraction of Brighton is still the Pavilion, whichis indeed the town's symbol. On passing through its very numerous andfantastic rooms one is struck by their incredible smallness. SidneySmith's jest (if it were his; I find Wilberforce, the Abolitionist, saying something similar) is still unimproved: "One would think thatSt. Paul's Cathedral had come to Brighton and pupped. " Cobbett in hisrough and homely way also said something to the point about the Prince'spleasure-house: "Take a square box, the sides of which are three feetand a half, and the height a foot and a half. Take a large Norfolkturnip, cut off the green of the leaves, leave the stalks nine incheslong, tie these round with a string three inches from the top, and putthe turnip on the middle of the top of the box. Then take four turnipsof half the size, treat them in the same way, and put them on thecorners of the box. Then take a considerable number of bulbs of thecrown-imperial, the narcissus, the hyacinth, the tulip, the crocus, andothers; let the leaves of each have sprouted to about an inch, more orless according to the size of the bulb; put all these, prettypromiscuously, but pretty thickly, on the top of the box. Then stand offand look at your architecture. " To its ordinary museum in the town Brighton has added the collection ofstuffed birds made by the late Mr. E. T. Booth, which he housed in along gallery in the road that leads to the Dyke. Mr. Booth, when he shota bird in its native haunts, carried away some of its surroundings inorder that the taxidermist might reproduce as far as possible itsnatural environment. Hence every case has a value that is missing whenone sees merely the isolated stuffed bird. In one instance realism hasdictated the addition of a clutch of pipit's eggs found on the BassRock, in a nest invisible to the spectator. The collection in theNatural History Museum at South Kensington is of course moreconsiderable, and finer, but some of Mr. Booth's cases are certainlysuperior, and his collection has the special interest of having beenmade by one man. [Sidenote: CRITICISM BY JUG] Brighton has another very interesting possession in the collection ofold domestic pottery in the museum: an assemblage (the most entertainingand varied that I know) of jugs and mugs, plates and ornaments, allEnglish, all quaint and characteristic too, and mostly inscribed withmottoes or decorated with designs in celebration of such events as thebattle of Waterloo, or the discomfiture of Mr. Pitt, or a victory of TomCribb. Others are ceramic satires on the drunkard's folly or theinconstancy 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 seeno genial commentary on jug or dish. Is it the march of Taste? CHAPTER XVIII ROTTINGDEAN AND WHEATEARS 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. Beyond Kemp Town's serene and silent line of massive houses is the newroad that leads to Rottingdean. The old road fell into the sea some fewyears ago--the fourth or fifth to share that fate. But the pleasantestway thither is on foot over the turf that tops the white cliffs. By diverging inland between Brighton and Rottingdean, just beyond themost imposing girls' school in the kingdom, Ovingdean is reached, one ofthe nestling homesteads of the Downs. It is chiefly known as providingHarrison Ainsworth with the very pretty title of one of his stories, _Ovingdean Grange_. The gallant novelist, however, was a poor historianin this book, for Charles the Second, as we have seen, never set footeast of Brighton on the occasion of his journey of escape over theSussex Downs. The legend that lodges him at Ovingdean, although one canunderstand how Ovingdean must cherish it, cannot stand. (Mock Beggars'Hall, in the same romance, is Southover Grange at Lewes. ) Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war. Ovingdean is famousnot only for its false association with Charles the Second but as theburial place of Thomas Pelling, an old-time Vicar, "the first person whointroduced Mangul Wurzel into England. " [Sidenote: ROTTINGDEAN] Rottingdean to-day must be very much of the size of Brighton twocenturies ago, before fashion came upon it; but the little village ishardly likely ever to creep over its surrounding hills in the same way. The past few years, however, have seen its growth from an obscure andinaccessible settlement to a shrine. It is only of quite recent datethat a glimpse of Rottingdean has become almost as necessary to theBrighton visitor as the journey to the Dyke. Had the Legend of the BriarRose never been painted; had Mulvaney, Ortheris and Learoyd remainedunchronicled and the British soldier escaped the label "Absent-mindedBeggar, " Rottingdean might still be invaded only occasionally; for itwas when, following Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Mr. Rudyard Kipling foundthe little white village good to make a home in, that its public lifebegan. Although Mr. Kipling has now gone farther into the depths of thecounty, and the great draughtsman, some of whose stained glass designsare in the church, is no more, the habit of riding to Rottingdean islikely, however, to persist in Brighton. The village is quaint andsimple (particularly so after the last 'bus is stabled), but it isvaluable rather as the key to some of the finest solitudes of the Downs, in the great uninhabited hill district between the Race Course atBrighton and Newhaven, between Lewes and the sea, than for any merits ofits own. One other claim has it, however, on the notice of the pilgrim:William Black lies in the churchyard. [Sidenote: "BLUE GOODNESS OF THE WEALD"] Mr. Kipling, as I have said, has now removed his household gods fartherinland, to Burwash, but his heart and mind must be still among theDowns. The Burwash country, good as it is, can (I think) never inspirehim to such verse as he wrote in _The Five Nations_ on the turf hillsabout his old home:-- No tender-hearted garden crowns, No bosomed woods adorn Our blunt, bow-headed, whale-backed Downs, But gnarled and writhen thorn-- Bare slopes where chasing shadows skim, And through the gaps revealed Belt upon belt, the wooded, dim Blue goodness of the Weald. Clean of officious fence or hedge, Half-wild and wholly tame, The wise turf cloaks the white cliff edge As when the Romans came. What sign of those that fought and died At shift of sword and sword? The barrow and the camp abide, The sunlight and the sward. Here leaps ashore the full Sou'west All heavy-winged with brine, Here lies above the folded crest The Channel's leaden line; And here the sea-fogs lap and cling, And here, each warning each, The sheep-bells and the ship-bells ring Along the hidden beach. We have no waters to delight Our broad and brookless vales-- Only the dewpond on the height Unfed, that never fails, Whereby no tattered herbage tells Which way the season flies-- Only our close-bit thyme that smells Like dawn in Paradise. Here through the strong and salty days The unshaded silence thrills; Or little, lost, Down churches praise The Lord who made the Hills: But here the Old Gods guard their round, And, in her secret heart, The heathen kingdom Wilfrid found Dreams, as she dwells, apart. [Sidenote: WHEATEARS] Of old the best wheatear country was above Rottingdean; but the SouthDown shepherds no longer have the wheatear money that used to add soappreciably to their wages in the summer months. A combination ofcircumstances has brought about this loss. One is the decrease inwheatears, another the protection of the bird by law, and a third therefusal of the farmers to allow their men any longer to neglect theflocks by setting and tending snares. But in the seventeenth, eighteenthand early part of the nineteenth centuries, wheatears were taken on theDowns in enormous quantities and formed a part of every south countybanquet in their season. People visited Brighton solely to eat them, asthey now go to Greenwich for whitebait and to Colchester for oysters. This is how Fuller describes the little creature in the_Worthies_--"_Wheatears_ is a bird peculiar to this County, hardly foundout of it. It is so called, because fattest when Wheat is ripe, whereonit feeds; being no bigger than a Lark, which it equalleth in _fineness_of the flesh, far exceedeth in the _fatness_ thereof. The worst is, thatbeing onely seasonable in the heat of summer, and naturally larded withlumps of fat, it is soon subject to corrupt, so that (though aboundingwithin _fourty_ miles) _London Poulterers_ have no mind to meddle withthem, which no care in carriage can keep from Putrefaction. That_Palate-man_ shall pass in silence, who, being seriously demanded hisjudgment concerning the abilities of a great _Lord_, concluded him a manof very weak parts, '_because once he saw him, at a_ great Feast, _feedon_ CHICKENS _when there were_ WHEATEARS _on the Table_. ' I will adde nomore in praise of this _Bird_, for fear some _female Reader_ may fall in_longing_ for it, and unhappily be disappointed of her desire. " Acontemporary of Fuller, John Taylor, from whom I have already quoted, and shall quote again, thus unscientifically dismisses the wheatear inone of his doggerel narratives:-- Six weeks or thereabouts they are catch'd there, And are well-nigh 11 months God knows where. As a matter of fact, the winter home of the wheatear is Africa. [Sidenote: THE SHEPHERDS' TRAPS] The capture of wheatears--mostly illegally by nets--still continues in avery small way to meet a languid demand, but the Sussex ortolan, as thelittle 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 inlittle groups; but they no longer fly towards the dinner table. The bestand most interesting description that I know of the old manner of takingthem, is to be found in Mr. W. H. Hudson's _Nature in Downland_. Theseason began in July, when the little fat birds rest on the Downs ontheir way from Scotland and northern England to their winter home, andlasted through September. In July, says Mr. Hudson, the "Shepherds madetheir 'coops, ' as their traps were called--a T-shaped trench aboutfourteen inches long, over which the two long narrow sods cut neatly outof the turf were adjusted, grass downwards. A small opening was left atthe end for ingress, and there was room in the passage for the bird topass through towards the chinks of light coming from the two ends of thecross passage. At the inner end of the passage a horse-hair springe wasset, by which the bird was caught by the neck as it passed in, but thenoose did not as a rule strangle the bird. On some of the high downsnear the coast, notably at Beachy Head, at Birling Gap, at Seaford, andin the neighbourhood of Rottingdean, the shepherds made so many coops, placed at small distances apart, that the Downs in some places looked asif they had been ploughed. In September, when the season was over, thesods were carefully put back, roots down, in the places, and the smoothgreen surface was restored to the hills. " On bright clear days few birds would be caught, but in showery weatherthe traps would all be full; this is because when the sun is obscuredwheatears are afraid and take refuge under stones or in whatever holemay offer. The price of each wheatear was a penny, and it was thecustom of the persons in the neighbourhood who wanted them for dinner tovisit 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 ofgiving an annual supper at the end of the season, at which the shepherdswould be paid in the mass for their spoil. [Sidenote: A RECORD BAG] An old shepherd, who had been for years on Westside Farm near Brighton, spoke thus, in 1882, as Mr. Borrer relates in his _Birds ofSussex_:--"The most I ever caught in one day was thirteen dozen, but wethought it a good day if we caught three or four dozen. We sold them toa poulterer at Brighton, who took all we could catch in a season at18_d. _ a dozen. From what I have heard from old shepherds, it cannot bedoubted that they were caught in much greater numbers a century ago thanof late. I have heard them speak of an immense number being taken in oneday by a shepherd at East Dean, near Beachy Head. I think they said hetook nearly a hundred dozen, so many that they could not thread them oncrow-quills in the usual manner, but he took off his round frock andmade a sack of it to put them into, and his wife did the same with herpetticoat. This must have happened when there was a great flight. Theirnumbers now are so decreased that some shepherds do not set up anycoops, as it does not pay for the trouble. " [Sidenote: THE LARK-GLASS] Although wheatears are no longer caught, the Brighton bird-catcher is avery busy man. Goldfinches fall in extraordinary plenty to his nets. Abird-catcher told Mr. Borrer that he once caught eleven dozen of them atone haul, and in 1860 the annual take at Worthing was 1, 154 dozen. Larksare also caught in great numbers, also with nets, the old system stillpractised in France, of luring them with glasses, having becomeobsolete. Knox has an interesting description of the lark-glass and itsuses:--"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 theroof of a well-known toy, yclept a Noah's ark, but, more than twice aslong. In the sloping sides are set several bits of looking-glass. A longiron spindle, the lower end of which is sharp and fixed in the ground, passes freely through the centre; on this the instrument turns, and evenspins rapidly when a string has been attached and is pulled by theperformer, who generally stands at a distance of fifteen or twenty yardsfrom the decoy. The reflection of the sun's rays from these littlerevolving mirrors seems to possess a mysterious attraction for thelarks, for they descend in great numbers from a considerable height inthe air, hover over the spot, and suffer themselves to be shot atrepeatedly without attempting to leave the field or to continue theircourse. " To return to Rottingdean, it was above the village, seven hundred yearsago, that a "sore scrymmysche" occurred between the French and theCluniac prior of Lewes. The prior was defeated and captured, but thenature of his resistance decided the enemy that it was better perhaps toretreat to their boats. The holy man, although worsted, thus had thesatisfaction of having proved to the King that a Cluniac monk in thiscountry, was not, as was supposed at court, necessarily on the side ofEngland's foes, even though they were of his own race. 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 thestarting point for a day among the hills. Once out and above thevillage, the world is your own. A conspiracy to populate a part of theDowns near the sea, a mile or so to the east of Rottingdean, seemsgloriously to have failed, but what was intended may be learned from theskeleton roads that, duly fenced in, disfigure the turf. They even havenames, these unlovely parallelograms: one is Chatsworth Avenue, andAmbleside Avenue another. CHAPTER XIX SHOREHAM 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. The cliffs that make the coast between Newhaven and Brighton soattractive slope gradually to level ground at the Aquarium and neverreappear in Sussex on the Channel's edge again, although in the eastthey 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 hasno beauty save of the sea. Hove, which used to be a disreputable littlesmuggling village sufficiently far from Brighton for risks to be runwith safety, is now the well-ordered home of wealthy rectitude. Mrs. Grundy's sea-side home is here. Hove is, perhaps, the genteelest town inthe world, although once, only a poor hundred years ago, there was noservice in the church on a certain Sunday, because, as the clerkinformed the complaisant vicar, "The pews is full of tubs and the pulpitfull of tea"--a pleasant fact to reflect upon during Church Parade amidthe gay yet discreet prosperity of the Brunswick Lawns. [Illustration: _New Shoreham Church. _] West of Hove, and between that town and Portslade-by-Sea, is Aldrington. Aldrington is now new houses and brickfields. Thirty years ago it wasnaught. But five hundred years ago it was the principal township inthese parts, and Brighthelmstone a mere insignificant cluster of hovels. Centuries earlier it was more important still, for, according to someauthorities, it was the Portus Adurni of the Romans. The river Adur, which now enters the sea between Shoreham and Southwick, once flowedalong the line of the present canal and the Wish Pond, and so out intothe sea. I have seen it stated that the mouth of the river was even moreeasterly still--somewhere opposite the Norfolk Hotel at Brighton; butthis may be fanciful and can now hardly be proven. The suggestion, however, adds interest to a walk on the otherwise unromantic BrunswickLawns. In those days the Roman ships, entering the river here, wouldsail up as far as Bramber. Between the river and the sea were then sometwo miles--possibly more--of flat meadow land, on which Aldrington waslargely built. Over the ruins of that Aldrington the Channel now washes. [Sidenote: THE LIFE OF A HARBOUR] Beyond Aldrington is Portslade, with a pretty inland village on thehill; beyond Portslade is Southwick, notable for its green; and beyondSouthwick is Shoreham. Southwick and Shoreham both have that interestwhich can never be wanting to the seaport that has seen better days. Thelife of a harbour, whatever its state of decay, is eternally absorbing;and in Shoreham harbour one gets such life at its laziest. The smell oftar; the sound of hammers; the laughter and whistling of the loafers;the continuous changing of the tide; the opening of the lock gates; thedeparture of the tug; its triumphant return, leading in custody atimber-laden barque from the Baltic, a little self-conscious andashamed, as if caught red-handed in iniquity by this fussy littleofficer; the independent sailing of a grimy steamer bound for Sunderlandand more coal; the elaborate wharfing of the barque:--all these thingson a hot still day can exercise an hypnotic influence more real andstrange than the open sea. The romance and mystery of the sea may indeedbe more intimately near one on a harbour wharf than on the deck of aliner in mid-ocean. Shoreham has its place in history. Thence as we have seen, sailedCharles II. In Captain Tattersall's _Enterprise_. Four hundred andfifty years earlier King John landed here with his army, when he came tosucceed to the English throne. In the reign of Edward III. Shorehamsupplied twenty-six ships to the Navy: but in the fifteenth century thesea began an encroachment on the bar which disclassed the harbour. It isnow unimportant, most of the trade having passed to Newhaven; but in itsdays of prosperity great cargoes of corn and wine were landed here fromthe Continent. When people now say Shoreham they mean New Shoreham, but Old Shoreham isthe parent. Old Shoreham, however, declined to village state when thepresent harbour was made. [Sidenote: MR. SWINBURNE'S POEM] New Shoreham church, quite the noblest in the county, dates probablyfrom about 1100. It was originally the property of the Abbey of Saumur, to whom it was presented, together with Old Shoreham church, by Williamde Braose, the lord of Bramber Castle. It is New Shoreham Church whichMr. Swinburne had in mind (or so I imagine) in his noble poem "On theSouth Coast":-- Strong as time, and as faith sublime, --clothed round with shadows of hopes and fears, Nights and morrows, and joys and sorrows, alive with passion of prayers and tears, -- Stands the shrine that has seen decline eight hundred waxing and waning years. Tower set square to the storms of air and change of season that glooms and glows, Wall and roof of it tempest-proof, and equal ever to suns and snows, Bright with riches of radiant niches and pillars smooth as a straight stem grows. * * * * * Stately stands it, the work of hands unknown of: statelier, afar and near, Rise around it the heights that bound our landward gaze from the seaboard here; Downs that swerve and aspire, in curve and change of heights that the dawn holds dear. Dawn falls fair on the grey walls there confronting dawn, on the low green lea, Lone and sweet as for fairies' feet held sacred, silent and strange and free, Wild and wet with its rills; but yet more fair falls dawn on the fairer sea. * * * * * Rose-red eve on the seas that heave sinks fair as dawn when the first ray peers; Winds are glancing from sunbright Lancing to Shoreham, crowned with the grace of years; [Illustration: _Old Shoreham Bridge. _] [Sidenote: A SHOREHAM EPITAPH] In the churchyard there was once (and may be still, but I did not findit) an epitaph on a child of eight months, in the form of a dialoguebetween the deceased and its parents. It contained these lines:-- "'I trust in Christ, ' the blessed babe replied, Then smil'd, then sigh'd, then clos'd its eyes and died. " [Illustration: _Old Shoreham Church. _] Shoreham's notoriety as a pocket borough--it returned two members toParliament, who were elected in the north transept of the church--cameto a head in 1701, when the naïve means by which Mr. Gould had provedhis fitness were revealed. It seemed that Mr. Gould, who had never beento Shoreham before, directed the crier to give notice with his bell thatevery voter who came to the King's Arms would receive a guinea in whichto drink Mr. Gould's good health. This fact being made public by thedefeated candidate, Mr. Gould was unseated. At the following election, such was the enduring power of the original guinea, he was electedagain. After the life of the harbour, the chief interest of Shoreham is itsriver, the Adur, a yellow, sluggish, shallow stream, of great width nearthe town, which at low tide dwindles into a streamlet trickling througha 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, thusdescribes the river at evening:-- Skies fulfilled with the sundown, stilled and splendid, spread as a flower that spreads, Pave with rarer device and fairer than heaven's the luminous oyster-beds, Grass-embanked, and in square plots ranked, inlaid with gems that the sundown sheds. [Sidenote: MR. HENLEY'S POEM] To the Adur belongs also another lyric. It is printed in _Hawthorn andLavender_, to which I have already referred, and is one of Mr. Henley'smost characteristic and remarkable poems:-- In Shoreham River, hurrying down To the live sea, By working, marrying, breeding, Shoreham Town, Breaking the sunset's wistful and solemn dream, An old, black rotter of a boat Past service to the labouring, tumbling flote, Lay stranded in mid-stream; With a horrid list, a frightening lapse from the line, That made me think of legs and a broken spine; Soon, all too soon, Ungainly and forlorn to lie Full in the eye Of the cynical, discomfortable moon That, as I looked, stared from the fading sky, A clown's face flour'd for work. And by and by The wide-winged sunset wanned and waned; The lean night-wind crept westward, chilling and sighing; The poor old hulk remained, Stuck helpless in mid-ebb. And I knew why-- Why, as I looked, my heart felt crying. For, as I looked, the good green earth seemed dying-- Dying or dead; And, as I looked on the old boat, I said:-- "_Dear God, it's I!_" The Adur is no longer the home of birds that once it was, but in theearly morning one may still see there many of the less common waterfowl. The road to Portsmouth is carried across the Adur by the NorfolkSuspension Bridge, to cross which one must pay a toll, --not anunpleasant reminder of earlier days. Old Shoreham, a mile up the river, is notable for its wooden bridgeacross the Adur to the Old Sussex Pad, at one time a famous inn forsmugglers. Few Royal Academy exhibitions are without a picture of OldShoreham Bridge and the quiet cruciform church at its eastward end. [Sidenote: THE LOYAL CLERK] A pleasant story tells how, in some Sussex journey, William IV. And hisqueen chanced to be passing through Shoreham, coming from Chichester toLewes, one Sunday morning. The clerk of Old Shoreham church caught sightthrough the window of the approaching cavalcade, and leaping to hisfeet, stopped the sermon by announcing: "It is my solemn duty to informyou that their Majesties the King and Queen are just now crossing thebridge. " Thereupon the whole congregation jumped up and ran out to showtheir loyalty. CHAPTER XX THE DEVIL'S DYKE AND HURSTPIERPOINT 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. [Illustration: _Poynings, from the Devil's Dyke. _] Had the hill above the Devil's Dyke--for the Dyke itself wins only apassing glance--been never popularised, thousands of Londoners, and manyof the people of Brighton, would probably never have seen the Weald fromany 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 ifadvancing to meet a southern champion, and in the west, Blackdown, HindHead and the Hog's Back. The patchwork of the Weald is between. The viewfrom the Dyke Hill, looking north, is comparable to that from LeithHill, looking south; and every day in fine weather there are tourists onboth of these altitudes gazing towards each other. The worst slight thatSussex ever had to endure, so far as my reading goes, is in Hughson's_London . .. And its Neighbourhood_, 1808, where the view from Leith Hillis described. After stating that the curious stranger on the summit"feels sensations as we may suppose Adam to have felt when heinstantaneously burst into existence and the beauties of Eden struck hisall-wondering eyes, " Mr. Hughson describes the prospect. "It commandsa view of the county of Surrey, part of Hampshire, Berkshire, Nettlebedin Oxfordshire, some parts of Bucks, Hertfordshire, Middlesex, Kent andEssex; and, by the help of a glass, Wiltshire. " Not a word of Sussex. [Sidenote: A SEA OF MIST] The wisest course for the non-gregarious traveller is to leave the Dykeon the right, and, crossing the Ladies' Golf Links, gain Fulking Hill, from which the view is equally fine (save for lacking a little in theeast) and where there is peace and isolation. I remember sitting oneSunday morning on Fulking Hill when a white mist like a sea filled theWeald, washing the turf slopes twenty feet or so below me. In the depthsof this ocean, as it were, could be heard faintly the noises of thefarms and the chime of submerged bells. Suddenly a hawk shot up anddisappeared again, like a leaping fish. The same spot was on another occasion the scene of a superb effort ofcourageous tenacity. I met a large hare steadily breasting the hill. Turning neither to the right nor left it was soon out of sight over thecrest. Five or more minutes later there appeared in view, on the hare'strail, a very tired little fox terrier not much more than half the sizeof the hare. He also turned aside neither to the right nor the left, butpanted wearily yet bravely past me, and so on, over the crest, after hisprey. I waited for some time but the terrier never came back. Such wasthe purpose depicted on his countenance that I can believe he isfollowing still. On these Downs, near the Dyke, less than a century ago the Great Bustardused to be hunted with greyhounds. Mr. Borrer tells us in the _Birds ofSussex_ that his grandfather (who died in 1844) sometimes would takefive or six in a morning. They fought savagely and more than onceinjured the hounds. Enterprise has of late been at work at the Dyke. A cable railway crossesthe gully at a dizzy height, a lift brings travellers from the Weald, awooden cannon of exceptional calibre threatens the landscape, andpictorial advertisements of the Devil and his domain may be seen at mostof the Sussex stations. Ladies also play golf where, when first I knewit, one could walk unharmed. A change that is to be regretted is theexile to the unromantic neighbourhood of the Dyke Station of the Queenof the Gipsies, a swarthy ringletted lady of peculiarly comfortableexterior who, splendid (yet a little sinister) in a scarlet shawl andponderous gold jewels, used once to emerge from a tent beside the Dykeinn and allot husbands fair or dark. She was an astute reader of herfellows, with an eye too searching to be deceived by the removal oftell-tale rings. A lucky shot in respect to a future ducal husband of ayoung lady now a duchess, of the accuracy of which she was careful toremind you, increased her reputation tenfold in recent years. Her nameis Lee, and of her title of Queen of the Gipsies there is, I believe, some justification. [Sidenote: "HE"] Sussex abounds in evidences of the Devil's whimsical handiwork, althoughin ordinary conversation Sussex rustics are careful not to speak hisname. They say "he. " Mr. Parish, in his _Dictionary of the SussexDialect_, gives an example of the avoidance of the dread name: "'In theDown there's a golden calf buried; people know very well where it is--Icould show you the place any day. ' 'Then why don't they dig it up? 'Oh, it's not allowed: _he_ wouldn't let them. ' 'Has any one ever tried?' 'Ohyes, but it's never there when you look; _he_ moves it away. '" Hispunchbowl may be seen here, his footprints there; but the greatest ofhis enterprises was certainly the Dyke. His purpose was to submerge orsilence the irritating churches of the Weald, by digging a ditch thatshould let in the sea. He began one night from the North side, atSaddlescombe, and was working very well until he caught sight of thebeams of a candle which an old woman had placed in her window. Being aDevil of Sussex rather than of Miltonic invention, he was not clever, and taking the candle light for the break of dawn, he fled and neverresumed the labour. That is the very infirm legend that is told and soldat the Dyke. [Sidenote: HANGLETON] I might just mention that the little church which one sees from the Dykerailway, standing alone on the hill side, is Hangleton. Dr. Kenealy, whodefended the Claimant, is buried there. The hamlet of Hangleton, whichmay be seen in the distance below, once possessed a hunting lodge of theCoverts of Slaugham, which, after being used as labourers' cottages, hasnow disappeared. The fine Tudor mansion of the Bellinghams', nowtransformed into a farm house, although it has been much altered, stillretains many original features. In the kitchen, no doubt once the hall, on an oak screen, are carved the Commandments, followed by thisingenious motto, an exercise on the letter E: Persevere, ye perfect men, Ever keep these precepts ten. [Illustration: _Hangleton House. _] From the Dyke hill one is within easy walking distance of many Wealdenvillages. Immediately at the north end of the Dyke itself is Poynings, with its fine grey cruciform church raising an embattled tower amongthe trees on its mound. It has been conjectured from the similarity ofthis beautiful church to that of Alfriston that they may have had thesame architect. Poynings (now called Punnings) was of importance inNorman times, and was the seat of William FitzRainalt, whose descendantsafterwards took the name of de Ponyngs and one of whom was ennobled asBaron de Ponyngs. In the fifteenth century the direct line was mergedinto that of Percy. The ruins of Ponyngs Place, the baronial mansion, are still traceable. Following the road to the west, under the hills, we come first toFulking (where one may drink at a fountain raised by a brewer to theglory of God and in honour of John Ruskin), then to Edburton (where theleaden font, one of three in Sussex, should be noted), then to Truleigh, all little farming hamlets shadowed by the Downs, and so to Beeding andBramber, or, striking south, to Shoreham. [Sidenote: NEWTIMBER] If, instead of turning into Poynings, one ascends the hill on the otherside of the stream, a climb of some minutes, with a natural amphitheatreon the right, brings one to the wooded northern escarpment ofSaddlescombe North Hill, or Newtimber Hill, which offers a view littleinferior to that of the Dyke. At Saddlescombe, by the way, lives one ofthe most learned Sussex ornithologists of the day, and a writer upon thenatural history of the county (so cavalierly treated in this book!), forwhose quick eye and descriptive hand the readers of _Blackwood_ havereason to be grateful. Immediately beneath Newtimber Hill liesNewtimber, consisting of a house or two, a moated grange, and a littlechurch, which, though only a few yards from the London road, is sohidden that it might be miles from everywhere. On the grass bank of thebostel descending through the hanger to Newtimber, I counted on onespring afternoon as many as a dozen adders basking in the sun. We arehere, though so near Brighton, in country where the badger is stillfound, while the Newtimber woods are famous among collectors of moths. [Sidenote: PYECOMBE CROOKS] 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 youwill come to Pyecombe, a straggling village on each side of the Londonroad just at the head of Dale Hill. Pyecombe has lost its ancient fameas the home of the best shepherds' crooks, but the Pyecombe crook formany years was unapproached. The industry has left Sussex: crooks arenow made in the north of England and sold over shop counters. I say"industry" wrongly, for what was truly an industry for a Pyecombeblacksmith is a mere detail in an iron factory, since the number ofshepherds does not increase and one crook will serve a lifetime andmore. An old shepherd at Pyecombe, talking confidentially on the subjectof crooks, complained that the new weapon as sold at Lewes, althoughnominally on the Pyecombe pattern, is a "numb thing. " The chief reasonwhich he gave was that the maker was out of touch with the man who wasto use it. His own crook (like that of Richard Jefferies' shepherdfriend) had been fashioned from the barrel of an old muzzle-loader. Thepresent generation, he added, is forgetting how to make everything: why, he had neighbours, smart young fellows, too, who could not even maketheir own clothes. Pyecombe is but a few miles from Brighton, which may easily be reachedfrom it. A short distance south of the village is the Plough Inn, thepoint 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 weare now standing) by way of Dale Hill, Bolney, Hand Cross, Crawley andReigate--become one. On the way to Brighton from the Plough one passes through Patcham, adusty village that for many years has seen too many bicycles, and now isin 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 areminder of the more stirring experiences to which the Patcham peoplewere subject a hundred years ago, and also as an example of the truthwhich is only half a truth: [Sidenote: SMUGGLER AND EXEMPLAR] Sacred to the memory of Daniel Scales, who was unfortunately shot on Thursday Evening, Nov. 7, 1796. Alas! swift flew the fatal lead Which pierced through the young man's head, He instant fell, resigned his breath, And closed his languid eyes in death. All ye who do this stone draw near, Oh! pray let fall the pitying tear. From the sad instance may we all Prepare to meet Jehovah's call. The facts of the case bear some likeness to the death of Mr. Bardell andSerjeant Buzfuz's reference to that catastrophe. Daniel Scales was adesperate smuggler who, when the fatal lead pierced him, was heavilyladen with booty. He was shot through the head only as a means ofpreventing a similar fate befalling his slayer. Just beyond Patcham, as we approach Brighton, is the narrow chalk laneon the left which leads to the Lady's Mile, the beginning of a superbstretch of turf around an amphitheatre in the hills by which one maygallop all the way to the Clayton mills. The grass ride extends toLewes. Preston, once a village with an independent life, is now Brighton; butnothing can harm its little English church, noticeable for a fresco ofthe murder of Thomas à Becket, a representation dating probably from thereign of Edward I. This, however, is a digression, and we must return to Pyecombe in orderto climb Wolstonbury--the most mountainous of the hills in this part, and indeed, although far from the highest, perhaps the noblest in mienof 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 thanany of the Downs does Wolstonbury bring before one the Roman occupationof our country. [Sidenote: DANNY] Immediately below Wolstonbury, on the edge of the Weald, is Danny, anElizabethan house, to-day the seat of the Campions, but two hundred andmore years ago the seat of Peter Courthope, to whom John Ray dedicatedhis _Collection of English Words not generally used_, and before thenthe property of Sir Simon de Pierpoint. The park is small and withoutdeer, but the house has a façade of which one can never tire. I once saw_Twelfth Night_ performed in its gardens, and it was difficult tobelieve that Shakespeare had not the spot in mind when he wrote thatplay. [Illustration: _Malthouse Farm, Hurstpierpoint. _] The Danny drive brings us to Hurstpierpoint, or Hurst as it is generallycalled, which is now becoming a suburb of Brighton and thus somewhatlosing its character, but which the hills will probably long keep sweet. James Hannington, Bishop of Equatorial East Africa, who was murdered bynatives in 1885, was born here; here lived Richard Weeks, the antiquary;and here to-day is the home of Mr. Mitten, most learned of Sussexbotanists. To Hurst belongs one of the little Sussex squires to whose diligence asa diarist we are indebted for much entertaining knowledge of the past. Little Park, now the property of the Hannington family, where ThomasMarchant, the diarist in question, lived, and kept his journal between1714 and 1728, is to the north of the main street, lying low. Theoriginal document I have not seen, but from passages printed by theSussex Archæological Society I borrow a few extracts for the light theythrow on old customs and social life. [Sidenote: FISH-BREEDING] "October 8th, 1714. Paid 4_s. _ at Lewes for 1/4 lb. , of tea; 5_d. _ for a quire of paper; and 6_d. _ for two mousetraps. "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_s. _ 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. "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. "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. " The Little Park ponds still exist, but the practice of breeding fish haspassed. In Arthur Young's _General View of the Agriculture of the Countyof Sussex_, 1808, quoted elsewhere in this book, is a chapter on fish, wherein he writes: "A Mr. Fenn of London, has long rented, and is thesole monopolizer of, all the fish that are sold in Sussex. Carp is thechief stock; but tench and perch, eels and pike are raised. A streamshould 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 inchesof fat upon them, but then he feeds with pease. When the waters aredrawn off and re-stocked, it is done with stores of a year old, whichremain four years: the carp will then be 12 or 13 inches long, and ifthe water is good, 14 or 15. The usual season for drawing the water iseither Autumn or Spring: the sale is regulated by measure, from the eyeto the fork of the tail. At twelve inches, carp are worth 50_s. _ and3_l. _ per hundred; at fifteen inches, 6_l. _; at eighteen inches, 8_l. _and 9_l. _ A hundred stores will stock an acre; or 35 brace, 10 or 12inches long, are fully sufficient for a breeding pond. The first yearthey will be three inches long; second year, seven; third year, elevenor twelve; fourth year, fourteen or fifteen. This year they breed. " [Sidenote: THOMAS MARCHANT'S HEADACHES] Although fish-breeding is not what it was, many of the Sussex ponds arestill regularly dragged, and the proceeds sold in advance to a Londonfirm. 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:-- "January 16th (Sunday) 1715. I was not at church having a bad headache. "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. "April 15th, 1715. Paid my uncle Courtness 15_d. _ for a small bottle of Daffey's Elixir. "July 18th, 1715. I went to Bolney and agreed with Edw. Jenner to dig sandstone for setting up my father's tombstone, at 5_s. _ I gave him 6_d. _ to spend in drink that he might be more careful. "August 7th, (Sunday) 1715. I was not at church as my head ached very much. "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. "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. "June 12th, 1717. I was at the cricket match at Dungton Gate towards night. "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. "January 30th (Friday), 1719. King Charles' Martyrdom. I was not at church, as my head ached very much. "February 28th, 1719. We had news of the Chevalier de St. George, the Pretender, being taken and carried into the Castle of Milan. "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. "September 30th, 1719. Talked to Mrs. Beard, for Allan Savage, about her horse that was seized by the officers at Brighton running brandy. "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. ] "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. ] "February 7th, 1722. Will and Jack went to Lewes to see a prize fight between Harris and another. "September 18th, 1727. Dined at Mr. Hazelgrove's and cheapened a tombstone. " Thomas Marchant was buried September 17, 1728. Less than two miles west of Hurstpierpoint is Albourne, so hidden awaythat one might know this part of the country well and yet be continuallyoverlooking it. The western high road between Brighton and London passeswithin a stone's throw of Albourne, but one never suspects theexistence, close by, of this retired village, so compact and virginaland exquisitely old fashioned. It is said that after the execution ofCharles I Bishop Juxon lived for a while at Albourne Place during theCivil War, and once escaped the Parliamentary soldiers by disguisinghimself as a bricklayer. There is a priest's hiding hole in the house. [Sidenote: A GIANT TROUT] Some three miles north of Albourne is Twineham, another village which, situated only on a by-road midway between two lines of railway, has alsopreserved its bloom. Here, at the end of the seventeenth and beginningof the eighteenth centuries, at Hickstead Place, a beautiful Tudormansion that still stands, lived Richard Stapley, another of the Sussexdiarists whose MSS. Have been selected for publication by the SussexArchæological Society. I quote a few passages:-- "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. " Here we have the spectacle of a good man struggling withaccuracy:--"August 19th, 1698. Paid Mr. Stheward for Dr. Comber'sparaphrase on ye Common Prayer, 20_s. _ and 6_d. _ for carriage. I paid itat ye end of ye kitchen table next ye chamber stairs door, and nobodyin ye room but he and I. No, it was ye end of ye table next ye parlour. "April 26th, 1709. I bought a salmon-trout of William Lindfield ofGrubbs, in Bolney, which he caught ye night before in his net, by hisold orchard, which was wounded by an otter. The trout weighed 11 lbs. And 1/2; and was 3 foot 2 inches long from end to end, and but 2 foot 9inches between ye eye and ye forke. " There is also a record of a salmontrout being caught at Bolney early in the last century, which weighed22lbs. And was sent to King George IV. At Brighton. I must quote a prescription from the diary:--"To cure thehoopingcough:--get 3 field mice, flaw them, draw them, and roast one ofthem, and let the party afflicted eat it; dry the other two in the ovenuntil they crumble to a powder, and put a little of this powder in whatthe patient drinks at night and in the morning. " Mice played, and stillplay in remote districts, a large part in the rural pharmacopeia. ASussex doctor once told me that he had directed the mother of a boy atPortslade 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 motherreplied briskly:--"Oh, Tommy's better, but the mice are dead. " [Sidenote: OATMEAL PUDDING] The Stapley family ate an oatmeal pudding made in the followingmanner:-- Of oats decorticated take two pound, And of new milk enough the same to dround; Of raisins of the sun, ston'd, ounces eight; Of currants, cleanly picked, an equal weight; Of suet, finely sliced, an ounce at least; And six eggs newly taken from the nest; Season this mixture well with salt and spice; Twill make a pudding far exceeding nice; And you may safely feed on it like farmers. For the receipt is learned Dr. Harmer's. [Sidenote: THE GOOD HORSE'S REWARD] Richard Stapley's diary was continued by his son Anthony and grandsonJohn. The most pleasing among the printed extracts is this:--"1736, Maythe 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 peoplethat knew him foaled. He had been in his time as good a horse as everman was owner of, and he was buried in his skin being a good oldhorse. " [Illustration: _Ditchling. _] CHAPTER XXI DITCHLING 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. Another good walk from Brighton begins with a short railway journey toFalmer on the Lewes line. Then strike into Stanmer Park, the seat of theEarl of Chichester, a descendant of the famous Sussex Pelhams, with thechurch and the little village of Stanmer on the far edge of it, and soup through the hollows and valleys to Ditchling Beacon. Dr. Johnson'ssaying of the Downs about Brighton, that "it was a country so trulydesolate that if one had a mind to hang oneself for desperation at beingobliged to live there, it would be difficult to find a tree on which tofasten a rope, " proves beyond question that his horse never took himStanmer way, for the park is richly wooded. On Ditchling Beacon, one of the noblest of the Sussex hills and thesecond 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 villageof Ditchling may still be gained by the half-subterranean path that ourconquerors dug, so devised that a regiment might descend into the Wealdunseen. [Sidenote: LONDON'S VASTNESS] Ditchling is a quiet little village on high ground, where Alfred theGreat once had a park. The church is a very interesting and gracefulspecimen of early English architecture, dating from the 13th century. Ahundred and more years ago water from a chalybeate spring on the commonwas drunk by Sussex people for rheumatism and other ills; but the springhas lost its fame. The village could not well be more out of themovement, yet an old lady living in the neighbourhood who, when about tovisit London for the first time, was asked what she expected to find, replied, "Well, I can't exactly tell, but I suppose something like themore bustling part of Ditchling. " A kindred story is told of a Sussexman who, finding himself in London for the first time, exclaimed withastonishment--"What a queer large place! Why, it ain't like Newick andit ain't like Chailey. " [Illustration: _Old House at Ditchling. _] On Ditchling Common are the protected remains of a stake known asJacob's Post. A stranger requested to supply this piece of wood with theorigin of its label would probably adventure long before hitting uponthe right tack; for Jacob, whose name has in this familiar connection apopular and almost an endearing sound, was Jacob Harris, a Jew pedlar ofastonishing turpitude, who, after murdering three persons at an inn onDitchling Common and plundering their house, was hanged at Horsham inthe year 1734, and afterwards suspended, as a lesson, to the gibbet, ofwhich this post--Jacob's Post--is the surviving relic. [Sidenote: A CURE FOR TOOTHACHE] All gibbets, it is said, are "good" for something, and a piece ofJacob's Post carried on the person is sovran against toothache. A Sussexarchæologist tells of an old lady, a resident on Ditchling Common formore than eighty years, whose belief in the Post was so sound that herpocket contained a splinter of it long after all her teeth had departed. [Sidenote: JOHN BURGESS'S DIARY] From extracts from the diary of Mr. John Burgess, tailor, sexton andParticular Baptist, of Ditchling, which are given in the SussexArchæological Collections, I quote here and there:-- "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. "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. "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. "March 14th, 1788. Went to Fryersoake to a Bull Bait to 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. "At Brightelmstone:--washed in ye sea. " CHAPTER XXII CUCKFIELD 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--_Idlehurst_--Richard Turner's epitaph--Ardingly. Hayward's Heath, on the London line, would be our next centre were itnot so new and suburban. Fortunately Cuckfield, which has two coachinginns and many of the signs of the leisurely past, is close by, in themidst of very interesting country, with a church standing high on theridge to the south of the town, broadside to the Weald, its spire alandmark for miles. Cuckfield Place (a house and park, according toShelley, which abounded in "bits of Mrs. Radcliffe") is described inHarrison Ainsworth's _Rookwood_. It was in the avenue leading from thegates to the house that that fatal tree stood, a limb of which fell asthe presage of the death of a member of the family. So runs the legend. Knowledge of the tree is, however, disclaimed by the gatekeeper. [Illustration: _Cuckfield Church. _] [Sidenote: THE COACHMAN'S PLANS] Ockenden House, in Cuckfield, has been for many years in the possessionof the Burrell family, one of whom, Timothy Burrell, an ancestor of theantiquary, left some interesting account books, which contain inaddition to figures many curious and sardonic entries and some ingenioushieroglyphics. I quote here and there, from the Sussex ArchæologicalSociety's extracts, by way of illustrating the life of a Sussex squirein those days, 1683-1714:-- 1705. "Pay'd Gosmark for making cyder 1 day, whilst John Coachman was tobe drunk with the carrier's money, by agreement; and I pay'd 2_d. _ tothe glasyer for mending John's casement broken at night by him when hewas drunk. "1706. 