f^CoVkTIES feA/^II^SHIRE^I PpgLpUCESTERM^ ^ORCEiTEFj HEREFORD fji^ LSHROPSHIRiil ^ARWICK^ p'OXFORDSHiRE L^BUCKINGHAM^I CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library DA 625.H67 Through ten English cquntles. 3 1924 028 081 820 B Cornell University ))§} Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028081820 Sec />agc 284. rkiK^T's ■rowEK, stokksav castlk. lEen Cnaltsi) Counties BY JAMES JOHN HISSEY AUTHOR OF 'on THE BOX SEAT,' 'a HOLIDAY ON THE ROAD,' 'across ENGLAND IN A DOG-CART,' ETC. The lost art of travelling in one's own country. LiNN.a:us, WITH SIXTEEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND A MAP OF THE ROUTE LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET ©ublwjjctB in ©tsinat? to I&et Mmm tf)t ©uem 1894 AZl rights 7-eserved TO MY MANY UNKNOWN FRIENDS I DEDICATE THIS BOOK THE LIES COmiNG OUT OF JUDGE JEFFRF.YS MOUTH. Sec page 313. PREFACE The following pages contain the chronicle of a journey by road taken through ten English counties. To the writer it seems that there can hardly be a pleasanter mode of spending a summer holiday than by driving about our own beautiful country, beyond the customary tourist's haunts, and out of the beaten track of travel, resting at the homely and homelike old-fashioned inns on the way, that still, the fates be praised, may be found scattered over the land, and what is more to the point, make the wayfarer exceedingly comfortable. To those in search of a quiet holiday without dulness, and who object to crowded watering-places and the bustle of ordinary travel, a driving tour offers manifold advantages ; the constant change of scene it provides keeps the attention always pleasantly occupied, whilst there is ever a feeling of delightful expectancy as to what each fresh bend of the road may reveal, so that anything approaching to ennui IS impossible. And the rural folk one meets with from time to time are an interesting study in themselves. In the pre-railway age the Briton who travelled viij THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES by post-chaise or by coach, of necessity saw, what his descendants seldom do, the rural beauties of his native land. The peaceful progress of a driving tour is the very antithesis of the haste, bustle, and clamour of the railway, and combines change of air and scene with the least possible amount of annoy- ance or fatigue. In such a storied land as Britain, so abounding in past memories, one can hardly drive anywhere without coming upon some interesting relic of departed days. It may be an old abbey, a ruined castle, a moated manor-house, a histodc home, an ancient church, a sleepy medieval market town, or even a picturesque roadside hostelry with its weather-toned front and traditions of the coach- ing times. And as for the country, away from large towns, the beauty of England is a dream of loveli- ness, gentle, mellow, and peace-bestowing ; there is no scenery like it in the world. It is something to leave one's commonplace everyday surroundings behind, to blot them out from memory, and to travel for a time in this true Arcadia. The illustrations, engraved by Mr. Pearson from a selection of my sketches made during the journey, may, I trust, add to the interest of the text. In an age of cheap and hasty process work, I further trust that the employment of good old-fashioned wood- cuts may prove not unacceptable. J. J. HISSEY. 1894. CONTENTS CHAPTER I The pleasures of travelling by road — Various ways of spend- ing a holiday — Planning our tour — The start — Richmond Park — Kingston — "An old-fashioned inn with old- fashioned ways " — The Coronation Stone of the Saxon kings — Facts versus traditions — A fine prospect — A new pleasure — Bolder Mere — Pine woods — EngHsh scenery . CHAPTER II Ripley — The tyrants of the road — An old coaching inn — Old folk-lore — Guildford — Ancient buildings — A picturesque street — Past and present — A ruined fane — Godalming — A " thoroughfare " town — Gorse and heather — A lonely hostel — A gipsy encampment — At the sign of the Red Lion — Hindhead Hill — The highlands of Surrey . . i6 CHAPTER III wayside monument — The Devil's Punch Bowl — A bit of primeval England — A legendary inn — A story of the road — The "Anchor" at Liphook — A misty day — Inn signs — Petersfield — Chats with country folk — A Hamp- shire " Hanger" — A railless land — Homes of the people — A pseudo Druids' Circle — A joke by the way . ■ 35 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES CHAPTER IV PAGE country inn — An ancient poster — Changed times — A new mode of spending a holiday — A barren upland — Win- chester — A hostelry with a history — A fifteenth-century half-timbered house — Winchester cathedral — Izaak Walton's tomb — A bit of eleventh-century ironwork — Ancient builders and modern restorers — A quaint conceit in words — Where Jane Austen lived and died . . 54 CHAPTER V An ancient dole — A wonderful jump of a horse — Hursley — The grave of John Keble — Ron^isey and its Norman abbey — A beautiful monument — A ghastly relic — An evening walk — A curious mistake — The wrong use of words — An amateur angler — " Merrie .England" — A lighthouse for land travellers — The finest view in England — Salisbury . 75 CHAPTER VI Old Sarum — A windy spot — Gigantic earthworks — Salisbury Plain • — Amesbury — Vespasian's Camp — S tonehenge — A chat with a caravanist — Over the downs — An ancient home — Old houses and new ones — Where Charles II. secreted himself for five days — " Hiding holes" — Wood- ford — A second Stratford-on-Avon — Old inscriptions . 94 CHAPTER VII Salisbury Cathedral — Wilton — Good roads — A church and a museum — The flag of the ill-fated Captain — The valley of the Wylye — Wishford — A curious incised slab — Cod- ford — A chat with an old villager — How the poor live — Legendary inns — Warminster, past and present . . 116 CONTENTS CHAPTER Vni PAGE breezy day — A chartless cruise — Westbury White Horse — Turner's Tower — Beckington — Old English gardens — A quaint village — A fifteenth-century inn with a history^ A great "hiding-hole" — Ancient chambers — Vanished curiosities — " The twin maidens of Foscote " — A horrible tradition — A haunted room — Cider-making — Farleigh Castle — A picturesque spot — Storm-overtaken . . 133 CHAPTER IX Two old manor-houses — An ancient Saxon church — Unex- plored England ! — An old monastic tithe barn — A stately Jacobean home — A mass chapel on a bridge — Great Chaldfield manor — A curious inscription on a window pane — A quaint church tower — A fifteenth- century mansion — Sir Walter Raleigh's smoke room — An interesting interior — Places and pictures — The legend of the lady with the white hand — A well in a living room . ■ ■ . ■ ■ • • -151 CHAPTER X A land of stone — Corsham — Chippenham — A story of the road — Chance company at one's inn — Corston — Malmesbury — An ancient market cross — An ideal landlord — Tres- passing — A "watching chamber" — Stories in stone — The Thames head — Cirencester — A misadventure . . 173 CHAPTER XI The Cotswold Hills — "Posting" miles— A chat with a farmer A twelfth-century churchyard cross — Old windows — A wooded valley— A picnic by the way — Cheltenham- Carriers' carts — Tewkesbury — Half-timbered inns — The Ideal versus the Real — Upton -on -Severn — A quaint church tower . ■ ■ • • ■ ■ ■ '97 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES CHAPTER XII PAGE An ancient home — Old customs — A haunted room — A "Powder Chamber" — An old coach bill — The Malvern Hills — A country of orchards — Worcester — Old sayings — Knightsford — A picturesque spot — Inn yards — A quaintly-clipped yew tree — "Far from the madding crowd" . . . . . . . . .2 20 CHAPTER XIII An old-fashioned garden — Amongst the hills — A steep bit of road — Storm and sunshine — Bromyard — Prosperous farmers — Twelve miles from Anywhere — Epitaph-hunting — Country life — Leominster — A quaint old home — A curious inscription — Nature's many moods . . . 242 CHAPTER XIV The Teme valley — A romantic town — A quaint old hostelry — Round about Ludlow — The Whitclifif — Ludlow Castle — We come upon a character — A round chapel — " Buried history" — Old proverbs — A huge fireplace — Ludlow church — An ancient dole — Tales in carving — A pleasant land .......... 260 CHAPTER XV Bromfield Priory Gateway — Craven Arms — A flourishing village — Stokesay Castle — ReHcs of a forgotten fight — Amedieval hall — A fortified manor-house — Corve Dale — A quiet corner of England — A curious church tower — Munslow — A picturesque church — A ghastly tomb — A seller of tracts ....... CHAPTER XVI The Wrekin — A Shropshire toast — Bridgenorth — A leaning tower — -Thirsty souls — Abbreviation of names — Romantic 279 CONTENTS and picturesque towns — Quatford — A curious effect — Kidderminster — Round about an old coaching inn — Hills and clouds — Droitwich — Satire in stone — Buildings with characters — Pleasant company — On the road . . 2C CHAPTER XVII Salwarp House — A paragon of perfection — Droitwich brine baths — Up and down hill — Alcester — Changeful weather — Histories in monuments — A veritable Arcadia — " Shakespeare's Town " — Beneath the sign of the Red Horse — Washington Irving's Parlour — Geoffrey Crayon's Sceptre— ^A storied chamber . . . . . • 3 1 7 CHAPTER XVIII Stratford-on-Avon from the old coach road — Charlecote Park — On the wrong track — Nature's music — Driving for health — An old Roman fossway — The unexpected in scenery — Kineton — Architectural details — A puzzling date — Edgehill and battle-ground — A stiff ascent — An even- ing drive — Banbury cross — Horses on the road . . 335 CHAPTER XIX pleasant road — A morning drive — Railways and roads — Aynho — Village stocks — A sketch — Old associations in buildings — A trysting-place — A curious dispute — A crop of Indian corn — Buckingham — The finest tonic in the world — Bell-ringing — A tramp at prayer — Sunsets — Winslow — A curious window — An amusing conversation. 354 CHAPTER XX Mist and rain — An evening effect — Aylesbury — Notice to trespassers — Exploring — Old-fashioned hospitality — The building material of the country — Wayside inns — A THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES peaceful progress — The Chiltern Hills— Tring — Life at a country hostelry — Commercial travellers — " Nothing new under the sun" — Quaint gargoyles . . . -373 CHAPTER XXI late drive — The hour of romance — The peace of evening — Berkhampstead — The last day of a holiday — Chance acquaintances on the road — A puzzling problem and a possible explanation — An ancient gabled house — The contrast of the old and new — A picturesque waterway — Watford — Bushey — A retrospect — Back again in London 387 CHAPTER XXH Concerning driving tours ....... 397 Appendix 403 Index .......... 