25th March. Pd. John Coachman by Ned Virgo, that he may be drunkall the Easter week, in part of his wages due, _£_1. " [Sidenote: ANCIENT APPETITES] This was the fare provided on January 1, 1707, for thirteen guests:-- Plumm pottage. Plumm pottage. Calves' head and bacon. Boiled beef, a clod. Goose. Two baked puddings. Pig. Three dishes of minced Plumm pottage. Pies. Roast beef, sirloin. Two capons. Veale, a loin. Two dishes of tarts. Goose. Two pullets. Plum porridge, it may interest some to know, was made thus: "Take ofbeef-soup made of legs of beef, 12 quarts; if you wish it to beparticularly good, add a couple of tongues to be boiled therein. Putfine bread, sliced, soaked, and crumbled; raisins of the sun, currantsand pruants two lbs. Of each; lemons, nutmegs, mace and cloves are to beboiled with it in a muslin bag; add a quart of red wine and let this befollowed, after half an hour's boiling, by a pint of sack. Put it into acool place and it will keep through Christmas. " Mr. Burrell giving a small dinner to four friends, offered them Pease pottage. 2 carps. 2 tench. Roast leg of mutton. Capon. Pullet. Apple pudding. Fried oysters. Goos. Baked pudding. Tarts. Minced pies. It is perhaps not surprising that the host had occasionally to take thewaters of Ditchling, which are no longer drunk medicinally, or to dosehimself with hieræ picræ. One more dinner, this time for four guests, who presumably were moreworthy of attention:-- A soup take off. Two large carps at the upper end. Pidgeon pie, salad, veal ollaves, Leg of mutton, and cutlets at the lower end. Three rosed chickens. Scotch pancakes, tarts, asparagus. Three green gees at the lower end. In the room of the chickens removed, Four-souced Mackerel. Rasins in cream at the upper end. Calves' foot jelly, dried sweetmeats, calves' foot jelly. Flummery, Savoy cakes. Imperial cream at the lower end. In October, 1709, Mr. Burrell writes in Latin: "From this time I haveresolved, as long as the dearth of provisions continues, to give to thepoor who apply for it at the door on Sundays, twelve pounds of beefevery week, on the 11th of February 4lbs. More, in all 16lbs. , and abushel of wheat and half a bushel of barley in 4 weeks. " [Sidenote: MERRY ANDREW] From Borde Hill to the north-east of Cuckfield, is supposed to have comeAndrew Boord, the original Merry Andrew. Among the later Boords wholived there was George Boord, in whose copy of _Natura Brevium_ and_Tenores Novelli_, bound together (given him by John Sackville ofChiddingly Park) is written:-- Sidera non tot habet Celum, nec flumina pisces, Quot scelera gerit femina mente dolos. Dixit Boordus; which Mr. Lower translates: Quoth Boord, with stars the skies abound, With fish the flowing waters; But far more numerous I have found The tricks of Eve's fair daughters. This Boord would be a relative of the famous Andrew, priest, doctor andsatirist (1490-1549) who may indeed have been the author of the distichabove. It is certainly in his vein. 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 _Dyetary_ and_Brevyary of Health_. He wrote also an _Itinerary of England_ and iscredited by some with the _Merrie Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham_. Lowerand Horsfield indeed hold that the Gotham intended was not theNottinghamshire village but Gotham near Pevensey, where Boord hadproperty. That he knew something of Sussex is shown by _Boord's Boke ofKnowledge_, where he mentions the old story, then a new one, that nonightingale will sing in St. Leonard's Forest. It is the _Boke ofKnowledge_ that has for frontispiece the picture of a naked Englishmanwith a pair of shears in one hand and a piece of cloth over the otherarm, saying: I am an English man and naked I stand here, Musing in my mund what rayment I shall were; For now I wyll were this, and now I wyl were that; Now I wyl were I cannot tel what. We shall see Andrew again when we come to Pevensey. [Sidenote: OLD WILLS] A glimpse of the orderly mind of a pre-Reformation Cuckfield yeoman isgiven in a will quoted recently in the _Sussex Daily News_, in aninteresting series of articles on the county under the title of"Old-time Sussex": "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. 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. It. (item) to the Mother Church of Chichester 4_d. _ It. To the hye alter of Cuckfeld 4_d. _ 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_s. _ at every tyme. " The high altar was frequently mentioned favourably in these old wills. Another Cuckfield testator, in 1539, left to the high altar, "for tythesand oblacions negligently forgotten, sixpence. " The same student of the_Calendar of Sussex Wills in the District Probate Registry at Lewes, between 1541 and 1652_, which the British Record Society have justpublished, copies the following passage from the will of Gerard Onstye, in 1568: "To mary my daughter _£_20, the ffeatherbed that I lye upon thebolsters and coverlete of tapestaye work with a blankett, 4 payres ofshetts that is to say four pares of the best flaxon and other 2 payre ofthe best hempen the greate brasse potte that hir mother brought, thebest bord-clothe (table cloth?) a lynnen whelle (_i. E. _, spinning-wheel)that was hir mothers, the chaffing dish that hangeth in the parlor. " In those simple days everything was prized. In one of these Sussexwills, in 1594, Richard Phearndeane, a labourer, left to his brotherStephen his best dublett, his best jerkin and his best shoes, and toBernard Rosse his white dublett, his leathern dublett and his worstbreeches. [Sidenote: THE BELLS OF BOLNEY] Three miles west of Cuckfield is Bolney, just off the London road, avillage in the southern boundary of St. Leonard's Forest, the key tosome very rich country. Before the days of bicycles Bolney waspractically unknown, so retired is it. The church, which has a curiouspinnacled 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 toperfection, by placing themselves on the margin of a large pond, theproperty of Mr. W. Marshall; the reverberation of the sound, coming offthe water, is peculiarly striking. " Sixty years ago this sheet of water had an additional attraction. SaysMr. Knox, "During the months of May and June, 1843, an osprey wasobserved to haunt the large ponds near Bolney. After securing a fish heused to retire to an old tree on the more exposed bank to devour it, andabout the close of evening was in the habit of flying off towards thenorth-west, sometimes carrying away a prize in his talons if his sporthad been unusually successful, as if he dreaded being disturbed at hisrepast during the dangerous hours of twilight. Having been shot atseveral times without effect, his visits to these ponds became graduallyless frequent, but the surrounding covers being unpreserved, and thebird itself too wary to suffer a near approach, he escaped the fate ofmany of his congeners, and even re-appeared with a companion early inthe following September, to whom he seemed to have imparted his salutarydread of man--his mortal enemy--for during the short time they remainedthere it was impossible to approach within gunshot of either of them. " The indirect road from Bolney to Hand Cross, through Warninglid andSlaugham (parallel with the coaching road), is superb, taking us againinto the iron country and very near to Leonardslee, which we havealready seen. [Sidenote: THE MAGNIFICENT COVERTS] The glory of Slaugham Place is no more; but one visible sign of it ispreserved in Lewes, in the Town Hall, in the shape of its old staircase. Slaugham Place was the seat of the Covert family, whose estatesextended, says tradition, "from Southwark to the Sea, " and, says themore 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 withinrecent times too, for Horsfield quotes, in 1835, the testimony of "anaged person, whom the present rector buried about twenty-five yearsback, who used to relate, that he remembered when the family at SlaughamPark, or Place, consisted of seventy persons. " Horsfield continues, in afootnote (the natural receptacle of many of his most interestingstatements):--"The name of the aged person alluded to was Harding, whodied at nearly 100. According to his statement, the family were sonumerous, they kept constantly employed mechanics of every description, who resided on the premises. A conduit, which supplied the mansion withwater, is now used by the inhabitants of the village. The kitchenfireplace still remains, of immense size, with the irons that supportedthe cooking apparatus. The arms of the Coverts, with many impalementsand quarterings, yet remain on the ruins. The principal entrance wasfrom the east, and the grand front to the north. The pillars at theentrance, fluted, with seats on each side, are still there. According tothe statement of the above person, there was a chapel attached to themansion at the west part. The mill-pond flowed over nearly 40 acres, according to a person's statement who occupied the mill many years. " Theruins, little changed since Horsfield wrote, stand in a beautifulold-world garden, which the traveller must certainly endeavour to enter. [Sidenote: THE BRIGHTON ROAD] A mile north of Slaugham is Hand Cross, a Clapham Junction of highways, whence Crawley is easily reached. Crawley, however, beyond a noblechurch, has no interest, its distinction being that it is halfwaybetween London and Brighton on the high road--its distinction and itsmisfortune. One would be hard put to it to think of a less desirableexistence than that of dwelling on a dusty road and continually seeingpeople hurrying either from Brighton to London or from London toBrighton. Coaches, phaetons, motor cars, bicycles, pass through Crawleyso numerously as almost to constitute one elongated vehicle, like themoving platform at the last Paris Exhibition. And not only travellers on wheels; for since the fashion for walkingcame in, Crawley has had new excitements, or monotonies, in the shape ofwalking stockbrokers, walking butchers, walking auctioneers' clerks, walking Austrians pushing their families in wheelbarrows, walkingbricklayers carrying hods of bricks, walking acrobats on stilts--allstriving to get to Brighton within a certain time, and all accompaniedby judges, referees, and friends. At Hand Cross, lower on the road, thenumbers diminish; but every competitor seems to be able to reachCrawley, perhaps because the railway station adjoins the high road. Itwas not, for example, until he reached Crawley that the Austrian'swheelbarrow broke down. [Sidenote: LINDFIELD] 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, andwide straggling street of old houses and new (too many new, to my mind), rising easily to the graceful Early English church with its slendershingled spire. Just beyond the church is one of the most beautiful oftimbered houses in Sussex, or indeed in England. When I first knew thishouse it was a farm in the hands of a careless farmer; it has beenrestored by its present owner with the most perfect understanding andtaste. For too long no one attempted to do as much for East Mascalls, atimbered ruin lying low among the fields to the east of the village; butquite recently it has been taken in hand. [Illustration: _East Mascalls--before renovation. _] A quaint Lindfield epitaph may be mentioned: that of Richard Turner, whodied in 1768, aged twenty-one:-- Long was my pain, great was my grief, Surgeons I'd many but no relief. I trust through Christ to rise with the just: My leg and thigh was buried first. [Sidenote: "IDLEHURST"] I must not betray secrets, but it might be remarked that that kindly yetmelancholy study of Wealden people and Wealden scenery, called_Idlehurst_--the best book, I think, that has come out of Sussex inrecent years--may be read with some special appropriateness in thisneighbourhood. North of Lindfield is Ardingly, now known chiefly in connection with thelarge school which travellers on the line to Brighton see from thecarriage windows as they cross the viaduct over the Ouse. The village, amile north of the college, is famous as the birthplace of Thomas Box, the first of the great wicket-keepers, who disdained gloves even to thefastest bowling. The church has some very interesting brasses to membersof the Wakehurst and Culpeper families, who long held Wakehurst Place, the Elizabethan mansion to the north of the village. Nicholas Culpeperof the _Herbal_ was of the stock; but he must not be confounded with theNicholas Culpeper whose brass, together with that of his wife, ten sonsand eight daughters, is in the church, possibly the largest family onrecord depicted in that metal. The church also has a handsome canopiedtomb, the occupant of which is unknown. From Ardingly superb walks in the Sussex forest country may be taken. CHAPTER XXIII FOREST COUNTRY AGAIN 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. On leaving the train at Balcombe, one is quickly on the densely woodedForest Ridge of Sussex, here fenced and preserved, but farther east, when it becomes Ashdown Forest, consisting of vast tracts of openmoorland and heather. Balcombe has a simple church, protected by ascreen of Scotch firs; its great merit is its position as the key to aparadise for all who like woodland travel. From Balcombe to Worth is onevast pheasant run, with here and there a keeper's cottage or a farm:originally, of course, a series of plantations growing furnace wood forthe ironmasters. In Tilgate Forest, to the west of Balcombe Forest, aretwo 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!--butnature quickly recovers herself, and were the true Black Country'sfurnaces extinguished, she would soon make even that grimy tract a hauntof loveliness once more. No longer are heard the sounds of the hammers, but Balcombe Forest, Tilgate Forest, and Worth Forest have still a constant reminder ofmachinery, for very few minutes pass from morning to night without therumble of a train on the main line to Brighton, which passes throughthe very midst of this wild game region, and plunges into the earthunder the high ground of Balcombe Forest. I know of no place where thetrains emit such a volume of sound as in the valley of the Stanfordbrook, just north of the tunnel. The noise makes it impossible ever quite to lose the sense of modernityin these woods, as one may on Shelley Plain, a few miles west, or atGill's Lap, in Ashdown Forest; unless, of course, one's imagination isso complaisant as to believe it to proceed from the old iron furnaces. This reminds me that Crabbet, just to the north of Worth (where churchand 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, in1698--since "building, " in his own words, is a "sweet impoverishing. " [Sidenote: WORTH CHURCH] But we must pause for a moment at Worth, because its church isremarkable as being the largest in England to preserve its Saxonfoundations. Sussex, as we have seen, is rich in Saxon relics, but thecounty has nothing more interesting than this. The church is cruciform, as all churches should be, and there is a little east window in thenorth transept through which, it is conjectured, arrows were intended tobe shot at marauding Danes; for an Englishman's church was once hiscastle. Archæologists familiar with Worth church have been known to passwith disdain cathedrals for which the ordinary person cannot find toomany fine adjectives. [Sidenote: MR. BLUNT'S BALLAD] [Sidenote: THE OLD SQUIRE] 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 anotable figure. Among other poems by the lord of Crabbet is the verypleasantly English ballad of THE OLD SQUIRE. I like the hunting of the hare Better than that of the fox; I like the joyous morning air, And the crowing of the cocks. I like the calm of the early fields, The ducks asleep by the lake, The quiet hour which Nature yields Before mankind is awake. I like the pheasants and feeding things Of the unsuspicious morn; I like the flap of the wood-pigeon's wings As she rises from the corn. I like the blackbird's shriek, and his rush From the turnips as I pass by, And the partridge hiding her head in a bush, For her young ones cannot fly. I like these things, and I like to ride When all the world is in bed, To the top of the hill where the sky grows wide, And where the sun grows red. The beagles at my horse heels trot, In silence after me; There's Ruby, Roger, Diamond, Dot, Old Slut and Margery, -- A score of names well used, and dear, The names my childhood knew; The horn, with which I rouse their cheer, Is the horn my father blew. I like the hunting of the hare Better than that of the fox; The new world still is all less fair Than the old world it mocks. I covet not a wider range Than these dear manors give; I take my pleasures without change, And as I lived I live. I leave my neighbours to their thought; My choice it is, and pride, On my own lands to find my sport, In my own fields to ride. The hare herself no better loves The field where she was bred, Than I the habit of these groves, My own inherited. I know my quarries every one, The meuse where she sits low; The road she chose to-day was run A hundred years ago. The lags, the gills, the forest ways; The hedgerows one and all, These are the kingdoms of my chase, And bounded by my wall. Nor has the world a better thing, Though one should search it round, Than thus to live one's own sole king, Upon one's own sole ground. I like the hunting of the hare; It brings me day by day, The memory of old days as fair, With dead men past away. To these, as homeward still I ply, And pass the churchyard gate, Where all are laid as I must lie, I stop and raise my hat. I like the hunting of the hare; New sports I hold in scorn. I like to be as my fathers were, In the days e'er I was born. [Sidenote: THE ROWFANT BOOKS] We are indeed just now in a bookish and poetical district, for a littlemore than a mile to the east of Crabbet, in a beautiful Tudor house in ahollow close to the station, lived Frederick Locker-Lampson, the Londonlyricist; and here are treasured the famous Rowfant books andmanuscripts which he brought together--the subject of graceful versesby many of his friends. Not the least charming of these tributes(printed in the _Rowfant Catalogue_ in 1886) are Mr. Andrew Lang'slines: TO F. L. I mind that Forest Shepherd's saw, For, when men preached of Heaven, quoth he; "It's a' that's bricht, and a' that's braw, But Bourhope's guid eneuch for me!" Beneath the green deep-bosomed hills That guard Saint Mary's Loch it lies, The silence of the pasture fills That shepherd's homely paradise. Enough for him his mountain lake, His glen the hern went singing through, And Rowfant, when the thrushes wake, May well seem good enough for YOU. For all is old, and tried, and dear, And all is fair, and round about The brook that murmurs from the mere Is dimpled with the rising trout. But when the skies of shorter days Are dark and all the "ways are mire, " How bright upon your books the blaze Gleams from the cheerful study fire. On quartos where our fathers read, Enthralled, the Book of Shakespeare's play, On all that Poe could dream of dread, And all that Herrick sang of gay! Fair first editions, duly prized, Above them all, methinks, I rate The tome where Walton's hand revised His wonderful receipts for bait! Happy, who rich in toys like these Forgets a weary nation's ills, Who from his study window sees The circle of the Sussex hills. [Sidenote: THE RESOLUTE TITMICE] Rowfant was once the scene of one of the most determined struggles inhistory. The contestants were a series of Titmice and the G. P. O. , andthe account of the war may be read in the Natural History Museum atSouth Kensington:--"In 1888, a pair of the Great Titmouse (_Parusmajor_) began to build their nest in the post-box which stood in theroad at Rowfant, and into which letters, &c. , were posted and taken outby the door daily. One of the birds was killed by a boy, and the nestwas 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 weredropped into, and nearly filled, the box, the birds deserted the nest, which was afterwards removed with the eggs. In 1890, a pair built a newnest and laid seven eggs, and reared a brood of five young, although theletters 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 takeout the letters. The birds went in and out by the slit. " CHAPTER XXIV EAST GRINSTEAD Sackville College--John Mason Neale--_Theodosius; or, The Force of Love_, at the East Grinstead Theatre--Three martyrs--Brambletye House--Forest Row--The garden of the author of _The English Flower Garden_--Diamond Jubilee clock-faces--"Big-on-Little" and the reverend and irreverend commentator. East Grinstead, the capital of north-east Sussex, is interesting chieflyfor Sackville College, that haunt of ancient peace of which John MasonNeale, poet, enthusiast, divine, historian, and romance-writer forchildren, was for many years the distinguished Warden. Nothing canexceed the quiet restfulness of the quadrangle. The college givesshelter to five brethren and six sisters (one of whom shows the visitorover the building), and to a warden and two assistants. Happycollegians, to have so fair a haven in which to pass the evening oflife. East Grinstead otherwise has not much beauty, its commandingpinnacled church tower being more impressive from a distance, and itschief street mingling too much that is new with its few old timberedfaçades, charming though these are. [Illustration: _The Judge's Houses, East Grinstead. _] The town, when it would be frivolous, to-day depends upon the occasionalvisits of travelling entertainers; but in the eighteenth century EastGrinstead had a theatre of its own, in the main street, a play-bill ofwhich, for May, 1758, is given in Boaden's _Life of Mrs. Siddons_. Itstates that "Theodosius; or, the Force of Love, " is to be played, forthe benefit of Mrs. P. Varanes by Mr. P. , "who will strive as far aspossible to support the character of this fiery Persian Prince, in whichhe was so much admired and applauded at Hastings, Arundel, Petworth, Midhurst, Lewes, &c. " The attraction of the next announcement is theprecise converse: "Theodosius, by a young gentleman from the Universityof Oxford, who never appeared on any stage. " [Sidenote: NOBILITY AND THE ALTAR] The play-bill continues with a delicate hint: "Nothing in Italy canexceed the altar in the first scene of the play. Nevertheless, shouldany 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 Thursdaynight during the last act of King Richard the Third, will be sent to aneighbour's over the way. " The Sussex Martyrs, to whom a memorial, as we shall see, has recentlybeen raised above Lewes, are usually associated with that town; but onJuly 18, 1556, Thomas Dungate, John Forman, and Anne, or Mother, Tree, were burned for conscience' sake at East Grinstead. Between East Grinstead and Forest Row, on the east, just under the hilland close to the railway, are the remains of Brambletye House, a ratherflorid ruin, once the seat of the great Sussex family of Lewknor. In itsheyday Brambletye must have been a very fine place. Horace Smith'sromance which bears its name, and for which Horsfield, in his _Historyof Sussex_, predicted a career commensurable with that of the Waverleynovels, is now, I fear, justly forgotten. The slopes of Forest Row, which was of old a settlement of hunting lodges belonging to the greatlords who took their pleasure in Ashdown Forest, are now bright with newvillas. From Forest Row, Wych Cross and Ashdown Forest are easilygained; but of this open region of dark heather more in a later chapter. Between Kingscote and West Hoathly, a short distance to the south-westof East Grinstead, is another "tye"--Gravetye, a tudor mansion in a deephollow, the home of Mr. William Robinson, the author of _The EnglishFlower Garden_. Last April, the stonework, of which there is much, was amass of the most wonderful purple aubretia, and the wild garden betweenthe house and the water a paradise of daffodils. The church of West Hoathly (called West Ho-ly), which stands high on thehill to the south, has a slender shingled spire that may be seen fromlong distances. The tower has, however, been injured by the very uglynew clock that has been lately fixed in a position doubtless the mostconvenient but doubtless also the least comely. To nail to such adelicate structure as West Hoathly church the kind of dial that oneexpects to see outside a railway station is a curious lapse of taste. Hever church, in Kent, has a similar blemish, probably dating from oneof the recent Jubilee celebrations, which left few loyal villages thericher by a beautiful memorial. Surely it should be possible to obtainan appropriate clock-face for such churches as these. West Hoathly has some iron tombstones, such as used to be cast in theold furnace days, which are not uncommon in these parts. Opposite thechurch is a building of great antiquity, which has been allowed toforget its honourable age. [Sidenote: "BIG-ON-LITTLE"] We are now on the fringe of the Sussex rock country, to which we comeagain in earnest when we reach Maresfield, and of which Tunbridge Wellsis the capital. But not even Tunbridge Wells with its famous toad hasanything to offer more remarkable than West Hoathly's "Big-on-Little, "in the Rockhurst estate. I am tempted to quote two descriptions of therock, from two very different points of view. An antiquary writing inthe eighteenth century (quoted by Horsfield) thus begins hisaccount:--"About half a mile west of West Hoadley church there is a highridge covered with wood; the edge of this is a craggy cliff, composed ofenormous blocks of sand stone. The soil hath been entirely washed fromoff them, and in many places, from the interstices by which they aredivided, one perceives these crags with bare broad white foreheads, and, as it were, overlooking the wood, which clothes the valley at theirfeet. In going to the place, I passed across this deep valley, and wasled by a narrow foot-path almost trackless up to the cliff, which seemsas one advances to hang over one's head. The mind in this passage isprepared with all the suspended feelings of awe and reverence, and asone approaches this particular rock, standing with its stupendous bulkpoised, seemingly in a miraculous manner and point, one is struck withamazement. The recess in which it stands hath, behind this rock, and therocks which surround it, a withdrawn and recluse passage which the eyecannot look into but with an idea of its coming from some more secretand holy adyt. All these circumstances, in an age of tutoredsuperstition, would give, even to the finest minds, the impressions thatlead to idolatry. " [Sidenote: COBBETT AGAIN] And this is Cobbett's description, in the _Rural Rides_:--"At the place, of which I am now speaking, that is to say, by the side of this pleasantroad to Brighton, and between Turner's Hill and Lindfield, there is arock, which they call '_Big upon Little_, ' that is to say, a rock uponanother, having nothing else to rest upon, and the top one being longerand wider than the top of the one it lies on. This big rock is notrifling concern, being as big, perhaps, as a not very small house. How, then, _came_ this big upon little? What lifted up the big? It balancesitself naturally enough; but what tossed it up? I do not like to _pay_ aparson for teaching me, while I have '_God's own Word_' to teach me; butif any parson will tell me _how_ big _came_ upon little, I do not knowthat I shall grudge him a trifle. And if he cannot tell me this; if hesay, All that we have to do is to _admire_ and _adore_; then I tell him, that I can admire and adore without his _aid_, and that I will keep mymoney in my pocket. " That is pure Cobbett. [Sidenote: WEST HOATHLY] West Hoathly is in the midst of some of the best of the inland countryof Sussex and an excellent centre for the walker. Several places that wehave already seen are within easy distance, such as Horsted Keynes, Worth and Worth Forest and Balcombe and Balcombe Forest. CHAPTER XXV HORSTED KEYNES TO LEWES 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. The very pretty church of Horsted Keynes, which in its lowly position isthe very antithesis of West Hoathly's hill-surmounting spire, is famousfor the small recumbent figure of a knight in armour, with a lion at hisfeet, possibly a member of the Keynes family that gives its name to thisHorsted (thus distinguishing it from Little Horsted, a few miles distantin the East): Keynes being an anglicisation of de Cahanges, a familywhich sent a representative to assist in the Norman Conquest. [Sidenote: ANCIENT ECONOMICS] Horsted Keynes, which is situated in very pleasant country, once tookits spiritual instruction from the lips of the Rev. Giles Moore, extracts from whose journals and account books, 1656-1679, have beenprinted by the S. A. S. I quote a few passages: "I gave my wyfe 15_s. _ to lay out at St. James faire at Lindfield, allwhich shee spent except 2_s. _ 6_d. _ which she never returned mee. "16th Sept. I bought of Edward Barrett at Lewis a clock, for which Ipayed _£_2 10, and for a new jack, at the same time, made and broughthome, _£_1 5. For two prolongers [_i. E. _ save-alls] and an extinguisher2_d. _, and a payr of bellowes 5_s. _" 7th May, 1656. --"I bought of William Clowson, upholsterer and itinerant, living over against the Crosse at Chichester, but who comes about thecountry with his pack on horseback:-- A fine large coverlett with birds and bucks _£_2 10 0 A sett of striped curtains and valance 1 8 0 A coarse 8 qr coverlett 1 2 0 Two middle blankets 1 4 0 One beasil or Holland tyke or bolster 1 13 6 "My mayde being sicke, I paid for opening her veine 4_d. _, to the widowRugglesford for looking to her, I gave 1_s. _; and to Old Bess, fortending on her 3 days and 2 nights, I gave 1_s. _; in all 2_s. _4_d. _--this I gave her. "Lent to my brother Luxford at the Widow Newports, never more to beseene! 1_s. _" In 1658. --"To Wm Batchelor for bleeding mee in bed 2_s. _ 6_d. _, and forbarbouring mee 1_s. _" A year later:--"I agreed with Mr. Batchelor ofLindfield to barbour mee, and I am to pay him 16_s. _ a yeare, beginningfrom Lady Day. " In 1671. --"I bargained with Edward Waters that he should have 18_s. _ inmoney for the trimming of mee by the year, and deducting 1_s. _ 6_d. _ forhis tythes. " 23rd April, 1660. --"This being King Charles II. Coronation I gave mynamesake Moore's daughter then marryed 10_s. _ and the fiddlers 6_d. _ "I payed the Widow Potter of Hoadleigh for knitting mee one payr ofworsted stockings 2_s. _ 6_d. _; for spinning 2 lb of wool 14_d. _, and forcarding it 2_d. _ "To the collections made at 3 several sacraments I gave 3 severalsixpences. " 12th May, 1673. --"I went to London, spending there, going and coming, as_alibi apparet in particularibus_, 13_s. _ 8_d. _; I bought for Ann Bretta gold ring, this being the posy, 'When this you see, remember mee, ' andat the same time I bought Patrick's _Pilgrim_, 5_s. _; _TheReasonableness of Scripture_, by Sir Chas. Wolseley, 2_s. _ 6_d. _; and aComedy called _Epsom Wells_. " Mr. Moore, having suffered in his tithes, left the following "necessarycaution" for his successor:--"Never compound with any parishioner tillyou have first viewed theire lande and seen what corne they have upon itthat yeare, and may have the next. " [Sidenote: SHEFFIELD PARK] The next station on this quiet little cross-country line to Lewes, isSheffield Park, the seat of Lord Sheffield. The present peer, one of thepatrons of modern Sussex cricket, took a famous team to Australia in1891-2, and it was on his yacht that in 1894 cricket was played in theIce Fiord at Spitzbergen under the midnight sun, when Alfred Shawcaptured forty wickets in less than three-quarters of an hour. Australian teams visiting England used to open their season with a matchat Sheffield Park, which contains one of the best private grounds in thecountry; but the old custom has, I fancy, lapsed. In the long winter of1890-1 several cricket matches on the ice were played on one of thelakes in the park, with well-known Sussex players on both sides. Sheffield Park is associated in literature with the name of EdwardGibbon, the historian, who spent much time there in the company of hisfriend, John Baker Holroyd, the first earl. Gibbon's remains lie inFletching church, close by. There also lies Peter Dynot, a glover ofFletching, who assisted Jack Cade, the Sussex rebel, whom we meet later, in 1450; while (more history) it was in the woods around Fletchingchurch that Simon de Montfort encamped before he climbed the hills, aswe are about to see, and fought and won the Battle of Lewes, in 1264. The line passes next between Newick, on the east, and Chailey on thewest. Fate seems to have decided that these villages shall always bebracketed in men's minds, like Beaumont and Fletcher, or Winchelsea andRye: one certainly more often hears of "Newick and Chailey" than ofeither separately. Chailey has a wide breezy common from which the lineof Downs between Ditchling Beacon and Lewes can be seen perhaps to theirbest advantage. Immediately to the south, and just to the west ofBlackcap, the hill with a crest of trees, is Plumpton Plain, six hundredfeet high, where the Barons formed their ranks to meet the third Harryin the Battle of Lewes, the actual fighting being on Mount Harry, thehill on Blackcap's east. A cross to mark the struggle, cut into the turfof the Plain, is still occasionally visible. More noticeable is the "V"in spruce firs planted on the escarpment to commemorate the Jubilee of1887. [Sidenote: THE SHEPHERD MATHEMATICIAN] Plumpton, which is now known chiefly for its steeplechases, has had inits day at least two interesting inhabitants. One was John Dudeney, shepherd, mathematician, and schoolmaster, born here in 1782, who, as ayouth, when tending his sheep on Newmarket Hill, dug a study and libraryin the chalk, and there kept his books and papers. He taught himselfmathematics and languages, even Hebrew, and ultimately became aschoolmaster at Lewes. In his thorough adherence to learning Dudeney wasthe completest contrast to John Kimber of Chailey, a wealthy farmer witha consuming but unintelligent love of books, who was once, saysHorsfield, seen bringing home Macklin's Bible, a costly work in sixvolumes in a sack laid across the back of a cart horse. According to theexcellent habit of the old Sussex farmers, Mr. Kimber's body was borneto the grave in one of his wagons, drawn by his best team. [Sidenote: FANTASTIC FRUITS] Plumpton Place once had a moat, in which, legend has it, the first carpswam that came into England. The house then belonged to Leonard Mascall, whom Fuller in the _Worthies_ erroneously ascribes to Plumsted. InFuller's own words, which no one could better: "Leonard Mascall, ofPlumsted in this county, being much delighted in Gardening, man'sOriginal vocation, was the first who brought over into England, frombeyond the seas, _Carps_ and _Pippins_; the one, well-cook'd, delicious, the other cordial and restorative. For the proof hereof, we have his ownword and witness; and did it, it seems, about the Fifth year of thereign of King _Henry_ the Eighth, Anno Dom. 1514. The time of his deathis to me unknown. " The credit of introducing carps and pippins has, however, been denied to Mascall, who died in 1589 at Farnham Royal inBuckinghamshire, where he was buried; but we know him beyond question tohave been an ingenious experimentalist in horticulture. He wrote andtranslated several books, among them a treatise on the orchard by a monkof the Abbey of St. Vincent in France: _A Book of the Arte of and Mannerhowe to plant and graffe all sortes of trees, howe to set stones, andsowe Pepines to make wylde trees to graffe on_, 1572. I take a fewpassages from a later edition of this work: TO COLOUR APPLES. To have coloured Apples with what colour ye shall think good ye shallbore or slope a hole with an Auger in the biggest part of the body ofthe tree, unto the midst thereof, or thereabouts, and then look whatcolour ye will have them of. First ye shall take water and mingle yourcolour therewith, then stop it up again with a short pin made of thesame wood or tree, then wax it round about. Ye may mingle with the saidcolour what spice ye list, to make them taste thereafter. Thus may yechange the colour and taste of any Apple. .. . This must be done beforethe Spring do come. .. . TO MAKE APPLES FALL FROM THE TREE. If ye put fiery coles under an Apple tree, and then cast off the powderof Brimstone therein, and the fume thereof ascend up, and touch an Applethat is wet, that Apple shall fall incontinant. TO DESTROY PISMIERS OR ANTS ABOUT A TREE. Ye shall take of the saw-dust of Oke-wood oney, and straw that al aboutthe tree root, and the next raine that doth come, all the Pismiers orAnts shall die there. For Earewigges, shooes stopt with hay, and hangedon the tree one night, they come all in. FOR TO HAVE RATH MEDLARS TWO MONTHS BEFORE OTHERS. For to have Medlars two months sooner than others and the one shall bebetter 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 shallwet them in hay, and then graffe them. [Sidenote: MALLING DEANERY] To return to the line, for the excursion to Plumpton has taken us farfrom the original route, the next station to Newick and Chailey isBarcombe Mills, a watery village on the Ouse. The river valley contractsas Lewes is reached, with Malling Hill on the east and Offham Hill onthe west: both taking their names from two of the quaint little hamletsby which Lewes is surrounded. It was at Mailing Deanery that theassassins of Thomas à Becket sought shelter on their flight fromCanterbury. The legend records how, when they laid their armour on theDeanery table, that noble piece of furniture rose and flung the accursedaccoutrements to the ground. On Malling Hill is the residence of a Lewes lady whose charitableimpulses have taken a direction not common among those who suffer forothers. She receives into her stable old and overworked horses, thusensuring for them a sleek and peaceful dotage enlivened by sugar andcarrots, and marked by the kindest consideration. The pyramidal grave(as of a Saxon chief) of one of these dependants may be seen from theroad. [Illustration: _On the Ouse above Lewes. _] CHAPTER XXVI LEWES The Museum of Sussex--The riches of Lewes--Her leisure and antiquity--A plea from _Idlehurst_--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 _The Rights of Man_--A game of bowls--"Clio" Rickman and Thomas Tipper--Famous Lewes men--The Fifth of November--The Sussex martyrs. Apart from the circumstance that the curiosities collected by thecounty's Archæological Society are preserved in the castle, Lewes is themuseum of Sussex; for she has managed to compress into small compassmore objects of antiquarian interest than any town I know. Chichester, which is compact enough, sprawls by comparison. The traveller arriving by train no sooner alights from his carriage thanhe 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 toBrighton. That a priory eight hundred years old must be disturbed beforea railway station can be built is a melancholy circumstance; but in thepresent case the vandalism had its compensation in the discovery by theexcavating navvies of the coffins of William de Warenne and his wifeGundrada (the Conqueror's daughter), the founders of the priory, whichotherwise would probably have been lost evermore. The castle, which dominates the oldest part of the town, is but a fewminutes' stiff climb from the station; Lewes's several ancient churchesare within hailing distance of each other; the field of her battle, where Simon de Montfort defeated Henry III. , is in view from hernorth-west slopes; while the new martyrs' memorial on the turf above theprecipitous escarpment of the Cliffe (once the scene of a fatalavalanche) reminds one of what horrors were possible in the name ofreligion in these streets less than four hundred years ago. [Sidenote: THE RICHES OF LEWES] Here are riches enough; yet Lewes adds to such mementoes of an historicpast two gaols--one civil and one naval--a racecourse, and a river, andshe 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 ofJack Palmer, of whom Charles Lamb wrote with such gusto. Added to thesepossessions, she has, in Keere Street, the narrowest and steepestthoroughfare 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 eversaw. (Much of Lewes in September is scarlet with Virginia creeper. ) [Illustration: _High Street, Southover. _] [Sidenote: "BRIGHTHELMSTONE, NEAR LEWES"] [Sidenote: JOHN HALSHAM'S DREAM] Although less than half an hour from Brighton by train, and an hour byroad, Lewes is yet a full quarter of a century behind it. She would dowell jealously to maintain this interval. Lewes was old and grey beforeBrighton was thought of (indeed, it was, as we have seen, a Lewes manthat discovered Brighton--Dr. Russell, who lies in his grave in SouthMalling church); let her cling to her seniority. As a town "in themovement, " as a contemporary of the "Queen of Watering Places, " shewould cut a poor figure. But it is amusing to think of the old addressof a visitor to Brighton, "at Brighthelmstone, near Lewes, " and to readthe county paper, _The Sussex Weekly Advertiser; or, Lewes Journal_, ofa century ago, with its columns of Lewes news and paragraphs of Brightoncorrespondence. Lewes will cease to have charm the moment shemodernises. In the words of the author of _Idlehurst_, as he looked downon the huddling little settlement from the Cliffe Hill: "Let us keep acountry town or two as preserves for clean atmospheres of body and soul, for the almost lost secret of sitting still. .. . I find myself tangledin half-dreams of a devolution by which, when national amity shall havebecome mentionable besides personal pence, London shall attract toherself all the small vice, as she does already most of the great, fromthe country, all the thrusters after gain, the vulgar, heavy-fingeredintellects, the Progressive spouters, the Bileses, the speculatingbrigandage, and shall give us back from the foggy world of clubs andcab-ranks and geniuses, the poets and painters, all the nice and wittyand 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 theforms of every clime and dialect within reach of a tourist ticket. " The customs of Lewes at the end of the Saxon rule and the beginning ofthe Norman, as recorded in the pages of the Domesday Book, show thatresidence in the town in those days was not unmixed delight, except, perhaps, for murderers, for whom much seems to have been done. Thus: "Ifthe king wished to send an armament to guard the seas, without hispersonal attendance, twenty shillings were collected from all theinhabitants, without exception or respect to particular tenure, andthese were paid to the men-at-arms in the ships. "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. "A murderer forfeits seven shillings and fourpence; a ravisher forfeitseight shillings and fourpence; an adulterer eight shillings andfourpence; an adultress the same. The king has the adulterer, the bishopthe adulteress. " [Sidenote: THE PROVIDENT DE WARENNES] With the Conquest new life came into the town, as into South Sussexgenerally. The rule of the de Braoses, who dominated so much of thecountry through which we have been passing, is here no more, the greatlord of this district being William de Warenne, who had claims uponWilliam the Conqueror, not only for services rendered in the Conquestbut as a son-in-law. When, therefore, the contest was over, some of therichest prizes fell to Earl de Warenne. Among them was the township ofLewes, whose situation so pleased the Earl that he decided to make hishome there. His first action, then, was to graft upon the existingfortress a new stronghold, the remains of which still stand. Ten years after the victory at Hastings the memory of the blood of thesturdy Saxons whom he had hacked down at Battle began so to weigh uponde Warenne's conscience that he set out with Gundrada upon an expiatorypilgrimage to Rome. Sheltering on the way in the monastery of St. Per, at Cluny, they were so hospitably received that on returning to LewesWilliam and Gundrada built a Priory, partly as a form of gratitude, andpartly as a safeguard for the life to come. In 1078, it was formallyfounded on a magnificent scale. Thus Lewes obtained her castle and herpriory, both now in ruins, in the one of which William de Warenne mightsin with a clear mind, knowing that just below him, on the edge of thewater-brooks, was (in the other) so tangible an expiation. The date of the formation of the priory spoils the pleasant legend whichtells how Harold, only badly wounded, was carried hither from Battle, and how, recovering, he lived quietly with the brothers until hisnatural death some years later. A variant of the same story takes theEnglish 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 shallsee when we come to Battle, the facts were otherwise) all trueEnglishmen 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 theeyes of Editha of the Swan-neck lighted upon his dear corpse amid thehundreds of the slain. [Sidenote: THE CASTLE'S CURIOSITIES] The de Warennes held Lewes Castle until the fourteenth century; theSussex Archæological Society now have it in their fostering care. Architecturally it is of no great interest, although it was once uniquein England by the possession of two keeps; nor has it romanticassociations, like Kenilworth or even Carisbrooke. The crumbling masonrywas assisted in its decay by no siege or bombardment; the castle hasbeen never the scene of human struggle. Visitors, therefore, must takepleasure chiefly in the curiosities collected in the museum and in theviews from the roof. A few little rooms hold the treasures amassed bythe Archæological Society; amassed, it may be said, with littledifficulty, for the soil of the district is fertile in relics. FromRingmer come rusty shield bosses and the mouldering skull of anAnglo-Saxon; from the old Lewes gaol come a lock and a key strong enoughto hold Jack Sheppard; and from Horsham Gaol a complete set of fettersfor ankles and wrists, once used to cramp the movements of femalemalefactors. Here, in a case, is a tiny bronze thimble that tipped thepretty finger of a Roman seamstress--one only among scores of tokens ofthe Roman occupation of the county. Flint arrow heads and celts inprofusion take us back to remoter times. A Pyecombe crook hangs on onewall, and relics of the Sussex ironworks are plentiful. The highest roomcontains rubbings of our best brasses. Outside is an early Sussexplough. In a corner is a beadle's staff that once struck terror into thehearts of Sabbath-breaking boys; and near one of the windows is a littlebrass crucifix from St. Pancras' Priory. But nothing, the custodiantells me, so pleases visitors to this very catholic collection as themummied hand of a murderess. [Sidenote: THE BATTLE OF LEWES] Looking down and around from the roof of the keep, you are immediatelystruck by the wide shallow hollow in which Lewes lies. It is somethingthe shape of a dairy basin, the gap to the north-west, between MallingHill and Offham, serving for the lip. Nothing could be flatter than thesmiling meadows, streaked with tiny streams, stretching between Lewesand the coast line to the south-east (with the exception of onesymmetrical hillock just out of the town). Among them curls the lazyOuse; just beneath you Lewes sleeps, red-roofed as an Italian town, sending up no hum of activity, listless and immovable save for a fewspirals of silent smoke. The surrounding hills are very fine: FirleBeacon 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 thefiery Prince Edward, fought the Barons. So fiery, indeed, was this ladthat he forgot all about his father, and gave chase to a smalldetachment of the enemy, catching them up, and hewing them down with thekeenest enjoyment, while the unhappy Henry was being completely worstedby de Montfort. It was a bloody battle, made up, as old Fabian wrote, ofembittered men, with hearts full of hatred, "eyther desyrous to bringthe 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 takenrefuge. This mill stood near the site of the Black Horse inn. In _TheBarons' Wars_, by Mr. Blaauw, the Sussex antiquary, the whole story istold. Lewes has played but a small part in history since that battle; but, aswe saw when we were at Rottingdean, it was one of her Cluniac priorsthat repulsed the French in 1377, and her son, Sir Nicholas Pelham, whoperformed a similar service in 1545, at Seaford. As the verses on hismonument in St. Michael's Church run:-- What time the French sought to have sackt Sea-Foord, This Pelham did repel-em back aboord. [Illustration: _Ann of Cleves' House, Southover. _] [Sidenote: THE CLUNIAC PRIORY] The Cluniac priory of St. Pancras was dissolved by Henry VIII. In 1537, Thomas Cromwell, that execrable vandal, not only abolishing the monksbut destroying the buildings, which covered, with their gardens and fishponds, forty acres. The ruins that remain give some idea of the extentof this wonderful priory, another relic being the adjacent mound onwhich the Calvary stood, probably constructed of the earth removed forthe purpose from the Dripping Pan, as the hollow circular space iscalled where Lewes now plays cricket. One very pretty possession of themonks was allowed to stand until quite recent times--the Columbarium, which was as large as a church and contained homes for 3, 228 birds. Ithas now vanished; but an idea of what it was may be gained from thepigeon house at Alciston, a few miles distant, which belonged to BattleAbbey. The priory's possessions were granted to Cromwell by Henry VIII. , who, tradition asserts (somewhat directly in the face of historicalevidence), murdered one of his wives on a winding stair in the building, and may therefore have been glad to see its demolition. Which wife itwas, is not stated, but when Cromwell went the way of all this king'sfavourites, the property was transferred to Ann of Cleves, who issupposed to have lived in the most picturesque of the old houses on theright hand side of Southover's street as you leave Lewes for the Ousevalley. Southover church, in itself a beautiful structure of the grave red type, with a square ivied tower and the most delicate vane in Sussex, isrendered the more interesting by the possession of the leaden caskets ofWilliam de Warenne and Gundrada and the superb tomb removed from Isfieldchurch and very ingeniously restored. These relics repose in a charminglittle chapel built in their honour. [Sidenote: TOM PAINE] A notable man who had association with Lewes was Tom Paine, author of_The Rights of Man_. He settled there as an exciseman in 1768, marriedElizabeth Ollive of the same town at St. Michael's Church in 1771, andsucceeded to her father's business as a tobacconist and grocer. Painewas more successful as a debater than a business man. As a member of theWhite Hart evening club he was more often than any other the winner ofthe Headstrong Book--an old Greek Homer despatched the next morning tothe most obstinate haranguer of the preceding night. It was at Lewesthat Tom Paine's thoughts were first turned to the question ofgovernment. He used thus to tell the story. One evening after playingbowls, all the party retired to drink punch; when, in the conversationthat ensued, Mr. Verril (it should be Verrall) "observed, alluding tothe wars of Frederick, that the King of Prussia was the best fellow inthe world for a king, he had so much of the devil in him. This, strikingme with great force, occasioned the reflection, that if it werenecessary for a king to have so much of the devil in him, kings mightvery beneficially be dispensed with. " I thought of that historic game of bowls as I watched four Lewesgentlemen playing this otherwise discreetest of games in the meadow bythe castle gate on a fine September evening. Surely (after the historicPlymouth Hoe) a lawn in the shadow of a Norman castle is the ideal spotfor this leisurely but exciting pastime. The four Lewes gentlemen playeduncommonly well, with bowls of peculiar splendour in which a setting ofsilver glistened as they sped over the turf. After each game one littleboy 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 unlesshe has watched the progress of such a game: it remains in my mind asintimate a part of the town and the town's spirit as the ruins of thePriory, or Keere Street, or the Castle itself. The house of Tom Paine, just off the High Street, almost opposite thecircular tower of St. Michael's, has a tablet commemorating itsillustrious owner. It also has a very curious red carved demon whichotherwise distinguishes it. Lewes was not always proud of Tom Paine; butCuckfield went farther. In 1793, I learn from the _Sussex Advertiser_for that year, Cuckfield emphasised its loyalty to the constitution bysinging "God save the King" in the streets and burning Paine in effigy. [Sidenote: "CLIO" RICKMAN] Mention of Tom Paine naturally calls to mind his friend and biographer(and my thrice great uncle), Thomas "Clio" Rickman, the Citizen of theWorld, who was born at Lewes in 1760. Rickman began life as a Quaker, and therefore without his pagan middle name, which he first adopted asthe signature to epigrams and scraps of verse in the local paper, andafterwards incorporated in his signature. Rickman's connection with TomPaine and his own revolutionary habits were a source of distress to hisQuaker relatives at Lewes, so much so that there is a story in thefamily of the Citizen being refused admission to a house in theneighbourhood where he had eight impressionable nieces, and, when hewould visit their father, being entertained instead at the Bear. HisBible, with sceptical marginal notes, is still preserved, with the badpages pasted together by a subsequent owner. After roving about in Spain and other countries he settled as abookseller in London, and it was in his house and at his table that _TheRights of Man_ was written. "This table, " says an article on Rickman inthe _Wonderful Museum_, "is prized by him very highly at this time; andno doubt will be deemed a rich relic by some of our irreligiousconnoisseurs. " It was shown at the Tom Paine exhibition a few years ago. Rickman escaped prosecution, but he once had his papers seized. [Sidenote: TIPPER'S EPITAPH] According to his portrait Clio wore a hat like a beehive, and heinvented a trumpet to increase the sound of a signal gun. His verse isexceedingly poor, his finest poetical achievement being the epitaph onThomas Tipper in Newhaven churchyard. Tipper was the brewer of the alethat was known as "Newhaven Tipper"; but he was other things too: Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt and kind, And dared what few dare do, to speak his mind. Philosophy and history well he knew, Was versed in Physic and in surgery too, The best old Stingo he both brewed and sold, Nor did one knavish act to get his gold. He played through life a varied comic part, And knew immortal Hudibras by heart. Charles Lamb greatly admired the end of this epitaph. Clio Rickman diedin 1834. Among other men of note who have lived in Lewes or have had associationwith it, was John Evelyn the diarist, who had some of his education atSouthover grammar school: Mark Antony Lower, the Sussex antiquary, towhom all writers on the county are indebted; the Rev. T. W. Horsfield, the historian of Sussex, without whose work we should also often be indifficulties; and the Rev. Gideon Mantell, the Sussex geologist, whosecollection of Sussex fossils is preserved in the British Museum. In St. Ann's church on the hill lie the bones of a remarkable man whodied at Lewes (in the tenth climacteric) in 1613--no less a person thanThomas Twyne, M. D. In addition to the principles of physic he"comprehended earthquakes" and wrote a book about them. He also wrote asurvey of the world. I quote Horsfield's translation of the florid Latininscription to his memory: "Hippocrates saw Twyne lifeless and his bonesslightly covered with earth. Some of his sacred dust (says he) will beof use to me in removing diseases; for the dead, when converted intomedicine, will expel human maladies, and ashes prevail against ashes. Now the physician is absent, disease extends itself on every side, andexults its enemy is no more. Alas! here lies our preserver Twyne; theflower and ornament of his age. Sussex deprived of her physician, languished, and is ready to sink along with him. Believe me, no futureage 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 tenthclimacteric, (viz. 70). " [Sidenote: DR. JOHNSON AT LEWES] Dr. Johnson was once in Lewes, on a day's visit to the Shelleys, at thehouse which bears their name at the south end of the town. One of thelittle girls becoming rather a nuisance with her questions, the Doctorlifted her into a cherry tree and walked off. At dinner, some timelater, the child was missed, and a search party was about to set outwhen the Doctor exclaimed, "Oh, I left her in a tree!" For many yearsthe tree was known as "Dr. Johnson's cherry tree. " [Illustration: _St. Ann's Church, Southover. _] [Sidenote: THE FIFTH] Lewes is ordinarily still and leisurely, with no bustle in her steepstreets save on market days: an abode of rest and unhastening feet. Buton one night of the year she lays aside her grey mantle and her quiettones and emerges a Bacchante robed in flame. Lewes on the 5th ofNovember is an incredible sight; probably no other town in the UnitedKingdom offers such a contrast to its ordinary life. I have never heardthat Lewes is notably Protestant on other days in the year, that anyintolerance is meted out to Roman Catholics on November 4th or November6th; but on November 5th she appears to believe that the honour of thereformed church is wholly in her hands, and that unless her voice isheard declaiming against the tyrannies and treacheries of Rome all thespiritual labours of the eighth Henry will have been in vain. No fewer than eight Bonfire Societies flourish in the town, all in astrong financial position. Each of these has its bonfire blazing orsmouldering at a street corner, from dusk to midnight, and each, at acertain stage in the evening, forms into procession, and approaching itsown fire by devious routes, burns an effigy of the Pope, together withwhatever miscreant most fills the public eye at the moment--such asGeneral Booth or Mr. Kruger, both of whom I have seen incinerated amidcheers and detonations. [Sidenote: LEWES ROUSERS] The figures are not lightly cast upon the flames, but are conductedthither ceremoniously, the "Bishop" of the society having first passedsentence upon them in a speech bristling with local allusions. Thesespeeches serve the function of a _revue_ of the year and are sometimesquite clever, but it is not until they are printed in the next morning'spaper that one can take their many points. The principal among the manydistractions is the "rouser, " a squib peculiar to Lewes, to which thebonfire boys (who are, by the way, in great part boys only in name, likethe postboys of the past and the cowboys of the present) have givenlaborious nights throughout the preceding October. The rouser is muchlarger and heavier than the ordinary squib; it is propelled through theair like a rocket by the force of its escaping sparks; and it burstswith a terrible report. In order to protect themselves from the ravagesof the rouser the people in the streets wear spectacles of wire netting, while the householders board up their windows and lay damp straw ontheir gratings. Ordinary squibs and crackers are also continuouslyignited, while now and then one of the sky rockets discharged in flightsfrom a procession, elects to take a horizontal course, and hurtleshead-high down the crowded street. So the carnival proceeds until midnight, when the firemen, who havebeen on the alert all the evening, extinguish the fires. The BonfireSocieties subsequently collect information as to any damage done andmake it good: a wise course, to which they owe in part the sanction torenew the orgie next year. Other towns in Sussex keep up the gloriousFifth with some spirit, but nowhere in England is there anything tocompare with the thoroughness of Lewes. [Illustration: _The Ouse at South Street, Lewes. _] [Sidenote: THE LEWES MARTYRS] [Sidenote: RICHARD WOODMAN] 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 andburned to death in the High Street for professing a faith obnoxious toQueen Mary. Chief of these courageous enthusiasts were Richard Woodmanand Derrick Carver. Woodman, a native of Buxted, had settled atWarbleton, where he was a prosperous iron master. All went well untilMary's accession to the throne, when the rector of Warbleton, who hadbeen a Protestant under Edward VI. , turned, in Foxe's words, "head totayle" 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. [Illustration: _The Ouse at Piddinghoe. _] CHAPTER XXVII THE OUSE VALLEY 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. 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 morethan homesteads of the sheep-farmers, albeit each has its church--Iford, Rodmell, Southease, Piddinghoe--and so to Newhaven, the county's onlyharbour of any importance since the sea silted up the Shoreham bar. Youmay be as much out of the world in one of these minute villages asanywhere twice the distance from London; and the Downs above them arepractically virgin soil. The Brighton horseman or walker takes as a rulea line either to Lewes or to Newhaven, rarely adventuring in thedirection of Iford Hill, Highdole Hill, or Telscombe village, whichnestles three hundred feet high, over Piddinghoe. By day the waggons plysteadily between Lewes and the port, but other travellers are few. Onceevening falls the world is your own, with nothing but the bleat of sheepand the roar of the French boat trains to recall life and civilisation. [Sidenote: THE OUSE VALLEY] The air of this valley is singularly clear, producing on fine days ablue effect that is, I believe, peculiar to the district. In thesketches of a Brighton painter in water colours, Mr. Clem Lambert, whohas worked much at Rodmell, the spirit of the river valleys of Sussex isreproduced with extraordinary fidelity and the minimum loss offreshness. [Illustration: _Rodmell. _] Horsfield, rather than have no poetical blossom to deck his page at themention of the Lewes river, quotes a passage from "The Task": Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er, Conducts the eye along his sinuous course Delighted. 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. The first village out of Lewes on the Newhaven road is Kingston (one ofthree Sussex villages of this name), on the side of the hill, once theproperty of Sir Philip Sidney. Next is Iford, with straw blowing freeand cows in its meadows; next Rodmell, whence Whiteway Bottom and BreakyBottom lead to the highlands above: next Southease, where the onlybridge over the Ouse between Lewes and Newhaven is to be crossed: alittle village famous for a round church tower, of which Sussex knowsbut three, one other at St. Michael's, Lewes, and one at Piddinghoe, thenext village. [Sidenote: SOUTHEASE THIRST] The Southease rustics were once of independent mind, as may be gatheredfrom the following extract from the "Manorial Customs ofSouthease-with-Heighton, near Lewes, " in 1623: "Every reaper must haveallowed him, at the cost of the lord or his farmer, one drinkinge in themorninge of bread and cheese, and a dinner at noone consistinge ofrostmeate and other good victualls, meete for men and women in harvesttime; and two drinkinges in the afternoone, one in the middest of theirafternoone's work and the other at the ende of their day's work, anddrinke alwayes duringe their work as neede shall require. " [Sidenote: PIDD'NHOO] Telscombe, the capital of these lonely Downs and as good an objective asthe walker who sets out from Brighton, Rottingdean, or Lewes to climbhills can ask, is a charming little shy hamlet which nothing can harm, snugly reposing in its combe, above Piddinghoe. Piddinghoe (pronouncedPidd'nhoo) is a compact village at the foot of the hill; but it hassuffered in picturesqueness and character by its proximity to thecommercial enterprise of Newhaven. Hussey, in his _Notes on the Churchesof . .. Sussex_, suggests that a field north of the village was once thesite of a considerable Roman villa. A local sarcasm credits Piddinghoepeople with the habit of shoeing their magpies. [Illustration: _Piddinghoe. _] The Downs when we saw them first, between Midhurst and Chichester, formed an inland chain parallel with the shore: here, and eastward asfar as Beachy Head, where they suddenly cease, their southern slopes arewashed by the Channel. This companionship of the sea lends them anadditional wildness: sea mists now and then envelop them in a cloud; seabirds rise and fall above their cliffs; the roar or sigh of the wavesmingles with the cries of sheep; the salt savour of the sea is borne onthe wind over the crisp turf. It was, I fancy, among the Downs in thispart of Sussex that Mrs. Marriott-Watson wrote the intimatelyunderstanding lines which I take the liberty of quoting: [Sidenote: A HILL POEM] ON THE DOWNS. Broad and bare to the skies The great Down-country lies, Green in the glance of the sun, Fresh with the clean salt air; Screaming the gulls rise from the fresh-turned mould, Where the round bosom of the wind-swept wold Slopes to the valley fair. Where the pale stubble shines with golden gleam The silver ploughshare cleaves its hard-won way Behind the patient team, The slow black oxen toiling through the day Tireless, impassive still, From dawning dusk and chill To twilight grey. Far off the pearly sheep Along the upland steep Follow their shepherd from the wattled fold, With tinkling bell-notes falling sweet and cold As a stream's cadence, while a skylark sings High in the blue, with eager outstretched wings, Till the strong passion of his joy be told. But when the day grows old, And night cometh fold on fold, Dulling the western gold, Blackening bush and tree, Veiling the ranks of cloud, In their pallid pomp and proud That hasten home from the sea, Listen--now and again if the night be still enow, You may hear the distant sea range to and fro Tearing the shingly bourne of his bounden track, Moaning with hate as he fails and falleth back; The Downs are peopled then; Fugitive, low-browed men Start from the slopes around Over the murky ground Crouching they run with rough-wrought bow and spear, Now seen, now hid, they rise and disappear, Lost in the gloom again. Soft on the dew-fall damp Scarce sounds the measured tramp Of bronze-mailed sentinels, Dark on the darkened fells Guarding the camp. The Roman watch-fires glow Red on the dusk; and harsh Cries a heron flitting slow Over the valley marsh Where the sea-mist gathers low. Closer, and closer yet Draweth the night's dim net Hiding the troubled dead: No more to see or know But a black waste lying below, And a glimmering blank o'erhead. Of Newhaven there is little to say, except that in rough weather thetraveller from France is very glad to reach it, and on a fine day thetraveller from England is happy to leave it behind. In the churchyard isa monument in memory of the officers and crew of the _Brazen_, whichwent down off the town in 1800, and lost all hands save one. [Sidenote: A SUSSEX MILLER] On the way to Seaford, which is nearly three miles east, shelteringunder its white headland (a preliminary sketch, as one might say, forBeachy Head), we pass the Bishopstone tide mills, once the property of asturdy and prosperous Sussex autocrat named William Catt, the grower ofthe 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 inexile. A good story told of William Catt, by Mr. Lower, in his _Worthiesof Sussex_, illustrates not only the character of that sagacious andkindly martinet, but also of the Sussex peasant in its mingledindependence and dependence, frankness and caution. Mr. Catt, havingunbent among his retainers at a harvest supper, one of them, a littleemboldened perhaps by draughts of Newhaven "tipper, " thus addressed hismaster. "Give us yer hand, sir, I love ye, I love ye, " but, he added, "I'm danged if I beant afeared of ye, though. " [Illustration: _Southover Grange. _] There was a hermitage on the cliff at Seaford some centuries ago. In1372 the hermit's name was Peter, and we find him receiving letters ofprotection for the unusual term of five years. In the vestry of thechurch is an old monument bearing the riddling inscription: ". .. Also, near this place lie two mothers, three grandmothers, four aunts, foursisters, four daughters, four grand-daughters, three cousins--but VIpersons. " A record in the Seaford archives runs thus: "Dec. 24, 1652. Then were all accounts taken and all made even, from the beginning ofye world, of the former Bayliffes unto the present time, and thereremained . .. Ye sum of twelve pounds, sixteen shillings, seven pence. " [Sidenote: THE PRICE OF TWO VOTES] Millburgh House, Seaford, was of old called Corsica Hall, having beenbuilt (originally at Wellingham, near Lewes, and then moved) by asmuggler named Whitfield, who was outlawed for illicit traffic inCorsican wine. He obtained the removal of his outlawry by presentingGeorge II. With a selection of his choicest vintages. Another agreeablestory of local corruption is told concerning Seaford's oldelectioneering days. It was in 1798, during the candidature of SirGodfrey Webster of Battle Abbey. Sir Godfrey was one day addressed byMrs. S---- (nothing but Horsfield's delicacy keeps her name from fame) inthe following terms: "Mr. S----, sir, will vote, of course, as hepleases--I have nothing to do or to say about him; but there is mygardener and my coachman, both of whom will, I am sure, be entirelyguided by me. Now, they are both family men, Sir Godfrey, and I wish todo the best I can to serve them. Now, I know you are in great doubt, andthat two sure votes are of great value: I'll tell you what you shall do. You shall give me _£_200; nobody will know any thing about it; there willbe no danger--no bribery, Sir Godfrey, at all. I will desire the men togo and vote for you and Colonel Tarleton, and it will all be right, andno harm done. The bargain, " adds Horsfield, "was struck--the moneypaid--the votes given as promised; and the election over, the old ladygave the two men _£_30 a piece, and pocketed the rest for the good of hercountry. " [Sidenote: SEAFORD TO LEWES] Seaford's neighbouring village, Bishopstone, in addition to its tidemills--the only tide mills in Sussex excepting that at Sidlesham, nowdisused--possessed once the oldest windmill in the county. In the verycharming little church is buried James Hurdis, author of _The VillageCurate_, whom we shall meet again at Burwash. From Bishopstone we mayreturn to Lewes either by the road through South Heighton, TarringNeville, Itford Farm, and Beddingham, or cross the river again atSouthease, and retrace our earlier steps through Rodmell and Iford. Thatis the quicker way. The road through Beddingham is longer, andinteresting rather for the hills above it than for anything upon it. Tothese hills we come in the next chapter. [Illustration: _Near Tarring Neville. _] CHAPTER XXVIII ALFRISTON 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. Alfriston may be reached from Lewes by rail, taking train to Berwick; byroad, under the hills; or on foot or horse-back, over the hills. Byroad, you pass first through Beddingham, a small village, where, it issaid, was once a monastery; then, by a southern _détour_, to West Firle, a charming little village with a great park, which bears the samerelation to Firle Beacon that Wiston Park does to Chanctonbury Ring. Thetower in the east serves to provide a good view of the Weald for thosewho do not care to climb the beacon's seven hundred feet and get abetter. The little church is rich in interesting memorials of the Gages, who have been the lords of Firle for many a long year. In the house is a portrait of Sir John Gage, the trusted friend of HenryVIII. , 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 _TheConstable of the Tower_ Sir John Gage is much seen. Sir John wassucceeded at Firle by his son Sir Edward, who, as High Sheriff ofSussex, was one of the judges of the Sussex martyrs, but who, even Foxeadmits, exercised courtesy to them. Sir Edward's son, Sir John Gage, wasthe 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 SirGeorge Trenchard, Sir John Gage, and Sir William Hervey, promised shewould marry all in turn, and did so. Sir George left her a widow atseventeen; to Sir John Gage she bore nine children. Returning from Firle to the high road, we come next, by following for alittle a left turn, to Selmeston, the village where Mr. W. D. Parish, the rector for very many years, collected most of the entertainingexamples of the Sussex dialect with which I have made so free in a laterchapter. The church is very simple and well-cared for, with some prettysouth windows. The small memorial tablets of brass which have been letinto the floor symmetrically among the tiles seem to me a happier meansof commemoration than mural tablets, --at least for a modest buildingsuch as this. [Sidenote: VAGARIES OF PRONUNCIATION] In losing your way in this neighbourhood do not ask the passer-by forSelmeston, but for Simson; for Selmeston, pronounced as spelt, does notexist. Sussex men are curiously intolerant of the phonetics oforthography. Brighthelmstone was called Brighton from the first, although only in the last century was the spelling modified to agreewith 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 isHefful. It is characteristic of a Sussex man that he always knows best;though all the masters of all the colleges should assemble about him andspeak reasoningly of Selmeston he would leave the congress asincorrigible and self-satisfied a Simsonian as ever. Many years ago Selmeston churchyard possessed an empty tomb, in whichthe smugglers were wont to store their goods until a favourable timecame to set them on the road. Any objections that those in authoritymight have had were silenced by an occasional tub. But of this more inthe next chapter. [Sidenote: ALFRISTON] And so we come to Alfriston; but, as I said, the right way was over thehills, ascending them either at Itford (crossing the Ouse at Southease)or by that remarkable combe, one of the finest in Sussex, with an avenueleading to it, which is gained from a lane south of Beddingham. FirleBeacon's lofty summit is half-way between Beddingham and Alfriston, andfrom this height, with its magnificent view of the Weald, we descendsteadily to the Cuckmere valley, of which Alfriston is the capital. Alfriston, which is now only a village street, shares with Chichesterthe distinction of possessing a market cross. Alfriston's specimen is, however, sadly mutilated, a mere relic, whereas Chichester's is beingmade more splendid as I write. Alfriston also has one of the oldest innsin the county--the "Star"--(finer far in its way than any ofChichester's seventy and more); but Ainsworth was wrong in sendingCharles II. Thither, in _Ovingdean Grange_. It is one of the inns thatthe Merry Monarch never saw. The "Star" was once a sanctuary, within thejurisdiction 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 backwardglances, and hammering at the old door. One Birrel, in the reign ofHenry VIII. , having stolen a horse at Lydd, in Kent, took refuge here. The inn in those days was intended chiefly for the refreshment ofmendicant friars. In 1767 the landlord was, according to a private letter, "as great acuriosity as the house. " I wish we had some information about him, forthe house is quaint and curious indeed, with its red lion sentinel atthe side (figure-head from a Dutch wreck in Cuckmere Haven), and itscarvings inside and out. The old and the new mingled very oddly when Iwas lately at Alfriston. Hearing a familiar sound, as of a battledoreand a ball, in one of the rooms, I opened the door and discovered thelandlord and a groom from the racing stables near by in the throes ofthe most modern of games, amid surroundings absolutely mediæval. [Sidenote: THE CATHEDRAL OF THE DOWNS] The size of the grave and commanding church, which has been called thecathedral of the South Downs, alone proves that Alfriston was once avastly more important place than it now is. Legend says that thefoundations were first cut in the meadow known as Savyne Croft. Thereday after day the builders laid their stones, arriving each morning tofind them removed to the Tye, the field where the church now stands. Atlast the meaning of the miracle entered their heads, and the church waserected on the new site. Its shape was determined by the slumbers offour oxen, who were observed by the architect to be sleeping in the formof a cross. Poynings church, under the Dyke Hill, near Brighton, wasbuilt, it has been conjectured, by the same architect. Within thecathedral of the South Downs, which is a fourteenth century building, isa superb east window, but it has no coloured glass. The register, beginning with 1504, is perhaps the oldest in England. Hard by thechurch is the simple little clergy house--unique in England, Ibelieve--dating from pre-Reformation times. It has lately been verycarefully restored. Alfriston once had a scholar in the person of Thomas Chowne, of FrogFirle, the old house on the road to Seaford, about a mile beyond thevillage. Chowne, who died in 1639, and was buried at Alfriston, is thustouched off by Fuller:--"Thomas Chune, Esquire, living at Alfriston inthis County, set forth a small Manuall, intituled _CollectionesTheologicarum Conclusionum_. Indeed, many have much opposed it (as whatbook meeteth not with opposition?); though such as dislike must commendthe brevity and clearness of his Positions. For mine own part, I am gladto see a Lay-Gentleman so able and industrious. " Chowne's great greatgrandson, an antiquary, one night left some books too near his libraryfire; they ignited, and Frog Firle Place was in large part destroyed. Itis now only a fragment of what it was, and is known as Burnt House. [Sidenote: AN ALFRISTON DOCTOR] An intermediate dweller at Frog Firle was one Robert Andrews, who, whenunwell, seems to have been attended by William Benbrigg. Miss FlorenceA. Pagden, in her agreeable little history of Alfriston, from which Ihave been glad to borrow, prints two of Mr. Benbrigg's letters of kindlybut vague advice to his patient. Here is one:-- "MR. ANDREWS, "I have sent you some things which you may take in the manner following, viz. :--of that in the bottle marked with a + 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, "WM. BENBRIGG. " Alfriston once had a race meeting of its own--the course is still to beseen on the southern slope of Firle Beacon--and it also fostered cricketin the early days. A famous single-wicket match was contested here in1787, between four men whose united ages amounted to 297 years. Historyrecords that the game was played with "great spirit and activity. " Mr. Lower records, in 1870, that the largest pear and the largest apple everknown in England were both grown at Alfriston, but possibly the recordhas since been broken. The smallest church in Sussex is however still to Alfriston's credit, for Lullington church, on the hill side, just across the river and thefields to the east of Alfriston church, may be considered to belong toAlfriston without any violence to its independence. As a matter of fact, the church was once bigger, the chancel alone now standing. WhatCharles Lamb says of Hollington church in Chapter XXXVI. Of this book, would be more fitting of Lullington. [Sidenote: HILL WALKS] We have come to Alfriston from Lewes, proposing to return there; but itmight 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 andthe Cuckmere valley; Alfriston to Eastbourne, crossing the Cuckmere atLitlington, 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 Downcountry, making the best of primitive rambles by day and bringing one atevening back to the "Star, " this mediæval inn in the best of primitivevillages. Few persons, however, are left who will climb hills--evengrass hills--if they can help it; hence this counsel is likely to leadto no overcrowding of Fore Down, The Camp, Five Lords Burgh, South Hill, or Firle Beacon. I might here, perhaps, be allowed to insert some verses upon the newlocomotion, since they bear upon this question of walking in remoteplaces, and were composed to some extent in Sussex byways in the springof 1903:-- [Sidenote: A SONG AGAINST SPEED] A SONG AGAINST SPEED. Of speed the savour and the sting, None but the weak deride; But ah, the joy of lingering About the country side! The swiftest wheel, the conquering run, We count no privilege Beside acquiring, in the sun, The secret of the hedge. Where is the poet fired to sing The snail's discreet degrees, A rhapsody of sauntering, A gloria of ease; Proclaiming their's the baser part Who consciously forswear The delicate and gentle art Of never getting there? _To get there first!_--'tis time to ring The knell of such an aim; _To be the swiftest!_--riches bring So easily that fame. _To shine, a highway meteor, Devourer of the map!_-- A vulgar bliss to choose before Repose in Nature's lap! Consider too how small a thing The highest speed you gain: A bee can frolic on the wing Around the fastest train. Think of the swallow in the air, The salmon in the stream, And cease to boast the records rare Of paraffin and steam. Most, most of all when comes the Spring, Again to lay (as now) Her hand benign and quickening On meadow, hill and bough, Should speed's enchantment lose its power, For "None who would exceed [The Mother speaks] a mile an hour, My heart aright can read. " The turnpike from the car to fling, As from a yacht the sea, Is doubtless as inspiriting As aught on land can be; I grant the glory, the romance, But look behind the veil-- Suppose that while the motor pants You miss the nightingale! [Sidenote: ALCISTON] To return to Alfriston, there are two brief excursions (possible in thevehicles that are glanced at in the foregoing verses) which ought to bedescribed here: to Alciston and to Wilmington. Alciston is a littlehamlet under the east slope of Firle Beacon, practically no more than afarm house, a church, and dependant cottages. It is on a road that leadsonly to itself and "to the Hill" (as the sign-boards say hereabout); itis perhaps as nearly forgotten as any village in the county; and yet Iknow of no village with more unobtrusive charm. The church, which has novicar of its own, being served from Selmeston, a mile away, stands highamid its graves, the whole churchyard having been heaped up andramparted much as a castle is. In the hollow to the west of the churchis part of the farmyard: a pond, a vast barn with one of the noblest redroofs in these parts, and the ruins of a stone pigeon house of great ageand solidity, buttressed and built as if for a siege, in curiouscontrast to the gentle, pretty purpose for which it was intended. Between the church and the hill, and almost adjoining it, is thefarmhouse, where the church keys are kept--a relic of Alciston Grange(once the property of Battle Abbey)--with odds and ends of its past lifestill visible, and a flourishing fig-tree at the back, heavy with fruitwhen I saw it under a September sun. The front of the house looks dueeast, across a valley of corn, to Berwick church, on a correspondingmound, and beyond Berwick to the Downs above Wilmington. And at the footof 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 forBenedick and Beatrice to pace, exchanging raillery. In Berwick church, by the way, is a memorial to George Hall, a formerrector, of whom it is said that his name "speaks all learning humane anddivine, " and that his memory is "precious both to the Muses and theGraces. " The Reverend George Hall's works seem, however, to havevanished. [Sidenote: THE LONG MAN] Wilmington, north-east of Alfriston, occupies a corresponding positionto that of Alciston in the north-west; but having a "lion" in the shapeof the Long Man it has lost its virginal bloom. Wilmington is providingtea and ginger beer while Alciston nurses its unsullied inaccessibility. The Long Man is a rude figure cut in the turf by the monks of theBenedictine priory that once flourished here, the ruins of which are nowincorporated (like Alciston Grange) in a farm house on the east of thevillage. At least, it is thought by some antiquaries that the effigy isthe work of the monks; others pronounce it druidical. The most alluringof several theories, indeed, would have the figure to represent Pol orBalder, the Sun God, pushing aside the doors of darkness--Polegate (orBolsgate) near by being brought in as evidence. CHAPTER XXIX SMUGGLING 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. Alfriston's place in history was won by its smugglers. All Sussexsmuggled more or less; but smuggling may be said to have beenAlfriston's industry. Cuckmere Haven, close by, offered uniqueadvantages: it was retired, the coast was unpopulated, the roadwayinland started immediately from the beach, the valley was in friendlyhands, the paths and contours of the hills were not easily learned byrevenue men. Nature from the first clearly intended that Alfriston menshould be too much for the excise; smuggling was predestined. Farmers, shepherds, ostlers, what you will that is respectable, these Alfristonmen might be by day and when the moon was bright; but when the "darks"came round they were smugglers every one. [Sidenote: MR. BETTS'S READINESS] Chief of what was known nearly a hundred years ago as the "AlfristonGang" was Stanton Collins, who lived at Market Cross House. Collinsemployed his men not only in assisting him in smuggling, but for otherpurposes removed from that calling by a wide gulf. Thus when Mr. Betts, the minister of the Lady Huntingdon chapel at Alfriston, washigh-handedly suspended by the chief trustee of the chapel, on accountof his opposition to that gentleman's proposed union with his deceasedwife's sister, it was Collins's gang who invaded the chapel, ejected thenew minister, replaced Mr. Betts in the pulpit, and mounted guard roundit while he continued the service. Mr. Betts was equal to the occasion:he gave out the hymn "God moves in a mysterious way. " Collins terrorised the country-side for some years (except upon thescore of personal bravery and humorous audacity, I doubt if his place isquite on the golden roll of smugglers) and was at length brought withinthe 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 in1895, aged ninety-four. [Sidenote: THE CHURCH COMPLAISANT] Sussex may always be proud of her best smugglers. There were brutalscoundrels among them, such as the men that murdered Chater and wereexecuted at Chichester in 1748 (the report may be read in Mr. H. L. Stephen's _State Trials_, vol. Iv. ); but the ordinary smuggler was oftena fine rebellious fellow, courageous, resourceful, and gifted with acertain grim humour that led him, as we have seen, to hide his tubs asoften in the belfry or the churchyard as anywhere else, and enoughknowledge of character to tell him when he might secure the silence ofthe vicar with an oblatory keg. The Sussex clergy seemed to have neededvery little encouragement to omit smuggling from the decalogue. It is, Ithink, the late Mr. Coker Egerton, of Burwash, who tells of a Sussexparson feigning illness a whole Sunday on hearing suddenly in themorning that a cargo, hard pressed by the revenue, had in despair beenlodged among his pews. But the classical passage on this subject comesfrom Cornwall, from the pen of R. S. Hawker, the vicar of Morwenstoweand the author of "The Song of the Western Men. " He was not himself asmuggler, but his parishioners had no scruples, and his heart was withthe braver side of the business:-- It was full sea in the evening of an autumn day when a traveller arrived 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?" "No; thanks be to God, " answered a hoarse, gruff voice. "None within eight miles. " "Well, then, " screamed the stranger, "is there no clergyman hereabout? Does no minister of the parish live among you on this coast?" "Aye! to be sure there is, " said the same deep voice. "Well, how far off does he live? Where is he?" "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. The clergy, however, did not always know how useful they were. The Rev. Webster Whistler, of Hastings, records that he was awakened one night toreceive a votive cask of brandy as his share of the spoil which, to hissurprise, his church tower had been harbouring. A commoner method was toleave the gift--the tithe--silently on the doorstep. Revenue officershave perhaps been placated in the same way. Smuggling, in the old use of the word, is no more. The surreptitiousintroduction into this country of German cigars, eau de Cologne, andTauchnitz novels, does not merit the term. A revised tariff havingremoved the necessity for smuggling, the game is over; for that is thereason of the disappearance of the smuggler rather than any increasedvigilance on the part of the coastguard. The records of smuggling showthat the difficulties offered to the profession by the Government weredifficulties that existed merely to be overcome. Perhaps fiscal reformmay restore the old pastime. [Sidenote: THE LAND SMUGGLER] The word smuggler arouses in the mind the figure of a bold and desperatemariner searching the coast for a signal that all is safe to land hiscargo. But as a matter of fact the men who ran the greatest risks werenot the marine smugglers at all, but the land smugglers who received thetubs on the shore and conveyed them to a hiding place preparatory to thejourney to London, whither the major part was perilously taken. Suchwere the Alfriston smugglers. These were the men who fought the revenueofficers and had the hair's-breadth escapes. These were the men whosehouses were watched, whose every movement was suspected, who needed tobe wily as the serpent and to know the country inch by inch. Not that the sea smuggler ran no risks. On the contrary, he wascontinually in danger from revenue cutters and the coastguards' boats. Bloody fights in the Channel were by no means rare. He was also often inperil from the elements; his endurance was superb; he had to be a sailorof genius, ready for every kind of emergency. But the land smuggler wasmore vulnerable than the sea smuggler, his rewards were smaller, and hisoperations were less simple. There is a vast difference between a darknight at sea and a dark night on land. Once the night fell the sea wasthe smuggler's own: he was invisible, inaudible. But the land was notless the revenue officer's: the land smuggler had to show his signallight, he had to roll casks over the beach, he had to carry them intosecurity. 