405 ILLUSTRATIONS Priest's Tower, Stokesay Castle HiNDHEAD Hill .... In the Heart of Hampshire An English Common . Stonehenge George Inn, Norton St. Philips Mass House on Bridge, Bradford-on-; Malmesbury Abbey Old Bell Inn, Tewkesbury Talbot Inn, Knightsford . Ludlow Castle .... Stokesay Castle .... Roadside England Salwarp House near Droitwich The View from Edgehill An old English Farmstead Map of Route .... . Frontispiece To face page 32 „ 58 „ 88 I) .1 no „ 138 g-'AVON „ 156 ,. „ 184 „ 213 „ „ 236 „ 265 „ 282 „ ,, 3°6 „ 318 „ 348 „ 376 End of Book THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES CHAPTER I The pleasures of travelling by road — Various ways of spending a holiday — Planning our tour — The start — Richmond Park — Kingston — " An old-fashioned inn with old-fashioned ways " — The Coronation Stone of the Saxon kings — Facts versus tradi- tions — A fine prospect — A new pleasure — Bolder Mere — Pine woods — English scenery. What a pleasant thing it is to drive through a pretty country in the summer time ; and granted this, how much more enjoyable must it be when — as in the case of an old-fashioned journey by road — a drive is extended to weeks through some portion of rural England, than which if there exists a more beautiful country it has yet to be discovered ! Given a horse and carriage (owned or hired), a suitable companion, and a sufficiency of time, what can be more delightful than to start upon a lengthened driving tour with the whole of fair England before one and all sorts of pleasant possibilities in prospect ? It is of itself a novel and agreeable sensa- tion to be able to leave home without even 2 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES having to consult a time-table or to call a cab ! It is a relief also to avoid the rush and crush of crowds, to know that your belongings cannot go astray (as these are always with you), and to escape wholly from the many petty and frequent annoyances that beset the ordinary tourist. There is, too, a charming feeling of independence about this wandering mode of life. Travelling thus, you can rise early or late as the mood inclines ; having no train to catch, you can breakfast at your leisure, and can start on the day's journey without consulting any one's convenience but your own : you can stop on the way, when and where you please, diverge therefrom, or even change your route altogether at any point should you be so minded. Such freedom is altogether delightful ; and a holiday so spent in the midst of beautiful and changeful scenery is certainly not more expensive, and — to me at any rate — is infinitely more interesting and enjoyable than the ordinary sojourn at a crowded hotel, or at the dear and dull lodgings of a fashion- able sea-side resort, with the usual accompaniments of shadeless sands or shingle, gritty and glarino- promenades, the everlasting iron pier, and inevitable German band ; all most inspiriting — especially the German band ! Having elected to take our holiday thus, as had been our wont for years now past, and the time for our annual outing having once more arrived, the only matter to be arranged was, what portion of England we would select to explore. Sundry county maps, and our treasured copy of Patersoyis OUR PLANS Roads, last edition of 1829 (the Bradshaw of the pre-railway days), were consulted, and a long evening was spent in discussing the programme of our pro- posed tour. In former expeditions of a like nature we had fixed upon some distant point to drive to, such as the Land's End, or some spot in Scotland or Wales, and had set off thither by one line of country, re- turning by another. This time, however, we con- cluded that we would not aim for any special point or place, only roughly determining that we would first steer a southerly course for Romsey Abbey, and so by Salisbury and Stonehenge find our way to the west of England, striking from thence northward up to Ludlow and the Welsh border, and so see something of a part of England that we had not hitherto visited, returning home by another route to be arranged in due course. But we did not bind ourselves in any way to even this somewhat broad programme. Our tour was solely one of pleasure, and open to change in accordance with our latest fancy ; all that we really agreed upon was to spend a month or so driving about England — as far from railways as might be, in an age when the land is gridironed all over with them — simply in the search of healthful relaxation, such being the very essence of a real holiday. For the nonce we made pleasure-seeking our sole business, we would take our ease on the road, at our inn, and suffer no guide-book dictation as to what we should or should not see. Guide-books are, to a certain extent, tyrants, and on such an expedition best left at 4 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES home, then you do not feel any compulsion to visit this or that spot because they make special mention of it, — we preferred to make our own discoveries. We had no intention of completing any definite itinerary ; a restless desire to see everything turns holiday-making into genuine hard work. We set forth upon our wanderings one fine autumn afternoon, having: during the morning; care- fully packed our roomy dog-cart with all necessary belongings for the journey, including some warm wraps in case of need, waterproofs, maps, sketch- books, and photographic paraphernalia. It is a wise precaution, and one that we always take upon the eve of such an expedition, to make out a list of everything down even to the smallest trifle that is likely to be required ; such articles as matches, a spare pair of brake blocks, also driving gloves, candles for carriage-lamps should one by chance be benighted, writing materials, a small flask of brandy (which we always take but luckily have never needed), a plentiful supply of tobacco, and sundry minor trifles likely to be forgotten at the last moment without such a list. It is a pleasant satis- faction on starting to feel certain that you have got everything with you that can possibly be required, from the absolutely needful down to little luxuries. Having said our farewells and mounted our dog- cart we set off from Kensington at a brisk trot and soon reached Hammersmith, where we crossed the Thames, and presently found ourselves on Barnes NATURE NEAR LONDON Common, which bit of open gorse-dotted space gave us our first savour of the country. Thence we proceeded by Sheen into Richmond Park, where the grand sweeps of green sward stretching down to dark woods, the tall waving bracken all around, and the great gnarled oaks beneath whose spreading branches the deer were resting, imbued us at the very outset of our journey with a feeling of the real country. Richmond Park has in parts a genuine look of wild nature about it, in such pleasing contrast with the nature trimmed and tamed of town parks. So much indeed did its wildness impress us, that as we drove along a curious feeling of being far away from everywhere came over us, a very real feeling, yet one wholly beyond analysis. It seemed almost as though it must have been an illusion of our senses that so short a time ago we had been threading our way through the thronged and noisy streets of the greatest city in the world. Richmond Park was strangely deserted that gloriously sunny afternoon, not a living thing was to be seen, excepting the quiet deer under the trees and the resdess birds above. It is surprising how comparatively few Londoners find their way to the more secluded portions of this fine demesne ; for there is nothing, as far as I am aware, within anything like the same distance of town, to at all approach it for wild beauty and for the restful impression it affords of remoteness from " the busy haunts of men." For ourselves, until we neared Kingston Gate, we did not see a single human 6 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES creature ; we might indeed have been in some distant Midland or Western shire, for all that our eyes could tell. So we drove on through this woodland solitude towards the golden sunset and the ancient market town of Kingston, where we sought accommodation for the night beneath the sign of the Griffin, an old-time coaching house, duly mentioned in our Paterson's Roads. Driving under the low arch- way, that gives entrance to the inn, we discovered the waiter at the side door very successfully occupied in doing nothing. In answer to our inquiry he replied, "Certainly we can put you up, if you don't mind an old-fashioned inn with old-fashioned ways." Why he made such a reservation we could not exactly comprehend, but we hastened to assure him that such an inn and such ways was just what we especially liked; and certainly the old-fashioned mellow light of candles on our table, and the chops, cooked to perfection, which we had with our evening meal, made us gladly pardon the absence of the flare of gas, or the glare of electricity, and the long- drawn-out table d'/ioie of the grander modern hotel. Old stagers by road as we are, we have learnt infinitely to prefer the comfortable homely inn, whereat our port- wine -loving, hail-fellow-well-met forefathers made merry, to the dearer showiness of the more pretentious nineteenth-century hotel, — the product of the railway age. Next morning, following the example of the famous and entertaining Samuel Pepys of Diary renown, we " awoke betimes " to a beautifully OLD TRADITIONS fine day which made us all the more eager to commence our journey in earnest ; for we only looked upon our short drive of the previous after- noon as a sort of preliminary affair, like as one regards the preface to a book, — an introduction rather than an integral part of it. As we drove out of Kingston we passed by the famous Coronation Stone of the early Saxon kings that gives to the town its name {i.e. King's stone abbreviated to Kingston). This stone is carefully enclosed by railings, and to prove its genuineness has it not the names of several Saxon kings en- graved thereon in quaint antique lettering, and after that who would dispute its authenticity ? Not we, at any rate ! Moreover, in spite of certain learned and hard-headed antiquaries the stone may really have served the purpose which tradition credits it with having done : there is no special reason why it should not, — and after all tradition is sometimes right ! A too matter-of-fact spirit ruins a good deal of pleasant old-world romance, and spoils many an ancient legend that does no one any harm to believe, and that has been accepted by our un- critical ancestors for generations past as Gospel true. Modern historians, with no sense of poetry in their compositions, have even dared to call in question the truth of the story of Lady Godiva and her famous ride through the streets of Coventry, " for the all-sufficient reason that at the date of her celebrated escapade there was no town of Coventry in existence through which to ride." In like manner amongst a number of other pretty traditions the one 8 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES of King Canute struggling with the tide, and that of King Alfred letting the cakes burn in the neatherd's cottage, have also been declared on the same hard- hearted, but, I fear, unimpeachable authority to be apocryphal, and oh the pity of it ! What a lot of romance is lost to one by living in an over-critical age! It was, doubtless, this feeling of loss that caused a modern American poet (Russell Lowell) to sing thus regretfully of the unsophisticated past — O days endeared to every muse, When nobody had any views. . . . O happy days, when men received From sire to son what all believed, And left the other world in bliss, Too busy with bedevilling this ! Leaving the Coronation Stone, that has caused this over-long digression, we skirted the side of the Thames for a while. The river, as we drove by, was gay with sailing boats ; amongst the number a small yacht with a huge red sail looked exceedingly and pronouncedly eccentric, — attractive I cannot add, one wants to get used to such novelties to admire them ! Sails of red and blue and yellow, if such should ever be fashion's decree, would certainly ' enliven the river with a pageant of moving colour — crossing, passing, and intermingling — that might cause frequented stretches of the Thames to out colour-rival even Turner's dream of Venice. Across the water we caught a glimpse of Hampton Court Palace and park, erst the stately abode of Cardinal and King, now a favourite rendezvous of the Cockney cheap-day-excursionist — from Harry the THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD Eighth to 'Arry the Tripper, so work Time's changes ! Then passing by some essentially utilitarian water- works with a tall chimney belching forth black smoke in the most approved factory fashion that would not have disgraced Manchester itself we parted company with the river, and, striking a southerly course along the old Portsmouth road, we soon came to Sandown Park with its pretty race- course, and another half mile brought us to the little village of Esher, where the quaint and weather- stained bell-turret of its ancient church peeping above the lowly buildings around gave a certain feeling of picturesqueness to the otherwise feature- less collection of houses that lined the roadway. At Esher the comfortable-looking old Bear Inn, stand- ing well back from the village street, tempted us to call a halt, for the day was hot and mortals are sometimes thirsty, but we resisted its allurements in consideration of the short distance we had travelled, and mindful of the fact that did we linger at every attractive wayside hostelry we came to, our journey might be indefinitely prolonged — so we hardened our hearts and proceeded on our way. Then began a gentle rise, and at the top of this, from a clump of Scotch firs that crowned a rugged knoll, we had a fine prospect reaching far away over a wild heathery common to a distance of dark woods, bounded on the horizon by low-lying faint- blue hills. Our eyes, so long accustomed to the confined prospects of