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 anyturn. And he ran these risks from the coast right into London. I doubtif the land smuggler has had his due of praise. Sometimes the landsmuggler had to be land smuggler and sea smuggler too, for many of theships never troubled to make a landing at all. They sailed as near theshore as might be and then sank the tubs, which were always lashedtogether and kept on deck in readiness to be thrown overboard in case ofthe approach of a cutter. The position of the mooring having beenconveyed to the confederates on shore, the vessel was at liberty toreturn to France for another cargo, leaving the responsibility offishing up the tubs, and getting them to shore and away, wholly with theland smuggler. An old pamphlet, entitled, _The Trials of the Smugglers . .. At theAssizes held at East Grinstead, March 13, 14, 15, and 16, 1748-9_, givesthe following information about the duties and pay of the land smugglersat that day:--"Each Man is allowed Half a Guinea a Time, and hisExpenses for Eating and Drinking, a Horse found him, and the Profits ofa Dollop of Tea, which is about 13 Pounds Weight, being the Half of aBag; which Profit, even from the most ordinary of their Teas, comes to24 or 25 Shillings; and they always make one Journey, sometimes two, ina Week. " But these men would be underlings. There were, I take it, landsmugglers in control of the operations who shared on a more lordly scalewith their brethren in the boat. [Sidenote: HALF-WAY HOUSES] On all the routes employed by the land smugglers were certain cottagesand farm-houses where tubs might be hidden. Houses still abound suppliedwith unexpected recesses and vast cellars where cargoes were stored ontheir 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 notonly of accounting for such nocturnal noises as might be occasioned bythe arrival or departure of smugglers and tubs, but also of keepinginquisitive folks at bay. Only a little while ago, during alterations toan old cottage high on the hills near my home in Kent, corroboration wasgiven to a legend crediting the place with being a smuggler's "half-wayhouse, " by the builders' discovery of a cavern under the gardencommunicating with the cellar. For the gaining of such fastnesses thehollow ways of Sussex were maintained. Parson Darby's smugglingsuccessor, in Mr. Horace Hutchinson's Sussex romance, _A Friend ofNelson_, thus described them to the hero of Withyham:-- "The sun strikes hot enough. Would you like to ride in the shade awhile?" "Immensely, " I replied, "if I saw the shade. " "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. "What is the meaning of it all?" I asked him. [Sidenote: THE HOLLOW WAYS] "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. [Sidenote: "THE GENTLEMEN"] Smuggling was in the blood of the Sussex people. As the Cornishman saidto Mr. Hawker, "Why should the King tax good liquor?" Why, indeed?Everyone sided with the smugglers, both on the coast and inland. ABurwash woman told Mr. Egerton that as a child, after saying herprayers, she was put early to bed with the strict injunction, "Now, mind, if the gentlemen come along, don't you look out of the window. "The gentlemen were the smugglers, and not to look at them was a form ofnegative help, since he that has not seen a gentleman cannot identifyhim. Another Burwash character said that his grandfather had fourteenchildren, all of whom were "brought up to be smugglers. " These would, ofcourse, be land smugglers--Burwash being on a highway convenient for thegentlemen between the coast and the capital. CHAPTER XXX GLYNDE AND RINGMER 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. One of the pleasantest short walks from Lewes takes one over MountCaburn to Glynde, from Glynde to Ringmer, and from Ringmer over thehills to Lewes again. The path to Mount Caburn winds upward just beyond the turn of the roadto Glynde, under the Cliffe. Caburn is not one of the highest of theDowns (a mere 490 feet, whereas Firle Beacon across the valley isupwards of 700): but it is one of the friendliest of them, for on itsvery summit is a deep grassy hollow (relic of ancient Britishfortification) where on the windiest day one may rest in that perfectpeace that comes only after climbing. Caburn is not unique in thisrespect; there is, for example, a similar hollow in the hill aboveKingly Vale; but Caburn has a deeper cavity than any other that I canrecall. On the roughest day, thus cupped, one may hear, almost see, thegale go by overhead; and on such a mild spring day as that when I waslast there, towards the end of April, there is no such place in which tolie and listen to the lark. If one were asked to name an employmentconsistent with perfect idleness it would be difficult to suggest abetter than that of watching a lark melting out of sight into the sky, and then finding it again. This you may do in Caburn's hollow asnowhere else. The song of the lark thus followed by eye and ear--forsong and bird become one--passes naturally into the music of thespheres: there exist in the universe only yourself and this cosmictwitter. The Lewes golfers, of both sexes, pursue their sport some way towardsCaburn, and in the valley below the volunteers fire at their butts; butI doubt if the mountain proper will ever be tamed. Picnics are held onthe summit on fine summer days, but for the greater part of the year itbelongs to the horseman, the shepherd and the lark. Mount Caburn gave its title to a poem by William Hay, of GlyndebourneHouse, in 1730, which ends with these lines, in the manner of anepitaph, upon their author: Here liv'd the Man, who to these fair Retreats First drew the Muses from their ancient Seats: Tho' low his Thought, tho' impotent his Strain, Yet let me never of his Song complain; For this the fruitless Labour recommends, He lov'd his native Country, and his Friends. William Hay (1695-1755) was author also of a curious Essay on Deformity, which Charles Lamb liked, and of several philosophical works, and was avery diligent member of Parliament. [Illustration: _Glynde. _] [Sidenote: GLYNDE] Descending Caburn's eastern slope, and passing at the foot the mellowestbarn roof in the county, beautifully yellowed by weather and time, wecome to Glynde, remarkable among Sussex villages for a formal Grecianchurch that might have been ravished from a Surrey Thames-side villageand set down here, so little resemblance has it to the indigenous SussexHouse of God. As a matter of fact it was built in 1765 by the Bishop ofDurham--the Bishop being Richard Trevor, of the family that then ownedGlynde Place; which is hard by the church, a fine Elizabethan mansion, alittle sombre, and very much in the manner of the great houses in thelate S. E. Waller's pictures, the very place for a clandestine interviewor midnight elopement. The present owner, a descendant of the Trevorsand of the famous John Hampden, enemy of the Star Chamber and shipmoney, is Admiral Brand. [Sidenote: JOHN ELLMAN] Glynde's most famous inhabitant was John Ellman (1753-1832) the breederof sheep, who farmed here from 1780 to 1829 and was the village's kindlyautocrat and a true father to his men. The last of the patriarchs, as hemight be called, Ellman lodged all his unmarried labourers under his ownroof, giving them when they married enough grassland for a pig and acow, and a little more for cultivation. He built a school for thechildren of his men, and permitted no licensed house to exist inGlynde. Not that he objected to beer; on the contrary he considered itthe true beverage for farm labourers; but he preferred that they shouldbrew it at home. It was John Ellman who gave the South Down sheep itsfame and brought it to perfection. [Sidenote: ARTHUR YOUNG] The most interesting account of South Down sheep is to be found inArthur Young's _General View of the Agriculture of the County ofSussex_, which is one of those books that, beginning their lives aspractical, instructive and somewhat dry manuals, mellow, as the years goby, 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 oneloves Sussex. He studied the country carefully, with special emphasisupon the domain of the Earl of Egremont, an agricultural reformer ofmuch influence, whom we have met as a collector of pictures and thefriend of painters. For the Earl not only brought Turner into Sussexwith his brushes and palette, but introduced a plough from Suffolk anddevised a new light waggon. The other hero of Young's book isnecessarily John Ellman, whose flock at Glynde he subjected to closeexamination. Thomas Ellman, of Shoreham, John's cousin, he also approvedas a breeder of sheep, but it is John that stood nighest the Earl ofEgremont on Young's ladder of approbation. John Ellman's sheep wereconsidered the first of their day, equally for their meat and theirwool. I will not quote from Young to any great extent, lest vegetarianreaders exclaim; but the following passage from his analysis of theSouth Down type must be transplanted here for its pleasant carnalvigour: "The shoulders are wide; they are round and straight in thebarrel; broad upon the loin and hips; shut well in the twist, which is aprojection of flesh in the inner part of the thigh that gives a fulnesswhen viewed behind, and makes a South Down leg of mutton remarkablyround and short, more so than in most other breeds. " [Sidenote: THE SOUTH DOWN SHEEP] John Ellman by no means satisfied all his fellow breeders that he wasright. His neighbour at Glynde, Mr. Morris, differed from him in thematter of crossing, and his cousin Thomas had other views on many pointstouching the flock. In the following passage Arthur Young expresses theextent to which individuality in sheep breeding may run:--"The SouthDown farmers breed their sheep with faces and legs of a colour, just assuits their fancy. One likes black, another sandy, a third speckled, andone and all exclaim against white. This man concludes that legs andfaces with an inclination to white are infallible signs of tenderness, and do not stand against the severity of the weather with the samehardiness as the darker breed; and they allege that these sorts willfall off in their flesh. A second will set the first right, andpronounce that, in a lot of wethers, those that are soonest and mostfat, are white-faced; that they prove remarkable good milkers; but thatwhite is an indication of a tender breed. Another is of opinion that, bybreeding the lambs too black, the wool is injured, and likewise apt tobe tainted with black, and spotted, especially about the neck, and notsaleable. A fourth breeds with legs and faces as black as it ispossible; and he too is convinced that the healthiness is in proportionto blackness; whilst another says, that if the South Down sheep weresuffered to run in a wild state, they would in a very few years becomeabsolutely black. All these are the opinions of eminent breeders: inorder to reconcile them, others breed for speckled faces; and it is theprevailing colour. " 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, thepeal of welcome was rung on ploughshares, since there was but one bell. Ringmer, which lies about two miles north of Glynde, is not in itself avillage of much beauty. Its distinction is to have provided William Pennwith a wife--Gulielma Springett, daughter of Sir William Springett, aPuritan, whose bust is in the church and who died at the siege ofArundel Castle. The great Quaker thus took to wife the daughter of asoldier. When Gulielma Penn died, at the age of fifty, her husband wroteof her: "She was a Publick, as well as Private Loss; for she was notonly an excellent Wife and Mother, but an Entire and Constant Friend, ofa more than common Capacity, and greater Modesty and Humility; yet mostequal and undaunted in Danger. Religious as well as Ingenuous, withoutAffectation. An easie Mistress, and Good Neighbour, especially to thePoor. Neither lavish nor penurious, but an Example of Industry as wellas of other Vertues: Therefore our great Loss tho' her own EternalGain. " [Sidenote: GODLY WIVES] In Ringmer Church, I might add, is a monument to Mrs. Jeffray (_née_Mayney), wife of Francis Jeffray of South Malling, with anotherbeautiful testimony to the character of a good wife:-- Wise, modest, more than can be marshall'd heere, (Her many vertues would a volume fill) For all heaven's gifts--in many single sett-- In Jeffray's _Maney_ altogether mett. [Sidenote: A DETERMINED CHURCHWOMAN] Ringmer was long famous for its mud and bad roads. Defoe (or another)says in the _Tour through Great Britain_:--"I travelled through thedirtiest, but, in many respects, the richest and most profitable countryin all that part of England. The timber I saw here was prodigious, aswell in quantity as in bigness; and seemed in some places to be sufferedto grow only because it was so far from any navigation, that it was notworth cutting down and carrying away. In dry summers, indeed, a greatdeal is conveyed to Maidstone and other places on the Medway; andsometimes I have seen one tree on a carriage, which they call in Sussexa tug, drawn by twenty-two oxen; and, even then, it is carried so littlea 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 awhole summer is not dry enough to make the road passable. Here I had asight 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 sawan ancient lady, and a lady of very good quality, I assure you, drawn tochurch 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 horsescould go in it. " The old lady was not singular in her method ofattending service, for another writer records seeing Sir HerbertSpringett, father of Sir William, drawn to church by eight oxen: adetermination to get to his pew at any cost that led to the compositionof the following ballad, which is now printed for the first time:-- [Sidenote: THE RIDE TO CHURCH] THE RIDE TO CHURCH. "A true sonne of the Church of England. " _Epitaph on Sir Herbert Springett, in Ringmer Church. _ Let others sing the wild career Of Turpin, Gilpin, Paul Revere. A gentler pace is mine. But hear! The raindrops fell, splash! thud! splash! thud! Till half the country-side was flood, And Ringmer was a waste of mud. The sleepy Ouse had grown a sea, Where here and there a drowning tree Cast up its arms beseechingly; And cattle that in fairer days Beside its banks were wont to graze Now viewed the scene in mild amaze, And, huddled on an island mound, Sent forth so dolorous a sound As made the sadness more profound. And then--at last--one Sunday broke When villagers, delighted, woke To find the sun had flung its cloak Of leaden-coloured cloud aside. All jubilant they watched him ride, For see, the land was glorified: The morning pulsed with youth and mirth, It was as though upon the earth A new and gladder age had birth. The lark exulted in the blue, Triumphantly the rooster crew, The chimneys laughed, the sparks up-flew; And rolling westward out of sight, Like billows of majestic height, The Downs, transfigured in the light, Seemed such a garb of joy to wear, So young and radiant an air, God might but just have set them there. * * * * * Sir Herbert Springett, Ringmer's squire, (No better man in all the shire)-- He too was filled with kindling fire, Which, working in him, did incite The worthy and capacious knight To doughty deeds of appetite. Sir Herbert's lady watched her lord Range mightily about the board Which she of her abundance stored, (The Lady Barbara, for whom The blossoms of the simple-room Diffused their friendliest perfume, Than who none quicklier heard the call Of true distress, and left the Hall Eager to do her gentle all, When village patients needed aid. And O the rich Marchpane she made! And O the rare quince marmalade!) Just as the squire was satisfied, The noise of feet was heard outside; A knock. "Come in!" Sir Herbert cried. And lo! John Grigg in Sunday smock; Begged pardon, pulled an oily lock; Explained: "The mud's above the hough. "No horse could draw 'ee sir, " he said. "Humph!" quoth the squire and scratched his head. "Then yoke the oxen in instead. " (A lesser man would gladly turn His chair to fire again, and learn How fancifully logs can burn, Grateful for such immunity From parson. Not the squire; for see, "True sonne of England's Church" was he. ) So, as he ordered, was it done. The oxen came forth one by one, Their wide horns glinting in the sun, And to the coach were yoked. Then--dressed, As squires should be, in glorious best, With wonderful brocaded vest, -- Out came Sir Herbert, took his seat, Waved "Barbara, farewell, my Sweet!" And off they started, all complete. Although they drew so light a load (For them!) so heavy was the road, John Grigg was busy with his goad. The cottagers in high delight Ran out to see the startling sight And make obeisance to the knight, While floated through the liquid air, And o'er the sunlit meadows fair, The throbbing belfry's call to prayer. At last, and after many a lurch That shook Sir Herbert in his perch, John Grigg drew up before the church; Moreover not a minute late. The villagers around the gate Were filled with wonder at his state, And, promptly, though 'twas sabbath tide, "Three cheers for squire--Hooray!" they cried. .. . Such was Sir Herbert Springett's ride. * * * * * Sad is the sequel, sad but true-- For while in sermon-time a few Deep snores resounded from the pew Reserved for squire, by others there The tenth commandment (men declare) Was being broken past repair: For, thinking how they had to roam Through weary wastes of sodden loam Ere they could win to fire and home, In spite of parson's fervid knocks Upon his cushion orthodox, They "coveted their neighbour's ox. " [Sidenote: OXEN OF THE HILLS] Oxen are now rarely seen on the Sussex roads, but on the hill sides afew of the farmers still plough with them; and may it be long before theold custom is abandoned! There is no pleasanter or more peaceful sightthan--looking up--that of a wide-horned team of black oxen, smoking alittle in the morning air, drawing the plough through the earth, whilethe ploughman whistles, and the ox-herd, goad in hand, utters his Saxongrunts of incitement or reproof. The black oxen of the hills are ofWelsh stock, the true Sussex ox being red. The "kews, " as their shoesare 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 hornsthey have to be thrown down; their necks are held by a pitchfork, andtheir feet tied together. Sussex roads were terrible until comparatively recent times. An oldrhyme credits "Sowseks" with "dirt and myre, " and Dr. Burton, the authorof the _Iter Sussexiensis_, humorously found in it a reason why Sussexpeople and beasts had such long legs. "Come now, my friend, " he wrote, in Greek, "I will set before you a sort of problem in Aristotle'sfashion:--Why is it that the oxen, the swine, the women, and all otheranimals, are so long legged in Sussex? May it be from the difficulty ofpulling the feet out of so much mud by the strength of the ankle, thatthe muscles get stretched, as it were, and the bones lengthened?" [Sidenote: ROUGH ROADS] When, in 1703, the King of Spain visited the Duke of Somerset atPetworth he had the greatest difficulty in getting here. One of hisattendants has put on record the perils of the journey:--"We set out atsix o'clock in the morning (at Portsmouth) to go to Petworth, and didnot get out of the coaches, save only when we were overturned or stuckfast in the mire, till we arrived at our journey's end. 'Twas hardservice for the prince to sit fourteen hours in the coach that day, without eating anything, and passing through the worst ways that I eversaw in my life: we were thrown but once indeed in going, but both ourcoach which was leading, and his highness's body coach, would havesuffered very often, if the nimble boors of Sussex had not frequentlypoised it, or supported it with their shoulders, from Godalming almostto Petworth; and the nearer we approached the duke's, the moreinaccessible it seemed to be. The last nine miles of the way cost sixhours time to conquer. " To return to Ringmer, it was there that Gilbert White studied thetortoise (see Letter xiii of _The Natural History of Selborne_). Thehouse where he stayed still stands, and the rookery still exists. "Theserooks, " wrote the naturalist, "retire every morning all the winter fromthis rookery, where they only call by the way, as they are going toroost in deep woods; at the dawn of day they always revisit theirnest-trees, and are preceded a few minutes by a flight of daws, thatact, as it were, as their harbingers. " An intermediate owner of thehouse where Gilbert White resided, which then belonged to his auntRebecca Snooke, ordered all nightingales to be shot, on the ground thatthey kept him awake. [Sidenote: PLASHETTS] While at Ringmer, if a glimpse of very rich park land is needed, itwould be worth while to walk three miles north to Plashetts, whichcombines a vast tract of wood with a small park notable at once for itstrees, its brake fern, its lakes, and its water fowl. But if one wouldgain it by rail, Isfield is the station. CHAPTER XXXI UCKFIELD AND BUXTED 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. Uckfield, on the line from Lewes to Tunbridge Wells, is our truestarting point for the high sandy and rocky district of Crowborough, Rotherfield and Mayfield; but we must visit on the way Isfield, a verypretty village on the Ouse and its Iron River tributary. Isfield isremarkable for the remains of Isfield Place, once the home of theShurleys (connected only by marriage with the Shirleys of Wiston). Thehouse can never have been so fine as Slaugham Place, but it is evidentthat abundance also reigned here, as there. Over the main door was themotto "Non minor est virtus quam querere parta tueri, " which Horsfieldwhimsically translates "Catch is a good dog, but Holdfast is a better. "In the Shurley chapel, one of the sweetest spots in Sussex, are brassesand monuments to the family, notably the canopied altar tomb to Sir JohnShurley, who died in 1631, his two wives (Jane Shirley of Wiston andDorothy Bowyer, _née_ Goring, of Cuckfield) and nine children, who kneelprettily in a row at the foot. Of these children it is said in theinscription that some "were called into Heaven and the others intoseveral marriages of good quality"; while of Dorothy Shurley it isprettily recorded (this, as we have seen, being a district rich inexemplary wives) that she had "a merite beyond most of her time, . .. Her pitty was the clothing of the poore . .. And all her minutes were butsteppes to heaven. " Our county has many fine monuments, but I thinkthat, this is the most charming of all. [Sidenote: FRAMFIELD] At Framfield, two miles east of Uckfield, which we may take here, weagain enter the iron country, and for the first time see Sussex hops, which are grown largely to the north and east of this neighbourhood. [Illustration: _Framfield. _] [Sidenote: RICHARD REALF] Framfield has a Tudor church and no particular interest. In 1792 elevenout of fifteen persons in Framfield, whose united ages amounted to onethousand and thirty-four years, offered, through the county paper, toplay a cricket match with an equal number of the same age from any partof Sussex; but I do not find any record of the result. Nor can I findthat any one at Framfield is proud of the fact that here, in 1834, wasborn Richard Realf, the orator and poet, son of Sussex peasants. InEngland his name is scarcely known; and in America, where his work wasdone, it is not common knowledge that he was by birth and parentageEnglish. Realf was the friend of man, liberty and John Brown; he foughtagainst slavery in the war, and helped the cause with some noble verses;and he died miserably by his own hand in 1878, leaving these linesbeside his body:-- "De mortuis nil nisi bonum. " When For me this end has come and I am dead, And the little voluble, chattering daws of men Peck at me curiously, let it then be said By some one brave enough to speak the truth: Here lies a great soul killed by cruel wrong. Down all the balmy days of his fresh youth To his bleak, desolate noon, with sword and song, And speech that rushed up hotly from the heart, He wrought for liberty, till his own wound (He had been stabbed), concealed with painful art Through wasting years, mastered him, and he swooned, And sank there where you see him lying now With the word "Failure" written on his brow. But say that he succeeded. If he missed World's honors, and world's plaudits, and the wage Of the world's deft lacqueys, still his lips were kissed Daily by those high angels who assuage The thirstings of the poets--for he was Born unto singing--and a burthen lay Mightily on him, and he moaned because He could not rightly utter to the day What God taught in the night. Sometimes, nathless, Power fell upon him, and bright tongues of flame, And blessings reached him from poor souls in stress; And benedictions from black pits of shame, And little children's love, and old men's prayers, And a Great Hand that led him unawares. So he died rich. And if his eyes were blurred With big films--silence! he is in his grave. Greatly he suffered; greatly, too, he erred; Yet broke his heart in trying to be brave. Nor did he wait till Freedom had become The popular shibboleth of courtier's lips; He smote for her when God Himself seemed dumb And all His arching skies were in eclipse. He was a-weary, but he fought his fight, And stood for simple manhood; and was joyed To see the august broadening of the light And new earths heaving heavenward from the void. He loved his fellows, and their love was sweet-- Plant daisies at his head and at his feet. Uckfield's main street is divided sharply into two periods--from thestation to the road leading to the church all is new; beyond, all isold. The town is not interesting in itself, but it commands goodcountry, and has a good inn, the Maiden's Head. It is also a goodspecimen of the quieter market-town of the past--with a brewery (hidingbehind a wonderful tree braced with kindly iron bands), a water mill(down by the railway), and several solid comfortable houses for thedoctor and the lawyer and the brewer and the parson, with ample gardensbehind them. Uckfield was once the home of Jeremiah Markland, the great classic, whoacted as tutor here to Edward Clarke, son of the famous William Clarke, rector of Buxted, and father of Edward Daniel Clarke, the traveller. Itis agreeable to remember that Fanny Burney passed through the town withMrs. Thrale in 1779, although she found nothing to interest her. [Sidenote: THE UCKFIELD ROCKS] Uckfield is the southern boundary of the rock district of which we sawsomething at West Hoathly, and it is famous for the sandstone cliffs inthe grounds of High Rocks, an estate on the south of the town. Theunthinking untidiness and active penknives of the holiday makers made itrecently necessary for the grounds to be closed to strangers. Close by, however, just off the road from Uckfield to Maresfield, is a rocky tractthat is free to all. It consists of about an acre of grey, sandyboulders, some rising to a height of twenty feet or so, which remind onea little of the _rochers_ in the Forest of Fontainebleau, although on asmaller scale. All are worn with the feet of adventurous boys enjoyingone of the best natural playgrounds in the county. Here blackberriescome to rich perfection, the sun's ripening warmth being thrown backfrom the hot sand. When I first knew Maresfield church, many years ago, its aged vicarrolled out "Thou shalt do no mur-r-r-der" with an accusing timbre thatseemed to bring the sin home to all of us. He had also so peculiar a wayof pronouncing "Albert, " that his prayer for our rulers seemed to makean invidious distinction, and ask a blessing, not for all, but for allbut Edward, Prince of Wales. [Sidenote: PURITAN NAMES] Some of the oddest of the composite pietistic names that broke out overEngland during the Puritan revolution are to be found in Sussexregisters. In 1632, Master Performe-thy-vowes Seers of Maresfieldmarried Thomasine Edwards. His full name was too much for the village, and four years later is found an entry recording the burial of "VowesSeers" pure and simple. The searcher of parish registers from whosearticles in the _Sussex Daily News_ I have already quoted, has alsofound that Heathfield had many Puritan names, among them "Replenished, "which was given to the daughter of Robert Pryor in 1600. There was alsoa Heathfield damsel known as "More-Fruits. " Mr. Lower prints thefollowing 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 Mitchellof Heathfield, Renewed Wisberry of Hailsham, Fly-fornication Richardsonof Waldron, The-Peace-of-God Knight of Burwash, Fight-the-good-fight-of-Faith White of Ewhurst, and Kill-sin Pemble ofWithyham. Also a Master More-Fruits Fowler of East Hoathly, for it seemsthat in such names there was no sex. Among the curious Sussex surnames found by the student of the countyarchives who is quoted above are the following:-- Pitchfork Sweetname Lies Devil Slybody Hogsflesh Leper Fidge Backfield Handshut Beatup Breathing Juglery Rougehead Whiskey Hollowbone Punch Wildgoose Stillborne Padge Ann. Almost every name here would have pleased Dickens, while some might havebeen invented by him, notably Fidge and Padge. One can almost see Mr. Fidge and Mr. Padge drolling it in his pages. [Sidenote: BUXTED DEER] From the Maresfield rocks Buxted is easily reached, about a mile dueeast; but a far prettier approach is through Buxted Park, which isgained by a footpath out of Uckfield's main street. The charm of Buxtedis 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 tothese beautiful creatures. Nor can I recall any other deer that are soexquisitely dappled; but that may be because the Buxted deer were thefirst I ever saw, thirty years ago, and we like to think the first thebest. Certainly they are the friendliest, or least timid. The act ofgoing 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 tochurch at Buxted I never passed through the door at all, but sat on agravestone throughout the service and watched the herd in its gracefulrestlessness. That was twelve years ago. The other day I watched themagain and could see no change. Some of the stags were still as of oldalmost bowed beneath their antlers, although one at any rate was free, for a keeper who passed carried a pair of horns in his hand. [Illustration: _In Buxted Park. _] [Sidenote: RALPH HOGGE] The old house at the beginning of the footpath to the church, with a hogin bas-relief on its façade, is known as the Hog House, and is said tohave been the residence of Ralph Hogge. Who was Ralph Hogge? Who isHiram Maxim? Who was Krupp? Who was Nordenfelt? It was Ralph Hogge, iron-master, who in the year 1543 made the first English metal cannon. So at any rate say tradition and Holinshed. Buxted is otherwise mostpacific of villages, sleepy and undiscovered. In the early years of thelast century it boasted the possession of a labourer with a memory ofamazing tenacity, one George Watson, who, otherwise almost imbecile, wasunable to forget anything he had once seen, or any figure repeated tohim. On the road between Maresfield and Crowborough is Heron's Ghyll, theresidence of Mr. Fitzalan Hope. It stands to the east of the road, inone of those hollow sites that alone won the word "eligible" from aTudor builder. Hard by the road is the perfect little Early EnglishRoman Catholic church which Mr. Hope built in 1897, a miracle, in thesehurried florid days, of honest work and simple modest beauty. The churchbeing Roman Catholic one may with confidence turn aside to rest a littlein its cool seclusion, relieved of the irritating search for the sextonof the national establishment, and freed from his haunting presence andsuggestion that the labourer is worthy of more than his hire. [Sidenote: CLOSED CHURCHES] While on this subject I might remark that a county vicar describing theantiquities of his neighbourhood in one of the Sussex ArchæologicalSociety's volumes, writes magnanimously: "A debt of gratitude iscertainly due to our Roman Catholic predecessors (whatever error mightmix itself with their piety and charity) for erecting such nobleedifices, in a style of strength to endure for a late posterity. " Itseems to me that a very simple way of discharging a portion of this debtwould be to imitate the excellent habit of leaving the church doors wideopen, as practised by those Roman Catholic predecessors. My own impulseto enter many of the Sussex churches has been principally antiquarian oræsthetic, but to rest amid their gray coolnesses is a legitimate desirewhich should be fostered rather than discouraged, particularly as it isunder such conditions that the soul even of the stranger whose motive iscuriosity is often comforted. The arguments in favour of keepingchurches closed are unknown to me. Doubtless they are numerous andingenious, but, doubtless equally, a locked church is a confession offailure; while to urge that one has but to ask for the key to be ableto enter a church is no true reply, since hospitality, whether to thebody or the soul, loses in sweetness and effect as it loses inspontaneity. [Sidenote: TO CROWBOROUGH] 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 hillydistrict around Mayfield on the right. CHAPTER XXXII CROWBOROUGH AND MAYFIELD 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 _memento mori_--Mayfield church--Mayfield street--The diary of Mr. Walter Gale, schoolmaster. In the spring of this year (1903) the walls and fences of Crowboroughwere covered with the placards of a firm of estate agents describing theneighbourhood (in the manner of the great George Robins) as "Scotland inSussex. " The simile may be true of the Ashdown Forest side of the Beacon(although involving an unnecessary confusion of terms), but "Hampsteadin Sussex" would be a more accurate description of Crowborough proper. Never was a fine remote hill so be-villa'd. The east slope is allscaffold-poles and heaps of bricks, new churches and chapels aresprouting, and the many hoardings announce that Follies, Pierrots, orconjurors are continually imminent. Crowborough itself has shops thatwould not disgrace Croydon, and a hotel where a Lord Mayor might feel athome. Houses in their own grounds are commoner than cottages, and nearthe summit the pegs of surveyors and the name-boards of avenues yet tobe built testify to the charms which our Saxon Caledonia has alreadyexerted. But to say this is not to say all. Crowborough may be populous andover-built; but it is still a glorious eminence, the healthiest and mostbracing inland village in the county, and the key to its best moorlandcountry. Since Crowborough's normal visitor either plays golf or iscontented with a very modest radius, the more adventurous walker mayquickly be in the solitudes. In the little stone house below the forge Richard Jefferies lived forsome months at the end of his life. [Sidenote: ROTHERFIELD] Crowborough is crowned by a red hotel which can never pass into thelandscape; Rotherfield, its companion hill on the east, on the otherside of the Jarvis Brook valley, is surmounted by a beautiful churchwith a tall shingled spire, that must have belonged to the scene fromthe first. This spire darts up from the edge of the forest ridge like aPharos for the Weald of Kent. The church was dedicated to St. Denis ofParis by a Saxon chieftain who was cured of his ills by a pilgrimage tothe Saint's monastery. That was in 792. In the present church, whichretains the dedication, is an ancient mural painting representing themartyrdom of St. Lawrence. There is also a Burne-Jones window. Were it not for Rotherfield both Sussex and Kent would lack some oftheir waterways, for the Rother and the Ouse rise here, and also theMedway. A local saying credits the women of Rotherfield with two ribsmore than the men, to account for their superior height. Under a hedge half-way between Rotherfield and Jarvis Brook grow thelargest cowslips in Sussex, as large as cowslips may be without changingtheir sex. But this is all cowslip country--from the field of Rother tothe field of Uck. And it is the land of the purple orchis too, thefinest blooms of which are to be found on the road between Rotherfieldand Mayfield; but you must scale a fence to get them, because (like allthe best wild flowers) they belong to the railway. Between Rotherfield and Mayfield is a little hill, trim and conical asthough Miss Greenaway had designed it, and perfect in deportment, for ithas (as all little conical hills should have) a white windmill on itstop. Around the mill is a circular track for carts, which runs nearerthe 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 norththe range of chalk Downs on which is the Pilgrim's Way, between Mersthamand Westerham, and in front of that Toy's Hill and Ide Hill and theirsandy companions, on the north edge of the Weald. Mayfield is a city on a hill on the skirts of the hot hop district ofwhich Burwash is the Sussex centre. To walk about it even in April is noexhilaration; but in August one thinks of Sahara. I lived in Mayfieldone August and could barely keep awake; and we used to look across atthe rolling chalk Downs in the south, between Ditchling and Lewes, andlong for their cool, wind-swept heights. They can be hot too, but chalkis never so hot as sand, and a steady climb to a summit, over turfodorous of wild thyme, is restful beside the eternal hills and valleysof the hop district. [Sidenote: SAINT DUNSTAN] Mayfield has the best street and the best architecture of any of thesehighland villages. Also it has the distinction of having done most formankind, since without Mayfield there would have been no water to curejaded London ladies and gentlemen at Tunbridge Wells. According toEadmer, who wrote one of the lives of Dunstan, that Saint, whenArchbishop of Canterbury, built a wooden church at Mayfield and lived ina cell hard by. St. Dunstan, who was an expert goldsmith, was one daymaking a chalice (or, as another version of the legend says, ahorseshoe) when the Devil appeared before him. Instantly recognising hisenemy, and being aware that with such a foe prompt measures alone areuseful, St. Dunstan at once pulled his nose with the tongs, whichchanced happily to be red hot. Wrenching himself free, the Devil leapedat one bound from Mayfield to Tunbridge Wells, where, plunging his noseinto the spring at the foot of the Pantiles, he "imparted to the waterits chalybeate qualities, " and thus made the fortune of the town as ahealth resort. To St. Dunstan therefore, indirectly, are all drinkers ofthese wells indebted. For other drinkers he introduced or invented thepractice of fixing pins in the sides of drinking cups, in order that athirsty man might see how he was progressing and a bibulous man bechecked. [Sidenote: MAYFIELD] When consecrating his little church at Mayfield St. Dunstan discoveredit to be a little out of the true position, east and west. He thereforeapplied his shoulder and rectified the error. The remains of Mayfield Palace, the old abode of the Archbishops ofCanterbury, join the church. After it had passed into the hands of thecrown--for Cranmer made a bargain with the King by which Mayfield wasexchanged for other property--Sir Thomas Gresham lived here, and QueenElizabeth has dined under its roof. The Palace is to be seen onlyoccasionally, for it is now a convent, Mayfield being another of thecounty's many Roman Catholic outposts. In the great dining-room are thetongs which St. Dunstan used. The church, dedicated to Mayfield's heroic saint, has one of the broadershingled spires of Sussex, as distinguished from the slender spires ofwhich Rotherfield is a good example. Standing high, it may be seen fromlong distances. The tower is the original Early English structure. Fourmore of the old Sussex iron tomb slabs may be seen at Mayfield. In thechurchyard, says Mr. Lower, was once an inscription with thisuncomplimentary first line:-- O reader, if that thou canst read, It continued:-- Look down upon this stone; Death is the man, do you what you can, That never spareth none! In Mayfield's street even the new houses have caught comeliness fromtheir venerable neighbours. It undulates from gable to gable, and hastwo good inns. The old timbered house in the middle of the east side isthat to which Richard Jefferies refers without enthusiasm in the passagewhich I quote in a later chapter from his essay on Buckhurst Park. InLouis Jennings' _Field Paths and Green Lanes_ the house comes in foreulogy. Vicar of Mayfield in 1361 and following years was John Wickliffe, whohas 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 Parliamentand friend of Ben Jonson. In the Sussex Archæological Collections is printed the journal of WalterGale, schoolmaster at Mayfield in the latter half of the eighteenthcentury, from which a few extracts may be given: "1750. I found the greatest part of the school in a flow, by reason ofthe snow and rain coming through the leads. The following extemporeverse I set for a copy:-- Abandon every evil thought For they to judgment will be brought. In passing the Star I met with Mr. Eastwood; we went in and spent 2_d. _apiece. [Sidenote: PRESAGES OF DEATH] "I went to Mr. Sawyer's. .. . One of his daughters said that she expecteda change in the weather as she had last night dreamt of a deceasedperson. " The editor remarks that this superstition still lingers (or didfifty years ago) in the Weald of Sussex. Walter Gale adds:--"I told themin discourse that on Thursday last the town clock was heard to strike 3in the afternoon twice, once before the chimes went, and a 2nd timepretty nearly a 1/4 of an hour after. .. . The strikes at the 2nd strikingseemed to sound very dull and mournfully; this, together with thecrickets coming to the house at Laughton just at our coming away, I lookupon to be sure presages of my sister's death. " A year later:--"My mother, to my great unhappiness, died in the 83rdyear of her age, agreeable to the testimony I had of a death in ourfamily on the 10th of May last. " "Mr. Rogers came to the school, and brought with him the four volumes of_Pamela_, for which I paed him 4_s. _ 6_d. _, and bespoke Duck's _Poems_for Mr. Kine, and a _Caution to Swearers_ for myself. "Sunday. I went to church at Hothley. Text from St. Matthew 'Take nothought, saying, What shall we eat, and what shall we drink, orwherewithal shall we be clothed, ' and I went to Jones', where I spent2_d. _, and there came Thomas Cornwall, and treated me with a pint oftwopenny. "Mr. James Kine came; we smoaked a pipe together and we went and took asurvey of the fair; we went to a legerdemain show, which we saw withtolerable approbation. "May 28th. Gave attendance at a cricket-match, played between thegamesters at Burwash and Mayfield to the advantage of the latter. " [Sidenote: OLD KENT] 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, Iimagine, without cause. Thus:--"He again called me upstart, runagate, beggarly dog, clinched his fist in my face, and made a motion to strikeme, and declared he would break my head. He did not strike me, butwithdrew in a wonderful heat, and ended all with his general maxim, 'Thegreater scholler, the greater rogue!'" Mr. Gale was removed from the school in 1771 for neglecting his duties. CHAPTER XXXIII HEATHFIELD AND THE "LIES. " 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. There are two Heathfields: the old village, with its pleasant Sussexchurch and ancient cottages close to the park gates; and the new brickand slate town that has gathered round the station and the naturalgas-works. The park lies between the two, remarkable among Sussex parksfor the variety of its trees and the unusual proportion of them. Thespacious lawns which are characteristic of the parks in the south, here, on Heathfield's sandy undulations, give place to heather, fern andtrees. I never remember to have seen a richer contrast of greens than inearly spring, looking west from the house, between the masses of darkevergreens that had borne the rigours of the winter and the young leavesjust breaking through. Heathfield's park is, I think, the loveliest inSussex, lying as it does on a southern slope, with its opulence offoliage, its many rushing burns (the source of the Cuckmere), its hiddenravines and deep silent tarns, and its wonderful view of the Downs andthe sea. The park once belonged to the Dacres of Hurstmonceaux, whom weare about to meet. Traces of the original house, dating probably fromHenry VII. 's reign, are still to be seen in the basement. Upon thisfoundation was imposed a new building towards the end of the seventeenthcentury. The park was then known as Bailey Park. A century later, GeorgeAugustus Eliott (afterwards Lord Heathfield), the hero of Gibraltar, andearlier of Cuba, acquired it with his Havana prize money. After LordHeathfield died, in 1790, the park became the property of FrancisNewbery, son of the bookseller of St. Paul's Churchyard. The presentowner, Mr. Alexander, has added greatly to the house. [Sidenote: GIBRALTAR TOWER] Gibraltar Tower, on the highest point of the park, was built by Newberyin honour of his predecessor. From its summit a vast prospect isvisible, and forty churches, it is said, may be counted. I saw but fewof these. In the east, similarly elevated, is seen the BrightlingNeedle. Mr. Alexander has gathered together in the tower a number ofsouvenirs of old English life which make it a Lewes Castle museum inlittle. Here are stocks, horn glasses, drinking vessels, rushlightholders, leather bottels, and one of those quaint wooden machines forteaching babies to walk. An old manuscript history of the tower, in Mr. Alexander's possession, contains at least one passage that is perhapsworth noting, as it may help to clear up any confusion that exists inconnection with Lord Heathfield's marriage. "The lady to whom hislordship meant to be united, " says the historian, "and who wouldcertainly have been his wife had not death stepped in, is the sister ofa lady of whom his lordship was extremely fond, but she, dying about tenyears ago, he transferred his affections to the other, who is aboutthirty-five years of age. " A Heathfield worthy of a hundred years ago was Sylvan Harmer, chiefly astone cutter (he cut the stone for the tower), but also the modeller inclay of some very ingenious and pretty bas-relief designs for funeralurns, notably a group known as Charity. [Sidenote: JACK CADE] The following scene from _The Second Part of Henry VI. _ althoughShakespeare places it in Kent, belongs to a little hamlet known as CadeStreet, close to Heathfield:-- Scene X. --Kent. IDEN'S _Garden. _ _Enter_ CADE. _Cade. _ 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. _Enter_ IDEN, _with Servants, behind. _ _Iden. _ Lord! who would live turmoiléd in the court, And may enjoy such quiet walks as these! This small inheritance, my father left me, Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. I seek not to wax great by others' waning; Or gather wealth I care not with what envy: Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, And sends the poor well pleaséd from my gate. _Cade. _ 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. _Iden. _ Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, I know thee not; why then should I betray thee? Is't not enough, to break into my garden, And like a thief to come to rob my grounds, Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner, But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? _Cade. _ 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. _Iden. _ Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands, That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, Took odds to combat a poor famished man. Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, See if thou canst outface me with thy looks: Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; Thy hand is but a finger to my fist; Thy leg a stick, comparéd with this truncheon; My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; And if mine arm be heavéd in the air, Thy grave is digged already in the earth. As for words, whose greatness answers words, Let this my sword report what speech forbears. _Cade. _ 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. [_They fight. _ CADE _falls_. ] 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. _Iden. _ Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead: Ne'er shall this blood be wipéd from thy point, But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, To emblaze the honour that thy master got. _Cade. _ 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. [_Dies. _ [Sidenote: THE DEATH OF CADE] That was on July 12, 1450. Cade did not die at once, but on the way toLondon, whither he was conveyed in a cart. On the 16th his body wasdrawn and quartered and dragged through London on a hurdle. One quarterwas then sent to Blackheath; the other three to Norwich, Gloucester andSalisbury. Cade's head was set up on London Bridge. Iden was knighted. Apillar was erected at Cade Street by Newbery on the piece of land thathe possessed nearest to the probable scene of the event. "Near this spotwas slain the notorious rebel Jack Cade, by Alexander Iden, Esq. , " isthe inscription. Slaughter Common, near Heathfield, is said to be the scene of a morewholesale carnage, Heathfield people claiming that there Caedwalla in635 fought the Saxons and killed Eadwine, king of Northumbria. SylvanHarmer, in his manuscript history of Heathfield, is determined thatHeathfield 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 verydifferent one, for Caedwalla and Eadwine met, not at Heathfield, butHatfield Chase, near Doncaster. [Sidenote: HEFFUL CUCKOO FAIR] It is at Hefful Cuckoo fair on April 14--Hefful being Sussex forHeathfield--that, tradition states, the old woman lets the cuckoo out ofher basket and starts him on his course through the summer months. Alocal story tells of a Heathfield man who had a quarrel with his wifeand left for Ditchling. After some days he returned, remarking, "I'vehad enough of furrin parts--nothing like old England yet. " If any one, walking from Heathfield towards Burwash, is astonished tofind a "Railway Inn, " let him spend no time in seeking a station, forthere is none within some miles. This inn was once "The Labour in Vain, "with a signboard representing two men hard at work scrubbing a niggertill the white should gleam through. Then came a scheme to run a line toEastbourne, midway between the present Heathfield line and the Burwashline, and enterprise dictated the changing of the sign to one more inkeeping with the times. The railway project was abandoned but the innretains its new style. 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 chapter. His house and foundry were hardby the churchyard. The wonderful door in the church tower, a miracle ofintricate bolts and massive strength, has been attributed to Woodman'smechanical skill; and the theory has been put forward that he made thisdoor for his own strong room, and it was afterwards moved to the church. Another story says that he was imprisoned in the church tower beforebeing taken for trial. Warbleton has the following terse and confidentepitaph upon Ann North, wife of the vicar, who died in 1780:-- Through death's rough waves her bark serenely trod, Her pilot Jesus, and her harbour God. From Horeham Road station, next Heathfield on the way to Hailsham, wecan walk across the country to East Hoathly, and thence to Chiddinglyand Hellingly, where we come to the railway again. ("East Hoathly, Chiddingly and Hellingly, " says a local witticism: "three lies and alltrue. ") East Hoathly stands high in not very interesting country, nor isit now a very interesting village. But it is remarkable for an admirablyconducted inn and a church unique (in my experience of old churches) inits interior for a prettiness that is little short of aggressive. Whatever paint and mosaic can do to remove plain white surfaces has beendone here, and the windows are gay with new glass. Were the building anew one, say at Surbiton, the effect would be harmonious; but in an oldvillage in Sussex it seems a mistake. [Sidenote: THE CHILD-EATER] Colonel Thomas Lunsford, of Whyly (now no more), near East Hoathly, acavalier and friend of Charles I. , was notoriously a consumer of theflesh of babes. How he won such a reputation is not known, but it neverleft him. _Hudibras_ mentions his tastes; in one ballad of the time hefigures as Lunsford that "eateth of children, " and in another, recordinghis supposed death, he is found with "a child's arm in his pocket. "After a stormy but courageous career he died in 1691, innocent ofcannibalism. It was this Lunsford who fired at his relative, SirNicholas Pelham of Halland, as he was one day entering East Hoathlychurch. The huge bullet, the outcome of a long feud, missed Nicholas andlodged in the church door, where it remained for many years. It costLunsford _£_8, 000 and outlawry. Halland, one of the seats of the Pelhams, about a mile from thevillage, was just above Terrible Down, a tract of wild land, on which, according to local tradition, a battle was once fought so fiercely thatthe soldiers were up to their knees in blood. In the neighbourhood itis, of course, called Tarble Down. Local tradition also states of acertain piece of woodland attached to the glebe of this parish, calledBreeches Wood, that it owes its name to the circumstance that an EastHoathly lady, noticing the vicar's breeches to be in need of mending, presented to him and his successors the wood in question as an endowmentto ensure the perpetual repair of those garments. Halland House no longer exists, but in the days of the great Duke ofNewcastle, who died in 1768, it was famous for its hospitality andsplendour. We meet with traces of its influence in the frequentinebriation, after visits there, of Mr. Thomas Turner, a mercer andgeneral dealer of East Hoathly, who kept a diary from 1764, recordingsome of his lapses and other experiences. A few passages from theextracts quoted in the Sussex Archæological Collections may be given: "My wife read to me that moving scene of the funeral of Miss ClarissaHarlow. Oh, may the Supreme Being give me grace to lead my life in sucha manner as my exit may in some measure be like that divine creature's. "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 asincere regard on both sides, and each partie truly satisfied with eachother's merits. But it is impossible for tongue or pen to express theuneasiness that attends the contrary. "Sunday, August 28th, 1756, Thos. Davey, at our house in the evening, towhom I read five of Tillotson's Sermons. "Sunday, October 28th, Thos. Davey came in the evening to whom I readsix of Tillotson's sermons. "This day went to Mrs. Porter's to inform them the livery lace was notcome, when I think Mrs. Porter treated me with as much imperious andscornful usage as if she had been, what I think she is, more of a Turkand Infidel than a Christian, and I an abject slave. "I went down to Mrs. Porter's and acquainted her that I would not gether gown before Monday, who received me with all the affability, courtesy, and good humour imaginable. Oh! what a pleasure would it be toserve them was they always in such a temper; it would even induce me, almost, to forget to take a just profit. [Sidenote: POTATIONS] "We supped at Mr. Fuller's and spent the evening with a great deal ofmirth, till between one and two. Tho. Fuller brought my wife home uponhis back. I cannot say I came home sober, though I was far from beingbad company. "The curate of Laughton came to the shop in the forenoon, and he havingbought some things of me (and I could wish he had paid for them) dinedwith me, and also staid in the afternoon till he got in liquor, andbeing so complaisant as to keep him company, I was quite drunk. How do Idetest myself for being so foolish! "In the even, read the twelfth and last book of Milton's _ParadiseLost_, which I have now read twice through. "Mr. Banister having lately taken from the smugglers a freight ofbrandy, entertained Mr. Carman, Mr. Fuller, and myself, in the even, with a bowl of punch. " Although the Pelhams owned Halland, their principal seat was atLaughton, two or three miles to the south. Of that splendid Tudormansion little now remains but one brick tower. In the vault of thechurch, which has been much restored, no fewer than forty Pelhamsrepose. Chiddingly church presents the completest contrast to East Hoathly'sover-decorated yet accessible fane that could be imagined. Its door isnot only kept shut, but a special form of locked bar seems to have beeninvented for it, and on the day that I was last there the churchyardgate was padlocked too. The spire of white stone (visible for manymiles)--a change from the customary oak shingling of Sussex--has beenbound with iron chains that suggest the possibility of imminentdissolution, while within, the building is gloomy and time-stained. Ifat East Hoathly the church gives the impression of a too complacentprosperity, here we have precisely the reverse. The state of theJefferay monument behind a row of rude railings is in keeping. [Sidenote: THE PROUD JEFFERAYS] In the Jefferay monument, by the way, the statues at either side standon two circular tablets, which are not unlike the yellow cheeses ofAlkmaar. It was possibly this circumstance that led to the myth that theJefferays, too proud to walk on the ground, had on Sundays a series ofcheeses ranged between their house and the church, on which to step. Their house was Chiddingly Place, built by Sir John Jefferay, who diedin 1577. Remains of this great mansion are still to be seen. It wasduring Sir John's time that Chiddingly had a vicar, William Titelton, sufficiently flexible to retain the living under Henry VIII. , EdwardVI. , Mary, and Elizabeth. Here, in the eighteenth century, lived one William Elphick, a devotee ofbell-ringing, who computed that altogether he had rung Chiddingly'striple bell for 8, 766 hours (which is six hours more than a year), andwho travelled upwards of ten thousand miles to ring the bells of otherchurches. Mark Antony Lower, most interesting of the Sussex archæologists, to whomthese pages have been much indebted, was born at Chiddingly in 1813. Mr. Egerton in his _Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways_ tells a story of acouple down Chiddingly way who agreed upon a very satisfactory system ofdanger signals when things were not quite well with either of them. Whenever the husband came home a little "contrary" he wore his hat onthe back of his head, and then she never said a word; and if she came ina little cross and crooked she threw her shawl over her left shoulder, and then he never said a word. [Sidenote: CZAR AND QUAKER] A little to the east of Hellingly is Amberstone, the scene, in 1814, ofa pretty occurrence. Alexander, the Czar of all the Russias, travellingfrom Brighton to Dover with his sister, the Duchess of Oldenburgh, sawNathaniel and Mary Rickman of Amberstone standing by their gate. Fromtheir dress he knew them to be Quakers, a sect in which he was muchinterested. The carriage was therefore stopped, and the Czar and hissister entered the house; they were taken all over it, praised itsneatness, ate some lunch, and parted with the kindest expressions ofgoodwill, the Czar shaking hands with the Quaker and the Duchess kissingthe Quakeress. 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 thewest, is capped with pinnacles like that of East Grinstead. Walking afew 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 thisDutch region, green and moist and dotted with cattle. Hailsham's principal value to the traveller is that it is the stationfor Hurstmonceux; whither, however, we are to journey by another route. Otherwise the town exists principally in order that bullocks and sheepmay change hands once a week. Hailsham's cattle market covers threeacres, and on market days the wayfarers in the streets need the agilityof a picador. We ought, however, to see Michelham Priory while we are here. It liestwo miles to the west of Hailsham, in the Cuckmere valley--now abeautifully-placed farmhouse, but once a house of Augustinian Canonsfounded in the reign of Henry III. Here one may see the old monkish fishstews, so useful on Fridays, in perfection. The moat, where fish wereprobably also caught, is still as it was, and the fine oldthree-storied gateway and the mill belonging to the monks stand to thisday. The priory, although much in ruins, is very interesting, and wellworth seeing and exploring with a reconstructive eye. [Sidenote: THE TWO DICKERS] A little further west is the Dicker--or rather the two Dickers, UpperDicker and Lower Dicker, large commons between Arlington in the southand Chiddingly in the north. Here are some of the many pottery works forwhich Sussex is famous. [Illustration: _Beachy Head. _] CHAPTER XXXIV EASTBOURNE 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. Eastbourne is the most select, or least democratic, of the Sussexwatering places. Fashion does not resort thither as to Brighton in theseason, but the crowds of excursionists that pour into Brighton andHastings are comparatively unknown at Eastbourne; which is in a sense aprivate 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, oneplayed on the very beautiful links behind the town hard by ComptonPlace, the residence of the Duke; the other in Devonshire Park. It isalso an admirable town for horsemanship. [Sidenote: THE ENGLISH SALVATOR ROSA] Eastbourne has had small share in public affairs, but in 1741 JohnHamilton Mortimer, the painter, sometimes called the Salvator Rosa ofEngland, was born there. From a memoir of him which Horsfield prints, Itake passages: "Bred on the sea-coast, and amid a daring and rugged raceof hereditary smugglers, it had pleased his young imagination to walk onthe shore when the sea was agitated by storms--to seek out the mostsequestered places among the woods and rocks, and frequently, and notwithout danger, to witness the intrepidity of the contrabandadventurers, who, in spite of storms and armed excisemen, pursued theirprecarious trade at all hazards. In this way he had, from boyhood, become familiar with what amateurs of art call 'Salvator Rosa-lookingscenes'; he loved to depict the sea chafing and foaming, and fit 'toswallow navigation up'--ships in peril, and pinnaces sinking--bandittiplundering, or reposing in caverns--and all such situations as arefamiliar to pirates on water, and outlaws on land. .. . "Of his eccentricities while labouring under the delusion that he couldnot well be a genius without being unsober and wild, one specimen maysuffice. He was employed by Lord Melbourne to paint a ceiling at hisseat of Brocket Hall, Herts; and taking advantage of permission to anglein the fish-pond, he rose from a carousal at midnight, and seeking anet, 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 theworst; when reproved mildly, and with smiles, by Lady Melbourne, he hadthe audacity to declare, that her beauty had so bewitched him that heknew not what he was about. To plunder the fish-pond and be impertinentto the lady was not the way to obtain patronage. The impudent paintercollected his pencils together, and returned to London to enjoy hisinelegant pleasures and ignoble company. " Horsfield states that "a custom far more honoured by the breach than theobservance heretofore existed in the manor of Eastbourne; in compliancewith which, after any lady, or respectable farmer or tradesman's wife, was delivered of a child, certain quantities of food and of beer wereplaced in a room adjacent to the sacred edifice; when, after the secondlesson was concluded, the whole agricultural portion of the worshippersmarched out of church, and devoured what was prepared for them. This wascalled _Sops and Ale_. " [Sidenote: EASTBOURNE RUG] John Taylor the water Poet, whom we saw, at Goring, the prey of fleasand the Law, made another journey into the county between August 9th andSeptember 3rd, 1653, and as was usual with him wrote about it indoggerel verse. At Eastbourne he found a brew called Eastbourne Rug:-- No cold can ever pierce his flesh or skin Of him who is well lin'd with Rug within; Rug is a lord beyond the Rules of Law, It conquers hunger in a greedy maw, And, in a word, of all drinks potable, Rug is most puissant, potent, notable. Rug was the Capital Commander there, And his Lieutenant-General was strong beer. Possibly it was in order to contest the supremacy of Rug (which one mayask for in Eastbourne to-day in vain) that Newhaven Tipper sprang intobeing. The Martello towers, which Pitt built during the Napoleonic scare at thebeginning of last century, begin at Eastbourne, where the cliffs cease, and continue along the coast into Kent. They were erected probably quiteas much to assist in allaying public fear by a tangible and visiblesymbol of defence as from any idea that they would be a real service inthe event of invasion. Many of them have now disappeared. [Sidenote: BEACHY HEAD] Eastbourne's glory is Beachy Head, the last of the Downs, which stopdead at the town and never reappear in Sussex again. The range takes asudden turn to the south at Folkington, whence it rolls straight forthe sea, Beachy Head being the ultimate eminence. (The name Beachy has, by the way, nothing to do with the beach: it is derived probably fromthe Normans' description--"beau chef. ") About Beachy Head one has theSouth Downs in perfection: the best turf, the best prospect, the bestloneliness, and the best air. Richard Jefferies, in his fine essay, "TheBreeze on Beachy Head, " has a rapturous word to say of this air (poorJefferies, destined to do so much for the health of others and so littlefor 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 theatmosphere itself, uninterrupted by so much as the tree-tops. It is airwithout admixture. If it comes from the south, the waves refine it; ifinland, the wheat and flowers and grass distil it. The great headlandand the whole rib of the promontory is wind-swept and washed with air;the billows of the atmosphere roll over it. "The sun searches out every crevice amongst the grass, nor is there thesmallest fragment of surface which is not sweetened by air and light. Underneath the chalk itself is pure, and the turf thus washed by windand rain, sun-dried and dew-scented, is a couch prepared with thyme torest on. Discover some excuse to be up there always, to search for straymushrooms--they will be stray, for the crop is gathered extremely earlyin the morning--or to make a list of flowers and grasses; to doanything, and, if not, go always without any pretext. Lands of gold havebeen found, and lands of spices and precious merchandise: but this isthe land of health. " Seated near the edge of the cliff one realises, as it is possiblenowhere else to realise, except perhaps at Dover, the truth of Edgar'sdescription of the headland in _King Lear_. It seems difficult to thinkof Shakespeare exploring these or any Downs, and yet the scene must havebeen in his own experience; nothing but actual sight could have givenhim the line about the crows and choughs: Come on, sir; here's the place:--stand still. --How fearful And dizzy 't is, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire--dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge, That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high. --I'll look no more, Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong. [Sidenote: "TO A SEAMEW"] Choughs are rare at Beachy Head, but jackdaws and gulls are in great andnoisy profusion; and this reminds me that it was on Beachy Head inSeptember, 1886, that the inspiration of one of the most beautifulbird-poems in our language came to its author--the ode "To a Seamew" ofMr. Swinburne. I quote five of its haunting stanzas: We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea, What place man may, we claim it; But thine----whose thought may name it? Free birds live higher than freemen, And gladlier ye than we---- We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea. For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight Than earth's in sunniest weather: When heaven and sea together Join strengths against the lonely Lost bark borne down by night, For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight. * * * * * The lark knows no such rapture, Such joy no nightingale, As sways the songless measure, Wherein thy wings take pleasure: Thy love may no man capture, Thy pride may no man quail; The lark knows no such rapture, Such joy no nightingale. And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing And watch through heaven's waste hollow The flight no sight may follow To the utter bourne beholden Of none that lack thy wing: And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing. * * * * * Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me, And take my song's wild honey, And give me back thy sunny Wide eyes that weary never, And wings that search the sea; Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me. [Sidenote: PARSON DARBY] The old lighthouse on Beachy Head, the Belle Tout, which first flung itsbeams abroad in 1831, has just been superseded by the new lighthousebuilt on the shore under the cliff. Near the new lighthouse is ParsonDarby's Hole--a cavern in the cliff said to have been hewed out by theRev. Jonathan Darby of East Dean as a refuge from the tongue of Mrs. Darby. Another account credits the parson with the wish to provide asanctuary for shipwrecked sailors, whom he guided thither on stormynights by torches. In a recent Sussex story by Mr. Horace Hutchinson, called _A Friend of Nelson_, we find the cave in the hands of a powerfulsmuggler, mysterious and accomplished as Lavengro, some years afterDarby's death. [Sidenote: UNDER BEACHY HEAD] A pleasant walk from Eastbourne is to Birling Gap, a great smugglingcentre in the old days, where the Downs dip for a moment to the level ofthe sea. Here at low tide one may walk under the cliffs. RichardJefferies, in the essay from which I have already quoted, has abeautiful passage of reflections beneath the great bluff:--"The seaseems higher than the spot where I stand, its surface on a higherlevel--raised like a green mound--as if it could burst in and occupy thespace up to the foot of the cliff in a moment. It will not do so, Iknow; but there is an infinite possibility about the sea; it may do whatit is not recorded to have done. It is not to be ordered, it mayoverleap the bounds human observation has fixed for it. It has a potencyunfathomable. There is still something in it not quite grasped andunderstood--something still to be discovered--a mystery. "So the white spray rushes along the low broken wall of rocks, the sungleams on the flying fragments of the wave, again it sinks, and therhythmic motion holds the mind, as an invisible force holds back thetide. A faith of expectancy, a sense that something may drift up fromthe unknown, a large belief in the unseen resources of the endless spaceout yonder, soothes the mind with dreamy hope. "The little rules and little experiences, all the petty ways of narrowlife, are shut off behind by the ponderous and impassable cliff; as ifwe had dwelt in the dim light of a cave, but coming out at last to lookat the sun, a great stone had fallen and closed the entrance, so thatthere was no return to the shadow. The impassable precipice shuts offour former selves of yesterday, forcing us to look out over the seaonly, or up to the deeper heaven. "These breadths draw out the soul; we feel that we have wider thoughtsthan we knew; the soul has been living, as it were, in a nutshell, allunaware of its own power, and now suddenly finds freedom in the sun andthe sky. Straight, as if sawn down from turf to beach, the cliff shutsoff the human world, for the sea knows no time and no era; you cannottell what century it is from the face of the sea. A Roman triremesuddenly rounding the white edge-line of chalk, borne on wind and oarfrom the Isle of Wight towards the gray castle at Pevensey (already oldin olden days), would not seem strange. What wonder could surprise uscoming from the wonderful sea?" [Illustration: _Beachy Head from the Shore. _] [Sidenote: EAST DEAN] 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 issmall and not particularly interesting; but it gave Horsfield, thecounty historian, the opportunity to make one of his infrequent jokes. "There are three bells, " he writes, "and 'if discord's harmony notunderstood, ' truly harmonious ones. " Horsfield does not note that one ofthese three bells bore a Latin motto which being translated signifies Surely no bell beneath the sky Can send forth better sounds than I? The East Dean register contains a curious entry which is quoted inGrose's _Olio_, ed. 1796:--"Agnes Payne, the daughter of Edward Payne, was buried on the _first day of February_. Johan Payne, the daughter ofEdward Payne, was buried on the _first day of February_. "In the death of these two sisters last mentioned is one thing worthrecording, and diligently to be noted. 'The elder sister, called Agnes, being very sicke unto death, _speechless_, and, as was thought, pasthope of speakinge; after she had lyen twenty-four hours without speach, at last upon a suddayne cryed out to her sister to make herself readyand to come with her. Her sister Johan being abroad about otherbusiness, was called for, who being come to her sicke sister, demaundinge how she did, she very lowde or earnestly bade her sistermake ready--she staid for her, and could not go without her. Within halfan houre after, Johan was taken very sicke, which increasinge all thenight uppone her, her other sister stille callinge her to come away; inthe morninge they both departed this wretched world together. O theunsearchable wisdom of God! How deepe are his judgments, and his wayspast fyndinge out! "Testified by diverse oulde and honest persons yet living; which Imyself have heard their father, when he was alive, report. "Arthur Polland, Vicar; Henry Homewood, John Pupp, Churchwardens. " [Sidenote: THE SELWYN MONUMENT] [Sidenote: FRISTON PLACE] Friston church is interesting, for it contains one of the most beautifulmonuments in Sussex, worthy to be remembered with that to the Shurleysat Isfield. The family commemorated is the Selwyns, and the monument hasa very charming dado of six kneeling daughters and three babies laidneatly on a tasseled cushion, under the reading desk--a quaint conceitimpossible to be carried out successfully in these days, but pretty andfitting enough then. Of the last of the Selwyns, "Ultimus Selwynorum, "who died aged twenty, in 1704, it is said, with that exquisitesimplicity of exaggeration of which the secret also has been lost, thatfor him "the very marble might weep. " Friston Place, the home of theSelwyns, has some noble timbers, and a curious old donkey-well in thegarden. West Dean, which is three miles to the west, by a bleak and lonely roadamid hills and valleys, is just a farm yard, with remains of veryancient architecture among the barns and ricks. The village, however, ismore easily reached from Alfriston than Eastbourne. CHAPTER XXXV PEVENSEY AND HURSTMONCEUX 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. Pevensey Castle behaves as a castle should: it rises from the plain, theonly considerable eminence for miles; it has noble grey walls of thetrue romantic hue and thickness; it can be seen from the sea, over whichit once kept guard; it has a history rich in assailants and defenders. There is indeed nothing in its disfavour except the proximity of therailway, which has been allowed to pass nearer the ruin than dramaticfitness would dictate. Let it, however, be remembered that the railwaythrough the St. Pancras Priory at Lewes led to the discovery of thecoffins of William de Warenne and Gundrada, and also that, in Mr. Kipling's phrase, romance, so far from being at enmity with the ironhorse, "brought up the 9. 15. " [Illustration: _Pevensey Castle. _] Pevensey, which is now divided from the channel by marshy fields withnothing to break the flatness but Martello towers (thirteen may becounted from the walls), was, like Bramber Castle in the west, now alsoan inland stronghold, once washed and surrounded by the sea. The seaprobably covered all the ground as far inland as Hailsham--Pevensey, Horseye, Rickney and the other "eyes" on the level, being thenislands, as their termination suggests. 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 theWeald of Sussex--Andreas Weald as it was called by the Saxons. Butbefore the Romans a British stronghold existed here. This, after theRomans left, was attacked by the Saxons, who slew every Briton that theyfound therein. The Saxons in their turn being discomfited, the Normansbuilt a new castle within the old walls, with Robert de Moreton, halfbrother of the Conqueror, for its lord. Thus the castle as it now standsis in its outer walls Roman, in its inner, Norman. [Sidenote: WILLIAM'S LANDING] Unlike certain other Sussex fortresses, Pevensey has seen work. Of itsRoman career we know nothing, except that the inhabitants seem to havedropped a large number of coins, many of which have been dug up. TheSaxons, as we have seen, massacred the Britons at Anderida verythoroughly. Later, in 1042, Swane, son of Earl Godwin, swooped onPevensey'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 thismarauding Harold; for on that day William, Duke of Normandy, soon tobecome William the Conqueror, alighted from his vessel, accompanied byseveral hundred Frenchmen in black chain armour. A representation of thelanding is one of the designs in the Bayeux tapestry. The embroidererstake no count of William's fall as he stepped ashore, on ground nowgrazed upon by cattle, an accident deemed unlucky until his ready witexplained, as he rose with sanded fingers, "See, I have seized the landwith my hands. " Pevensey's later history included sieges by William Rufus in 1088, whenOdo, Bishop of Bayeux, supporter of Robert, was the defender; byStephen in 1144, the fortress being held by Maude, who gave ineventually to famine; by Simon de Montfort and the Barons in 1265; andby the supporters of Richard of York in 1399, when Lady Pelham defendedit for the Rose of Lancaster. A little later Edmund, Duke of York, wasimprisoned in it, and was so satisfied with his gaoler that hebequeathed him _£_20. Queen Joan of Navarre, wife of Henry IV. , was also aprisoner here for nine years. In the year before the Armada, PevenseyCastle was ordered to be either rebuilt as a fortress or razed to theground; but fortunately neither instruction was carried out. The present owner of Pevensey Castle is the Duke of Devonshire, who byvirtue of the possession is entitled to call himself Dominus Aquilæ, orLord of the Eagle. [Sidenote: LETTER-WRITING] Pevensey has another and gentler claim to notice. Many essayists havesaid pleasant and ingenious things about the art of letter-writing; butnone of them mentions the part played by Pevensey in the Englishdevelopment of that agreeable accomplishment. Yet the earliest specimenof English letter-writing that exists was penned in Pevensey Castle. Thewriter was Joan Crownall, Lady Pelham, wife of Sir John Pelham, who, asI have said, defended the castle, in her Lord's absence, against theYorkists, and this is the letter, penned (I write in 1903) five hundredand four years ago. (It has no postscript. ) 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 _my_ fare, I am here laid by in manner of a siege with the county of Sussex, Surrey, and a great parcel of Kent, so 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. "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. "By your own poor "J. PELHAM. " "To my true Lord. " [Sidenote: ANDREW BORDE AGAIN] In the town of Pevensey once lived Andrew Borde (who entered this worldat Cuckfield): a thorn in the side of municipal dignity. The Dogberryishdictum "I am still but a man, although Mayor of Pevensey, " remains alocal joke, and tradition has kept alive the prowess of the Pevenseyjury which brought a verdict of manslaughter against one who was chargedwith 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 acost of threepence per head, and you may buy pictorial postcards andGerman wooden toys in the wit's front parlour. Before leaving Pevensey I must say a word of Westham, the village whichadjoins it. Westham and Pevensey are practically one, the castleintervening. Westham has a vicar whose interest in his office might wellbe 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 anddignity, is kept open, and just within is a table on which are a numberof 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 thestranger's honesty. The tower, which the vicar tells us is six hundred years old, he asks usto admire for its "utter carelessness and scorn of smoothness andfinish, or any of the tricks of modern buildings. " Westham church wasone of the first that the Conqueror built, and remains of the originalNorman structure are still serviceable. The vicar suggests that it mayvery possibly have stood a siege. In the jamb of the south door of theNorman wall is a sundial, without which, one might say, no church iscompletely perfect. In the tower dwell unmolested a colony of owls, sixof whom once attended a "reading-in" service and, seated side by side ona beam, listened with unwavering attention to the Thirty-Nine Articles. They were absent on my visit, but a small starling, swift and elusive asa spirit, flitted hither and thither quite happily. [Illustration: _Westham. _] [Sidenote: ALES CRESSEL] In the churchyard is the grave of one Ales Cressel (oddest of names), and among the epitaphs is this upon a Mr. Henty:-- Learn from this mistic sage to live or die. Well did he love at evening's social hour The Sacred Volume's treasure to apply. The remembrance of his excellent character alone reconciles his afflicted widow to her irreparable loss. The church contains a memorial to a young gentleman named Fagg who, "having lived to adorn Human Nature by his exemplary manners, wasuntimely snatched away, aged 24. " In the neighbourhood of Westham is a large rambling building known asPriesthaus, which, once a monastery, is now a farm. Many curious relicsof its earlier state have lately been unearthed. In Pevensey church, which has none of the interest of Westham, a littlecollection of curiosities relating to Pevensey--a constable's staff, oldtitle deeds, seals, and so forth--is kept, in a glass case. [Illustration: _Hurstmonceux Castle. _] [Sidenote: HURSTMONCEUX CASTLE] If Pevensey is all that a castle ought to be, in shape, colour, positionand past, Hurstmonceux is the reverse; for it lies low, it has noswelling contours, it is of red brick instead of grey stone, and never afight has it seen. But any disappointment we may feel is the fault notof Hurstmonceux but of those who named it castle. Were it calledHurstmonceux House, or Place, or Manor, or Grange, all would be well. Itis this use of the word castle (which in Sussex has a connotationexcluding red brick) that has done Hurstmonceux an injustice, for it isa very imposing and satisfactory ruin, quite as interestingarchitecturally as Pevensey, or, indeed, any of the ruins that we haveseen. Hurstmonceux Castle stands on the very edge of Pevensey Level, the onlyconsiderable structure between Pevensey and the main land proper. In theintervening miles there are fields and fields, through which the OldHaven runs, plaintive plovers above them bemoaning their lot, and browncows tugging at the rich grass. On the first hillock to the right of thecastle as one fronts the south, rising like an island from this sea ofpasturage, is Hurstmonceux church, whose shingled spire shoots into thesky, a beacon to travellers in the Level. It is a pretty church with anexterior of severe simplicity. Between the chancel and the chantry isthe large tomb covering the remains of Thomas Fiennes, second LordDacre of Hurstmonceux, who died in 1534, and Sir Thomas Dacre his son, surmounted by life-size stone figures, each in full armour, with handsproudly raised, and each resting his feet against the Fiennes wolf-dog. In the churchyard is the grave of Julius Hare, once vicar ofHurstmonceux, and the author, with his brother Augustus, of _Guesses atTruth_. Carlyle's John Sterling was Julius Hare's first curate here. [Sidenote: THE OLD SPACIOUSNESS] Hurstmonceux Castle was once the largest and handsomest of all thecommoners' houses in the county. Sir Roger de Fiennes, a descendant ofthe John de Fiennes who married Maude, last of the de Monceux, in thereign of Edward II. , built it in 1440. Though the Manor house of the deMonceux, on the site of the present castle, lacked the imposingqualities of Roger de Fiennes' stronghold, it was hospitable, spacious, and luxurious. Edward the First spent a night there in 1302. One of thede Monceux was on the side of de Montfort in the Battle of Lewes, andthe first of them to settle in England married Edith, daughter ofWilliam de Warenne and Gundrada, of Lewes Castle. How thorough and conscientious were the workmen employed by Roger deFiennes, and how sound were their bricks and mortar, may be learned bythe study of Hurstmonceux Castle to-day. In many parts the walls areabsolutely uninjured except by tourists. The floors, however, have longsince returned to nature, who has put forth her energies without stintto clothe the old apartments with greenery. Ivy of astonishing vigourgrows here, populous with jackdaws, and trees and shrubs spring from theleast likely spots. The castle in its old completeness was, practically, a little town. Fromeast to west its walls measured 206-1/2 feet, from north to south, 214-1/4; within them on the ground floor were larders, laundries, abrewhouse, a bakehouse, cellars, a dairy, offices, a guard room, pantries, a distillery, a confectionery room, a chapel, and, beneath, adungeon. Between these were four open courts. Upstairs, round threesides of the Green Court, were the Bird Gallery, the Armour Gallery, andthe Green Gallery, and lords' apartments and ladies' apartments "capableof quartering an army, " to quote a writer on the subject. On each sideof the entrance, gained by a drawbridge, was a tower--the Watch Towerand the Signal Tower. In the reign of Elizabeth a survey of Hurstmonceux was taken, whichtells 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 150nests, and much game. The de Fiennes, or Dacres as they became, had alsoa private fishery in Pevensey Bay, seen from the Watch Tower as a stripof blue ribbon. In addition Hurstmonceux had a ghost, who inhabited the Drummers' Hall, a room between the towers over the porter's lodge, and sent forth amysterious tattoo. Sometimes he left his hall, this devilish musician, and strode along the battlements drumming and drumming, a terriblefigure nine feet high. Most people were frightened, but there were thosewho said that the drummer was nothing more nor less than a gardener inleague with the Pevensey smugglers, whose notes, rattled out on theparchment, rolled over the marsh and gave them the needful signal. [Sidenote: THE UNFORTUNATE LORD DACRE] Hurstmonceux once had a very real tragedy. The third Lord Dacre, one ofthe young noblemen who took part in the welcoming of Ann of Cleves whenshe landed in England preparatory to her becoming the wife of HenryVIII. , was so foolish one night in 1541 as to accompany some of hisroystering companions to the adjacent park of Sir Nicholas Pelham, nearHellingly, intent on a deer-stealing jest. There three gamekeepers roseup, and a bloody battle ensued in which one John Busbrig bit the dust. Pelham was furious and demanded justice, and Lord Dacre, though he hadtaken no part in the fray, was held responsible. Three of his friendswere hanged at Tyburn, and, in spite of all the influence that wasbrought to bear, he also was executed. The next Dacre of importancemarried the Lady Ann Fitzroy, a natural daughter of Charles II. , and wasmade Earl of Sussex. Financial losses compelling him to sellHurstmonceux, a lawyer named George Naylor bought it in 1708, leavingit, on his death, to the Right Rev. Francis Hare, Bishop of Chichester. It remained in the family as a residence until, in 1777, an architectpronounced it unsafe, and the interior was converted into materials forthe new Hurstmonceux Place in the park to the north-west. Since thennature has had her way with it. [Sidenote: WALPOLE AT HURSTMONCEUX] Horace Walpole's visit, as described in one of his letters, gives us anidea of Hurstmonceux in the middle of the eighteenth century, a littlebefore it became derelict:--"The chapel is small, and mean; the Virginand seven long lean saints, ill done, remain in the windows. There havebeen four more, but they seem to have been removed for light; and weactually found St. Catherine, and another gentlewoman with a church inher hand, exiled into the buttery. There remain two odd cavities, withvery small wooden screens on each side the altar, which seem to havebeen confessionals. The outside is a mixture of grey brick and stone, that has a very venerable appearance. The draw-bridges are romantic to adegree; and there is a dungeon, that gives one a delightful idea ofliving in the days of soccage and under such goodly tenures. They showedus a dismal chamber which they called _Drummer's_-hall, and suppose thatMr. Addison's comedy is descended from it. In the windows of the galleryover the cloisters, which leads all round to the apartments, is thedevice of the Fienneses, a wolf holding a baton with a scroll, _Le royle veut_--an unlucky motto, as I shall tell you presently, to the lastpeer of that line. The estate is two thousand a year, and so compact asto have but seventeen houses upon it. We walked up a brave old avenue tothe church, with ships sailing on our left hand the whole way. " [Sidenote: TRUGS] Hurstmonceux is famous not only for its castle, but for its "trugs, " thewooden baskets that gardeners carry, which are associated withHurstmonceux as crooks once were with Pyecombe, and the shepherds' vastgreen umbrellas, on cane frames, with Lewes. CHAPTER XXXVI HASTINGS 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. 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) wasin command of twelve thousand soldiers encamped in the neighbourhood, and was himself living at Hastings House, the population of the town wasless than four thousand; to-day, with St. Leonard's and dependantsuburbs, Hastings covers several square miles. With the exception of thelittle red and grey region known as Old Hastings, between Castle Hilland East Hill, the same charge of a lack of what is interesting can bebrought against Hastings as against Brighton; but whereas Brighton hasthe Downs to offer, Hastings is backed by country of far less charm. Perhaps her greatest merit is her proximity to Winchelsea and Rye. Hastings, once one of the proudest of the Cinque Ports, has no longereven a harbour, its pleasure yachts, which carry excursionists on briefChannel voyages, having to be beached just like rowing boats. Theravages of the sea, which have so transformed the coast line of Sussex, have completely changed this town; and from a stately seaport she hasbecome a democratic watering place. Beneath the waves lie the remains ofan old Priory and possibly of not a few churches. Hastings has been very nigh to history more than once, but she hasescaped the actual making of it. Even the great battle that takes itsname from the town was fought seven miles away, while the Duke ofNormandy, as we have seen, landed as far distant as Pevensey, ten milesin the west. But he used Hastings as a victualling centre. Again andagain, in its time, Hastings has been threatened with invasion by theFrench, who did actually land in 1138 and burned the town. And oneSunday morning in 1643, Colonel Morley of Glynde, the Parliamentarian, marched in with his men and confiscated all arms. But considering itswarlike mien, Hastings has done little. [Sidenote: THE ADMIRAL'S MOTHER] Nor can the seaport claim any very illustrious son. Titus Oates, it istrue, was curate of All Saints church in 1674, his father being vicar;and among the inhabitants of the old town was the mother of SirCloudesley Shovel, the admiral. A charming account of a visit paid toher by her son is given in De la Prynne's diary: "I heard a gentlemansay, who was in the ship with him about six years ago, that as they weresailing over against the town, of Hastings, in Sussex, Sir Cloudesleycalled out, 'Pilot, put near; I have a little business on shore. ' So heput near, and Sir Cloudesley and this gentleman went to shore in a smallboat, and having walked about half a mile, Sir Cloudesley came to alittle house [in All Saints Street], 'Come, ' says he, 'my business ishere; I came on purpose to see the good woman of this house. ' Upon thisthey knocked at the door, and out came a poor old woman, upon which SirCloudesley kissed her, and then falling down on his knees, begged herblessing, and calling her mother (who had removed out of Yorkshirehither). He was mightily kind to her, and she to him, and after that hehad made his visit, he left her ten guineas, and took his leave withtears in his eyes and departed to his ship. " [Sidenote: THE CHURCH MILITANT] Hastings had a famous rector at the beginning of the last century, inthe person of the Rev. Webster Whistler, who combined with the easternbenefice that of Newtimber, near Hurstpierpoint, and managed to serveboth to a great age. He lived to be eighty-four and died full of vigourin 1831. In 1817, following upon a quarrel with the squire, theNewtimber living was put up for auction in London. Mr. Whistler decidedto be present, but anonymous. The auctioneer mentioned in hisintroduction the various charms of the benefice, ending with thesuperlative advantage that it was held by an aged and infirm clergymanwith one foot in the grave. At this point the proceedings wereinterrupted by a large and powerful figure in clerical costume springingon the table and crying out to the company: "Now, gentlemen, do I looklike a man tottering on the brink of the grave? My left leg gives me nosign of weakness, and as for the other, Mr. Auctioneer, if you repeatyour remarks you will find it very much at your service. " The livingfound no purchaser. Mr. Whistler had a Chinese indifference to the necessary end of allthings, which prompted him to use an aged yew tree in his garden, thathad long given him shade but must now be felled, as material for hiscoffin. This coffin he placed at the foot of his bed as a chest forclothes until its proper purpose was fulfilled. Hastings was also the home of Edward Capel, a Shakespeare-editor of theeighteenth century. Capel, who is said to have copied out in his ownhand the entire works of the poet no fewer than ten times, was thedesigner of his own house, which seems to have been a miracle ofdiscomfort. He was an eccentric of the most determined character, somuch so that he gradually lost all friends. According to Horsfield, "Thespirit of nicety and refinement prevailed in it [his house] so muchduring his lifetime, that when a friend (a baronet) called upon him ona tour, he was desired to leave his cane in the vestibule, lest heshould either dirt the floor with it, or soil the carpet. " [Sidenote: HARVEST HOME] One does not think naturally of old Sussex customs in connection withthis town, so thoroughly urban as it now is and so largely populated byvisitors, but I find in the Sussex Archæological Collections thefollowing interesting account, by a Hastings alderman, of an old harvestceremony in the neighbourhood:--"At the head of the table one of the menoccupied the position of chairman; in front of him stood a pail--cleanas wooden staves and iron hoops could be made by human labour. At hisright sat four or five men who led the singing, grave as judges werethey; indeed, the appearance of the whole assembly was one of thegreatest solemnity, except for a moment or two when some unlucky wightfailed to 'turn the cup over, ' and was compelled to undergo the penaltyin that case made and provided. This done, all went on as solemnly asbefore. "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 itwith beer from the pail. The man next to him on the left stood up, andholding a hat with both hands by the brim, crown upwards, received thecup from the chairman, on the crown of the hat, not touching it witheither hand. He then lifted the cup to his lips by raising the hat, andslowly drank off the contents. As soon as he began to drink, the chorusstruck up this chant: I've bin to Plymouth and I've bin to Dover. I have bin rambling, boys, all the wurld over-- Over and over and over and over, Drink up yur liquor and turn yur cup over; Over and over and over and over, The liquor's drink'd up and the cup is turned over. "The man drinking was expected to time his draught so as to empty hiscup at the end of the fourth line of the chant; he was then to returnthe hat to the perpendicular, still holding the hat by the brim, then tothrow the cup into the air, and reversing the hat, to catch the cup init as it fell. If he failed to perform this operation, the fellowworkmen who were closely watching him, made an important alteration inthe last line of their chant, which in that case ran thus: The liquor's drink'd up and the cup _aint_ turned over. "The cup was then refilled and the unfortunate drinker was compelled togo through the same ceremony again. Every one at the table took the cupand 'turned it over' in succession, the chief shepherd keeping the pailconstantly supplied with beer. The parlour guests were of course invitedto turn the cup over with the guests of the kitchen, and went throughthe ordeal with more or less of success. For my own part, I confess thatI failed to catch the cup in the hat at the first trial and had to tryagain; the chairman, however, mercifully gave me only a small quantityof beer the second time. " [Sidenote: THE MAYOR'S PRETTY LAMENT] The civic life of Hastings would seem to encourage literature, for Ifind also in one of the Archæological Society's volumes, the followingpretty lines by John Collier--Mayor of Hastings in 1719, 22, 30, 37, and41--on his little boy's death: Ah, my poor son! Ah my tender child, My unblown flower and now appearing sweet, If yet your gentle soul flys in the air And is not fixt in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings And hear your Father's lamentation. Hastings has two advantages over both Brighton and Eastbourne: it canproduce a genuine piece of antiquity, and seen from the sea it has apicturesque quality that neither of those towns possesses. Indeed, undercertain conditions of light, Hastings is magnificent, with the craggyCastle Hill in its midst surmounted by its imposing ruin. The smoke ofthe town, rising and spreading, shrouds the modernity of the sea front, and the castle on its commanding height seems to be brooding over theshores of old romance. Brighton has no such effect as this. [Sidenote: THE FIRST TOURNAMENT] Of the Castle little is known. It was probably built on the site ofRoman fortifications, by the Comte d'Eu, who came over with theConqueror. The first tournament in England is said to have been heldthere, with Adela, daughter of the Conqueror, as Queen of Beauty. Afterthe castle had ceased to be of any use as a stronghold it was stillmaintained as a religious house. It is now a pleasure resort. Theordinary visitor to Hastings is, however, more interested by the cavesin the hill below, originally made by diggers of sand and afterwardsused by smugglers. Before branching out from Hastings into the country proper I mightmention two neighbouring points of pilgrimage. One is Hollington Ruralchurch, on the hill behind the town, whither sooner or later every onewalks. It is a small church in the midst of a crowded burial ground, andit is difficult to understand its attraction unless by the poverty ofother objectives. I should not mention it, but that it is probably thechurch to which Charles Lamb, bored by Hastings itself, wended his wayone day in 1825. He describes it, in terms more fitting to, say, Lullington church near Alfriston, or St. Olave's at Chichester, in nofewer than three of his letters. This is the best passage, revelling ina kind of inverted exaggeration, as written to John Bates Dibdin, atHastings, in 1826:--"Let me hear that you have clamber'd up to Lover'sSeat; it is as fine in that neighbourhood as Juan Fernandez, as lonelytoo, when the Fishing boats are not out; I have sat for hours, staringupon the shipless sea. The salt sea is never so grand as when it is leftto itself. One cock-boat spoils it. A sea mew or two improves it. And goto the little church, which is a very protestant Loretto, and seemsdropt by some angel for the use of a hermit, who was at once parishionerand a whole parish. It is not too big. Go in the night, bring it away inyour portmanteau, and I will plant it in my garden. It must have beenerected in the very infancy of British Christianity, for the two orthree first converts; yet hath it all the appertances of a church of thefirst magnitude, its pulpit, its pews, its baptismal font; a cathedralin a nutshell. Seven people would crowd it like a Caledonian Chapel. Theminister that divides the word there, must give lumping pennyworths. Itis built to the text of two or three assembled in my name. It reminds meof the grain of mustard seed. If the glebe land is proportionate, it mayyield 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 Londonvisitants) that find it. The still small voice is surely to be foundthere, if any where. A sounding board is merely there for ceremony. Itis 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. " [Sidenote: THE LOVER'S SEAT] 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 veryprettily situated high in a ledge in Fairlight Glen. Horsfield shalltell the story that gave the spot its fascinating name:-- "A beautiful girl at Rye gained the affections of Captain ----, then incommand of a cutter in that station. Her parents disapproved theconnection and removed her to a farm house near the Lover's Seat, calledthe Warren-house. Hence she contrived to absent herself night afternight, when she sought this spot, and by means of a light made known herpresence to her lover, who was cruising off in expectation of herarrival. The difficulties thus thrown in their way increased the ardourof their attachment and marriage was determined upon at all hazards. Hollington Church was and is the place most sought for on theseoccasions in this part of the country; it has a romantic air about itwhich is doubtless peculiarly impressive. There are, too, some otherreasons why so many matches are solemnized here; and all combined tomake this the place selected by this pair. It was expected that thelady's flight would be discovered and her object suspected; but in orderto prevent a rescue, the cutter's crew positively volunteered and actedas guards on the narrow paths leading through the woods to the church. However, the marriage ceremony was completed before any unwelcomevisitors arrived, and reconciliation soon followed. " [Sidenote: BEXHILL] Bexhill has now become so exceedingly accessible by conveyance fromHastings that it might perhaps be mentioned here as a contiguous placeof interest; but of Bexhill, till lately a village, or Bexhill-on-Sea, watering place, with everything handsome about it, there is little tosay. Both the tide of the Channel and of popularity seem to be receding. Inland there is some pretty country. CHAPTER XXXVII BATTLE ABBEY 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. The principal excursion from Hastings is of course to Battle, whither acompany of discreetly satisfied Normans--Le Souvenir Normande--recentlytravelled, to view with tactfully chastened enthusiasm the scene of thetriumph of 1066; to erect a memorial; and to perplex the old ladies ofBattle who provide tea. Except on one day of the week visitors to Battlemust content themselves with tea (of which there is no stint) and a viewof the gateway, for the rule of showing the Abbey only on Tuesdays isstrictly enforced by the American gentleman who now resides on thishistoric site. But the gateway could hardly be finer. [Sidenote: BATTLE CRIES] 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 Williamlanding at Pevensey on September 28, 1066: thence he marched to Hastings"to steal food, " and thence, after a delay of a fortnight (to someextent spent in fortifying Hastings, and also in burning his boats), hemarched to Telham hill. That was on October 13. On the same day Haroldreached the neighbourhood, with his horde of soldiers and armedrustics, and both armies encamped that night only a mile apart, waitingfor the light to begin the fray. The Saxons were confident and riotous;the Normans hopeful and grave. According to Wace, "all night the Saxonsmight be seen carousing, gambolling, and dancing and singing: _bublie_they cried, and _wassail_, and _laticome_ and _drinkheil_ and_drink-to-me_!" [Illustration: _Battle Abbey, the Gateway. _] At daybreak in the Norman camp Bishop Odo celebrated High Mass, andimmediately after was hurried into his armour to join the fight. As theDuke was arming an incident occurred but for which Battle Abbey mightnever have been built. His suit of mail was offered him wrong side out. The superstitious Normans standing by looked sideways at each other withsinking misgiving. They deemed it a bad omen. But William's facebetrayed no fear. "If we win, " he said, "and God send we may, I willfound an Abbey here for the salvation of the souls of all who fall inthe engagement. " Before quitting his tent, he was careful that thoserelics on which Harold had sworn never to oppose his efforts againstEngland's throne should be hung around his neck. [Sidenote: TAILLEFER] So the two armies were ready--the mounted Normans, with their conicalhelmets gleaming in the hazy sunlight, with kite-shaped shields, hugespears 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 tothe lot of a wild troubadour named Taillefer to open the fight. Hegalloped from the Norman lines at full speed, singing a song of heroes;then checked his steed and tossed his lance thrice in the air, thricecatching it by the point. The opposing lines silently wondered. Then heflung it at a luckless Saxon with all the energy of a madman, spittinghim 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 thegrip of death he rode straight at the Saxon troops, dealing blows fromleft to right, and so was lost to view. Thus the Battle of Hastings began. "On them in God's name, " criedWilliam, "and chastise these English for their misdeeds. " "Dieu aidé, "his men screamed, spurring to the attack. "Out, Out!" barked theEnglish, "Holy Cross! God Almighty!" The carnage was terrific. It seemedfor long that the English were prevailing; and they would, in alllikelihood, have prevailed in the end had they kept their position. ButWilliam feigned a retreat, and the English crossed their vallum inpursuit. The Normans at once turned their horses and pursued andbutchered the unprepared enemy singly in the open country. A completerout followed. The false step was decisive. [Sidenote: THE DEATH OF HAROLD] Not till night, however, did Harold fall. He upheld his standard to thelast, hedged about by a valiant bodyguard who resisted the Normans tillevery sign of life was battered out of them. The story of thevertically-discharged arrows is a myth. An eye-witness thus describedHarold's death: "An armed man, " said he, "came in the throng of thebattle and struck him on the ventaille of the helmet and beat him to theground; and as he sought to recover himself a knight beat him downagain, striking him on the thick of the thigh down to the bone. " So diedHarold, on the exact site of the high altar of the Abbey, and so passedaway the Saxon kingdom. That night, William, who was unharmed, though three horses were killedunder him, had his tent set up in the midst of the dead, and there heate and drank. In the morning the Norman corpses were picked out andburied with due rites; the Saxons were left to rot. According to the_Carmen_ William I. Had Harold's body wrapped in purple linen andcarried to Hastings, where it was buried on the cliff beneath a stoneinscribed with the words: "By the order of the Duke, you rest here, KingHarold, as the guardian of the shore and the sea. " Mr. Lower wasconvinced of the truth of that story; but William of Malmesbury saysthat William sent Harold's body to his mother the Countess Gytha, whoburied it at Waltham, while a third account shows us Editha of the SwanNeck, Harold's wife, wandering through the blood-stained grass, amongthe fallen English, until she found the body of her husband, which shecraved leave to carry away. William, this version adds, could not denyher. [Sidenote: THE FIELD OF BLOOD] Fuller writes in the _Worthies_, concerning the wonders ofSussex:--"Expect not here I should insert what _William_ of _Newbury_writeth (to be recounted rather amongst the _Untruths_ than _Wonders_);viz. 