town streets and squares, delighted to range unrestrained over this goodly 10 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES expanse of spreading heath and shadowy wood away to the dim misty hills where the sky seemed to drop to meet the earth. It is well, as it is pleasant, to exercise the vision thus at times, for the eye wants training to understand the meaning that lies in the far-away, and to grasp the poetry of its mystery. The vision is apt to get cramped as well as the mind, — we should be able to see broadly as well as think broadly. Our road now commenced to give us a taste of its scenic capabilities, and a finer or more varied drive of seventy odd miles than the old road from London to Portsmouth affords it would be difficult to discover in all fair England. From the time Kingston, and with it the last suggestion of out- lying Cockneydom, is left behind till Portsmouth comes into sight the traveller on that once busy and famous naval highway has an endless succession of rural pictures and landscape panoramas presented to him, ranging from the quiet pastoral, to what may be honestly termed the grand, where the wild Hind- head Hill is crossed, with a long stiff pull of four miles or more. But as we shall drive along this old Portsmouth road as far as Petersfield (fifty-two miles and a quarter from London to be precise), we shall have a fair opportunity, as we proceed, of observing and enjoying a goodly portion of its changeful scenery and characteristic features at our leisure. Continuing on our way, we passed Claremont Park to our left, shortly after which we crossed Fairmile Common with its excellent stretch of smooth straight road : surely it must be that this COUNTRY SOLITUDE mile of good level highway has given its name to the common ? Here, doubtless, of old the fast coaches made the most of the opportunity, and did the mile at their best speed : we also, for the mere delight of swift progress and the inspiriting feeling of the thing, indulged in a swinging trot that quickly brought us to the end of the common and to a sharp but short descent that took us to the very uninteresting, not to say downright ugly, hamlet of Cobham Street, which was primitive without, alas ! being picturesque. Just beyond Cobham Street we crossed the little river Mole, a river that earns its name by burrowing underground here and there ; then followed a pretty stretch of road with grassy sides (an ideal spot for a quiet canter) ; after this we came upon another wide' expanse of uncultivated ground, covered with gorse and heather, and encircled by dark gloomy pine woods. Wisley Common we made this out to be from our map. As we entered upon it no habitations were visible, nothing but the capital highroad we were on told of man. Here were we, within twenty -four miles of the mighty metropolis with its teeming millions, yet for all that a greater solitude you could hardly find anywhere, though different in kind. The pine woods now grew close to the roadside, and the air became laden with the resinous odours of the trees, mingled with the peculiar perfume of the gorse. To simply inhale the sweet-scented air that was wafted to us on the warm summer breeze which, as it passed over them, gathered 12 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES fragrance from tree and shrub and herb, made breathing for itself a delight, — we had discovered a new pleasure of life. Suddenly, as we proceeded onward, we espied the shimmering silver of a sheet of still water surrounded by a forest of red-stemmed, pointed pines which were doubled in reverse on its glassy surface. This tranquil lakelet — it looked too large and, above all, too dignified to be called a pond — is marked as Bolder Mere on the Ordnance map ; it certainly gave a sort of piquant picturesqueness to the landscape as well as an element of brightness, bringing down, as it did, into the heart of the sombre woods around a portion of the bright blue sky and glowing sunshine from above. It was one of nature's own mirrors reflecting and focussing together in sharp contrast the gloom of the dark woods and the sunny brilliancy of the sky. A roadside inn, curiously called the Huts, stands close by the mere, possibly evolved from such primitive structures as the name implies. There was an ancient boat moored near to the shore, but as it appeared to be more or less leaky (rather more than less) we did not venture therein, a row in a leaky boat not being, according to a former Welsh experience, exacdy an unalloyed pleasure ; so in preference to a damp row we elected to take a dry ramble through the woods along the margin of the mere in search of a pretty peep just to make a beginning in our sketch - books. Somehow the beginning was never made ; we could not find the exact point of view we wished, in fact we felt in a PINE WOODS 13 lazy mood, and allowed the camera to do the drawing for us. So we secured a photograph, but not a picture ; sometimes we have, indeed, managed to obtain both, but disappointingly seldom. We took a number of photographs of scenes and places during our outing, but with one notable exception, these were rather interesting than pictur- esque. A mechanical lens simply records facts, it never puts poetry into a scene, and it is just this glamour of poetry added to the truth of nature which gives the special charm to an artist's production ; he has worked something of himself into his picture, he has given us more than a mere transcript of a scene. A mere matter-of-fact rendering of nature is not true art ; a camera can reproduce what is before it in black and white — it can copy, but it cannot create. Somewhat in this fashion wandered our thoughts as we leisurely strolled along by the side of the quiet water. We found it easier to think than to work ! Pine woods, by the way, make delightful wandering, for the dead needles of their foliage form a dry and elastic natural carpet to walk upon ; moreover, owing to their resinous nature, they dry up rather than decay, as do the leaves of ordinary forest trees, and they are inimical to any tangled undergrowth that so generally and unpleasantly impedes the pedestrian's progress in other kinds of woods. What a delightful picture that little mere with its setting of pine woods presented to us ! It is just these charming surprises that make driving about 14 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES rural England so enjoyable. Truly England is a small country, but the diversified character of our home scenery, even that of a single county, is some- thing to wonder at and to be grateful for. I do not believe that there exists an Englishman who knows thoroughly even the county in which he lives ; if there be one, I have not come upon him yet. A gentleman once declared to me that he knew perfectly well the country all around his home within a circle of ten miles or so ; he was a man who rode, and drove, and walked a good deal, and seldom slept out of his own house ; yet I went out alone one day in search of the picturesque, and brought back with me a sketch that I had made within four miles of my friend's very own door. On seeing my sketch, he said I must have invented the scene, as there was nothing at all like it in the locality ; yet afterwards, on going with me to the spot, he had to confess that, though he had often been near to it, he had never actually been there, and declared in manifest surprise that he had no idea that such a scenic gem existed within a walk of where he had lived for years ! There is no wearisome sameness in English scenery as so frequently obtains in foreign lands. Here have I been driving about England for many years now past, yet every time I find myself on the road, I am struck anew by the seemingly infinite variety and changefulness of all I see ; the land- scape always appears fresh, and therefore full of interest ; at the same time it greets you with a familiar friendly face. Who could weary of travel- UNTRAVELLED ENGLAND ling by road through a land like this ? Such a journey is a continual feast of loveliness for those who have eyes to see and a heart to understand the mellow homelike beauties it reveals. Un- travelled England is just as well worth exploring as any other land ! CHAPTER II Ripley — The tyrants of the road — An old coaching inn — Old folk-lore — Guildford — Ancient buildings — A picturesque street — Past and present — A ruined fane — Godalming — A " thoroughfare " town — Gorse and heather — A lonely hostel — A gipsy encampment — At the sign of the Red Lion — Hindhead Hill — The highlands of Surrey. So we drove on through this pleasant land of pine woods, of gorse-strewn commons, and wild heathery wastes, till we reached the sleepy little village of Ripley with its fine spacious green, on which some of its juvenile inhabitants were indulging in a game of rough cricket ; happy youngsters, thought we, to have such a grand playground. A famous halting and baiting place was Ripley in the old coaching days ; then the village street was all alive with traffic, noisy with the clatter of many hoofs, and musical with the sound of the frequent horn ; but times have changed, Ripley is quiet enough now, for it is left quite out in the cold by the iron road. To this day Ripley has never heard the sound of a railway whistle ; though, as to this, let it be sorrowfully confessed that we had a good imitation of one from a huge ungainly traction engine that we met as we were driving in, a fine TYRANTS OF THE ROAD 17 )ecimen it was, too, of one of those big bullies of le highway that, if the road be at all narrow, drive 1 lesser fry into the hedgerow or ditch. You innot collide with a traction engine to your own Ltisfaction, so the weakest has to go to the wall, racefully or grumblingly — we always do the tter. I have often wished that two of these hideous on vagabonds — surely the ugliest product of an jly age — could only meet each other in a narrow ne and fight out the right of way between them, id "I be there to see" — but this is digressing id uncharitable besides. I cannot, however, be cpected to see things exactly from the point of !ew of a traction engine driver. At Ripley we drove up to the Talbot, an ancient n so suggestive of a past age with its picturesque )urtyard and weather-stained front. In days of 3re, when men made haste slowly, according to .odern ideas of speed that is, forty or more coaches issed the old inn during the day, a number of hich changed horses there ; such, at least, the ndlord informed us was the tradition handed to ini with the historic house and was the only em that he had not to pay for on taking Dssession. We determined to rest a while at Ripley and to roceed in the cool of the evening on to Guildford, here we proposed to spend the night. So having ery satisfactorily " refreshed the inner man," as the juntry reporters delight to remark, and having ;en that our horses were properly looked after, we 2 1 8 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES set forth for a ramble across the wide - spreading- green to the attractive-looking country beyond, and in search of the ruins of Newark Abbey, which we noticed marked on our map as lying in that direction about a mile and a half away by eye measurement. We somehow failed to find the ruins, or even to obtain a distant view of them, but what mattered it ? We did not feel in any way duty bound to get there, and we had a most enjoyable afternoon's stroll which landed us at a pretty out-of-the-world spot by the side of the slothful river Wey, where we rested on the soft sward under the grateful shelter of some wide-branching trees, feeling much at peace with all the world and ourselves in particular. Newark Abbey ruins might remain unseen for all we cared. We were quite content to recline there on the grass and simply do nothing but dream dreams, for at times doing nothing is a virtue, especially in these days of push and brain pressure. It was very peace-bestowing to while away an idle hour in that sweet seclusion listening to the liquid music of the flowing river and to the cawing and clamouring of some sleek-looking rooks who were holding an animated conversation on the topmost branches of the tall elms above us. I know nothing so soothing to the ear tired with town noises as the tranquil gurgling of a slowly-gliding stream singing its ceaseless song without words. On our way back to our inn we came upon a man at a corner of the large common