'That in this County, not far from Battail-Abby, in the Placewhere so great a slaughter of the Englishmen was made, after any shower, presently sweateth forth very fresh blood out of the Earth, as if theevidence thereof did plainly declare the voice of Bloud there shed, andcrieth still from the Earth unto the Lord. ' This is as true, as that in_white_ chalky Countries (about Baldock in Hertfordshire) after rain runrivolets of _Milk_; Neither being anything else than the Waterdiscoloured, according to the _Complexion_ of the Earth thereabouts. " [Illustration: _Mount Street, Battle. _] The Conqueror was true to his vow, and the Abbey of St. Martin wasquickly begun. At first there was difficulty about the stone, which wasbrought all the way from Caen quarries, until, according to an oldwriter, a pious matron dreamed that stone in large quantities was to befound near at hand. Her vision leading to the discovery of aneighbouring quarry, the work proceeded henceforward with exceedingrapidity. [Sidenote: ST. MARTIN'S ABBEY] Although the first Abbot was appointed in 1076, William the Conquerordid 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, toform its nucleus. It was left to William Rufus to preside over theconsecration of Battle, which was not until February, 1095, when theceremony was performed amid much pomp. William presented to the Abbeyhis father's coronation robe and the sword he had wielded in the battle. Several wealthy manors were attached and the country round was exemptedfrom tax; while the Abbots were made superior to episcopal control, andwere endowed with the right to sit in Parliament and a London house tolive in during the session. Indeed nothing was left undone that couldminister to the pride and power of the new house of God. The Abbey of St. Martin was quadrangular, standing in the midst of acircle nine miles round. Within this were vineyards, stew ponds and richland. Just without was a small street of artisans' dwellings, where weremanufactured 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 insheltering therein receiving absolution from the Abbot. The high altar, as I have said, was erected precisely on the spot where Harold fell: aspot on which one may now stand and think of the past. Battle Abbey was more than once visited by kings. In 1200 John wasthere, shaking like a quicksand. He brought a piece of our Lord'ssepulchre, which had been wrested from Palestine by Richard the LionHeart, and laid it with tremulous hands on the altar, hoping that themagnificence of the gift might close Heaven's eyes towards sins of hisown. In 1212, he was at Battle Abbey again, and for the last time in1213, seeking, maybe, to find in these silent cloisters someforgetfulness of the mutterings of hate and scorn that everywherefollowed him. [Sidenote: KINGS AT BATTLE] Just before the Battle of Lewes, Henry III. Galloped up, attended by abody-guard of overbearing horsemen, and levied large sums of money toassist him in the struggle. After the battle he returned, a wearyrefugee, but still rapacious. These visits were not welcome. It was different when Edward II. Sleptthere on the night of August 28th, 1324. Alan de Ketbury, the Abbot, wasbent on showing loyalty at all cost, while the neighbouring lords andsquires were hardly less eager. The Abbot's contribution to the kitchenincluded twenty score and four loaves of bread, two swans, two rabbits, three fessantes, and a dozen capons; William de Echingham sent threepeacocks, twelve bream, six muttons, and other delicacies; and RobertAcheland four rabbits, six swans, and three herons. In 1331, Abbot Hamo and his monks kept at bay a body of Frenchmarauders, who had landed at Rye, until the country gentlemen couldassemble and repulse them utterly. Then followed two peaceful centuries; but afterwards came disaster, for, in 1558, Thomas Cromwell sent down two commissioners to examine into thestate of the Abbey and report thereon to the zealous Defender of theFaith. The Commissioners found nineteen books in the library, andrumours of monkish debauchery without the walls. "So beggary a house, "wrote one of the officers, "I never see. " Battle Abbey was thereforesuppressed and presented to Sir Anthony Browne, upon whom, as we saw inthe first chapter, the "Curse of Cowdray" was pronounced by the lastdeparting monk. To catalogue the present features of Battle Abbey is to vulgarise it. One comes away with confused memories of grey walls embraced by whiteclematis and red rose; gloomy underground caverns with double rows ofarches, where the Brothers might not speak; benignant cedars blessingthe turf with extended hands; fragrant limes waving their delicateleaves; an old rose garden with fantastic beds; a long yew walk wherethe 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 anoble roof of Irish oak, but that was taken to Cowdray and perished inthe fire there, together with the Abbey roll. One of the Abbey's firstcharms is the appropriateness of its gardens; they too are old. In thecloisters, for instance, there are wonderful box borders. [Illustration: _Battle Abbey. The Refectory. _] [Sidenote: TURNER'S PICTURE] Turner painted "Battle Abbey: the spot where Harold fell, " with agreyhound pressing hard upon a hare in the foreground, and a Scotch firItalianated into a golden bough. The town of Battle has little interest. In the church is a brass toThomas Alfraye and his wife Elizabeth--Thomas Alfraye "whose soul"according to his epitaph, In active strength did passe As nere was found his peere. One would like to know more of this Samson. The tomb of Sir AnthonyBrowne is also here; but it is not so imposing as that of his son, thefirst Viscount Montagu, which we saw at Easebourne. In the churchyard isthe grave of Isaac Ingall, the oldest butler on record, who died at theage of one hundred and twenty, after acting as butler at the Abbey forninety-five years. From Battle one may reach easily Normanhurst, the seat of the Brasseys, and Ashburnham Park, just to the north of it, a superb undulatingdomain, with lakes, an imposing mansion, an old church, brake fern, magnificent trees and a herd of deer, all within its confines. Of thechurch, 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 beneglected. [Sidenote: ASHBURNHAM] Ashburnham Place once contained some of the finest books in England andis still famous for its relics of Charles I. ; but strangers may not seethem. The best Sussex iron was smelted at Ashburnham Furnace, north ofthe park, near Penhurst. Ashburnham Forge was the last to remain at workin the county; its last surviving labourer of the neighbourhood died in1883. He remembered the extinguishing of the fire in 1813 (or 1811), thecasting of fire-backs being the final task. Penhurst, by the way, is oneof the most curiously remote villages in east Sussex, with the oddestlittle church. I walked to Ashburnham from Ninfield, a clean breezy village on the hilloverlooking Pevensey Bay, with a locked church, and iron stocks by theside of the road. It is stated somewhere that at "that corner of CrouchLane that leads to Lunford Cross, and so to Bexhill and Hastings, " wasburied a suicide in 1675. At how many cross roads in Sussex andelsewhere does one stand over such graves? [Sidenote: CROWHURST] One may return to Hastings by way of Catsfield, which has littleinterest, and Crowhurst, famous for the remains of a beautiful manorhouse and a yew tree supposed to be the oldest in Sussex. It is curiousthat Crowhurst in Surrey is also known for a great yew. CHAPTER XXXVIII WINCHELSEA AND RYE 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. In the opinion of many good judges Sussex has nothing to offer sofascinating as Winchelsea and Rye; and in certain reposeful moods, whenthe past seems to be more than the present or future, I can agree withthem. We have seen many ancient towns in our progress through thecounty--Chichester around her cathedral spire, Arundel beneath her greycastle, Lewes among her hills--but all have modern blood in their veins. Winchelsea and Rye seem wholly of the past. Nothing can modernise them. Rye approached from the east is the suddenest thing in the world. Thetraveller leaves Ashford, in a South Eastern train, amid all thecircumstances of ordinary travel; he passes through the ordinary sceneryof Kent; the porters call Rye, and in a moment he is in the middle ages. 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 understandone's surroundings. It is important that the traveller who wishes toexperience the right medieval thrill should come to Winchelsea either atdusk or at night. To make acquaintance with any new town by night is todouble one's pleasure; for there is a first joy in the curious half-seenstrangeness of the streets and houses, and a further joy in correctingby the morrow's light the distorted impressions gathered in the dark. [Illustration: _The Landgate, Rye. _] [Sidenote: APPROACH AT DUSK] To come for the first time upon Winchelsea at dusk, whether from thestation or from Rye, is to receive an impression almost if not quiteunique in England; since there is no other town throned like this upon agreen hill, to be gained only through massive gateways. From the stationone would enter at the Pipewell Gate; from Rye, by the Strand Gate. TheStrand approach is perhaps a shade finer and more romantically unreal. [Sidenote: THE FREAKISH SEA] Winchelsea and Rye are remarkable in being not only perched each upon asolitary hillock in a vast level or marsh, but in being hillocks inthemselves. In the case of Winchelsea there are trees and green spacesto boot, but Rye and its hillock are one; every inch is given over tored brick and grey stone. They are true cities of the plain. Betweenthem are three miles of flat meadow, where, among thousands of sheep, stands the grey rotundity of Camber Castle. All this land is _polder_, as the Dutch call it, yet not reclaimed from the sea by any feat ofengineering, as about the Helder, but presented by Neptune as a free andnot too welcome gift to these ancient boroughs--possibly to equalise histheft of acres of good park at Selsey. Once a Cinque Port of the firstmagnitude, Winchelsea is now an inland resort of the antiquary and theartist. Where fishermen once dropped their nets, shepherds now watchtheir sheep; where the marauding French were wont to rush in with swordand torch, tourists now toil with camera and guide-book. The light above the sheep levels changes continually: at one hour Ryeseems but a stone's throw from Winchelsea; at another she is milesdistant; at a third she looms twice her size through the haze, andCamber is seen as a fortress of old romance. Rye stands where it always stood: but the original Winchelsea is nomore. It was built two miles south-south-east of Rye, on a spot sincecovered by the sea but now again dry land. At Old Winchelsea William theConqueror landed in 1067 after a visit to Normandy; in 1138 Henry II. Landed there, while the French landed often, sometimes disastrously andsometimes not. In those days Winchelsea had seven hundred householdersand fifty inns. In 1250, however, began her downfall. Holinshedwrites:--"On the first day of October (1250), the moon, upon her change, appearing exceeding red and swelled, began to show tokens of the greattempest of wind that followed, which was so huge and mightie, both byland 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 tohis natural course, flowed twice without ebbing, yeelding such a rooringthat the same was heard (not without great woonder) a farre distancefrom the shore. Moreover, the same sea appeared in the darke of thenight to burne, as it had been on fire, and the waves to strive andfight togither after a marvellous sort, so that the mariners could notdevise how to save their ships where they laie at anchor, by no cunningor shift which they could devise. At Hert-burne three tall-shipsperished without recoverie, besides other smaller vessels. AtWinchelsey, besides other hurte that was doone, in bridges, milles, breakes, and banks, there were 300 houses and some churches drowned withthe high rising of the water course. " [Sidenote: WINCHELSEA'S VICISSITUDES] The Winchelsea people, however, did not abandon their town. In 1264Henry III. Was there on his way to the Battle of Lewes, and later, Eleanor, wife of Henry's conqueror, de Montfort, was there too, andencouraged by her kindness to them the Winchelsea men took to active seapiracy, 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 anotherstorm the town was practically drowned, all the flat land between Pettand Hythe being inundated. New Winchelsea, the Winchelsea of to-day, wasforthwith begun under royal patronage on a rock near Icklesham, thenorth and east sides of which were washed by the sea. A castle was setthere, and gates, of which three still stand--Pipewell, Strand andNew--rose from the earth. The Grey Friars monastery and other religioushouses were reproduced as at Old Winchelsea, and a prosperous townquickly existed. New Winchelsea was soon busy. In 1350 a battle between the English andSpanish fleets was waged off the town, an exciting spectacle for theCourt, who watched from the high ground. Edward III. , the English king, when victory was his, rode to Etchingham for the night. In 1359, 3, 000Frenchmen entered Winchelsea and set fire to it; while in 1360 theCinque Ports navy sailed from Winchelsea and burned Luce. Such were thereprisals of those days. In 1376 the French came again and were repulsedby the Abbot of Battle, but in 1378 the Abbot had to run. In 1448 theFrench came for the last time, the sea having become very shallow; and alittle later the sea receded altogether, Henry VIII. Suppressed thereligious houses, and Winchelsea's heyday was over. She is now a quiet, aloof settlement of pleasant houses and gardens, prosperous and idle. Rye might be called a city of trade, Winchelsea ofrepose. She spreads her hands to the sun and is content. [Sidenote: THE ALARD TOMBS] Winchelsea's church stands, as a church should, in the midst of itsgreen 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 andside aisles remain. The glory of the church is the canopied tomb ofGervase Alard, Admiral of the Cinque Ports, and that of his grandsonStephen Alard, also Admiral, both curiously carved with grotesque heads. The roof beams of the church, timber from wrecked or broken ships, areof an integrity so thorough that a village carpenter who recentlyclimbed up to test them blunted all his tools in the enterprise. [Illustration: _Sedilia and Tombs of Gervase and Stephen Alard, Winchelsea. _] [Sidenote: THE WESTONS] All that remains of the Grey Friars monastery may now be seen (onMondays only) in the estate called The Friars: the shell of the chapel'schoir, prettily covered with ivy. Here once lived, in the odour ofperfect respectability, the brothers Weston, who, country gentlemen ofquiet habit at home, for several years ravaged the coach roads elsewhereas highwaymen, and were eventually hanged at Tyburn. Their place inliterature is, of course, _Denis Duval_, which Thackeray wrote in ahouse on the north of the churchyard, and which is all of Winchelsea andRye compact, as the author's letters to Mr. Greenwood, editor of_Cornhill_, detailing the plot (in the person of Denis himself) go toshow. Thus:-- "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. "There used to come to our house a very noble French gentleman, called the COUNT DE LA MOTTE, and with him a German, the BARON DE LÜTTERLOH. 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. "The squire of our town was SQUIRE WESTON 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 _Annual Register_ of 1781, you will find that on the 13th July the sheriffs attended at the TOWER OF LONDON 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 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. "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. "What if he wanted to marry THAT CHARMING GIRL, who lived with Mr. Weston at Winchelsea? Ha! I see a mystery here. "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 _Royal George_ the day she went down? "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. "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. "I married the young woman, whom the brutal Lütterloh would have had for himself, and lived happy ever after. " And again:-- [Sidenote: DENIS DUVAL'S BOYHOOD] "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. "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. "I learned to scuttle a marlinspike, reef a lee-scupper, keelhaul a bowsprit 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 _Lynx_. I asked what those balls were fizzing in the water, etc. "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. .. . " [Illustration: _The Ypres Tower, Rye. _] [Sidenote: JOHN WESLEY] It was under the large tree of the west wall of the churchyard that in1790 John Wesley preached his last outdoor sermon, afterwards walkingthrough "that poor skeleton of ancient Winchelsea, " as he called it. Rye, like Winchelsea, has had a richer history than I can cope with. Shewas an important seaport from the earliest times; and among other of ourenemies who knew her value were the Danes, two hundred and fifty ofwhose vessels entered the harbour in the year 893. Later the Frenchcontinually menaced her, hardly less than her sister Cinque Port, butRye bore so little malice that during the persecutions in France in thesixteenth century she received hundreds of Huguenot refugees, whosedescendants still live in the town. Many monarchs have come hither, among them Queen Elizabeth, in 1573, dubbing Rye "Rye Royal" andWinchelsea "Little London. " [Sidenote: THE THREE JEAKES] 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 townalso gave birth to a curious father, son, and grandson, all named SamuelJeake. The first, born in 1623, the author of "The Charters of theCinque Ports, " 1728, was a lawyer, a bold Nonconformist, a preacher, anastrologer and an alchemist, whose library contained works in fifteenlanguages but no copy of Shakespeare or Milton. He left a treatise onthe Elixir of Life. The second, at the age of nineteen, was "somewhatacquainted 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 drewhoroscopes, wrote treatises on astrology and other sciences, suffered, like his father, for his religion, and when he was twenty-nine marriedElizabeth 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. Rye also possessed an unknown poet. On a blank leaf in an old book inthe town's archives is written this poem, in the hand of Henry VIII. 'stime:-- What greater gryffe may hape Trew lovers to anoye, Then absente for to sepratte them From ther desiered joye? What comforte reste them then To ease them of ther smarte, But for to thincke and myndful bee Of them they love in harte? And eicke that they assured bee Etche toe another in harte, That nothinge shall them seperate Untylle deathe doe them parte? And thoughe the dystance of the place Doe severe us in twayne, Yet shall my harte thy harte imbrace Tyll we doe meete agayne. [Sidenote: THE SANGUINARY BUTCHER] The church, the largest in Sussex, dominates Rye from every point, andso tightly are the houses compressed that from the plain the spire seemsto be the completion not only of the church but of the town too. Thebuilding stands in what is perhaps the quietest and quaintest churchsquare in England, possessing beyond all question the discreetest ofpawnbroker's shops, marked by three brass balls that positively havecharm. The church is cool and spacious, with noble plain windows (andone very pretty little one by Burne-Jones), and some very interestingarchitectural features. Too little care seems, however, to have beenspent upon it at some previous time. The verger shows with a pridelittle short of proprietary a mahogany altar said to have been takenfrom one of the vessels of the Armada (and therefore oddly inappropriatefor a Church of England service), and the tomb of one Alan Grebell, who, happening one night in 1742 to be wearing the cloak of hisbrother-in-law the Mayor, was killed in mistake for him by a "sanguinarybutcher" named Breeds. Breeds, who was hanged in chains for his crime, remains perhaps the most famous figure in the history of Rye. Externally Rye church is magnificent, but the pity of it is that itsencroaching square deprives one of the power to study it as a whole. Among the details, however, are two admirable flying buttresses. Theclock over the beautiful north window, which is said to have been givento the town by Queen Elizabeth, is remarkable for the two golden cherubsthat strike the hours, and the pendulum that swings in the central towerof the church, very nigh the preacher's head. [Sidenote: EIGHT BELLS] Rye's eight bells bear the following inscription:-- To honour both of God and King Our voices shall in concert ring. May heaven increase their bounteous store And bless their souls for evermore. Whilst thus we join in joyful sound May love and loyalty abound. Ye people all who hear me ring Be faithful to your God and King. Such wondrous power to music's given It elevates the soul to heaven. If you have a judicious ear You'll own my voice is sweet and clear. Our voices shall with joyful sound Make hills and valleys echo round. In wedlock bands all ye who join, With hands your hearts unite; So shall our tuneful tongues combine To laud the nuptial rite. Ye ringers, all who prize Your health and happiness, Be sober, merry, wise, And you'll the same possess. Hardly less interesting than the church are the by-streets of Rye, soold and simple and quiet and right; particularly perhaps Mermaid Street, with its beautiful hospital. In the High Street, which is busier, isthe George Inn, the rare possessor of a large assembly room with amusicians' gallery. One only of Rye's gates is standing--the Landgate;but on the south rampart of the town is the Ypres Tower (called Wipersby the prosaic inhabitants), a relic of the twelfth century, guardingRye once from perils by sea and now from perils by land. Standing by thetower one may hear below shipbuilders busy at work and observe all thelow-pulsed life of the river. A mile or so away is Rye Harbour, andbeyond it the sea; across the intervening space runs a little train withits freight of golf players. In the east stretches Romney Marsh to thehills of Folkestone. Extremes meet in Rye. When I was last there the passage of the Landgatewas made perilous by an approaching Panhard; the monastery of theAugustine friars on Conduit Hill had become a Salvation Army barracks;and in the doorway of the little fourteenth-century chapel of theCarmelites, now a private house, in the church square, a perambulatorwaited. Moreover, in the stately red house at the head of Mermaid Streetthe author of _The Awkward Age_ prosecutes his fascinating analyses oftwentieth-century temperaments. [Sidenote: RYE POTTERY] Among the industries of Rye is the production of an ingenious variety ofpottery achieved by affixing to ordinary vessels of earthenware a veneerof broken pieces of china--usually fragments of cups and saucers--indefinite patterns that sometimes reach a magnificence almost Persian. For the most part the result is not perhaps beautiful, but it is alwaysgay, and the Rye potter who practises the art deserves encouragement. Isaw last summer a piece of similar ware in a cottage on the banks of theEttrick, but whether it had travelled thither from Rye, or whetherScotch artists work in the same medium, I do not know. Mr. Gasson, theartificer (the dominating name of Gasson is to Rye what that of Seileris to Zermatt), charges a penny for the inspection of the four rooms ofhis house in which his pottery, his stuffed birds and other curiositiesare collected. The visit must be epoch-making in any life. Never againwill a broken tea-cup be to any of Mr. Gasson's patrons merely a brokentea-cup. Previously it may have been that and nothing more; henceforwardit 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. [Illustration: _Court Lodge, Udimore. _] [Sidenote: PETT AND ICKLESHAM] Between Hastings and Winchelsea are the villages of Guestling, Pett, andIcklesham, the last two on the edge of the Level. Of these, Icklesham isthe most interesting, Guestling having recently lost its church by fire, and Pett church being new. Pett stands in a pleasant position at the endof the high ground, with nothing in the east but Pett Level, and the seaonly a mile away. At very low tide the remains of a submerged forestwere once discernible, and may still be. Icklesham also stands on the ridge further north, overlooking the Leveland the sea, with Winchelsea not two miles distant in the east. Thechurch is a very fine one, with a most interesting Norman tower in itsmidst. The churchwardens accounts contain some quaint entries: [Sidenote: CHURCHWARDENS' ACCOUNTS] 1732. Paid for ye Stokes [stocks] _£_4 10_s. _ 8-3/4_d. _ 1735. January ye 13 pd for a pint of wine and for eight pound ofmutton for Good[man] Row and Good[man] Winch and Goody Sutors for theirbeing with Goody in her fitts 3_s. _ 1744. Fevery ye 29 paid Gudy Tayler for going to Winshelse for to giveher Arthor Davy [affidavit] 1_s. _ 6_d. _ 1746. April 26 gave the Ringers for Rejoycing when ye Rebels was beat15_s. _ (This refers to Culloden. There are two sides in every battle;how do Burns's lines run?-- Drumossie moor--Drumossie day-- A waefu' day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. ) One of the Icklesham gravestones, standing over the grave of James King, who died aged seventeen, has this complacent couplet: God takes the good--too good on earth to stay, And leaves the bad--too bad to take away. Two miles to the west of Icklesham, at Snaylham, close to the presentrailway, once stood the home of the Cheyneys, a family that maintainedfor many years a fierce feud with the Oxenbridges of Brede, whither wesoon shall come. A party of Cheyneys once succeeded in catching anOxenbridge asleep in his bed, and killed him. Old Place farm, a littlenorth of Icklesham, between the village and the line, marks the site ofOld Place, the mansion of the Fynches, earls of Winchelsea. [Sidenote: PLAYDEN AND IDEN] The mainland proper begins hard by Rye, on the other side of therailway, where Rye Hill carries the London road out of sight. This waylie Playden, Iden, and Peasmarsh: Playden, with a slender spire, of agrace not excelled in a county notable, as we have seen, for gracefulspires, but a little overweighted perhaps by its cross, within whosechurch is the tomb of a Flemish brewer, named Zoctmanns, calling forprayers for his soul; Iden, with a square tower and a stair turret, avillage taking its name from that family of which Alexander Iden, slayerof Jack Cade, was a member, its home being at Mote, now non-existent;and Peasmarsh, whose long modest church, crowned by a squat spire, maybe again seen, like the swan upon St. Mary's Lake, in the water at thefoot of the churchyard. At Peasmarsh was born a poor artificial poetnamed William Pattison, in whose works I have failed to find anything ofinterest. [Illustration: _Udimore Church. _] The two most interesting spots in the hilly country immediately north ofthe Brede valley (north of Winchelsea) are Udimore and Brede. ConcerningUdimore church, which externally has a family resemblance to that ofSteyning, it is told that it was originally planned to rise on the otherside of the little river Ree. The builders began their work, but everynight saw the supernatural removal of the stones to the present site, while a mysterious voice uttered the words "O'er the mere! O'er themere!" Hence, says the legend, the present position of the fane, and thebeautiful name Udimore, or "O'er the mere, " which, of course, becomesUddymer among the villagers. [Illustration: _Brede Place. _] [Sidenote: BREDE PLACE] From Udimore one reaches Brede by turning off the high road about twomiles to the east. But it is worth while to keep to the road a littlelonger, and entering Gilly Wood (on the right) explore as wild andbeautiful a ravine as any in the county. And, on the Brede by-road, itis 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 andsixteenth centuries), is set in a hollow, and is sufficiently gloomy inappearance and surroundings to lend colour to the rumour that would haveit haunted--a rumour originally spread by the smugglers who for someyears made the house their headquarters. An underground passage is saidto 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 sodear that no one seems to have ventured upon the risk of disproving it. Amid these medieval surroundings the late Stephen Crane, the Americanwriter, conceived some of his curiously modern stories. One of the original owners (the Oxenbridges) like Col. Lunsford of EastHoathly was credited by the country people with an appetite forchildren. Nothing could compass his death but a wooden saw, with whichafter a drunken bout the villagers severed him in Stubb's Lane, byGroaning Bridge. Not all the family, however, were bloodthirsty, for atleast two John Oxenbridges of the sixteenth century were divines, one aCanon of Windsor, the other a "grave and reverent preacher. " [Sidenote: DEAN SWIFT'S CRADLE] The present vicar of Brede, the village on the hill above Brede Place, has added to the natural antiquities of his church several aliencuriosities, chief among them being the cradle in which Dean Swift wasrocked. It is worth a visit to Brede church to be persuaded that thatmatured Irishman ever was a baby. [Illustration: _Brede Place, from the South. _] CHAPTER XXXIX ROBERTSBRIDGE 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--_Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways_--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. Robertsbridge is not in itself a particularly attractive place; but ithas a good inn, and many interesting villages may be reached from it, the little light railway that runs from the town to Tenterden, along theRother valley, making the exploration of this part of Sussex verysimple. Horace Walpole came to difficulties hereabout during his Sussex journey. His sprightly and heightened account is in one of the letters: "Theroads grew bad beyond all badness, the night dark beyond all darkness, our guide frightened beyond all frightfulness. However, without being atall killed, we got up, or down--I forget which, it was so dark, --afamous precipice called Silver Hill, and about ten at night arrived at awretched village called Rotherbridge. We had still six miles hither, butdetermined to stop, as it would be a pity to break our necks before wehad seen all we had intended. But, alas! there was only one bed to behad: all the rest were inhabited by smugglers, whom the people of thehouse called mountebanks; and with one of whom the lady of the den toldMr. Chute he might lie. We did not at all take to this society, but, armed with links and lanthorns, set out again upon this impracticablejourney. At two o'clock in the morning we got hither to a still worseinn, and that crammed with excise officers, one of whom had just shot asmuggler. However, as we were neutral powers, we have passed safelythrough both armies hitherto, and can give you a little farther historyof our wandering through these mountains, where the young gentlemen areforced to drive their curricles with a pair of oxen. The only morsel ofgood road we have found, was what even the natives had assured us weretotally impracticable; these were eight miles to Hurst Monceaux. " [Sidenote: FOR BOOK BORROWERS] A pretty memento of the Cistercian Abbey here, of which small tracesremain on the bank of the river, has wandered to the Bodleian, in theshape of an old volume containing the inscription: "This book belongs toSt. Mary of Robertsbridge; whoever shall steal or sell it, let him beAnathema Maranatha!" Since no book was ever successfully protected byanything less tangible than a chain, it came into other hands, underneath being written: "I John Bishop of Exeter know not where theaforesaid house is; nor did I steal this book, but acquired it in alawful way. " On the suppression of the Abbey of Robertsbridge by HenryVIII. The lands passed to Sir William Sidney, grandfather of Sir Philip. Salehurst, just across the river from Robertsbridge, has a noble church, standing among trees on the hill side--the hill which Walpole found soprecipitous. Within, the church is not perhaps quite so impressive aswithout, but it has monuments appertaining probably to the Culpepers, once a far-reaching aristocratic Sussex family, which we met first atArdingly, and which is now extinct or existent only among the peasantry. [Illustration: _Bodiam Castle. _] [Sidenote: BODIAM CASTLE] The first station on the Rother valley light railway is Bodiam, only afew steps from Bodiam Castle sitting serenely like a bird on the watersof her moat. This building in appearance and form fulfils most of theconditions of the castle, and by retaining water in its moat perhapswins more respect than if it had stood a siege. (Local tradition indeedcredits it with that mark of active merit, but history is silent. ) Itwas built in the fourteenth century by Sir Edward Dalyngruge, a hero ofCressy and Poictiers. It is now a ruin within, but (as Mr. Griggs'drawing shows) externally in fair preservation and a very interestingand romantic spectacle. Below Bodiam is Ewhurst, and a little farther east, close to the Kentishborder, Northiam. Ewhurst has no particular interest, but Northiam is avillage apart. Knowing what we do of Sussex speech we may be certainthat Northiam is not pronounced by the native as it is spelt. Norgem isits local style, just as Udiham is Udgem and Bodiam Bodgem. But thoughhe will not give Northiam its pleasant syllables, the Northiam man isproud of his village. He has a couplet: Oh rare Northiam, thou dost far exceed Beckley, Peasmarsh, Udimore and Brede. Northiam's superiority to these pleasant spots is not absolute; butthere are certain points in which the couplet is sound. For example, although Brede Place has no counterpart in Northiam, and although besideUdimore's lovely name Northiam has an uninspired prosaic ring, yetNorthiam is alone in the possession of Queen Elizabeth's Oak, the treebeneath which that monarch, whom we have seen on a progress in WestSussex, partook in 1573 of a banquet, on her way to Rye. The fare camefrom the kitchen of the timbered house hard by, then the residence ofMaster Bishopp. During the visit her Majesty changed her shoes, and thediscarded pair is still treasured at Brickwall, the neighbouring seat ofthe Frewens, the great family of Northiam for many generations. Theshoes are of green damask silk, with heels two and a half inches highand pointed toes. The Queen was apparently so well satisfied with herrepast that on her return journey three days later she dined beneath theoak once more. But she changed no more shoes. Brickwall, which is occasionally shown, is a noble old country mansion, partly Elizabethan and partly Stuart. In the church are many Frewenmemorials, the principal of which are in the Frewen mausoleum, acomparatively new erection. Accepted Frewen, Archbishop of York, wasfrom Northiam. [Sidenote: A DANISH VESSEL] 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 somewide waterway now transformed to land or shrunk to the dimensions of thepresent stream. Her preservation was perfect. Horsfield thus describesthe ship: "Her dimensions were, from head to stern, 65 feet, and herwidth 14 feet, with cabin and forecastle; and she appears to haveoriginally had a whole deck. She was remarkably strongly built; her billpieces and keels measuring 2 feet over, her cross beams, five in number, 18 inches by 8, with her other timbers in proportion; and in hercaulking was a species of moss peculiar to the country in which she wasbuilt. In the cabin and other parts of the vessel were found a humanskull; a pair of goat's horns attached to a part of the cranium; a dirkor poniard, about half an inch of the blade of which had wholly resistedcorrosion; several glazed and ornamental tiles of a square form; somebricks which had formed the fire hearth; several parts of shoes, orrather sandals, fitting low on the foot, one of which was apparently inan unfinished state, having a last remaining in it, all of them verybroad at the toes; two earthern jars and a stone mug, all of veryancient shape, a piece of board exhibiting about thirty perforations, probably designed for keeping the lunar months, or some game oramusement; with many other antique relics. " [Sidenote: OLD JACK FULLER] Four miles west of Robertsbridge, up hill and down, is Brightling, whoseNeedle, standing on Brightling Down, 646 feet high, is visible from mostof the eminences in this part of Sussex. The obelisk, together with theneighbouring observatory, was built on the site of an old beacon by thefamous Jack Fuller--famous no longer, but in his day (he died in 1834aged seventy-seven) a character both in London and in Sussex. He was bigand bluff and wealthy and the squire of Rose Hill. He sat for Sussexfrom 1801 to 1812, and was once carried from the House by the Sergeantat Arms and his minions, for refusing to give way in a debate andcalling the Speaker "the insignificant little fellow in a wig. " Hiselection cost him _£_20, 000 plus _£_30, 000 subscribed by the county. WhenPitt offered him a peerage he said no: "I was born Jack Fuller and JackFuller I'll die. " When he travelled from Rose Hill to London Mr. Fuller's progresses were almost regal. The coach was provisioned as iffor arctic exploration and coachman and footmen alike were armed withswords and pistols. ("Honest Jack, " as Mr. Lower remarks, put a smallvalue upon the honesty of others. ) Mr. Fuller had two hobbies, music andscience. He founded the Fullerian professorships (which he called histwo children), and contributed liberally to the Royal Institution; andhis musical parties in London were famous. But whether it is true thatwhen the Brightling choir dissatisfied him he presented the church withnine bassoons, I cannot say. [Sidenote: TURNER IN SUSSEX] John Fuller has a better claim to be remembered in Sussex by hispurchase of Bodiam Castle, when its demolition was threatened, and byhis commission to Turner to make pictures in the Rape of Hastings, fiveof which were engraved and published in folio form, in 1819, under thetitle _Views in Sussex_. One of these represents the BrightlingObservatory as seen from Rosehill Park. As a matter of fact, theobservatory, 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 theartist has expressed a shower proceeding "from the left corner. " Anotherpicture is the Vale of Ashburnham, with the house in the middledistance, Beachy Head beyond, and in the foreground woodcutters carryingwood in an ox waggon. "The whole, " says Mr. Reinagle, A. R. A. , "ishappily composed, if I may use the term. " He then adds: "The eye of thespectator, on looking at this beautifully painted scene, roves with aneager delight from one hill to another, and seems to play on the dappledwoods till arrested by the seat of Lord Ashburnham. " Other pictures inthe folio are "Pevensey Bay from Crowhurst Park, " a very beautifulscene, "Battle Abbey, " and "The Vale of Heathfield, " painted from apoint above the road, with Heathfield House on the left, the tower onthe right, the church in the centre in the middle distance, and the seaon the horizon: an impressive but not strictly veracious landscape. In Brightling church is a bust to John Fuller, with the motto: "Utilenihil quod non honestum. " A rector in Fuller's early days was WilliamHayley, who died in 1789, a zealous antiquary. His papers relating tothe history of Sussex, are now, like those of Sir William Burrell, inthe British Museum. Our next village is Burwash, three miles in the north, built, like allthe villages in this switchback district, on a hill. We are now, indeed, well in the heart of the fatiguing country which we touched atMayfield, 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 theArabian desert. The eye, however, that is tired of hop poles and hillscan find sweet gratification in the cottages. Sussex has charmingcottages from end to end of her territory, but I think the hop districton the Kentish side has some of the prettiest. Blackberries too may beset down among the riches of the sand-hill villages. [Sidenote: SUPERSTITIONS] In Richard Jefferies' essay, "The Country-side: Sussex" (in _Field andHedgerow_), describing this district of the country, is an amusingpassage touching superstitions of these parts, picked up during hopping: "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 becareful not to put on any new article of clothing for the first time ona Saturday, or some severe punishment will ensue. One person put on hisnew boots on a Saturday, and on Monday broke his arm. Some still believein herbs, and gather wood-betony for herb tea, or eat dandelion leavesbetween slices of dry toast. There is an old man living in one of thevillages who has reached the age of a hundred and sixty years, and stillgoes hop-picking. Ever so many people had seen him, and knew all abouthim; an undoubted fact, a public fact; but I could not trace him to hislair. His exact whereabouts could not be fixed. I live in hopes offinding him in some obscure 'Hole' yet (many little hamlets are 'Holes, 'as Froghole, Foxhole). What an exhibit for London! Did he realise hisown value, he would soon come forth. I joke, but the existence of thisantique person is firmly believed in. " Burwash is one of the few Sussex villages that has been made the subjectof a book. The Rev. John Coker Egerton's _Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways_(from which I have already occasionally quoted) was written here, around materials collected during the author's period as rector ofBurwash. Mr. Egerton was curate of Burwash from 1857 to 1862, and from1865 to 1867, when he became rector and remained in the living until hisdeath in 1888. His book is a kindly collection of the shrewd andhumorous sayings of his Sussex parishioners, anecdotes of characteristicincidents, records of old customs now passing or passed away--the wholefused by the rector's genial personality. [Sidenote: PARTY POLITICS] It is to Burwash and Mr. Egerton that we owe some characteristic scrapsof Sussex philosophy. Thus, Mr. Egerton tells of an old conservativewhose advice to young men was this: "Mind you don't never have nothingin no way to do with none of their new-fangled schemes. " Another Sussexcynic defined party government with grim impartiality: "Politics areabout like this: I've got a sow in my yard with twelve little uns, andthey 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, andthe six as be shut out, they just do make a hem of a noise till they belet in; and then they be just as quiet as the rest. " 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 toBrighton from a visit to Sir John Lade at Etchingham; the reason givenbeing that the First Gentleman in Europe when rung in on his way to SirJohn's had said nothing about beer. This must have been during one ofthe Prince's peculiarly needy periods, for the withholding of strongdrink from his friends was never one of his failings. Another Burwashradical used to send up to the rectory with a message that he was aboutto gather fruit and the rector must send down for the tithe. Therector's man would go down--and receive one gooseberry from a basket often: all that was to be gathered that day. Another Burwash man posed his vicar more agreeably and humorously inanother manner. Finding him a little in liquor the pastor would havewarned him against the habit, but the man was too quick. How was it, heasked the vicar with well affected or real concern, that whenever he hadhad too much to