sorting a heap of rags out of a large hand-barrow : we felt no desire to go near him, so made a slight detour to AN OPTIMIST 19 avoid the locality whereon he had chosen to dump his unsavoury stock-in-trade. However, he saw and made straight for us, with the intention, we presumed, of requesting a copper, but for once we were mistaken ; the man, after begging our pardon, simply civilly asked me if I could give him a light for his pipe. I gave him one and was quite prepared for the begging to follow as a matter of course, looking upon the match incident as a sort of preliminary for that purpose, but the unexpected does sometimes happen ; having lighted his pipe, and not forgetting to thank me for my kindness, the man at once withdrew without another word. Somehow this individual interested me ; he looked so poor and woebegone, he might so easily have concocted some dismal story, or still worse, might have told some real tale of sorrow, but he did neither. Asking my wife to stroll slowly on I went to interview the man. It appeared from what I could gather from him that, after trying many ways of getting a living and failing in each in turn, as a last resource he had taken to rag-collecting. " It's not a pleasant job, and it's hard work too," said he ; " so a lot of chaps shirk it, but a man must do something, and I've tried almost everything else and failed; now I can just get a living at this, and that's something to be thankful for these hard times." And he puffed away at his pipe, and still he did not beg. Certainly he was one of the most cheerful men under adverse circumstances that I ever met. I could moralise here but forbear, even 20 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES children nowadays decline to read books with a mora! ! Returning to the Talbot we ordered the horses to be put to, and whilst they were being harnessed we whiled away the short interval by opening up a chat with the landlord ; for when on the road we never let slip an opportunity of gleaning any odd scraps of information, as by so doing we occasionally manage to add to our store of notes upon local histories and traditions, or perhaps to learn particulars of curious customs and quaint sayings, or, more welcome still, to pick up some of the old folk-lore that yet lingers on in a few remote corners of the country, and now and then we gathered anecdotes of the coaching days. Of course on the whole we collected a good deal more chaff than corn, but this was to be expected. Our present gossip resulted in unearthing nothing that interested us, besides learning the number of coaches that passed the place in the days gone by, as already mentioned. The landlord did, however, volunteer to give us a bit of information which he considered noteworthy. It appeared that his name was Monk, and that of the previous landlady was Nun. "So you see, sir," he exclaimed, "the Monks have turned the Nuns out." I merely give this as a fair sample of the chaff that has to be winnowed from the corn. To make amends let me here digress to record some of the old folk-lore about the weather as connected with the months of the year which we gathered at different points on the journey, but, for convenience' sake, I now chronicle together. These are all fresh WEATHER LORE o me, and some, if not all, may likewise be fresh to ny readers. It is well worth while to glean all the blk-lore we can, while we may ; to the lover of the lever-returning past these old sayings are always velcome. Here then is my little list : — January cold and clear Makes a good grass year. For the next month it would appear that fine weather s not desirable — All the months of the year Curse a February fair. A.pril, it appears, should be chill, as it often is, for An April chill The barn will fill. An April warm There's little corn. The next concerns June and July — A wet June Sets all in tune. If warm July Need not be dry. And with the following couplet my collection ends, Dry August and warm Crops come to no harm. From Ripley on to Guildford we had a five miles' stretch of level winding road, and with it a complete change of scenery. Hedge- enclosed fields, in which the golden sheaves of the early harvest stood, and green broad meadows wherein 22 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES cattle and sheep were contentedly grazing, took the place of the fragrant pine woods, spreading heaths, and open commons ; and now and again beyond these we caught a peep of undulating wooded hills ; green and gray and blue, as they were near or far away. It is well in many respects to arrive at your day's destination late in the afternoon ; and on a driving tour you generally do this of necessity. Then it is, when the light is warm and mellow and the shadows grow mysterious, that all places put on their most poetic aspect and therefore appear to the stranger at their best. The sunset hour wonderfully enhances any beauty there may be in town or country, and by its softened light and broad shadows helps to hide or gloss over the common- place : mean trivialities do not then assert them- selves, for they are more or less lost in the mass. I have seen even that dull and dreary row of highly- rented houses, known to Londoners as Harley Street, appear almost picturesque under the effect of the golden glow of a colourful sunset. Under a similar glowing sunset, the west aflame with burning red and gold, it happily chanced that we entered the old town of Guildford and drove down its hilly and picturesque High Street — one of the most picturesque, I verily believe, in England — passing by on either side of us many a curious old building ; amongst others we especially noted the ancient gray-stone Grammar School with its mullion, leaden-lattice windows and weather-worn doorway bearing the date of 1552: the Abbot's Hospital, OLD BUILDINGS 23 a charming bit of Jacobean architecture, with tower gateway of red brick time -toned into a nony of ruddy tints, dehghted us. But, though pretentious, what interested us more than all rest was the quaint seventeenth -century town- with its picturesque bell - turret, projecting 2r story, and recessed shadowy space below, ;ther with its big, useful clock boldly stretching over the roadway, supported by an elaborate ket of wrought iron that would have done it to a medieval craftsman. This eye-pleasing imen of old-time building gives quite a special e and character to the street in which it stands, hout it Guildford would be to me like "the play 'iamlet with Hamlet left out " ; it seems a very and parcel of the place, as much so indeed )t. Paul's is of London — and even more. It is Dus to note how a well -designed building will ntimes stamp a whole town with its own peculiar viduality, owing to the powerful impression it on the observer over all else around ; whilst the areless commonplace is simply seen and speedily otten, or else passed wholly unregarded by, — we 5 that with us every day, enough and to spare. A-t Guildford we drove up to the White Lion, re we found excellent quarters for the night. s inn, the landlady informed us, was rebuilt as back as 1593. Its external appearance, how- -, suggests a much later date ; in this respect it sibly resembles the old ship which had been so n repaired that at last there was hardly a bit of original timber left in her, nevertheless to every 24 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES one she was the old ship still. Anyhow the White Lion can boast historically of a considerable antiquity, a hostelry of that name having stood on the spot for over three eventful centuries, and still as of old the White Lion gives heraldic welcome to the tired wayfarer and offers "good accommoda- tion for man and beast." This latter, by the way, is an important point for the driving tourist, as some modern hotels possess no stabling, naturally in an age when every one is conveyed from place to place by rail. Having secured our rooms we set off whilst the daylight lasted in search of Guildford Castle ; this we discovered — after threading our way along some mazy by-streets — to consist of a crumbling keep standing on a steep mound and surrounded by some well-kept public gardens. The gay flower- beds, neat gravel walks, and ornamental water hardly, it seemed to us, formed a happy or har- monious setting to the massive feudal keep with its four frowning storm-stained walls uprising dark and grim, as though the gathered gloom of unrecorded crimes hung over them. As a picturesque relic of the past Guildford Castle is distinctly disappointing ; possibly this may be in some measure owing to its enclosed situation and unsuitable surroundines : we o noticed some herring-bone masonry in its walls, and that was the only item of archaeological interest that we could discover in the keep. We were favoured by fine weather on the morn- ing we left Guildford. A bright, warm, sunshiny day (the warmth being pleasantly tempered by a A RUINED CHAPEL 25 2;entle breeze), and a rising barometer that gave Dromise of a continuance of such desirable con- ditions, caused us to set out upon our wanderings in the best of spirits. Indeed how could we feel Dtherwise than "jolly" (if I may be allowed that expressive term) with the whole of the day's un- Lasted pleasure before us, the only thing really needful being to reach an inn for the night ? Leaving our hotel — the landlady coming to the door to bid us good-bye and a pleasant journey, in the frank and kindly old - fashioned manner — we Boon "got away" once more into the quiet country. One of the great advantages of living in a small town is that you can so easily get out of it in any direction to enjoy a rural walk, and this without any undue exertion, or having to take to the railway, ind to wait about v^^earily in draughty stations for jnpunctual trains. In about a mile we reached the ruins of St. Catherine's Chapel, which crown a sandstone cliff ;hat rises directly from the roadside. This ruin "orms a prominent and pleasing — not to say a romantic — feature in the landscape. Standing ilone and boldly, as it does, on the top of an solated knoll, it asserts itself out of all proportion :o its size. The broken, bare, and weather-beaten Avails of the desecrated fane have an indescribably sathetic look, all forsaken as they are except by /vild birds, who as we drove along were holding a jrofane and noisy matins above the site where ;tood of old the high altar and bowing priests. The only purpose that the ruin now serves is to be 26 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES picturesque, and this it does to perfection, though its pious founder (all such founders were, I take it, at least presumed to be pious) little dreamed that the sacred chapel he built would ever come to such a — to him — useless end. But to be picturesque, in this age of general utilitarian ugliness, is to fulfil a positive need. Mindful of Emerson's injunction to the traveller — Set not thy foot on graves ! Hear what wine and roses say — we did not mount the hill for a nearer inspection of the ruin. The mind has many moods, and we elected that bright sunny morning, when all around was so full of gladsome life, to seek the " wine and roses " of the present, rather than to linger amongst the mouldering ruins of the past. Set not thy foot on graves ! Hear what wine and roses say ; The mountain chase, the summer waves, . . . thy feet may well delay. Set not tliy foot on graves ; Nor seek to unwind the shroud Which charitable Time And Nature have allowed To wrap the errors of an age sublime. Now a level stretch of road that led us past rich meadow lands through which the little river Wey wound in and out like a ribbon of shining silver, brought us to the straggling town of Godalming, which appeared to us to consist mainly of one " long A ''THOROUGHFARE" TOWN 27 drawn out " High Street of old-fashioned two-storied and gabled houses — one of those places that earned for themselves the pertinent title of " thoroughfare town " in the olden days of road travel. Rattling along this extended and narrow street we came once more into the open country, and after passing through the neat and tree - embowered village of Milford we soon found ourselves on the wild and breezy expanse of Witley Common — a bit of un- sophisticated nature, attractively picturesque in its unkempt, primitive beauty. Climbing to the top of the common, on looking back, a glorious far-reaching prospect met our gaze. Here I may remark that when driving across country it is well worth while to take an occasional glance backwards ; many a time has a wholly un- expected revelation of scenery been our reward for so doing. Looking back, then, from our elevated position in the direction from which we had come, our eyes wandered over a vast panorama of wooded slopes that dipped into valleys and rose again to fir- fringed hills, and to rounded downs over beyond where we judged the town of Guildford to lie hidden from sight in a deep hollow. But even more attractive than the view was the wild waste of common all around us : a miracle of colour this, glowing as it did with the harmless gold of the gorse, and painted purple with the sunlit heather ; which rich intermingling tints were enhanced in glory by a background of dark-green pines and deep-blue hills. The gorse that grows so freely and flourishes on the poorest land, blossoming all the 28 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES year round (even in the middle of December I have seen great patches of it on the South Downs in rich bloom), this little-considered plant excites my utmost admiration : were it only some rare exotic, difficult and costly to grow, and only to be secured in a heated greenhouse — like sundry over-estimated and delicately-nurtured plants — how charmed and en- thusiastic we should be over it ! Verily an English common seen under a sunny summer sky with the gorse thereon in bloom, looking like so much burnished gold, only far more beautiful, is a sight to behold, and sometimes I almost wish that it were not such an everyday one so that it might be more appreciated. Who need cross the sea to distant Italy for colour ? when we have at home the gorgeous gorse and purple heather, to say nothing of fields of crimson clover ; the wayward wild poppy with its brilliant burning red, growing where it listeth ; together with the spreading blue-bell and wild hyacinth making the ground below to rival the cerulean sky above ; the hawthorn and apple trees with their pink and white blossoms, with many other plants and flowers and trees (such as the chestnut) that make gay this land of ours, which envious foreigners, who know it not, have called wanting in colour ! Doubtless they have formed their judgment of the English country from the view thereof taken from a railway carriage window, for that is the way nowadays that travellers see the land. The railway is the best possible method of getting speedily from place to place, and AN OUT-OF- THE -WORLD SPOT 29 le worst possible method of learning all that lies etween ! Now the road dropped down to a desolate ollow where the landscape closed in around us, and Dok upon itself a gloomy air as darksome pines tood on either hand in place of the gay open waste nth its acres of purples and golds. Here in this ollow we found a primitive and lonely hostel cleped the Half Moon ; how the landlord thereof ould possibly make a living puzzled us, but the raveller by road has many such puzzles presented to im so that at last he ceases to ponder over them. Even on that inspiriting summer day the little Drsaken-looking inn with its sombre surroundings ppeared depressing enough, the only cheerful hing in the prospect being some stagnant ponds, /hich by reflecting some of the brightness from he sky above did lend a litde much-needed cheer- alness to the scene. It was just one of those eerie ut-of-the-world inns that a novelist of the old omantic school delighted to picture as the seat of ome blood - stirring tragedy ; the ponds would uggest a likely spot wherein to make away with he unfortunate traveller. The Half Moon looked s though one of G. P. R. James's ideal inns had ome into actual existence, the mysterious belated raveller and the gathering twilight were only re- uired to realise one of that author's descriptive 'pening chapters. The Half Moon, though it led us into this train if thought, probably has had nothing but a dull and neventful career, but somehow certain places suggest 30 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES past histories, and look legendary as though they must have some weird story connected with them, if it could only be unearthed. A good deal depends of course on the momentary mood of the mind. Sometimes, too, traditions are innocently invented ; I was told of a gentleman who, on going over an ancient manor-house, remarked in pure fun to one of the party who were being shown over the place, " That's the very window out of which the last Baron's daughter threw herself and was drowned in the moat below, all because of a love affair," and ever afterwards this legend, invented on the spur of the moment, was related as genuine history by successive servants who showed the house. So legends may sometimes arise and be handed down as facts from generation to generation ! Just beyond the Half Moon we had a charming wayside picture presented to us. In a wooded dell near to the road a rustic foot-bridge crossed a tiny stream, and leading from this hither and thither up and down the glen were wandering paths worn deep down below the general surface of the ground by the constant tread of generations of country folk on the soft sandy soil. Near to the stream was a gipsy's encampment consisting of an ancient caravan, a red- brown tent, and two tethered shaggy horses. Close to the tent was a tripod from which was suspended an iron pot over a wood or peat fire ; from this a blue wreath of smoke ascended upwards to the bluer sky above. There is something very attractive and poetic about such a camp fire, it is so suggestive of holiday freedom from the ordinary restraints of A WAYSIDE INN 31 society and gives a genuine flavour of out-door life ; to me it also brings recollections of delightful even- ings spent by similar fragrant wood fires on the lonely pine-clad mountain sides of remote California. A good deal of the pleasure of a scene lies not merely in itself but in what it suggests. Then driving on in time we reached another humble but clean and bright little inn rejoicing in the familiar and favourite title of the Red Lion. Here we pulled up for a while and refreshed our thirsty souls with a mixture of ale and ginger beer which the cheery landlady recommended, and after sampling it we cordially approved of her recom- mendation. On that warm day the mixture seemed as very nectar, and we would not have exchanged it then for a bottle of the rarest wine nor most expensive brand of champagne. Hunger and thirst are excellent things — when you can satisfy them ; and to show this, is there not a tale told of an American who exclaimed, " I guess I've such a thirst on me that I would not take five dollars for " '■ Whilst resting in the grateful cool of the modest bar of the inn our eyes caught sight of a painted board hung on the wall and thus inscribed. This is the Red Lion Inn, When dreary without, 'tis cheery within. All who come here shall meet with good cheer and Those who are honest have nothing to fear. Of this inscription the worthy landlady seemed somewhat proud, and asked me if it were not clever 32 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES poetry. "You see, sir," she said, " a clergyman wrote that for me, and had it painted too." What could we do but appear to incline to her opinion ? moreover, we were in a frame of mind to be easily pleased that day, as indeed we were on all the days we spent on the road. If you are a pessimist, a driving tour will soon turn you into an optimist ; the health-giving out-of-door life induces an essentially cheerful dis- position that makes all the world around you seem bright, your very soul is imbued with the cheerful- ness of the sunshine, and the tonic air acts like a sort of natural champagne on your spirits. At any rate such is our experience of the benefits conferred on both body and mind by a prolonged driving tour, upon which you can walk as much as you choose. During the whole of our most enjoyable holiday we always had by us quite an over-abundance of spirits and health : we smiled on the world and it smiled back on us in return with interest added. We met with nothing but kindness everywhere, and every stranger seemed a friend. So long life to the road say I ! Then began the long and fine ascent of the Hindhead Hill, which for the pleasure of the thing we walked, pausing here and there, from time to time, to admire the wonderful views that opened out as we rose, views which culminated in one grand burst of a wide, far-reaching panorama, stretching over miles and miles of woodlands, meadows, and tilled fields ; and beyond these we observed a faint silvery sheen which we imagined might be the distant sea. Now and again we caught a glimpse ENGLISH SCENERY 33 of a gray church tower, or the gables of a red-roofed farmhouse with cone-shaped ricks clustered around half drowned in foliage : and here and there the haze of lingering smoke showed the whereabouts of a hidden home or unseen hamlet ; whilst white devious roads led our eyes away and away into the vast expanse of greenful country, roads diminishing by distance into mere traces of thread-like lines, which in turn vanished into nothingness, long before our visions reached the remote horizon. It was a prospect to make glad and proud the heart of a home-loving Englishman, who seems, alas ! nowadays to be so rare a being that it is a real treat to meet with one. When will English rural scenery, which of its kind and within its own limits is the most beautiful in the world, become fashion- able, I wonder ? Scotland, Wales, the Lake District, and portions of the sea-coast are overrun in the summer time, but who ever thinks of travelling in search of beauty or pleasure anywhere in Britain Dut of these tourist-haunted regions ? To those in search of "fresh woods and pastures new" I say try rural England : you may cross the seas and ;ravel far and wide (like hosts of perverse Britons io), and fare no better, if half as well. From that breezy vantage height we looked iown upon and over a world in miniature, it was 1 study of vast and vanishing perspectives. The andscape vigorous close at hand in the bold out- ine of rugged hill and wild common, softened iown by degrees into a graceful pastoral peace- ulness — a delightful blending of the grand and 3 34 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES the sylvan ; each enhancing the other by the charm of contrast. How space-expressing was that glorious prospect of hill and dale, of wood and meadow ; a prospect that as it receded grew more and more vague till in the distance all things became as shadowy and unsubstantial as the scenery of a dream. Our minds verily enlarged with the great expanse before us ; the silence, the solitude, and restful peace of it made the ambitions and cares of the world below seem strangely trivial. It is good to be, and feel above the world at times, to see it from a changed point of view ; it gives one a curiously combined sense of smallness and superiority not to be defined in words. So full of radiant atmosphere was the scene that we could realise by the blueness of the bounding horizon the existence of a tangible something between us and it — an ocean of air (not a mere void) as real as the waters of the sea ! In this highland district of Surrey one might fancy oneself, without any undue strain on the imagination, in some remote corner of Scotland. But all this wild and lonely loveliness is reserved for the infrequent traveller by road, and is, therefore, known to but few of the present generation of Englishmen, for who ever goes by road nowadays when the rail avails .