drink he felt more religious than at any other time? The Burwash records indeed go far to redeem Sussex men from the epithet"silly, " which is traditionally theirs. Concerning this old taunt, Ilike the rector's remarks in _Idlehurst_. The phrase, he says, "isbetter after all than 'canny owd Cummerlan'' or calling ourselves 'freeand enlightened citizens' or 'heirs to all the ages. ' But suppose Sussexas silly as you like, the country wants a large preserve of fallowbrains; you can't manure the intellect for close cropping. Isn't itRenan who attributes so much to solid Breton stupidity in hisancestors?" I notice that Mr. H. G. Wells, in his very interesting book, _Mankind in the Making_, is in support of this suggestion. The_Idlehurst_ rector, in contrasting Londoners with Sussex folk, continues: "The Londoner has all his strength in the front line: one cannever 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 trueSussex peasant is a pig couchant, with the motto "I wunt be druv. " Igive this for what it is worth. ) [Sidenote: SUSSEX RESERVES] It is to be doubted if any county has a monopoly of silliness. The faultof Sussex people rather is to lack reserves, not of wisdom but ofeffort. You see this in cricket, where although the Sussex men have donesome of the most brilliant things in the history of the game (evenbefore the days of their Oriental ally), they have probably made agreater number of tame attempts to cope with difficulties than any othereleven. For the "staying of a rot" Sussex has had but fewqualifications. The cricket test is not everything: but character tellsthere just as in any other employment. Burwash, however, must beexempted from this particular charge, for, whatever its form may benow, its eleven had once a terrible reputation. I find in the countypaper for 1771 an advertisement to the effect that Burwash, having"challenged all its neighbours without effect, " invites a match with anyparish whatsoever in all Sussex. [Sidenote: THE DONKEY RACE] Mr. Egerton was not the first parson to record the manners of theBurwash parishioner. The Rev. James Hurdis, curate there towards the endof the preceding century, and afterwards Professor of Poetry at Oxford(we saw his grave at Bishopstone), had written a blank verse poem in themanner of Cowper, with some of the observation of Crabbe, entitled "TheVillage Curate, " which is a record of his thoughts and impressions inhis Burwash days. One could hardly say that "The Village Curate" wouldbear reprinting at the present time; we have moved too far from itspensiveness, and an age that does not read "The Task" and only talksabout Crabbe is hardly likely to reach out for Hurdis. But within itslimits "The Village Curate" is good, alike in its description ofscenery, its reflections and its satire. The Burwash donkey race iscapital:-- Then comes the ass-race. Let not wisdom frown, If the grave clerk look on, and now and then Bestow a smile; for we may see, Alcanor, In this untoward race the ways of life. Are we not asses all? We start and run, And eagerly we press to pass the goal, And all to win a bauble, a lac'd hat. Was not great Wolsey such? He ran the race, And won the hat. What ranting politician, What prating lawyer, what ambitious clerk, But is an ass that gallops for a hat? For what do Princes strive, but golden hats? For diadems, whose bare and scanty brims Will hardly keep the sunbeam from their eyes. For what do Poets strive? A leafy hat, Without or crown or brim, which hardly screens The empty noddle from the fist of scorn, Much less repels the critic's thund'ring arm. And here and there intoxication too Concludes the race. Who wins the hat, gets drunk. Who wins a laurel, mitre, cap, or crown, Is drunk as he. So Alexander fell, So Haman, Cæsar, Spenser, Wolsey, James. [Sidenote: A STRATEGIC DUELLIST] I find in the Sussex paper for 1792 the following contribution to thehistory of Burwash: "A Hint to Great and Little Men. --Last Thursdaymorning a butcher and a shopkeeper of Burwash, in this County, went intoa field near that town, with pistols, to decide a quarrel of longstanding between them. The lusty Knight of the Cleaver having made it apractice to insult his antagonist, who is a very little man, the greatdisparity between them in size rendered this the only eligiblealternative for the latter. The butcher took care to inform his wife ofthe intended meeting, in hopes that she would give the Constables timelynotice thereof. But the good woman not having felt so deeply interestedin his fate as he expected, to make sure, he sent to the Constablehimself, and then marched reluctantly to the field, where the little, spirited shopkeeper was parading with a considerable reserve ofammunition, lest his first fire should not take place. Now theaffrighted butcher proceeded slowly to charge his pistols, alternatelylooking towards the town and his impatient adversary. This man of blood, all pale and trembling, at last began to despair of any friendlyinterference, when the Constable very seasonably appeared and forbadethe duel, to his great joy, and the disappointment of the spectators. " [Sidenote: HENRY BURWASH] Burwash had another great man of whom it is not very proud. Fuller shalldescribe him:--"Henry Burwash, so named, saith my Author[3] (which isenough for my discharge) from _Burwash_, a Town in this County. He wasone of _Noble Alliance_. And when this is said, _all is said_ to hiscommendation, being otherwise neither good for Church nor State, Soveraign nor Subjects; Covetous, Ambitious, Rebellious, Injurious. "Say not, _what makes he here then amongst the worthies_? For thoughneither _Ethically_ nor _Theologically_, yet _Historically_ he wasremarkable, affording something for our _Information_ though not_Imitation_. "He was recommended by his kinsman _Bartholomew de Badilismer_ (Baron of_Leeds_ in _Kent_) to King _Edward_ the second, who preferred him Bishopof _Lincoln_. It was not long before, falling into the King'sdispleasure, his _Temporalities_ were seized on, and afterwards on hissubmission restored. Here, instead of new _Gratitude_, retayning his old_Grudge_, he was most forward to assist the Queen in the deposing of herhusband. He was twice Lord Treasurer, once Chancellor, and once sentover Ambassador to the _Duke of Bavaria_. He died _Anno Domini_ 1340. "Such as mind to be merry may read the pleasant Story of his apparition, being condemned after Death to be _viridis viridarius, a greenForrester_ because in his life-time he had violently inclosed othermen's Grounds into his Park. Surely such Fictions keep up the _best Parkof Popery (Purgatory)_, whereby their _fairest Game_ and greatest Gaineis preserved. " [Illustration: _Shoyswell, near Ticehurst. _] Etchingham, the station next Robertsbridge, is famous for its churchwindows, and its brasses to the Etchinghams of the past, an illustriousrace of Sussex barons. Among the brasses is that of William deEtchingham, builder of the church, who died in 1345. The inscription, inFrench, runs:--"I was made and formed of Earth; and now I have returnedto 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 inSussex has so many interesting brasses as these. A moat once surroundedthe God's acre, and legend had it that at the bottom was a great bellwhich might never be drawn forth until six yoke of white oxen wereharnessed to it. Pity that the moat was allowed to run dry and theharmless fiction exposed. [Sidenote: A WAGER] Sir John Lade, diminutive associate of George IV. In his young days (andafterwards, coming upon disaster, coachman to the Earl of Anglesey), once lived at Haremere Hall, near by. As we have seen, the FirstGentleman in Europe visited him there, and it was there one day, that, in default of other quarry, Sir John's gamekeeper only being able toproduce a solitary pheasant, the Prince and his host shot ten geese asthey swam across a pond, and laid them at the feet of Lady Lade. SirJohn was the hero of the following exploit, recorded in the press inOctober, 1795:--"A curious circumstance occurred at Brighton on Mondayse'nnight. Sir John Lade, for a trifling wager, undertook to carry LordCholmondeley on his back, from opposite the Pavilion twice round theSteine. Several ladies attended to be spectators of this extraordinaryfeat of the dwarf carrying the giant. When His Lordship declared himselfready, Sir John desired him to strip. 'Strip!' exclaimed the other; 'whysurely you promised to carry me in my clothes!' 'By no means, ' repliedthe Baronet; 'I engaged to carry _you_, but not an inch of clothes. So, therefore, My Lord, make ready, and let us not disappoint the ladies. 'After much laughable altercation, it was at length decided that Sir Johnhad won his wager, the Peer declining to exhibit _in purisnaturalibus_. " [Sidenote: THE HAWKHURST GANG] Ticehurst and Wadhurst, which may be reached either by road or rail fromRobertsbridge or Etchingham, both stand high, very near the Kentishborder. To the east of Hurst Green on the road thither (a hamletdisproportionate and imposing, possessing, in the George Inn, a relic ofthe days when the coaches came this way), is Seacox Heath, now theresidence of Lord Goschen, but once the home of George Gray, a member ofthe terrible Hawkhurst gang of smugglers. Ticehurst has a noble church, very ingeniously restored, with a square tower, some fine windows, oldglass, a vestry curiously situated over the porch, and an interestingbrass. The Bell Inn, in the village, is said to date from the fifteenthcentury. At Wadhurst are many iron grave slabs and a graceful slender spire. Themassive door bears the date 1682. A high village, in good accessiblecountry, discovery seems to be upon it. London is not so near as atCrowborough; but one may almost hear the jingling of the cabs. FOOTNOTE: [3] Weever's _Funeral Monuments_. CHAPTER XL TUNBRIDGE WELLS 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. 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. In that it is builded upon hills, Tunbridge Wells is like Rome, and inthat its fashionable promenade is under the limes, like Berlin; but inother respects it is merely a provincial English inland pleasure townwith a past: rather arid, and except under the bracing conditions ofcold weather, very tiring in its steepnesses. No wonder the smallvictoria and smaller pony carriage so flourish there. [Illustration: _The Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells. _] The healthful properties of Tunbridge Wells were discovered, as I recorda little later, in 1606; but it was not until Henrietta Maria broughther 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 writeone's self down a boor. A more sympathetic patron was Anne, who gavethe first stone basin for the spring--hence "Queen's Well"--and whosesubscription of _£_100 led to the purchase of the pantiles that paved thewalk now bearing that name. Subsequently it was called the Parade, butto the older style everyone has very sensibly reverted. Tunbridge Wells is still a health resort, but the waters no longerconstitute a part of the hygienic routine. Their companion element, air, is the new recuperative. Not that the spring at the foot of the Pantilesis wholly deserted: on the contrary, the presiding old lady does quite abusiness in filling and cleaning the little glasses; but those visitorsthat descend her steps are impelled rather by curiosity than ritual, andmany never try again. Nor is the trade in Tunbridge ware, inlaid work incoloured woods, what it was. A hundred years ago there was hardly a girlof any pretensions to good form but kept her pins in a Tunbridge box. The Pantiles are still the resort of the idle, but of the anonymousrather than famous variety. Our men of mark and great Chams ofLiterature, who once flourished here in the season, go elsewhere fortheir recreation and renovation--abroad for choice. Tunbridge Wells nowdraws them no more than Bath. But in the eighteenth century a largeprint was popular containing the portraits of all the illustriousintellectuals as they lounged on the Pantiles, with Dr. Johnson and Mr. Samuel Richardson among the chief lions. [Sidenote: THE DUVIDNEY LADIES] The residential districts of Tunbridge Wells--its Mounts, Pleasant, Zionand Ephraim, with their discreet and prosperous villas--suggest to meonly Mr. Meredith's irreproachable Duvidney ladies. In one of thesewell-ordered houses must they have lived and sighed over Victor'stangled life--surrounded by laurels and laburnum; the lawn either cutyesterday or to be cut to-day; the semicircular drive a miracle ofgravel 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. [Sidenote: ROCKS] On Rusthall Common is the famous Toad Rock, which is to Tunbridge Wellswhat Thorwaldsen's lion is to Lucerne, and the Leaning Tower to Pisa. Lucerne's lion emerged from the stone under the sculptor's mallet andchisel, but the Rusthall monster was evolved by natural processes, andit is a toad only by courtesy. An inland rock is, however, to mostEnglish people so rare an object that Rusthall has almost as manypilgrims as Stonehenge. The Toad is free; the High Rocks, however, whichare a mile distant, cannot be inspected by the curious for less thansixpence. One must pass through a turnstile before these wonders areaccessible. Rocks in themselves having insufficient drawing power, asthe dramatic critics say, a maze has been added, together with swings, aseesaw, arbours, a croquet lawn, and all the proper adjuncts of anatural phenomenon. The effect is to make the rocks appear more unrealthan any rocks ever seen upon the stage. Freed from theirpleasure-garden surroundings they would become beautifully wild andromantic and tropically un-English; but as it is, with their noticeboards and bridges, they are disappointing, except of course tochildren. They are no disappointment to children; indeed, they go far tomake Tunbridge Wells a children's wonderland. There is no kind ofdramatic game to which the High Rocks would not make the bestbackground. Finer rocks, because more remote and free from labels andtea rooms, are those known as Penn's Rocks, three miles in thesouth-west, in a beautiful valley. [Sidenote: SAXONBURY] Eridge, whither all visitors to Tunbridge Wells must at one time oranother drive, is the seat of the Marquis of Abergavenny, whose imposingA, tied, like a dressing gown, with heavy tassels, is embossed on everycottage 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. YetEridge Park has joys that these others know not of--brake fern four feethigh, and the conical hill on which stands Saxonbury Tower, jealouslyguarded from the intruding traveller by the stern fiat of "Mr. Macbean, steward. " Sussex is a paradise of notice boards (there is a littledistrict near Forest Row where the staple industry must be theprosecuting of trespassers), and one has come ordinarily to look uponthese monitions without active resentment; but when the Caledoniandescends from his native heath to warn the Sussex man off Sussexground--more, to warn the Saxon from his own bury--the situation becomesacute. By taking, however, the precaution of asking at a not tooadjacent cottage for permission to ascend the hill, one may circumventthe Scottish prosecutor. The hill is very important ground in English history, as the followingpassage from Sir William Burrell's MSS. In the British Museumtestifies:--"In Eridge Park are the remains of a military station of theSaxon invaders of the country, which still retains the name of SaxonburyHill. It is on the high ground to the right, as the traveller passesfrom Frant to Mayfield. On the summit of this hill (from whence thecliffs of Dover may be seen) are to be traced the remains of an ancientfortification; the fosse is still plainly discernible, enclosing an areaof about two acres, from whence there is but one outlet. The apex of thehill within is formed of a strong compact body of stone, brought hitherfrom a distance, on which doubtless was erected some strong militaryedifice. This was probably one of the stations occupied by the Saxonsunder Ella, their famous chief, who, at the instance of Hengist, King ofKent, invaded England towards the close of the fifth century. It is saidthat they settled in Sussex, whence they issued in force to attack theimportant British station of Anderida or Andredceaster. Antiquaries arenot agreed as to the precise situation of this military station; someimagining it to have been at Newenden, on the borders of Kent; others atPevensey, or Hastings, in Sussex. The country, from the borders of Kentto those of Hampshire, comprises what was called the Forest ofAndredsweald, now commonly called the Weald, was formerly full of strongholds and fastnesses, and was consequently well calculated for theretreat of the ancient Britons from before the regular armies of theRomans, as well as for the establishment of points of attack by thesucceeding invaders who coped with them on terms somewhat reversed. Theattack of the Saxons on Anderida was successful, and the consequence wastheir permanent establishment in Sussex and Surrey, from which time theyprobably retained a military station on this hill. "There is likewise within the park a place called Danes Gate. This wasdoubtless a part of a military way; and as it would happen that the lastsuccessful invaders would occupy the same strong posts which had beenformed by their predecessors, this Danes Gate was probably the militarycommunication between Crowborough, undoubtedly a Danish station, andSaxonbury Hill. " The view from Saxonbury extends far in each quarter, embracing bothlines of Downs, North and South. The long low irregular front of EridgeCastle is two or three miles to the north-west, with its lake before it. [Sidenote: LORD NORTH'S DISCOVERY] Queen Elizabeth stayed at Eridge for six days in 1573, on her progressto Northiam, where we saw her dining and changing her shoes. LordBurleigh, who accompanied her, found the country hereabouts dangerous, and "worse than in the Peak. " It was another of the guests at Eridgethat made Tunbridge Wells; for had not Dudley, Lord North, whenrecuperating there in 1606, discovered that the (Devil-flavoured)chalybeate water of the neighbourhood was beneficial, the spring wouldnot have been enclosed nor would other of London's fatigued young bloodshave drunk of it. [Illustration: _Bayham Abbey. _] [Sidenote: BAYHAM ABBEY] Enough remains of Bayham Abbey, five miles south-east of TunbridgeWells, to show that it was once a very considerable monastery. Thefounder was Sir Robert de Turneham, one of the knights of RichardCoeur 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 afortunate visit from St. Richard, Bishop of Chichester, put the Abbey inpossession of a bed (on which he had slept) which cured all them thatafterwards lay in it. Between Bayham and Goudhurst is Lamberhurst, onthe 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 inall, each five feet six inches in height, with seven gates. TheLamberhurst cannon not only served England, but some, it is whispered, found their way to French privateers and were turned against theirnative land. Sweetest of spots in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells is Withyham, in the west, lying to the north of Ashdown Forest, a small and retiredvillage, with a charming church, a good inn (the Dorset Arms), Duckings, a superb piece of old Sussex architecture, Old Buckhurst, an interestingruin, new Buckhurst's magnificent park, and some of the best country inthe county. Once the South Down district is left behind I think thatWithyham is the jewel of Sussex. Moreover, the proximity of the widehigh spaces of Ashdown Forest seems to have cleared the air; no longeris one conscious of the fatigue that appertains to the triangular hilldistrict between Tunbridge Wells, Robertsbridge and Uckfield. [Sidenote: THE SPLENDID SACKVILLES] Withyham is notable historically for its association with the great andsumptuous 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 LordTreasurer and part author of _Gorboduc_. After him came RobertSackville, second earl, who founded Sackville College at East Grinstead;and then Richard, the third earl, famous for the luxury in which helived at Knole in Kent and Dorset House in London. Among this nobleman'sretinue was a first footman rejoicing (I hope) in the superlativelysuitable name of Acton Curvette: a name to write a comedy around. Richard Sackville, the fifth earl, was a more domestic peer, of whom wehave some intimate and amusing glimpses in the memorandum books anddiaries which he kept at Knole. Thus:-- "Hy. Mattock for scolding to extremity on Sunday 12th October 1661 without cause 0 0 3 "Hy. Mattock for disposing of my Cast linnen without my order 0 0 3 "Robert Verrell for giving away my money 0 0 6" [Sidenote: "TO ALL YOU LADIES"] Lastly we come to Charles Sackville, sixth earl, that AdmirableCrichton, the friend of Charles II. And the patron of poets, who spentthe night before an engagement in the Dutch war in writing the sprightlyverses, "To all you ladies now on land, " wherein occurs this agreeablefancy:-- Then, if we write not by each post, Think not we are unkind; Nor yet conclude our ships are lost By Dutchmen or by wind; Our tears we'll send a speedier way: The tide shall bring them twice a day. The king with wonder and surprise, Will swear the seas grow bold; Because the tides will higher rise Than e'er they did of old: But let him know it is our tears Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs. Upon the sixth Earl of Dorset's monument in Withyham Church is inscribedPope's epitaph, beginning:-- Dorset, the grace of Courts, the Muses pride, Patron of arts, and judge of nature dy'd! The scourge of pride, though sanctify'd or great, Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state: Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay, His anger moral, and his wisdom gay. The church is very prettily situated on a steep mound, at the westernfoot of which is a sheet of water; at the eastern foot, the village. Sohidden by trees is it that approaching Withyham from Hartfield one isunconscious of its proximity. The glory of the church is the monument, in the Sackville Chapel, to Thomas Sackville, youngest son of the fifthEarl of Dorset. There is nothing among the many tombs which we haveseen more interesting than this, although for charm it is not to becompared with, say, the Shurley monument at Isfield. The young manreclines 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, dressedin their ordinary style. The attitudes being extremely natural the totaleffect 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, somequite babies. The sculptor was Caius Cibber, Colley Cibber's father. Other monuments are also to be seen in the Sackville Chapel, but thatwhich I have described is the finest. Had Withyham church not been destroyed by fire, in 1663, in a "tempestof thunder and lightning, " it would now be second to none in Sussex ininterest and the richness of its tombs; for in that fire perished in theSackville aisle, now no more, on the northern side, other and perhapsnobler Sackville monuments. The vaults, where many Sackvilles lie, werenot however injured. In the Sackville Chapel is a large window recordingthe genealogy of the family, which is now represented by Earl De laWarr, at the foot of which are the words in Latin, "The noble family ofSackville here awaits the Resurrection. " [Sidenote: JOHN WAYLETT, BELL-FOUNDER] Withyham has three of the bells of John Waylett, an itinerantbell-founder at the beginning of the eighteenth century. His method wasto call on the vicar and ask if anything were wanted; and if a bell wascracked, or if a new one was desired, he would dig a mould in aneighbouring field, build a fire, collect his metal and perform the taskon 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 afurnace there, as Benvenuto Cellini tells us he used to do, andremedying defective peals all around. Among others he recast the oldtreble and made a new treble for Mayfield. It seems to have beenuniversally thirsty work: the churchwardens' papers contain an accountfor beer in connection with the enterprise: [Sidenote: BEER] _£ s. D. _ For beer to the ringers when the Bell founder was here 2 6 When the bell was weighed 3 6 When the bell was loaded 2 0 In carrying ye bell to Lewes and back again 1 10 0 When the bell was waid and hung up 3 0 For beer to the officers and several others a hanging up ye bell 18 0 In beer to the ringers when ye bell was hung 6 6 The Withyham churchwardens also expended 3_s. _ 6_d. _ on beer whenWaylett came to spread thirst abroad. I find also among the entries fromthe parish account-book, which Mr. Sutton, the vicar, prints in his_Historical Notes on Withyham_, a very interesting and informing book, the following items: 1711. April ye 20, pd. To Goody Sweatman _s. D. _ for Beere had at ye Books making 2 6 Aug. Ye 19, pd. To Edward Groombridge for digging a grave and Ringing ye Nell for Goody Hammond 2 6 Aug. Ye 26, pd. To Sweatman for beere at ye Writing of Boocks for ye window-tax 2 0 Aug. 15th, Pd. To Sweatman for beer at ye chusing of surveyor Decbr ye 26 5 0 1714. Pd. To good wife Sweatman for beer when ye bells were put to be cast 2 6 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 themhaving been exiled a few years since. The previous home of theSackvilles was Old Buckhurst in the valley to the west, of which onlythe husk now remains. One can see that the mansion was of enormousextent; and the walls were so strongly built that when an attempt wasrecently made to destroy and utilise a portion for road mending, theproject 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, tothe church, and to Bolebroke at Hartfield, has never been exploredfarther than the first door that blocks the way; nor have the seven cordof gold, rumoured to be buried near the house, come to light. [Sidenote: OLD RURAL ARCHITECTURE] [Sidenote: IN PRAISE OF "DUCKINGS"] It was of Duckings, the beautiful timbered farmhouse of which Withyhamis justly proud, that Jefferies thus wrote, in his essay on "BuckhurstPark": "Our modern architects try to make their rooms mathematicallysquare, a series of brick boxes, one on the other like pigeon-holes in abureau, with flat ceilings and right angles in the corners, and are saidto go through a profound education before they can produce thesewonderful specimens of art. If our old English folk could not get anarched roof, then they loved to have it pointed, with polished timberbeams 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 thecorners, nor all on the same dead level of flooring. You had to go up astep into one, and down a step into another, and along a winding passageinto a third, so that each part of the house had its individuality. Tothese houses life fitted itself and grew to them; they were not merewalls, but became part of existence. A man's house was not only hiscastle, a man's house was himself. He could not tear himself away fromhis house, it was like tearing up the shrieking mandrake by the root, almost death itself. Now we walk in and out of our brick boxesunconcerned whether we live in this villa or that, here or yonder. Darkbeams inlaid in the walls support the gables; heavier timber, placedhorizontally, forms, as it were, the foundation of the first floor. Thishorizontal beam has warped a little in the course of time, thealternate heat and cold of summers and winters that make centuries. Upto this beam the lower wall is built of brick set to curve of thetimber, from which circumstance it would appear to be a moderninsertion. The beam, we may be sure, was straight originally, and thebricks have been fitted to the curve which it subsequently took. Time, no doubt, ate away the lower work of wood, and necessitated theinsertion of new materials. The slight curve of the great beam adds, Ithink, to the interest of the old place, for it is a curve that hasgrown 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 whatis called striking, in any way, but simply an old English house, genuineand true. The warm sunlight falls on the old red tiles, the dark beamslook the darker for the glow of light, the shapely cone of the hop-oastrises 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 thesimplicity 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 showplace, and people go to see it, and which certainly has many more linesin its curves and woodwork, but yet did not appeal to me, because itseemed too purposely ornamental. A house designed to look well, even agehas not taken from its artificiality. Neither is there any cone norcart-horses about. Why, even a tall chanticleer makes a home lookhomely. I do like to see a tall proud chanticleer strutting in the yardand barely giving way as I advance, almost ready to do battle with astranger like a mastiff. So I prefer the simple old home by BuckhurstPark. " [Sidenote: ASHDOWN FOREST] The forest of which Ashdown Forest was a part extended once in unbrokensombre density from Kent to Hampshire, a distance of 120 miles. It wasknown to the Romans as Sylva Anderida, giving its name to Anderida (orPevensey) on the edge of it; to the Saxons it was Andreaswald. Wolves, wild boar and deer then roamed its dark recesses. Our AshdownForest--all that now remains of this wild track--was for long a Royalhunting ground. Edward III. Granted it to John of Gaunt, who, there's nodoubt, often came hither for sport. It is supposed that he built achapel near Nutley ("Chapel Wood" marks the site) where, on one occasionat least, John Wycliffe the reformer officiated. At Forest Row, as wehave seen, the later lords who hunted here built their lodges and kepttheir retainers. There are no longer any deer in the Forest; the modernsportsman approaches it with a cleek where his forerunner carried a bow. A hundred years ago, in the smuggling days, it was a very dangerousregion. [Illustration: _Ashdown Forest, from East Grinstead. _] Hartfield, the village next to Withyham in the west, is uninteresting;but it has a graceful church, and at Bolebroke, once the home of theDalyngruges, whom we met at Bodiam, and later of the Sackvilles, are theremains of a noble brick mansion. The towered gateway still stands, andit is not difficult to reconstruct in the mind's eye the house in itsbest period. Of old cottage architecture Hartfield also has a prettyexample in Lych-Gate Cottage, by the churchyard. "Castle field, " northof the village, probably marks the site of an ancient castle, or huntinglodge, of the Barons of Pevensey. That there was good hunting in theseparts the name Hartfield itself goes to prove. [Sidenote: OUR JOURNEY'S END] Between Withyham and Hartfield in the north, and Crowborough Beacon andWych 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 silentdesolate woods--the Five Hundred Acre Wood, under Crowborough, chief ofthem--and vast wastes of undulating heath, rising here and there togreat heights crowned with fir trees, as at Gill's Lap. A few enclosedestates interrupt the forest's open freedom, but nothing can tame it. Sombre dark heather gives the prevailing note, but between Old Lodge andPippinford Park I once came upon a green and luxuriant valley that wouldnot have been out of place in Tyrol; while there is a field near ChuckHatch where in April one may see more dancing daffodils than everWordsworth did. And here we leave the county. CHAPTER XLI THE SUSSEX DIALECT French words at Hastings and Rye--Saxon on the farms--Mr. W. D. Parish's _Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect_--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. The body of the Sussex dialect is derived from the Saxon. Itsaccessories can be traced to the Celts, to the Norse--thus _rape_, adivision of the county, is probably an adaptation of the Icelandic_hreppr_--and to the French, some hundreds of Huguenots having fled toour shores after the Edict of Nantes. The Hastings fishermen, forexample, often say _boco_ for plenty, and _frap_ to strike; while in theRye neighbourhood, where the Huguenots were strongest, such words as_dishabil_ meaning untidy, undressed, and _peter grievous_ (from_petit-grief_) meaning fretful, are still used. But Saxon words are, of course, considerably more common. You meet themat every turn. A Sussex auctioneer's list that lies before me--acatalogue of live and dead farming stock to be sold at a homestead underthe South Downs--is full of them. So blunt and sturdy they are, theseancient primitive terms of the soil: "Lot 1. Pitch prong, two half-pitchprongs, 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 hayrakes, two scythes and sneaths, cross-cut saw, and a sheep hook. Lot 39. Corn chest, open tub, milking stool, and hog form. Lot 43. Bushelmeasure, shaul and strike. Lot 100. Rick borer. Lot 143. Eight knavesand seven felloes. Lot 148. Six dirt boards and pair of wood hames. Lot152. Wheelwright's sampson. Lot 174. Set of thill harness. Lot 201. Three plough bolts, three tween sticks. Lot 204. Sundry harness andwhippances. Lot 208. Tickle plough. Lot 222. Iron turnwrist [pronouncedturn-riced] plough. Lot 242. 9-time scarifier. Lot 251. Clod crusher. Lot 252. Hay tedder. " From another catalogue more ram=alogues, theseabrupt 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. Dungrake and dung devil. Lot 11. Four juts and a zinc skip. " Farm labourersare men of little speech, and it is often needful that voices shouldcarry far. Hence this crisp and forcible reticence. The vocabulary ofthe country-side undergoes few changes; and the noises to-day made bythe ox-herd who urges his black and smoking team along the hill-side areprecisely those that Piers Plowman himself would have used. [Sidenote: SAXON PERSISTENT] Another survival may be noticed in objurgation. A Sussex man swearing byJob, as he often does, is not calling in the aid of the patient suffererof Uz, but Jobe, the Anglo-Saxon Jupiter. A few examples of Sussex speech, mainly drawn from Mr. Parish's_Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect_ will help to add the true flavour tothese 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 quotationswill show. [Sidenote: THE SUSSEX RULES] Mr. Parish lays down the following general principles of the Sussextongue:-- _a_ before double _d_ becomes _ar_; whereby ladder and adder arepronounced larder and arder. _a_ before double _l_ is pronounced like _o_; fallow and tallow becomefoller and toller. _a_ before _t_ is expanded into _ea_; rate, mate, plate, gate, arepronounced rėȧt, mėȧt, plėȧt, gėȧt. _a_ before _ct_ becomes _e_; as satisfection, for satisfaction. _e_ before _ct_ becomes _a_; and affection, effect and neglect arepronounced affaction, effact and neglact. Double _e_ is pronounced as _i_ in such words as sheep, week, calledship and wick; and the sound of double _e_ follows the same rule in fildfor field. Having pronounced _ee_ as _i_, the Sussex people in the most impartialmanner pronounce _i_ as _ee_; and thus mice, hive, dive, become meece, heeve, and deeve. _i_ becomes _e_ in pet for pit, spet for spit, and similar words. _io_ and _oi_ change places respectively; and violet and violent becomevoilet and voilent, while boiled and spoiled are bioled and spioled. _o_ before _n_ is expanded into _oa_ in such words as pony, dont, bone;which are pronounced pȯȧny, dȯȧnt, bȯȧn. _o_ before _r_ is pronounced as _a_; as carn and marning, for corn andmorning. _o_ also becomes _a_ in such words as rad, crass, and crap, for rod, cross, and crop. _ou_ is elongated into _aou_ in words like hound, pound, and mound;pronounced haound, paound, and maound. The final _ow_, as in many other counties, is pronounced er, as follerfor fallow. The peculiarities with regard to the pronunciation of consonants are notso numerous as those of the vowels, but they are very decided, and seemto admit of less variation. Double _t_ is always pronounced as _d_; as liddle for little, &c. , andthe _th_ is invariably _d_; thus the becomes _de_; and these, them, theirs--dese, dem, deres. _d_ in its turn is occasionally changed into _th_; as in fother forfodder. The final _sp_ in such words as wasp, clasp, and hasp are reversed towapse, clapse and hapse. Words ending in _st_ have the addition of a syllable in the possessivecase and the plural, and instead of saying that "some little birds hadbuilt their nests near the posts of Mr. West's gate, " a Sussex boy wouldsay, "the birds had built their nestes near the postes of Mr. Westes'gate. " [Sidenote: EAST AND WEST] Roughly speaking, Sussex has little or no dialect absolutely its own;for the country speech of the west is practically that also ofHampshire, and of the east, that of Kent. The dividing line between eastand west, Mr. Cripps of Steyning tells me, is the Adur, once an estuaryof the sea rather than the stream it now is, running far inland andseparating the two Sussexes with its estranging wave. Mr. Parish's pages supply the following words and examples of their use, chosen almost at random:-- Adone (Have done, Leave off): I am told on good authority that when aSussex damsel says, "Oh! do adone, " she means you to go on; but when shesays, "Adone-do, " you must leave off immediately. Crownation (Coronation): "I was married the day the Crownation was, whenthere was a bullock roasted whole up at Furrel [Firle] Park. I dȯȧn'tknow as ever I eat anything so purty in all my life; but I never got nofurther than Furrel cross-ways all night, no more didn't a good many. " Dentical (Dainty): "My Master says that this here Prooshian (queryPersian) cat what you gave me is a deal too dentical for a poor man'scat; he wants one as will catch the meece and keep herself. " Dunnamany (I do not know how many): "There was a dunnamany people cometo see that gurt hog of mine when she was took bad, and they all guv itin as she was took with the information. We did all as ever we could forher. There was a bottle of stuff what I had from the doctor, time my legwas so bad, and we took and mixed it in with some milk and give it toher lew warm, but naun as we could give her didn't seem to do her anygood. " Foreigner (A stranger; a person who comes from any other county butSussex): I have often heard it said of a woman in this village, whocomes from Lincolnshire, that "she has got such a good notion of workthat you'd never find out but what she was an Englishwoman, without youwas to hear her talk. " [Sidenote: "FRENCHYS"] Frenchy (A foreigner of any country who cannot speak English, thenationality being added or not, as the case seems to require): thus anold fisherman, giving an account of a Swedish vessel which was wreckedon the coast a year or two ago, finished by saying that he thought theFrench Frenchys, take 'em all in all, were better than the SwedishFrenchys, for he could make out what they were driving at, but he wasall at sea with the others. Heart (Condition; said of ground): "I've got my garden into pretty goodheart at last, and if so be as there warn't quite so many sparrs andgreybirds and roberts and one thing and t'other, I dunno but what Imight get a tidy lot of sass. But there! 'taint no use what ye do aslong as there's so much varmint about. " Hill (The Southdown country is always spoken of as "The Hill" by thepeople in the Weald): "He's gone to the hill, harvesting. " Ink-horn (Inkstand): "Fetch me down de inkhorn, mistus; I be g'wine toputt 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 beburnded, and bloodshedded, and have our Bibles took away from us, anddere'll be a hem set out. " Justabout (Certainly, extremely): "I justabout did enjoy myself up atthe Cristial Palace on the Forresters' day, but there was a terr'blegurt crowd; I should think there must have been two or three hundredpeople a-scrouging about. " Know (Used as a substantive for knowledge): "Poor fellow, he has got noknow whatsumdever, but his sister's a nice knowledgeable girl. " Lamentable (Very): This word seems to admit of three degrees ofcomparison, which are indicated by the accentuation, thus:-- [Sidenote: POSITIVE, COMPARATIVE, SUPERLATIVE] _Positive_--Lamentable (as usually pronounced). _Comparative_--Larmentable. _Superlative_--Larmentȧȧble. "'Master Chucks, ' he says to me says he, ''tis larmentable purtyweather, Master Crockham. ' 'Larmentȧȧble!' says I. " Larder (Corruption of ladder): "Master's got a lodge down on the landyonder, and as I was going across t'other day-morning to fetch a larderwe keeps there, a lawyer catched holt an me and scratched my face. "(Lawyer: A long bramble full of thorns, so called because, "When oncethey gets a holt on ye, ye dȯȧnt easy get shut of 'em. ") Leetle (diminutive of little): "I never see one of these here gurt menthere's s'much talk about in the pėȧpers, only once, and that was up atSmiffle Show adunnamany years agoo. Prime minister, they told me he was, up at Lunnon; a leetle, lear, miserable, skinny-looking chap as ever Isee [Disraeli, I imagine]. 'Why, ' I says, 'we dȯȧn't count our ministerto be much, but he's a deal primer-looking than what yourn be. '" Loanst (A loan): "Will you lend mother the loanst of a little tea?" Master (Pronounced Mass). The distinctive title of a married labourer. Asingle man will be called by his Christian name all his life long; but amarried man, young or old, is "Master" even to his most intimate friendand fellow workmen, as long as he can earn his own livelihood; but assoon as he becomes past work he turns into "the old gentleman, " leavingthe bread-winner to rank as master of the household. "Master" is quite adistinct title from "Mr. " which is always pronounced Mus, thus: "Mus"Smith is the employer. "Master" Smith is the man he employs. The oldcustom of the wife speaking of her husband as her "master" still lingersamong elderly people; but both the word and the reasonableness of itsuse are rapidly disappearing in the present generation. It may bementioned here that they say in Sussex that the rosemary will neverblossom except where "the mistus" is master. May be and Mayhap (Perhaps). "May be you knows Mass Pilbeam? No! dȯȧn'tye? Well, he was a very sing'lar marn was Mass Pilbeam, a very sing'larmarn! He says to he's mistus one day, he says, 'tis a long time, sayshe, sence I've took a holiday--so cardenly, nex marnin' he laid abedtill purty nigh seven o'clock, and then he brackfustes, and then he goosdown to the shop and buys fower ounces of barca, and he sets hisselfdown on the maxon, and there he set, and there he smoked and smoked andsmoked all the whole day long, for, says he, 'tis a long time sence I'vehad a holiday! Ah, he was a very sing'lar marn--a very sing'lar marnindeed. " Queer (To puzzle): "It has queered me for a long time to find out whothat man is; and my mistus she's been quite in a quirk over it. He dȯȧntseem to be quaint with nobody, and he dȯȧnt seem to have no business, and for all that he's always to and thro', to and thro', foreverlastin'. " [Sidenote: "MUS REYNOLDS"] Reynolds ("Mus Reynolds" is the name given to the fox): When I was firsttold that "Muss Reynolds come along last night" he was spoken of sointimately that I supposed he must be some old friend, and expressed ahope that he had been hospitably received. "He helped hisself, " was thereply; and thereupon followed the explanation, illustrated by anexhibition of mutilated poultry. Short (Tender): A rat-catcher once told me that he knew many people whowere in the habit of eating barn-fed rats, and he added, "When they'rein a pudding you could not tell them from a chick, they eat so short andpurty. " Shruck (Shrieked): An old woman who was accidentally locked up in achurch where she was slumbering in a high pew, said, "I shruck till Icould shruck no longer, but no one comed, so I up and tolled upon thebell. " Spannel (To make dirty foot-marks about a floor, as a spaniel dogdoes): "I goos into the kitchen and I says to my mistus, I says ('twasof 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 kitchenany more for that, ' she says; so I goos out and didn't say naun, for youcan't never make no sense of women-folks of a Saddaday. " Surelye: There are few words more frequently used by Sussex people thanthis. It has no special meaning of its own, but it is added at the endof any sentence to which particular emphasis is required to be given. Tedious (Excessive; very): "I never did see such tedious bad stuff inall my life. " Mr. Parish might here be supplemented by the remark thathis definition explains the use of the word by old Walker, as related byNyren, when bowling to Lord Frederick Beauclerk, "Oh, " he said, "thatwas tedious near you, my lord. " Unaccountable: A very favourite adjective which does duty on alloccasions in Sussex. A countryman will scarcely speak three sentenceswithout dragging in this word. A friend of mine who had beenremonstrating with one of his parishioners for abusing the parish clerkbeyond the bounds of neighbourly expression, received the followinganswer:--"You be quite right, sir; you be quite right. I'd no ought tohave said what I did, but I dōānt mind telling you to your head whatI've said a many times behind your back. --We've got a good shepherd, Isays, an axcellent shepherd, but he's got an unaccountable bad dog!" Valiant (Vaillant, French. Stout; well-built): "What did you think of myfriend who preached last Sunday, Master Piper?" "Ha! he was a valiantman; he just did stand over the pulpit! Why you bēānt nothing at all tohim! See what a noble paunch he had!" [Sidenote: "PAUL PODGAM"] Yarbs (Herbs): An old man in East Sussex said that many people set muchstore by the doctors, but for his part, he was one for the yarbs, andPaul Podgam was what he went by. It was not for some time that it wasdiscovered that by Paul Podgam he meant the polypodium fern. Such are some of the pleasant passages in Mr. Parish's book. In Mr. Coker Egerton's _Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways_ is an amusing example ofgender in Sussex. The sun, by the way, is always she or her to theSussex peasant, as to the German savant; but it is not the onlyunexpected feminine in the county. Mr. Egerton gives a conversation in avillage school, in which the master bids Tommy blow his nose. A littlelater he returns, and asks Tommy why he has not done so. "Please, sir, Idid blow her, but her wouldn't bide blowed. " [Sidenote: THE SHEPHERD'S PERILS] In the foregoing examples Mr. Parish has perhaps made the Sussexlabourer a thought too epigrammatic: a natural tendency in theillustrations to such a work. The following narrative of adventure fromthe lips of a South Down shepherd, which is communicated to me by myfriend, Mr. C. E. Clayton, of Holmbush, is nearer the normal loquacityof the type:--"I mind one day I'd been to buy some lambs, and cominghome in the dark over the bostal, I gets to a field, and I knows therewas 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 ofthese here gurt ponds full of foul water I'd mistook for the gēāt, andso 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 thinkI should ha' been drownded if it warn't for my stick, and I was thatfroughtened, and there were some bullocks close by, and I froughtenedthem splashing about and they began to run round, and that froughtenedme; and there--well, I was all wet through and grabby, and when I gothome I looked like one of these here water-cress men. But I kep' my pipein my mouth all the time. I didn't lose 'en. " [Sidenote: SUSSEX WORDS IN AMERICA] The late Mr. F. E. Sawyer, another student of Sussex dialect, hasremarked on the similarity between Sussex provincialisms and many wordswhich we are accustomed to think peculiarly American. One cause may bethe two hundred Sussex colonists taken over by William Penn, who, as wehave seen, was at one time Squire of Warminghurst. "In recent years wehave gathered from the works of American comic writers and others manywords which at first have been termed 'vulgar Americanisms, ' but which, on closer examination, have proved to be good old Anglo-Saxon and otherterms which had dropped out of notice amongst us, but were retained inthe _New_ World! Take, for instance, two 'Southern words, ' (probablySussex) quoted by Ray (1674). _Squirm_:--Artemus Ward describes 'BrotherUriah, ' of 'the Shakers, ' as '_squirming_ liked a speared eel, ' and, curiously enough, Ray gives 'To _squirm_, to move nimbly about after themanner of an eel. It is spoken of eel. ' Another word is 'sass' (forsauce), also quoted by Artemus Ward. .. . Mrs. Phoebe Earl Gibbons (anAmerican lady), in a clever and instructive article in _Harper'sMagazine_ on 'English Farmers' (but, in fact, describing theagriculture, &c. , of Sussex in a very interesting way), considers thatthe peculiarities of the present Sussex dialect resemble those of NewEngland more than of Pennsylvania. She mentions as Sussex phrases usedin 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 _crock_on your nose, ' for a smut; _nuther_ for neither; _pȧssel_ for parcel, and a _pucker_ for a fuss. In addition she observes that Sussex peoplespeak of 'the _fall_' for autumn and 'guess' and 'reckon' like genuineYankees. " So far Mr. Sawyer. Sussex people also, I might add, "disremember, " as Huck Finn used to do. I should like to close the list of examples of Sussex speech by quotinga few verses from the Sussex version of the "Song of Solomon, " which Mr. Lower prepared for Prince Lucien Buonaparte some forty years ago. Theexperiment was extended to other southern and western dialects, thecollection making a little book of curious charm and homeliness. Hereis the fourth chapter:-- [Sidenote: THE SONG OF SOLOMON] IV 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. 