-' One can hardly realise that the Metropolitan county of Surrey possesses such truly fine scenery, for grandeur belongs to form and colour as well as to mere height, and Hindhead Hill can fairly claim these qualities. CHAPTER III A wayside monument — The Devil's Punch Bowl — A bit of primeval England — A legendary inn — A story of the road — The "Anchor" at Liphook — A misty day — Inn signs — Petersfield — Chats with country folk — A Hampshire "Hanger" — A railless land — Homes of the people — A pseudo Druids' Circle — A joke by the way. Still mounting and skirting the side of the wind- swept Hindhead Hill (that rose in a grand mass, purply dark, above us) we came to a desolate spot by the margin of the road, whereon we observed a solitary hewn stone set up — looking much like a grave-stone out of place ; pulling up here we dis- mounted and found it inscribed as follows : — Erected In detestation of a barbarous murder Committed here on an unknown sailor On Sep. 24th 1786, By Edw. Lonegon, Mich. Casey, and Jas. Marshall Who were all taken the same day And hung in chains near this place. Why the names of the murderers should be thus handed down to posterity, I do not quite com- prehend. The stone stands on the very verge of 36 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES a vast and gloomy hollow, known locally as the Devil's Punch Bowl, — and what more fitting liquor than the blood of a murdered man could the Devil's Punch Bowl hold ? On the top of Hindhead Hill, which can be reached from this spot by a short stiff climb, is erected a tall granite cross which marks the site where the murderers were hung in chains. Truly a ghastly spectacle for travellers this way in the " good old days." Reaching at last the summit of our elevated road we had, as a welcome change from so much collar- work, a glorious and continuous descent of three miles or more, that took us into the pretty village of Liphook. Just after commencing the descent we passed the Royal Huts Inn, not far from which a clump of storm-bent trees used to be pointed out as marking the highest part of the road. A little beyond the Royal Huts still another fine prospect opened out before us, a vast tract of shaggy woods, which on referring to our map we discovered to be Woolmer Forest. The view suggested a bit of primeval England, so wild and uninhabited it seemed save for a few solitary houses near at hand. Then as we drove along, the brake hard on and the traces loose, we passed by, a little to our left, the lonely Seven Thorns Inn of legendary renown, a hostelry of importance at one time, which is said to stand exactly half-way between London and Ports- mouth. Nearhere one stormy winter's night a century or so ago three coaches, one from London and two bound thither, were blocked in by deep snow-drifts. Fortunately for the passengers the Seven Thorns A STORY OF THE ROAD 37 was within a walk, and let us hope that they all spent a sociable and merry evening therein, relating to each other over their wine and hot toddy the regulation stories of the perils and adventures of the road, — as such snow-bound travellers always used to do, at least in the good old Christmas numbers of the illustrated papers and magazines. On this splendid stretch of favourable road the coaches were accustomed to make up for any lost time on the downward journey, and it frequently happened that they had lost time to make up. It was an ideal bit of road for the purpose ; " pushing ground " it was termed in the slang of the period, though sometimes it was a case of " the more haste the less speed," for with a team of horses of all kinds and conditions, galloping down hill with a heavily- laden coach behind them, if anything went wrong, an upset was a possibility, and timid travellers were generally glad when this exciting stage was safely over. On one occasion, so an old story has it, during the ascent of Hindhead the jovial Jehu who handled the ribbons had beside him on the box seat an over- zealous and manifestly nervous clergyman as a passenger. Now it chanced, like most of his kind and especially of that period, the Jehu indulged in numberless jokes and stories which he interspersed with a liberal supply of oaths. The clergyman, after many reproofs, at last managed to put a stop to the swearing — and the stories as a natural sequence : the " coachee " was silenced, but he waited his oppor- tunity to be revenged. The Royal Huts passed, he 38 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES whipped his horses into a full gallop, the coach rocked about, the clergyman held on fearful of a mishap, and remonstrated at the reckless driving. This is where the coachman scored ; taking in the whole situation, he replied, " There's no good a talking any more, can't you see as how the whole ■ lot are bolting ? I can't hold 'em in, there's a bridge and a nasty bend at the bottom of the road, we shall be all smashed up there to a dead certainty. You'll be in heaven directly." — " The Lord forbid," exclaimed the clergyman ! I beg to state that I am not responsible for the authenticity of this or any story picked up from strange fellow-travellers on the road, I simply relate them as they came to me. On the last half mile into Liphook a complete and almost startling change came over the scene : the open heathery wastes, and fragrant fir forests, gave way to enclosed meadows and the leafy luxuri- ance of chestnut, oak, and elm. The trees, plants, and shrubs were of a different kind from those grow- ing on the wild district about Hindhead : nature now took upon herself a more homelike aspect. At Liphook we drove up to the Royal Anchor Hotel, on the roadway before which stands a great spreading chestnut that has doubtless afforded grate- ful shelter to many a thirsty traveller, driving or on horseback, whilst he quaffed a refreshing glass of cool, clear, nut-brown ale, home-brewed too I'll wager ! Finding that we could be accommodated, we determined to spend the night here, though the horses were fit for another stage, and there was plenty of time on hand ; but neither speed nor the A FAMOUS HOSTELRY 39 doing" of so many miles a day formed any part f our plans, and a sudden fancy took possession of s to see something of the pretty and inviting- )oking country around, as far as a leisurely, desultory troll might reveal it to us, that is. The Anchor at Liphook is an ancient house, and ne of wide renown in the old days ; for its dinners nd lunches were noted, and its wines were famed, ""rom the Diary of Samuel Pepys we learn that uring one of his official journeys to Portsmouth he isited Liphook on 5th August 1668 ; for he relates herein how coming from London he took " coach gain " at Guildford (the worthy Samuel spells it Gilford"), and so "got to Liphook, late over lindhead, having an old man, a guide in the coach vith us ; but got thither with great fear of being >ut of our way, it being ten at night. Here good, lonest people : and after supper to bed." And )ver two centuries later, we find likewise " here rood, honest people, and after supper " we also 'to bed." Since Pepys' days the Anchor has oudived nany changes, and has entertained many a royal md distinguished guest, including the allied Sove- ■eigns, who in 181 5 lunched here on their way from r'ortsmouth to London. In times past, naturally, his great naval highroad was often used by im- jortant persons, and the Anchor at Liphook was a :onvenient as well as a favourite stopping place — vith good fare to boot as a matter of certainty. A ;omplete list, if it could be obtainable, of all the •oyalties and notabilities who have rested here 40 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES would be a long one. The names painted on the doors of some of the rooms of the old house in lieu of the usual numbers, such as "King," "Queen," "George," etc., suggest that they have been named after famous personages who have occupied them. On a newel of the staircase we noticed the date of 1629 deeply carved, which may be the date of the original building : one of the oak doors to a room upstairs we also observed was beautifully carved, telling of a past prosperity and a host who took a pride in his house, — not that the Anchor needs patrons now, for it was full of guests when we were there : fate has been kind to this historic hostelry that so pleasantly links the present with the past. As I have already mentioned, of old this inn was famed for its wines, more especially for its port (indeed they were reported to be better than what his Majesty had), and this reputation was an important matter in an age of wine-drinking. After the coaches were taken off the road the Anchor's long and deservedly-earned prosperity departed for a while, though only to revive again : but, if what I have been told be true, the cellar of port re- mained and improved during all the outward changes. History has it, that a certain connoisseur and lover of good wine chanced, reluctantly driven by the force of circumstances, to have to spend a night at the then nearly-deserted inn, but finding that he could obtain a good dinner with a bottle of rare old port such as his heart desired, he frequently afterwards made it a special point to visit the ancient HOBBIES 41 lostelry solely for the sake of enjoying the fine lid wine. Many of the past - time coaching inns lossessed cellars well stocked with the best of i^'ines ; most of these cellars were sold when declin- ng custom caused the once prosperous landlords o abandon their houses. During a former journey ve rested the night at an ancient hostel in the ^orth, and found that the landlady still held a joodly supply of old port (she did not know how lid it was) that had been in the cellars ever since he last coach had been taken off the road. An evening stroll in the country round about ^iphook revealed to us a wealth of beauty of the lomelike, peaceful order, so rest-bestowing but so lard to convey in words. We wandered along .eep hedge-bordered lanes whose green sides and 2afiness would have done credit to even lovely Devonshire. From all we saw we made a mental note to ome again some day to leafy Liphook armed with ketch-book and camera, and to explore the locality dore at our leisure. Sketching from nature and andscape photography are both delightful hobbies ; he mere looking out for likely subjects to draw or ake gives a greatly added interest to a country ;^alk which otherwise might be without any special ibject. The exercise of the sketcher's art, too, ffords him an insight into the loveliness of colour nd the rare charm of form — an insight which no ne who has not tried to paint carefully and onestly from nature, matching as far as he can int for tint and form for form, can at all realise. 42 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES How many people perceive the charm of colour in a landscape till an artist has revealed it to them in a picture ? Yet it exists all the same. Strange it is that so few people cultivate the art of seeing : nothing can be less costly or more rewarding. What a pleasant experience it is to take a walk with an artist who is trained to see and is willing to point out the beauties around where we, per- chance, only see a succession of trees and green fields ! Leaving Liphook we still kept along the old Portsmouth road as far as Petersfield. It was a misty morning as we drove away from our com- fortable inn, and the distant views were all blotted out by a gray veil of moisture. Now and then the mists dispersed in parts, revealing unexpected peeps of woods and hills, only to close in once more, and our horizon from one of miles again became limited to yards. But at last the sun asserted its mastery, and the mists rolled from off the land in mighty masses. It was a lovely sight, the open country being clear, to witness the lingering mists — of a delicate silver-gray in shade but touched with the palest gold in the light — wreathing in and out of the pine woods (which with heaths and commons still more or less lined our way) ; the mists gradually vanishing into space until we had visions of long vistas down the dim pillared recesses of the pine woods which our fancies tried to liken to the aisles of some vast cathedral. Then, as the sun shone down, the woods around, the gorse, the grass, the bracken and the heather were strewn with drops of INN SIGNS 43 suspended moisture that glistened like gems, and converted our little world into a veritable fairyland. As we passed through the little village of Rake we noticed a public-house rejoicing in the sign of the "Winged Bull." This struck us as a novel sign, we had no recollection of having met it before. A flying bull would surely be a rather undesirable animal in reality, and it is not nearly so artistically effective for a sign as the griffin or the familiar lion. A real lion, though, is a very tame affair compared with the heraldic creation of last century's carver's brain, with his fierce glaring eyes, his twisted tail, his ragged mane, his pronounced half-opened jaws with his curled tongue projecting aggressively forth — a grim, grotesque, and very assertive creature, especially defiant-looking when rejoicing in a fresh coat of vermilion. A lion impossible in reality : the very embodiment of good-natured fierceness, a curious combination of most opposite qualities. Petersfield, which we reached at noon, is a clean, sleepy, little town, unprogressive also, which is a fault that I have the bad taste to rather admire in these go-ahead days, neither is it picturesque, but it has the charm of naturalness which is not to be despised in an age when so many places ambitiously endeavour to copy London second hand. Here we drove up to the Dolphin, formerly a famous coach- ing house and still retaining its extensive and ex- cellent stabling. In times past, we were told, over fifty horses were accommodated here, and for the mails one minute only was allowed in which to change the team, and pretty quick work too ! 44 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES The country around Petersfield is as beautiful as the town is uninteresting. After our mid-day meal we took a tour of inspection round the place, which was soon seen, and eventually we found ourselves on an extensive common close to the outskirts of the town ; this was enlivened by a large sheet of water, which with the old trees around and a back- ground of undulating hills made a very effective picture ; but just as we began to sketch it big drops of rain fell, and the sparkling, silvery sheet of water suddenly became leaden. The weather most unexpectedly had changed again in that charmingly inconstant way it does change in England ; but I for one would not have it otherwise, variety has its attractions, and perpetual sunshine, however delightful for a time, becomes monotonous after a lengthened period, so at least I have found it on the Pacific Slope, where, by the way, a " perfect climate " is set off by earthquakes, and the dust on the roads, where roads exist, makes driving thereon anything but a delight. I have, after a few weeks of ceaseless, glaring sunshine, coming out of a changeless blue void above, actually sighed for our fickle English climate with its glorious cloudscapes and refreshing rains. The wet drove us back to our inn, where, in the ample courtyard, I found sufficient entertainment for a time in chatting with the ostler, gleaning from him what I could of the coaching history of the old house ; having exhausted the ostler, I ventured into the bar and opened up a conversation with sundry townsfolk and farmers I found there ; thus I A CHAT WITH A FARMER 45 learnt their special views of the world, and gathered how it might be improved according to their ideas. The farmers grumbled, as is their wont ; but I met with one exception, and thus he spoke, " Times is bad, they do say, for farming, but somehow I manage to get along. Well, corn won't pay for the growing, that's a fact, for you can buy it cheaper than what you can grow it for. Well, what of it, cattle pay, meat's a goodish bit dearer now than when I was a boy. I don't keep growing crops that don't pay just because my father grew them when they did pay. Not a bit of it. I raise stock and buy my corn to fatten 'em on — that pays ! The cheaper the corn the better says I, I convert it into meat. It's all nonsense, with rents down, and good home markets close at hand, to say farming don't pay. It's the old-fashioned farming that don't pay any more than coaches would pay to-day." This was almost startlingly cheerful, so wholly unexpected was it coming from such a quarter. But the day was now growing old, and the rain did not seem inclined to leave off; so as it was a long stage on to Winchester, our next halting-place, we decided to stop over the night at Petersfield, the more especially as we found our inn, though plain to ugliness outside, clean and comfortable within, our landlord most civil and obliging, and the chance company entertaining. Amongst the number of men tramping through Petersfield that afternoon was a man who halted for a glass of ale, and who carried a long black cylin- drical case, apparently rather heavy ; this man 46 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES puzzled me : I am accustomed to meeting all sorts and conditions of men on the road and can gener- ally make out, or believe I can, their avocation in life ; but this man with his curious case, what could he be doing ? He looked contented enough, though evidently tramping on the road with his cumbersome burden. I managed to open up a conversation with him at the cost of a glass of ale and so solved the mystery. The case contained a telescope, his "pro- fession " in life being to travel from one sea-side resort to another, where he set his telescope up on the parades, and by charging a penny a peep earned a decent living. He had been at Brighton early in the year, but that place was a failure, there being no ships on the sea there, and for his "profession" ships on the sea were a necessity; naturally "for people won't pay to see nothing," and because of this universal peculiarity of human nature he was off to Portsmouth as he understood that there were lots of ships there. There is plenty of interest to be had on the road in watching and studying wandering humanity, from the useless begging tramp to the man who earns his living in a variety of unexpected ways, — the peripatetic photographer being perhaps the most common. One of these individuals, whom I came upon in a confidential mood, assured me that he did quite a profitable trade on the country side taking rural folk and their belongings ; sometimes even he would manage to spend a whole day at a farmhouse (if he only found the right sort of people) photographing the farmer, his wife, and family ; A COMPULSORY HALT 47 ometimes as well his house, his horse, and his attle. Thus sundry uncatalogued people (if I may le allowed the expression) move about in the world nd get their living, and, as far as I have observed, hey are, collectively considered, by no means a lessimistic race, as one might imagine. The most ibjectionable of this wandering class are perhaps the [uack medicine vendors, who still seem to drive a lourishing trade in small towns and villages ; the ' only effectual cure for rheumatics " apparently laying the best — and this tells a tale of a prevailing nalady, due possibly to badly built, draughty, and lamp cottages. Next morning on awakening we found that the ain clouds had cleared off, and as the rain would efresh the country and lay the dust we did not aind the half day's delay. Just out of Petersfield we came to a level railway rossing, the gates of which happened to be closed .gainst us whilst a long luggage train shunted )ackwards and forwards in a leisurely way ; for a raveller in haste to get along to be stopped in this nanner is most irritating. Fortunately our time ras our own so the delay mattered not, still we ould have spent five minutes more agreeably than n watching a slow shunting operation, and it seemed o us that railway directors might manage better han to do their shunting across a level crossing! Dnce I remember, when driving through Yorkshire, )eing delayed for some time in this provoking nanner whilst a thunder-storm was in progress. As was forced to stop in a bleak, exposed situation I 48 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES did not at all enjoy the experience, and ever since I have looked upon level crossings as unmitigated nuisances, and have uttered many disagreeable things about them. But I have had my grumble out, let us get back to the dog-cart. We had now a lovely stretch of country with a fairly level and pleasantly winding road that took us between wooded heights. We had all the beauty of a hilly country without the constant climbing and descending that traversing such a district generally entails. The country truly looked bright and fresh and green after the rain, and the clear air was laden with all sorts of sweet odours ; for not only does moisture bring out the fragrance of flower, herb, and creeper (such as the delicate perfume of the honeysuckle), but it also brings out the colours of everything in a wonderful manner. Watch by a pebbly sea-shore, and note how rich is the colouring of the damp stones where left by the receding tide, and then observe how comparatively colourless they look above where dry in the sun, so in a modified degree the same obtains in a landscape. So we journeyed on through this lovely country of green fields, of many-tinted woods, and gently- sloping hills : a country dotted here and there with humble cottage homes and an occasional farmstead all mellowed by age and so blended with the soft southern landscape as to seem more like a natural growth than something added to it. You had to look for these quiet homesteads, for they did not intrude their presence with the glare of white-wash or the assertiveness of a modern villa. It was HAMPSHIRE "HANGERS" 49 essentially a bit of old England wherein all things were time-toned into a restful harmony ! At last we came to a very pretty little hamlet picturesquely placed under the shelter of a thickly- wooded height, or perhaps a steep wall of wood might better describe it. These wooded steeps, which abound about this part of Hampshire, are called locally " Hangers," from the way the trees overhang the hillside, I presume. Though we had heard of these "Hangers" before (White of Sel- borne and other writers make mention of them), we had never seen any, so abounding in variety is this small England. Here our road led right up to the wooded height, and we wondered what it would do next, but a narrow glen opened out before us, and up between its tree-clad sides we climbed. It was a deliciously cool and shady glen, and through the foliage above the softened sunshine shone, making moving patterns of green and gold around us, and sending here and there shafts of light across our road. The warm summer wind, too, as it passed through the trees made an indescribable "sur, sur, sur," a sound that reminded us of the surging of a distant sea. Inland thus as we were, it was a pleasant deception to shut our eyes and let our ears do the romancing for once. At the top of the glen we reached, once more the open country and basked in unclouded sunshine We were now traversing a railless land, which doubtless for this very reason, has retained mucl of its old-world primitiveness and picturesqueness For if railways attract ugliness and modern eye-sore; so THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES in building they keep such things much to them- selves, for which small mercy the lover of the beautiful should be thankful. Just after we got on to the high ground we noticed to our left a small stone-built mansion, a charming old home with the bloom of age upon it, standing well back and retired from the roadway, not isolated in a park. It seemed to us the very outward expression of a real English home of the people, picturesque rather than stately, and essen- tially homelike : anything but grand, yet a residence in which a prince might live and not be ashamed. We also noticed some old half-timbered farmhouses and thatched cottages whose doors opened rustic fashion with a latch. One of these farmhouses had a small outbuilding, the timber work of which was all open, — the intervening places not being filled in with plaster, — we could not imagine the reason of this unless the building were intended for a larder ; but the deeply-recessed shadows were undoubtedl)' picturesque, and quaintly effective. Now we found ourselves driving through a country that seemed almost like one vast park, — a country that looked as though it were above being merely agricultural. The trees had ceased to be mountaineers, and great elms and sturdy oaks con- trasted forcibly with the light and graceful larches and the tall pointed pines of our past stages. Then as we drove on our road opened out into a large and extensive common ; at one corner of this were some pretty cottages that looked for all the world as though they had stepped out of one of A PSEUDO ANTIQUE 51 Birket Foster's pictures. On the common, not far from this spot, we saw a circle of rude stones that we took to be some Druidical remains. This circle consisted of a number of huge rocks or boulders set upright supporting several large stones horizontally on the top, Stonehenge fashion. We referred to our map but could not find any Druids' Circle marked at or anywhere near the spot. Pulling up here we proceeded to both sketch and photograph the stones. I think that this was the only time on the journey that we took a photograph