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. 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. 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. 5. Yer two brestès be lik two young roes, what be tweens, dat feed among de lilies. 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. 7. You be hem purty, my love; der aünt a spot in ye. 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. 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. 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. 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. 12. A fenced garn is my sister, my spouse, a spring shet up, a fountain seäled. 13. Yer plants be an archard of pomegranates wud pleasant fruits, camphire an spikenard. 14. Spikenard an saffron, calamus an cinnamon, wud all trees of frankincense, myrrh, an allers, wud all de best of spices. 15. A fountain of garns, a well of livin waters, an straims from Lebanon. 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. [Illustration] CHAPTER XLII BEING A POSTSCRIPT TO THE SECOND EDITION. It almost necessarily follows that in a book such as this, which inbrief compass attempts to take some account of every interesting orcharming spot in a large tract of country, there must be certainomissions. To the stranger the survey may seem adequate; but it is ahundred to one that a reader whose home is in Sussex will detect aflippancy or a want of true insight in the treatment of his own village. Nor (rightly) does he sit silent under the conviction. I find that, with the keenest desire to be just in criticism, I havebeen unfair to several villages. I have been unfair, for example, toBurpham, which lies between Arundel and Amberley and of which nothing issaid; and more than one reader has discovered unfairness to East Sussex. For this the personal equation is perhaps responsible: a West Sussexman, try as he will, cannot have the same enthusiasm for the other sideof his county as for his own. For me the sun has always seemed to riseover Beachy Head, the most easterly of our Downs. The call for a second edition has however enabled me to set right a fewerrors in the body of the book, and in this additional chapter toamplify and fortify here and there. The result must necessarily bedisconnected; but a glance at the index will point the way to what isnew. Concerning Aldworth in Tennyson's poetry (see page 12), there is theexquisite stanza to General Hamley: "You came, and looked, and loved the view Long known and loved by me, Green Sussex fading into blue With one gray glimpse of sea. " "Green Sussex fading into blue"--it is the motto for every Down summit, South or North. [Sidenote: SHELLEY AND TRELAWNY] With reference to Shelley and Sussex, my attention has been drawn to aninteresting account of Field Place by Mr. Hale White, the author of theMark Rutherford novels, in an old _Macmillan's Magazine_. Says Mr. White, "Denne Park [at Horsham] might easily have suggested--more easilyperhaps than any part of the country near Field Place--the well-knownsemi-chorus in the _Prometheus_ which begins 'The path through which that lovely twain Have passed, by cedar, pine, and yew, And each dark tree that ever grew Is curtained out from heaven's wide blue. ' The _Prometheus_, however, was written when Horsham was well-nighforgotten"--by its author. Owing to a curious lapse of memory, I omitted to say that Sompting, nearWorthing, should be famous as the home of Edward John Trelawny, authorof _The Adventures of a Younger Son_, and the friend of Shelley andByron. In his Sompting garden, in his old age, Trelawny grew figs, equal, he said, to those of his dear Italy, and lived again hisvigorous, picturesque, notable life. Sussex thus owns not only the poetof "Adonais, " but the friend who rescued his heart from the flames thatconsumed his body on the shores of the Gulf, and bearing it to Romeplaced over its resting place in the Protestant cemetery the words fromthe _Tempest_ (his own happy choice):-- "Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. " The old man, powerful and capricious to the last, died at Sompting in1881, within a year of ninety. His body was removed to Gotha forcremation, and his ashes lie beside Shelley's heart in Rome. Among the wise men of Lewes I ought not to have overlooked WilliamDurrant Cooper (1812-1875), a shrewd Sussex enthusiast and antiquary, who as long ago as 1836 printed at his own cost a little glossary of thecounty's provincialisms. The book, publicly printed in 1853, was, ofcourse, superseded by Mr. Parish's admirable collection, but Mr. Coopershowed the way. One of his examples of the use of the West Sussexpronoun _en_, _un_, or _um_ might be noted, especially as it involvesanother quaint confusion of sex. _En_ and _un_ stand for him, her or it;_um_ for them. Thus, "a blackbird flew up and her killed 'n"; that is tosay, he killed it. [Sidenote: THE ANGEL'S FAN] Among the Harleian MSS. At the British Museum is the account of asupernatural visitation to Rye in 1607. The visitants were angels, theirfortunate entertainer being a married woman. She, however, by a lapse ingood breeding, undid whatever good was intended for her. "And after thatappeared unto her 2 angells in her chamber, and one of them having awhite fan in her hand did let the same fall; and she stooping to take itupp, the angell gave her a box on the eare, rebukinge her that she amortall creature should presume to handle matters appertayninge toheavenlie creatures. " [Sidenote: ROBERTSON OF BRIGHTON] It was an error to omit from Chapter XVII all reference to FrederickWilliam Robertson--Robertson of Brighton--who from 1847 until 1853exerted his extraordinary influence from the pulpit of Trinity Chapel, opposite the post-office, and from his home at 9, Montpellier Terrace. Of Robertson's quickening religion I need not speak; but it isinteresting to know that much of his magnetic eloquence was the resultof the meditations which he indulged in his long and feverish ramblesover the Downs. His favourite walk was to the Dyke (before exploitationhad come upon it), and he loved also the hills above Rottingdean. Robertson, says Arnold's memoir, "would walk any man 'off his legs, ' asthe saying goes. He not only walked; he ran, he leaped, he bounded. Hewalked as fast and as incessantly as Charles Dickens, and, like Dickens, his mind was in a state of incessant activity all the time. There wasnot a bird of the air or a flower by the wayside that was not known tohim. His knowledge of birds would have matched that of the collector ofthe Natural History Museum in his favourite Dyke Road. " Robertson often journeyed into Sussex on little preaching or lecturingmissions (he found the auditors of Hurstpierpoint "very bucolic"), andhis family were fond of the retirement of Lindfield. On one occasionRobertson brought them back himself, writing afterwards to a friend thatin that village he "strongly felt the beauty and power of Englishcountry scenery and life to calm, if not to purify, the hearts of thosewhose lives are habitually subjected to such influences. " Mr. Arnold's book, I might add, has some pleasant pages about Sussex andBrighton in Robertson's day, with glimpses of Lady Byron, his ardentdevotee, and, at Old Shoreham, of Canon Mozley. And here I might mention that for a very charming account of a stillearlier Brighton, though not the earliest, the reader should go to alittle story called _Round About a Brighton Coach Office_, which waspublished a few years ago. It has a very fragrant old-world flavour. To Chichester, I should have recorded, belongs a Sussex saint, SaintRichard, Bishop of Chichester in the thirteenth century, and a greatman. In 1245 he found the Sussex see an Augæan stable; but he was equalto the labour of cleansing it. He deprived the corrupt clergy of theirbenefices with an unhesitating hand, and upon their successors and thosethat remained he imposed laws of comeliness and simplicity. His reformswere many and various: he restored hospitality to its high place amongthe duties of rectors; he punished absentees; he excommunicatedusurers; while (a revolutionist indeed!) priests who spoke indistinctlyor at too great a pace were suspended. Also, I doubt not, he was hostileto locked churches. Furthermore, he advocated the Crusades like anotherPeter the Hermit. Richard's own life was exquisitely thoughtful and simple. An anecdote ofhis brother, who assisted him in the practical administration of thediocese, helps us to this side of his character. "You give away morethan your income, " remarked this almoner-brother one day. "Then sell mysilver, " said Richard, "it will never do for me to drink out of silvercups while our Lord is suffering in His poor. Our father drank heartilyout of common crockery, and so can I. Sell the plate. " Richard penetrated on foot to the uttermost corners of his diocese tosee that all was well. He took no holiday, but would often stay for awhile at Tarring, near Worthing, with Simon, the parish priest and hisgreat friend. Tradition would have Richard the planter of the first ofthe Tarring figs, and indeed, to my mind, he is more welcome to thathonour than Saint Thomas à Becket, who competes for the credit--beingmore a Sussex man. In his will Richard left to Sir Simon de Terring(sometimes misprinted Ferring) his best palfrey and a commentary on thePsalms. [Sidenote: SAINT RICHARD] The Bishop died in 1253 and he was at once canonised. To visit his gravein 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 placeof pilgrimage. April 3 was set apart in the calendar as Richard's day, and very pleasant must have been the observance in the Chichesterstreets. In 1297 we find Edward I. Giving Lovel the harper 6_s. _ 6_d. _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 ofthe Faith signed a paper ordering Sir William Goring and William Ernely, his Commissioners, to repair to Chichester Cathedral and remove "thebones, shrine, &c. , of a certain Bishop . .. Which they call S. Richard, " to the Tower of London. That the Commissioners did their workwe know from their account for the same, which came to _£_40. In thereformed prayer-book, however, Richard's name has been allowed to standamong the black letter saints. [Sidenote: BISHOP WILBERFORCE] Under Chichester I ought also to have mentioned John William Burgon(1813-1888), Dean of Chichester for the last twelve years of his lifeand the author of that admirable collection of half-lengthappreciations, _The Lives of Twelve Good Men_, one of whom, BishopWilberforce, lived within call at Woollavington, under the shaggyescarpment of the Downs some ten miles to the north-east. Dean Burgonthus happily touches off the Bishop in his South Down retreat:-- . .. "But it was on the charms of the pleasant landscape which surroundedhis Sussex home that he chiefly expatiated on such occasions, leaningrather heavily on some trusty arm--(I remember how he leaned on_mine_!)--while he tapped with his stick the bole of every favouritetree which came in his way (by-the-by, _every_ tree seemed a favourite), and had something to tell of its history and surpassing merits. Everyfarm-house, every peep at the distant landscape, every turn in the road, suggested some pleasant remark or playful anecdote. He had a word forevery man, woman, and child he met, --for he knew them all. The verycattle were greeted as old acquaintances. And how he did delight indiscussing the flora of the neighbourhood, the geological formations, every aspect of the natural history of the place!" [Sidenote: BURPHAM AND HARDHAM] A very properly indignant friend has reminded me of the claims ofBurpham in the following words. "Two miles up the Arun valley fromArundel is Burpham, a pretty village on the west edge of the Downs andoverhanging the river. Between South Stoke and Arundel the old course ofthe Arun runs in wide curves, and in modern times a straight new bed hasbeen cut, under Arundel Park and past the Black Rabbit, making, with theold curves, the form of the letter B. Burpham lies at the head of thelower loop of the B, and while there is plenty of water in the loop torow up with the flood tide and down with the ebb, the straight mainstream diverts nearly all the holiday traffic and leaves Burpham themost peaceful village within fifty miles of London. The seclusion is themore complete because the roads from the South end in the village andthere is no approach by road from East or West or North. The Churchcontains a Lepers' window, and passengers by the railway can see, to theright of the red roofs of the village and over the line of low chalkcliffs, a white path still called the Lepers' Path, which winds away into the lonely hollows of the Downs. "A curious feature of Burpham is a high rampart of earth, runningeastward from the cliff by the river, which according to local traditionwas constructed in the days of the Danish pirates. It is said to bedoubtful whether the rampart was erected by the Saxon villagers fortheir own protection, or by the Danes as their first stronghold on therising ground after they had sailed up the Arun from Littlehampton. Thefine name of the neighbouring Warningcamp Hill, from which there is agreat outlook over the flat country past Arundel Castle to ChichesterCathedral and the cliffs of the Isle of Wight, suggests memories of thesame period. " Of the little retiring church of St. Botolph, Hardham, lying among lowmeadows between Burpham and Pulborough, I ought also to have spoken, forit contains perhaps the earliest complete series of mural painting inEngland. The church dates from the eleventh century, and the paintings, says Mr. Philip Mainwaring Johnson, who has studied them with thegreatest care, cannot be much less old. The subjects are theAnnunciation, the Nativity, the appearance of the Star, the Magipresenting their Gifts, and so forth, with one or two less familiarthemes added, such as Herod conferring with his Counsellors and theTorments of Hell. There are the remains also of a series of Moralitiesdrawn from the parable of Dives and Lazarus, and of a seriesillustrating the life of St. George. The little church, which perhapshas every right to call itself the oldest picture gallery in England, should not be missed by any visitor to Pulborough. [Sidenote: THE TIPTEERS] At West Wittering in the Manhood Peninsula, a little village on whichthe sea has hostile designs, is still performed at Christmas atime-honoured play the actors of which are half a dozen boys or menknown as the Tipteers. Their words are not written, but are transmittedorally 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, asin some of the Hardham mural paintings, is the life of St. George, herecalled King George; and the play has the same relation to drama that theHardham frescoes have to a picture. I quote a little:-- _Third Man--Noble Captain:_ In comes I, the Noble Captain, Just lately come from France; With my broad sword and jolly Turk [dirk] I will make King George dance. _Fourth Man--King George_ [_i. E. _, Saint George]: In comes I, King George, That man of courage bold, With my broad sword and sphere [spear] I have won ten tons of gold. I fought the fiery Dragon And brought it to great slaughter, And by that means I wish to win The King of Egypt's daughter. Neither unto thee will I bow nor bend. Stand off! stand off! I will not take you to be my friend. _Noble Captain:_ Why, sir, why, have I done you any kind of wrong? _King George:_ Yes, you saucy man, so get you gone. _Noble Captain:_ You saucy man, you draw my name, You ought to be stabb'd, you saucy man. _King George:_ Stab or stabs, the least is my fear; Point me the place And I will meet you there. _Noble Captain:_ The place I 'point is on the ground And there I will lay your body down Across the water at the hour of five. _King George:_ Done, sir, done! I will meet you there, If I am alive I will cut you, I will slay you, All for to let you know that I am King George over Great Britain O! [FIGHT: _King George wounds the Noble Captain. _] Until the close is almost reached the West Wittering Tipteers preservethe illusion of mediæval mummery. But the concluding song transports usto the sentiment of the modern music hall. Its chorus runs, with somecallousness:-- "We never miss a mother till she's gone, Her portrait's all we have to gaze upon, We can fancy see her there, Sitting in an old armchair; We never miss a mother till she's gone. " [Sidenote: GRANDMOTHER FOWINGTON] [Sidenote: THE PHARISEES] Mark Antony Lower's _Contributions to Literature_, 1845, contains apleasant essay on the South Downs which I overlooked when I was writingthis 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'sfuneral on page 64, in the shape of a description of a fairy's revenge, from the lips of Master Fowington, a friend of Mr. Lower, who was onethat believed in Pharisees (as Sussex calls fairies) as readily andunreservedly as we believe in wireless telegraphy. Mas' Fowington had, indeed, two very good reasons for his credulity. One was that thePharisees are mentioned in the Bible and therefore must exist; the otherwas that his grandmother, "who was a very truthful woman, " had seen themwith her own eyes "time and often. " "They was liddle folks not morethan a foot high, and used to be uncommon fond of dancing. They jound[4]hands and formed a circle, and danced upon it till the grass came threetimes as green there as it was anywhere else. That's how these hererings come upon the hills. Leastways so they say; but I don't knownothing about it, in tye, [5] for I never seen none an 'em; though to besure it's very hard to say how them rings do come, if it is'nt thePharisees that makes 'em. Besides there's our old song that we alwayssing at harvest supper, where it comes in--'We'll drink and dance likePharisees. ' Now I should like to know why it's put like that 'ere in thesong, if it a'nt true. " [Sidenote: MAS' MEPPOM'S ADVENTURE] Master Fowington's story of the fairy's revenge runs thus:-- "An ol' brother of my wife's gurt gran'mother _see_ some Pharisees once, and 'twould a been a power better if so be he hadn't never seen 'em, orleastways never offended 'em. I'll tell ye how it happened. JeemsMeppom--dat was his naüm--Jeems was a liddle farmer, and used to threshhis own corn. His barn stood in a very _elenge_ lonesome place, agoodish bit from de house, and de Pharisees used to come dere a nightsand thresh out some wheat and wuts for him, so dat de hep o' threshedcorn 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 knowrightly what to make ant. So bein' an out-and-out bold chep, dat didn'tfear man nor devil, as de saying is, he made up his mind dat he'd gooover some night to see how 'twas managed. Well accordingly he went outrather 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 awatchin' no longer. It was gittin' pretty handy to midnight, and hethought how he'd goo home to bed. But jest as he was upon de move heheerd a odd sort of a soun' comin' tóe-ards the barn, and so he stoppedto see what it was. He looked out of de strah, and what should he catchsight an but a couple of liddle cheps about eighteen inches high ordereaway come into de barn without uppening the doores. Dey pulled offdere jackets and begun to thresh wud two liddle frails as dey had brungwud em at de hem of a rate. Mas' Meppom would a been froughten if deyhad been bigger, but as dey was such tedious liddle fellers, he couldn'thardly help bustin right out a laffin'. Howsonever he pushed a hanful ofstrah 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. "At last dey got rather tired and left off to rest derselves, and one anum said in a liddle squeakin' voice, as it might a bin a mouse atalkin':--'I say Puck, I tweat; do you tweat?' At dat Jeems couldn'tcontain hisself no how, but set up a loud haw-haw; and jumpin' up fromde strah hollered out, 'I'll tweat ye, ye liddle rascals; what bisness ayou got in my barn?' Well upon dis, de Pharisees picked up der frailsand cut away right by him, and as dey passed by him he felt sich a queerpain in de head as if somebody had gi'en him a lamentable hard thump wuda hammer, dat knocked him down as flat as a flounder. How long he laiddere he never rightly knowed, but it must a bin a goodish bit, for whenhe come to 'twas gittin' dee-light. He could'nt hardly contrive tododdle home, and when he did he looked so tedious bad dat his wife sentfor de doctor dirackly. But bless ye, _dat_ waunt no use; and old JeemsMeppom 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 dehandful of strah and kippin his laugh down. But Jeems knowed better. 'Tā-ünt no use, sir, ' he says, says he, to de doctor; 'de cussof de Pharisees is uppán me, and all de stuff in your shop can't do _me_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 datdidn't consarn him. Poor ol' feller, he lays buried in de church-airdover yender--leastways so I've heerd my wife's mother say, under debank jest where de bed of snow-draps grows. " [Sidenote: FAIRY RINGS AND DEW PONDS] All who know the Downs must know the fairies' or Pharisees' rings, intowhich one so often steps. Science gives them a fungoid origin, butShakespeare, as well as Master Fowington's grandmother, knew that Oberonand Titania's little people alone had the secret. Further proof is to befound in the testimony of John Aubrey, the Wiltshire antiquary, whorecords that Mr. Hart, curate at Yatton Keynel in 1633-4, coming homeover the Downs one night witnessed with his own eyes an "innumerablequantitie of pigmies" dancing round and round and singing, "making allmanner of small, odd noises. " A word ought to have been said of the quiet and unexpected dew-ponds ofthe Downs, upon which one comes so often and always with a littlesurprise. Perfect rounds they are, reflecting the sky they are so nearlike circular mirrors set in a white frame. Gilbert White, who wasinterested in all interesting things, mentions the unfailing characterof a little pond near Selborne, which "though never above three feetdeep in the middle, and not more than thirty feet in diameter, . .. Yetaffords drink for three hundred or four hundred sheep, and for at leasttwenty 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 werestill "little affected, " "have not these elevated pools some unnoticedrecruits, which in the night-time counterbalance the waste of the day?"The answer, which White supplies, is that the hill pools are recruitedby dew. "Persons, " he writes, "that are much abroad, and travel earlyand late, such as shepherds, fishermen, &c. , can tell what prodigiousfogs prevail in the night on elevated downs, even in the hottest part ofsummer; and how much the surfaces of things are drenched by thoseswimming vapours, though, to the senses, all the while, little moistureseems to fall. " Kingsley has a passage on the same subject in his essay, "TheAir-Mothers"--"For on the high chalk downs, you know, where farmers makea sheep pond, they never, if they are wise, make it in the valley or ona 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 blesseddews of night will keep some water in it all the summer thro', whileponds below are utterly dried up. " There is, however, another reason whythe highest points are chosen, and that is that the chalk here often hasa capping of red clay which holds the water. [Sidenote: NICK COSSUM'S HUMOUR] To the smuggling chapter might have been added, again with Mr. Lower'sassistance, a few words on the difficulties that confronted the Londonrevenue officers in the Sussex humour. To be confounded by too swift ahorse or too agile a "runner" was all in the night's work; but to behoodwinked and bamboozled by the deliberate stealthy southern fun musthave been eternally galling. The Sussex joker grinds slowly andexceeding small; but the flour is his. "There was Nick Cossum theblacksmith [the words are a shepherd's, talking to Mr. Lower]; he was asad plague to them. Once he made an exciseman run several miles afterhim, to take away a keg of _yeast_ he was a-carrying to Ditchling!Another time as he was a-going up New Bostall, an exciseman, who knewhim 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, Isuppose 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. Sothey chatted along quite friendly and _chucker_[6] like till they cameto a cross road, and Nick wished the exciseman good bye. After Nick hadgot 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 tothe keg. ' 'Paper, ' says the exciseman, 'why, that's a _permit_, ' sayshe; 'why didn't you show me that when I took the hollands?' 'Oh, ' saysNick, as saucy as Hinds, 'why, if I had done that, ' says he, 'youwouldn't a carried my tub for me all this way, would you?'" [Sidenote: ANOTHER PARISH CLERK] The story, at the end of Chapter XIX, of the clerk in Old Shorehamchurch, whose loyalty was too much for his ritualism, may be capped bythat of a South Down clerk in the east of the county, whose seat inchurch commanded a view of the neighbourhood. During an afternoonservice one Sunday a violent gale was raging which had already unroofedseveral barns. The time came, says Mr. Lower, for the psalm before thesermon, and the clerk rose to announce it. "Let us sing to the praiseand glo--Please, sir, Mas' Cinderby's mill is blowed down!" [Sidenote: ANOTHER MILLER] Another word on Sussex millers. John Oliver, the Hervey of HighdownHill, had a companion in eccentricity in William Coombs of Newhaven, who, although active as a miller to the end, was for many years astranger to the inside of his mill owing to a rash statement one nightthat if what he asseverated was not true he would never enter his millagain. It was not true and henceforward, until his death, he directedhis business from the top step--such is the Sussex tenacity of purpose. Coombs was married at West Dean, but not fortunately. On the way to thechurch a voice from heaven called to him, "Will-yam Coombs! Will-yamCoombs! if so be that you marry Mary ---- you'll always be a miserableman. " Coombs, who had no false shame, often told the tale, adding, "AndI be a miserable man. " Coombs' inseparable companion was a horse which bore him and hismerchandise to market. In order to vary the monotony of the animal's ownGod-given hue, he used to paint it different colours, one day yellow andthe next pink, one day green and the next blue, and so on. But thiscannot 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, butalso with Coombs, that humanitarian, experiencing a pang of sympathy, and exclaiming "The marciful man is marciful to his beast, " would liftone of the sacks on to his own shoulders. His marcy, however, did notextend to dismounting. Our Sussex droll, Andrew Boorde, when he inventedthe wisdom of Gotham, invented also the charity of Coombs. But the storyis true. Coombs must not be considered typical of Sussex. Nor can the tricyclistof Chailey be called typical of Sussex--the weary man who was overtakenby 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, hereplied shrewdly, "Eh master, but her might goo backards. " Suchwhimsical excess of caution, such thorough calculation of all thechances, is not truly typical, nor is the miller's oddity truly typical;and yet if one set forth to find humorous eccentricity, humoroussuspicion, and humorous cautiousness at their most flourishing, Sussexis the county for the search. [Sidenote: LONDON TO CHICHESTER] It ought to be known that those Londoners who would care to reach Sussexby Roman road have still Stane Street at their service. With a littledifficulty here and there, a little freedom with other people's land, the walker is still able to travel from London to Chichester almost in abee-line, as the Romans used. Stane Street, which is a southerncontinuation of Erming Street, pierced London's wall at Billingsgate, and that would therefore be the best starting point. The moderntraveller would set forth down the Borough High Street (as theCanterbury Pilgrims did), crossing the track of Watling Street near theElephant and Castle, and so on the present high road for several not toointeresting miles; along Newington Butts, and Kennington Park Road, upClapham Rise and Balham Hill, and so on through Tooting, Morden, NorthCheam, and Ewell. So far all is simple and a little prosaic, but atEpsom difficulties begin. The road from Epsom town to the racecourseclimbs to the east of the Durdans and strikes away south-west, on itstrue course again, exactly at the inn. The point to make for, asstraight as may be (passing between Ashstead on the right and LangleyBottom farm on the left), is the Thirty-acres Barn, right on the site. Then direct to Leatherhead Down, through Birchgrove, over MicklehamDown, and so to the high road again at Juniper Hall. Part of the trackon 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 comethrough. The old street probably followed the present road fairlyclosely, with a slight deviation near the Burford Bridge Inn, as far asBoxhill Station, whence it took a bee-line to the high ground atMinnickwood by Anstiebury, four miles distant, a little to the west ofHolmwood. This, if the line is to be followed, means some deliberatetrespassing and a scramble through Dorking churchyard, which is partlyon the site. Hitherto the Roman engineer has wavered now and then, but fromMinnickwood to Tolhurst Farm, fifteen miles to the south, the line isabsolute. Two miles below Ockley (where it is called Stone Street), atHalehouse Farm, the road must be left again, but after three miles offootpath, field, and wood we hit it once more just above Dedisham, onthe road between Guildford and Horsham, and keep it all the way toPulborough, through Billingshurst, thus named, as I have said, likeBillingsgate, after Belinus, Stane Street's engineer. At Pulborough wemust cut across country to the camp by Hardham, over water meadows thatare too often flooded, and thence, through other fields, arable andpasture, to the hostel on Bignor Hill, which once was Stane Street;passing on the right Mr. Tupper's farm and the field which contains thefamous Bignor pavements, relic of the palatial residence of the Governorof the Province of Regnum in the Romans' day; or better still, pausingthere, as Roman officers faring to Regnum certainly would in the hope ofa cup of Falernian. The track winding up Bignor Hill is still easily recognisable, and fromthe summit half Sussex is visible: the flat blue weald in the north, Blackdown's dark escarpment in the north-west, Arundel's shaggy wastesin the east, the sea and the plain in the south, and the rolling turf ofthe downs all around. Henceforward the road is again straight, nineunfaltering miles to Chichester, which we enter by St. Pancras and EastStreet. For the first four miles, however, the track is over turf andamong 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 HalnakerDown. But from Halnaker to Chichester it is turnpike once more, with thesavour of the Channel meeting one all the way, and Chichester's spire afriendly beacon and earnest of the contiguous delights of the Dolphin, where one may sup in an assembly room spacious enough to hold a Romancentury. [Sidenote: BY ROMAN ROAD] Or one might reverse the order and walk out of Sussex into London by theRoman way, or, better still, through London, and on by Erming Street tothe wall of Antoninus. Merely to walk to London and there stop isnothing; merely to walk from London is little; but to walk throughLondon . .. There is glamour in that! To come bravely up from the sea atBosham, through Chichester, over the Downs to the sweet domesticpeaceful 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, _left-right_, _left-right_, just as the clankingRomans did; that would be worth doing and worth feeling. [Sidenote: JOHN HORNE] The best knower of Sussex of recent times has died since this book wasprinted: one who knew her footpaths and spinneys, her hills and farms, as a scholar knows his library. John Horne of Brighton was his name: atall, powerful man even in his old age--he was above eighty at hisdeath--with a wise, shrewd head stored with old Sussex memories: huntingtriumphs; the savour of long, solitary shooting days accompanied by amuzzle-loader and single dog--such days as Knox describes in Chapter V;historic cricket matches; stories of the Sussex oddities, thelong-headed country lawyers, the Quaker autocrats, the wild farmers, theeccentric squires; characters of favourite horses and dogs (such was themobility of his countenance and his instinct for drama that he couldbring before you visibly any animal he described); early railway days(he had ridden in the first train that ran between Brighton andSouthwick); fierce struggles over rights-of-way; reminiscences of oldBrighton before a hundredth part of its present streets were made; andall the other body of curious lore for which one must go to those whoseminds dwell much in the past. Coming of Quaker stock, as he did, hismemory was good and well-ordered, and his observation quick and sound. What he saw he saw, and he had the unusual gift of vivid precisenarrative and a choice of words that a literary man should envy. A favourite topic of conversation between us was the best foot routebetween two given points--such as Steyning and Worthing, for example, orLewes and Shoreham. Seated in his little room, with its half-a-dozensporting prints on the wall and a scene or two of old Brighton, hewould, with infinite detail, removing all possibility of mistake, describe the itinerary, weighing the merits of alternative paths withprofound solemnity, and proving the wisdom of every departure from themore obvious track. Were Sussex obliterated by a tidal wave, and were anew county to be constructed on the old lines, John Horne could havedone it. [Sidenote: A SUSSEX ENTHUSIAST] Of his talk I found it impossible to tire, and I shall never cease toregret that circumstances latterly made visits to him very infrequent. Towards the end his faculties now and then were a little dimmed; but theocclusion carried compensation with it. To sit with an old man and, being mistaken by him for one's own grandfather, to be addressed asthough half a century had rolled away, is an experience that I would notmiss. To the end John Horne dressed as the country gentlemen of his young dayshad dressed; he might have stepped out of one of Alken's pictures, forhe possessed also the well nourished complexion, the full forehead, andthe slight fringe of whiskers which distinguished Alken's merrysportsmen. 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 neverlosing 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, stoutpin, with a flat brass head, was also inserted, in case his pipe neededcleaning out. Thus furnished, with umbrella and stick, pipe and a sampleof his merchandise, John Horne, in his wide collar, his ample coat withvast pockets over the hips, his tight trousers, and his early-Victorianheadgear, has been, these fifty years, a familiar figure in the Weald ashe passed from farm to farm at a steady gait, his interested glancesfalling this way and that, noting every change (and perhaps a littleresenting it, for he was of the old Tory school), and his genialsalutation ready for all acquaintances. But he is now no more, andSussex is the poorer, and the historian of Sussex poorer still. Ibelieve he would have liked this book; but how he would have shaken hiswise head over its omissions! [Illustration: MAP OF THE COUNTY OF SUSSEX] FOOTNOTES: [4] This is the Sussex preterite of the verb "to join. " [5] _In tye_--not I. [6] _Chucker_; in a cheerful, cordial manner. INDEX A à Becket, Thomas, 156, 238 Ainsworth, W. H. , 27 Albourne, 204 Alciston, 271 Aldrington, 184 Aldworth, 11, 418 Alexander, Mr. W. C. , 308 Alexander of Russia, 316 Alfriston, 266, 273 Almshouses, 38, 227 Amberley, 26, 84 Amberstone, 316 Angels at Rye, 419 Angmering, 83 Ann of Cleves, 247 Architecture, 401 Ardingly, 220 Arundel, 68 Ashburnham, 356 Ashdown Forest, 301, 402 Ashington, 150 B Balcombe, 221 Barton, Bernard, 51 Battle Abbey, 7, 348 Battle of Lewes, 245 Bayham Abbey, 395 Beachy Head, 321 Beddingham, 264 Beer, 152, 257, 383, 400 Beldham, William, 74 Belloc, Mr. Hilaire, 72, 152 Bells, 216, 368, 399 Berwick, 271 Bevis of Southampton, 56, 70 Bexhill, 347 Bignor, 108 "Big on Little, " 230 Billingshurst, 120 Birling Gap, 325 Bishopstone tide mills, 263 Black, William, 173 Blackdown, 11 Blake, William, 64 Blunt, Mr. W. S. , 222 Bodiam, 378 Bognor, 61 Bolney, 216 Book-borrowing, 377 Booth Museum, 175 Borde, Andrew, 214, 332 Borrer, William, the botanist, 133 ---- ---- the ornithologist, 90, 132, 133, 182, 194. Bosham, 54 Bowls, 248 Boxgrove, 41 Bramber, 27, 139 Brambletye House, 229 Bramston, James, 106 Brede, 374 Brightling, 380 Brighton, 81, 160, 419 "Brighton, " a poem, 167 Broadbridge, James, 107 Brown of Brighton, 52 Browne, Sir Anthony, 47 Buckhurst, 400 Buncton Chapel, 150 Burgess, John, 209 Burgon, Dean, 422 Burne-Jones, Sir E. , 178 Burpham, 422 Burrell, Timothy, 211 Burton, Dr. , 289 Burton Park, 107 Burton, West, 110 Burwash, 278, 382 Burwash, Henry, 386 Bury, 111 Bustards, 194 Butler, James, 151 Buxted, 297 Byron, Lord, 167 C Cade, Jack, 309 Camber Castle, 360 Canute, 55 Capel, Edward, 342 Cary, C. F. , 76 Caryll, John, 17, 20, 28, 130 ---- Lady Mary, 17 Catt, William, 260 "Cenotaph of Lord Darnley, " 40 Chailey, 236 Chanctonbury Ring, 146 Charles II. , 26, 169 Charlotte, Princess, 61 Charlton, 44 Chichester, 33, 420 Chiddingly, 314 Chidham, 56 Chithurst, 11 Chowne, Thomas, 267 Christ's Hospital, 122 Churches locked, 299 Cissbury, 154 Clapham, 81 Clayton, Mr. C. E. , 413 Climping, 76 Cobbett, William, 15, 101, 120, 175, 231 Cobden, Richard, 21 Coleridge, S. T. , 76 Collins, Stanton, 273 ---- William, 12, 28 Coombs, Master, 430 Cooper, W. D. , 419 Copley, Anthony, 6 Cotton, Reynell, 119 Covert Family, 217 Cowdray, 3, 6, 7 Cowfold, 131 Cowper, William, 42 Crabbet, 221 Crane, Stephen, 374 Crawley, 218 Cricket, 74, 81, 103, 132, 165, 235, 268, 384 Crowborough, 301 Crowhurst, 357 Cuckfield, 211, 248 Cuckoo, The, 311 Culloden, 371 Cuthman, Saint, 135 D Dacres, The, 307, 337 Dale Park House, 72 Dalmon, Mr. C. W. , 117 Danish vessel, 379 Danny, 200 Darby, Parson, 323 D'Arcy, Penelope, 87 Death presages, 305, 326 Dedisham, 119 Deer, 297 Defoe, Daniel, 8, 285 De Montfort, Simon, 235, 245 "Denis Duval, " 363 Devil in Sussex, 195, 303 Devil's Dyke, 192 Devonshire, Duke of, 318, 331 De Warenne, William, 243 Dew ponds, 428 Dialect, 405 Diaries, 200, 204, 211, 233, 305, 313, 397 Dickens, Charles, 171 Dinners, 213 Ditchling, 208 Donkey race, 385 Dorset, Sixth Earl of, 398 ---- Mrs. , 110 ---- Parson, 110 Downs, The, 2, 23, 258 Drayton, Michael, 124 Drewitts, The, 9 "Duckings, " 401 Dudeney, John, 236 Duelling, 386 Duncton, 107 Dunstan, Saint, 303 E Eartham, 42 Easebourne, 21 Eastbourne, 318 East Dean, 325 East Grinstead, 227 East Hoathly, 312 East Mascalls, 219 Egerton, J. E. Coker, 382 Egremont, Earl of, 32, 99 Eld, Lieut. -Col. , 169 Electioneering, 141, 188, 262 Elizabeth, Queen, 4, 303, 366, 379, 395 Ellman, John, 282 Elsted, 20 Epitaphs, 82, 103, 107, 111, 134, 169, 188, 198, 219, 245, 249, 250, 285, 294, 304, 312, 333, 344, 371, 398 Eridge, 393 Etchingham, 387 F Fairies, 425 Fairy rings, 426, 428 Felpham, 62 Fernhurst, 10 Ferring, 75 Field Place, 115 Fig gardens, 156 Figs, 156 Findon, 152 Fireworks, 252 Firle, 264 Fishbourne, 54 Fish culture, 201 Fishermen, 173 Fittleworth, 94 Flaxman, Anna, 65 Fletching, 235 Folk-lore, 76 Ford, 77 Forest Row, 403 Fowington, Master, 425 Framfield, 293 Frewen Family, 379 Friston, 326 Fulking, 197 Fuller, Thomas, 70, 84, 125, 133, 147, 180, 237, 267, 351, 386 ---- Jack, 380 Furniture-hunters, 143 G Gage Family, 264 Gale, Leonard, 222 ---- Walter, 305 George IV. , 67, 162, 164, 170, 240, 383, 387 Gibbets, 209 Gibbon, Edward, 235 Gilchrist, Alexander, 66 Gipsy queen, 195 Glynde, 281 Godwin, Earl, 55 Goodwood, 39, 40 Gordon, Mr. H. D. , 17 Goring, 78 Goring Family, 146 Graffham, 21 Gravetye, 230 Gunn, Martha, 164 H Hailsham, 316 Halland, 313 Halnaker, 40 Hampnett, West, 40 Hand Cross, 218 Hanging in chains, 9 Hangleton, 196 Hardham, 423 Hardham, John, 30 Hare, Julius, 336 Harmer, Sylvan, 308 Harold, 55, 243, 351 Hartfield, 403 Harting, South, 16 Harvest home, 343 Hastings, 340 Hawker, R. S. , 274 Hayward's Heath, 211 Hay, William, 281 Hayley, William, 42, 62 Hazlitt, William, 100, 168 Headless Horseman, The, 129 Heathfield, 296, 307 Heathfield, Lord, 308 Henfield, 132 Henley, 9 Henley, W. E. , 158, 190 Herons, 88 Heron's Ghyll, 299 Hessel, Phoebe, 170 Hickstead Place, 204 Highdown Hill, 79 Hitchener, Miss, 116 Hogge, Ralph, 297 Hole, Mr. W. G. , 25 Holinshed, 360 Hollington Rural, 345 "Hollow Ways, " 278 Horne, John, of Brighton, 434 Hops, 293 Horsfield, T. W. , 61, 83, 103, 216, 217, 230, 236, 249, 256, 262, 292, 319, 320, 325, 346 Horsham, 6, 112 ---- Stone, 113 Horsted Keynes, 233 Hotham, Sir Richard, 61 Hotspur, Kate, 13 Hove, 184 Hubert of Bosham, 55 Hudson, Mr. W. H. , 33, 181 Hurdis, Rev. James, 263, 385 Hurstmonceux, 334 Hurstpierpoint, 200 Hutchinson, Mr. Horace, 278, 323 I Icklesham, 370 Iden, 372 Iden, Alexander, 309 _Idlehurst_, 220, 241, 384 Iford, 257 Ironworks, 124, 221, 298, 396 Isfield, 292 J Jackson, Cyril, 67 James, Mr. Henry, 369 Jeakes, The, 366 Jefferays, The, 315 Jefferies, Richard, 78, 174, 302, 321, 324, 382, 401 Jennings, Louis, 137 Johnson, Dr. , 8, 171, 250 ---- Thomas, 46 Juxon, Archbishop, 30, 264 K Kimber, John, 236 Kingly Bottom, 51 Kingsley, Charles, 428 Kipling, Mr. , 2, 178 Kirdford, 120 Knepp, 131 Knox, A. E. , 14, 48, 59, 88, 102, 107, 182, 216 L Lade, Sir John, 387 Lamb, Charles, 124, 345 Lamberhurst, 396 Lambert, Mr. Clem, 256 Lang, Mr. Andrew, 225 La Thangue, Mr. H. H. , 21 Laughton, 314 Lavington, West, 21 Leonardslee, 124 Leslie, C. R. , 32, 99 Letter-writing, 321 Lewes, 239, 351 Lillywhite, F. W. , 40, 166 Lindfield, 219, 420 Littlehampton, 75 _Lives of Twelve Good Men_, 422 Locker-Lampson, F. , 224 Lodsworth, 22 Long Man, The, 271 Lovers' Seat, 346 Lower, Mark Antony, 38, 70, 154, 214, 260, 296, 304, 315, 380, 414, 425 Loxwood, 120 Lullington, 268 Lunsford, Col. , 312 Lurgashall, 106 M Madehurst, 72 Malling Deanery, 238 Manhood Peninsula, 56 Mann, Noah, 103 Manning, Cardinal, 21 Marchant, Thomas, 200 Marden, East, 52 Maresfield, 296 Markland, Jeremiah, 295 Marley, 11 Marriott-Watson, Mrs. , 259 Martello towers, 320 Martyrs, 229, 253 Mascall, Leonard, 236 Mayfield, 303, 402 Medicine, 205, 268 Meredith, Mr. George, 392 Michelham Priory, 316 Midhurst, 3, 20 Milland, 11 Millers, 79, 430 Mills, 80 Montagu, Viscounts, 4, 6, 7, 21 Moore, Giles, 233 Mortimer, John Hamilton, 319 Motor cars, 269 Mount Caburn, 280 Mud, 285 Muntham, 152 Mural paintings, 423 N Names, 296, 333 Neale, John Mason, 227 Nelond, Thomas, 131 Newbery, Francis, 308, 310 Newcombe, Thomas, 94 Newhaven, 260 "Newhaven Tipper, " 249 Newick, 235 Newland, Richard, 74 Newtimber, 197 Nightingales, 129, 290 Ninfield, 356 Norfolk, Duke of, 69 Northiam, 378 November 5th, 250 Nyren, John, 74, 104, 119, 412 O Oakendene, 132 Oates, Titus, 341 Oatmeal pudding, 205 "Old Squire, The, " a poem, 223 Oliver, John, 79 "On the Downs, " a poem, 259 "On the South Coast, " 187 Opie, Mrs. , 63 Ospreys, 216 Otway, Thomas, 13 Ovingdean, 177 Owls at Arundel, 70 Oxen, 289 Oxenbridge Family, 371, 374 P Paget, Charles, 82, 88 Pagham, 59, 61 Paine, Tom, 247 Palmer, Lady, 83 Parham, 86 Parish, Mr. W. D. , 195, 265, 406 Parish clerks, 191, 430 Patcham, 198 Patching, 81 Paul, Saint, 77 Peasmarsh, 372 Pelham, Joan, 321 ---- Sir Nicholas, 245, 312 Pelling, Thomas, 177 Penn, William, 151, 284 Percy Family, 97 Pett, 370 Petworth, 22, 91, 96, 100, 290 Pevensey, 328 Piddinghoe, 257 Pitt, William, 171 Plaistow, 120 Plashetts, 291 Playden, 371 Plumpton, 236 Pluralism in Sussex, 154 Politics, 383 _Poly-Olbion_, 125 Pope, Alexander, 130, 398 Portslade, 186 Portus Adurni, 186 Pottery, 175, 369 Powlett, Captain, 129, 131 Poynings, 196 Poyntz, Mr. , 8 Pressing to death, 114 Preston, 75, 199 Pronunciation, 265 Pulborough, 94 Pun, A costly, 55 Puritan names, 296 Pyecombe, 198 Q Quakers, 316 Queen of the Gipsies, 195 R Racton, 26 Ravens at Petworth, 102 Realf, Richard, 293 Rewell Wood, 72 Richard, Saint, 420 Rickman, "Clio, " 248 ---- Nathaniel, 316 "Ride to Church, The, " a ballad, 286 Ringmer, 284 Roads in Sussex, 290 Robertsbridge, 376 Robertson of Brighton, 419 Robinson, Mr. William, 230 Rocks, 295, 230, 395 Rodmell, 256 Rogate, 16 Roman pavements, 109 Romans, The, 25, 34, 109, 207, 330 Romney, 43 Roper, Squire, 44 Rother, at Midhurst, 20 Rotherfield, 302 Rottingdean, 178 Rowfant, 224 Rudgwick, 119 Rushington, 75 Russell, Dr. , 161 Rye, 358, 419 S Sackville College, 227 ---- Family, 397 Saddlescombe, 197 St. Leonards Forest, 123 Saint Richard, 420 Salehurst, 378 Salvington, 154 Sawyer, F. E. , 413 Saxons, The, 25, 330, 405 Saxonbury, 394 Seaford, 262 Selden, John, 154 Selmeston, 265 Selsey Bill, 57 Selwyn Monument, 326 Serpent of St. Leonards Forest, 126 Shakespeare, 13, 308, 321 Sheep, 283 Sheffield Park, 235 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 115, 418 ---- Sir John, 82 ---- William, 82 Shirleys, The, 147 Shooting, Knox's description of, 48 Shoreham, New, 186 ---- Old, 191 "Shoreham River, " a poem, 190 Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, 341 Shulbrede Priory, 11 Shurley Family, 292 Sidlesham, 57 "Silly Sussex, " 384 Single lines, 3 Singleton, 44, 46 Slaugham, 217 Slaughter Common, 311 Slinfold, 118 Smith, Charlotte, 110 ---- George, 29 ---- Horace, 167 ---- Sidney, 169, 174 Smoaker, 164 Smuggling, 273, 429 Sompting, 159 "Song against Speed, " 269 "Song of Solomon, " 414 "Sops and Ale, " 320 "South County, The, " a poem, 72 Southease, 257 South Harting, 16 Southover, 247 Southwick, 186 Spencer, Herbert, 173 Spershott, James, 36 Springett, Sir Herbert, 286 Stane Street, 40, 119, 120, 431 Stapleton, Thomas, 133 Stapley, Richard, 204 Steyning, 135 Stogton, 52 Stopham, 94 Storrington, 90 Stott, Mr. Edward, 85 Stoughton, 52 Superstitions, 305, 382 "Sussex, " a poem, 178 Sussex character, 383, 429, 431, 433 _Sussex Daily News_, 215 "Sussex Drinking-Song, " 152 _Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways_, 315, 382, 413 "Sussex Nurse, The, " 117 Swift, Dean, 375 Swinburne, Mr. A. C. , 187, 190, 322 T Tarring, 156, 421 Tattersall, Captain, 27, 169 Taylor, John, 78, 180, 320 Telham Hill, 348 Telscombe, 257 Tennyson, Lord, 12, 418 Thackeray, W. M. , 363 Tillington, 102 Tipper, Thomas, 249 Tipteers, 424 Titmice, 226 "To all you Ladies, " 398 "To a Seaman, " 322 Trelawny, 418 Trespassing, 394 Treyford, 20 Trotton, 12 _True and Wonderful_, 126 Truffles, 83 "Trugs, " 339 Tunbridge Wells, 303, 390 Tupper, Mr. , 109 Turner, J. M. W. , 355, 381 ---- Thomas, 313 Twineham, 204 Twyne, Thomas, 250 U Uckfield, 295 Udimore, 374 Up-Park, 16 V Verdley Castle, 11 Vere, Aubrey de, 12 W Wadhurst, 389 Wagers, 388 Walking craze, 218 Walpole, Horace, 338, 376 Warbleton, 311 Warminghurst, 151 Warnham, 120 Washington, 151 Waylett, John, 399 Webster, Sir Godfrey, 262 Wesley, John, 59, 365 Westbourne, 52 West Grinstead, 130 Westham, 332 West Hoathly, 230 Westons, The, 362 West Wittering, 424 Wheatears, 180 Whistler, Rev. Webster, 342 White, Gilbert, 18, 24, 290, 428 Wickliffe, John, 305 Wilberforce, Bishop, 422 ---- William, 141 Wildflowers, 302 Wilfred, Saint, 58 Wilkie, David, 32 William IV. , 191 William the Conqueror, 320, 348 Wills, Sussex, 215 Wilmington, 271 Winchelsea, 358 Wiston, 147 Witchcraft, 19 Withyham, 397 Wolstonbury, 199 Woodman, Richard, 253, 311 Woolbeding, 21 Worth, 222 Worthing, 158 Y Young, Arthur, 22, 283 THE END PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. ADVERTISEMENTS THE HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS SERIES. Extra crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. Net each. London. By Mrs. E. T. COOK. With Illustrations by HUGH THOMSON and FREDERICK L. GRIGGS. _GRAPHIC. _--"Mrs. Cook is an admirable guide; she knows her London inand out; she is equally at home in writing of Mayfair and of Citycourts, and she has a wealth of knowledge relating to literally andhistorical associations. 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