without any one coming to watch the operation. Having finished our sketch and packed up our camera, we strolled back as far as the cottages in order to learn, if possible, the name of the Circle, and to gather any other information about it. We found a man at work in his little garden who seemed of a com- municative mind, and thus he spoke in reply to our query : " Them stones over yonder, them ain't a real Druids' Circle, why they ain't as old as I be." This was rather severe upon us as we really thought we had come upon a "genuine article," otherwise we should not have taken the trouble to have sketched and photographed it. Then the man continued, " Lots of folk have been taken in with them stones. You see it happened like this ; a goodish many years ago, I don't rightly recollect how many exactly, but when I were a boy. Colonel Greenwood as was, and who owned the land all about here, had 'em put up for a lark like. There were some great rocks lying about on the common, and one day the Colonel he says, ' We'll do something with these.' So he gets a 52 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES big crane, and with a lot of men and horses and levers he got the stones put up as you see. It were a tremendous job, however." Certainly this precious pseudo antique deceived us, for the stones of themselves looked old enough for anything (as naturally they would lying on the common exposed to the storms of ages) ; and there was positively nothing to show how long they had been raised, for aught that the eye could tell it might have been countless centuries ago. It really is too bad to manufacture Druidical Circles in this way to the deception of innocent travellers. Indeed, according to the old cottager, some "learned building people" (qy. an archaeo- logical party) driving past there one day were, like ourselves, attracted by the circle of stones, and stopped a while to examine them, and our informant overheard one of the company giving a short dis- course to the rest about their high antiquity and prehistoric origin ! " Lor, sir, how learned like he did talk to be sure, a wonderful clever man he thought himself; and when he had finished he turned round and seeing me there asked if I knew the name of the stones. Says I : ' They ain't got no name as far as I be aware, you see they ain't very old yet.' With that he gets mighty angry, and said I was a stupid fellow and knew naught about them. This were a little too much for me, so up I spoke a bit sharp too as well as he. Says I, 'Well I don't know about being such a stupid, but as I saw 'em put up when I were a boy, Ldo know positive sure as how they cannot be older nor me ' ; then I told him the A JOKE 53 i^hole history of how the Circle were made, and all he rest of 'em they did laugh just." And here the lid man chuckled to himself, manifestly enjoying the oke : so did we. And he was still chuckling as we eft him to rejoin the dog-cart and proceed on our vay. CHAPTER IV A country inn — An ancient poster — Changed times — A new mode of spending a holiday — A barren upland — Winchester — A hostelry with a history — A fifteenth-century half-timbered house — Winchester cathedral — Izaak Walton's tomb — A bit of eleventh- century ironwork — Ancient builders and modern restorers — A quaint conceit in words — Where Jane Austen lived and died. Leaving this curious joke in stones to puzzle future travellers this way, in about a mile we reached the scattered village of Bramdean and pulled up at the Fox, a humble little inn whereat we obtained an excellent meal of bread and cheese and ale, followed by some fruit, freshly gathered from the garden for us, — and to a traveller hungry with a long drive in the open air, bread and cheese and ale, provided they are good, is a repast not to be despised. We had a chat with the homely landlady whilst she laid our simple meal, a cheerful body in spite of seemingly adverse circumstances, for she acknow- ledged that " times were rather trying," as they had mainly to depend on the chance custom of the road, which was precarious. She said : " I'm so sorry we have nothing better to offer you," notwithstanding that we expressed our entire satisfaction with what she had provided. Anyway, we are not of those OUT OF THE BEATEN TRACK 55 I'ho grumble when people do their best, nor do we ither expect or desire luxury on the road. We i^ere quite prepared to rough it at any time if leedful, and to enjoy roughing it, but we did not onsider that we were doing so on this occasion ; for he bread and cheese was very good, the ale cool .nd clear we deemed excellent. Moreover, we s^ere made free of the garden to gather what fruit i^e liked for ourselves (besides the plentiful supply hat the landlady brought in for us), and this with- lut any extra charge, though we insisted on making . little addition to our modest bill ; and even this rifle was almost reluctantly received with grateful hanks, on the condition that we would " take some if the fruit to eat on the way, perhaps it might efresh the good lady." So, indeed, wherever we wandered in old England out of the beaten track, /e always found the same manifest desire to please nd do the best for us. The landlords and land- idies of the little country inns did not appear (like lie managers of some big company hotels do) to )ok upon us merely as so much money - making laterial. During our conversation with the landlady we 5arnt from her that the Fox was a very old inn, and efore the coming of the railways did a large road- ide business. The house, she further told us, was ^paired in 1893, and when the plaster was taken own from off the front an ancient and well - pre- ;rved poster, dated 1674, was discovered beneath ; this related to a sale of property at Alton, dost unfortunately, in trying to get this off it came 56 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES all to pieces, and no previous copy of the wording had been made, which was a great pity, as a poster of this nature and over two centuries old might have been of considerable interest. Then we found our way to the stables to see how our horses were faring ; here we discovered the worthy landlord, who was doing ostler duty. On arriving, we had noticed that the top of the sign- post of our inn was carved in the representation of the Prince of Wales' feathers, so we asked the land- lord if he could give us the reason of this, and he said that there was a tradition that the Prince of Wales in former times had halted here, for it had been a frequented posting - house, and a goodly number of well-known people had "looked in when passing, but that was all over now ; however, we still sometimes have racehorses and their owners stopping over night on their way from Goodwood to Stockbridge." Like the landlady the landlord was of a cheerful disposition, and happily given to look on the bright side of things, though he confessed that the brightness nowadays wanted a good deal of looking after, as It was hard work to get a living at a roadside inn when nearly everybody travelled by rail. Strolling around the small holding that belonged to the place we observed an unfortunate hen that was tied by her leg with a string, the other end of which was attached to a post set in the ground ; we had seen a tethered cow and a tethered goat, but never a tethered hen before ! In this little property of an acre or so we were told by the landlord that he had taken that year as many THE LIFE OF THE FARM 57 .s 200 wasps' nests ; a startling number it seemed o us, but all round about the district they had suf- ered from a plague of wasps. We next extended our wanderings to the top of L wooded knoll that rose above our hill, in search of L view, and we were not disappointed. From a :lump of trees there we had a charming prospect )ver the surrounding country, and looked down ipon a picturesque old farmhouse with a rambling ;olony of irregular, red-roofed outbuildings gathered ibout it in a delightful planless manner. Certainly )f all English homes such an old-fashioned farm- louse is the most picturesquely pleasing to look ipon, and the most rewarding to sketch ; it is, noreover, so suggestive of the poetry of country life. There is always something of interest going on n and around a farmstead ; the work of a farm too s carried on in a leisurely sort of way that seems ;he very poetry of labour. What can be less suggestive of toil than hay-making, or the shepherd A'atching idly over his i^ock, or the big waggons ;rawling slowly over the fields to gather in the ;heaves of corn, or the meek -eyed cows tending sleepily homewards to be milked as the evening :loses around ? Now and then one may obtain ;omfortable apartments at a pleasant old-fashioned armhouse, and if this be only situated in a pretty :ountry (a district in which heaths and commons ibound to be preferred) how delightful a holiday spent therein might prove; with the hay and larvest fields for the children to wander over, and :he green lanes and country round to explore ! 58 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES Nor should the advantages be forgotten of a plentiful supply of pure milk and cream, butter, new-laid eggs, chickens, and last but not least, fruit and fresh vegetables. Does the picture please you, kind reader? Of course there are farmhouses and farmhouses, and the right one needs searching for, but it is attainable. I have spent three most delightful holidays in farmhouse apartments, and the pleasure those holidays gave me, the " good times " I had, is still a delightful memory. Possibly I was peculiarly fortunate, but on two of these occasions the farmer's wife proved to be the cook, and, what is to the point, a most excellent one. We lived on the fat of the land, lived well and inexpensively. All the houses were scrupulously clean, or they would not have suited us. At one of the farms there was some very fair trout fishing in a little rocky river that flowed almost past the very garden ; at least I presumed that the fishing was fair, as I managed to catch four presentable trout in about two hours, which is far beyond my average of piscatorial achievements. All the farmhouses were situated in a pretty, not to say romantic country ; for this I made a sine qua non, as beautiful scenery so greatly enhances the pleasure of walking, and gives, besides, a zest for sketching from nature,- — that most innocent and interesting of hobbies. For a paterfamilias with a large family in search of health-giving and reasonable holiday quarters, I strongly advise to try the experiment of taking farmhouse apartments. The only difficulty in the matter seems to me to be the rather serious one of THE IDEAL JOHN BULL 59 nding such quarters, and the necessary loss of time le search entails ; for it would never do to take Doms without a personal inspection. I know from 16 experience of friends as well as my own that lere are numbers of most desirable farmhouse partments to be had and at a very moderate price ; riving constantly about country as we do, the nding of these presents no special difficulties, ndeed, though it is rather a delicate task, we have ever had any trouble in procuring them for friends, ad sometimes very exacting friends too. Leaving Bramdean our road took us through a linly inhabited country, through which, at infrequent itervals, as we drove on we caught sight of the ables and chimneys of some solitary farmhouse, or le roof-trees of a lowly cottage nestling in foliage. ; was, verily, a lonely road, without even the song of single bird to cheer us on our way. And the gentle jmmer wind had dropped so that even the rustling r the leaves above did not break the prevailing uietude. By the roadside, we passed a deserted- loking public- house called the "Jolly Farmer"; ut the jolly farmer himself, of the sturdy John Bull 'pe, where has he vanished to? I regretfully jnfess that he is very hard to find — outside the iges of Punch. I have sought for him here in old ngland diligently, and despairingly, as I have )ught in America for P^inclis typical Yankee, n American gentleman, who once visited me, ;ked where he could find a living specimen of jhn Bull as he had seen him portrayed in the ustrated comic papers, and I was fain to confess 6o THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES that I did not know. " I guess," said he, " that your ideal John Bull is just as much a fraud as your ideal Yankee ! " As we proceeded, to the right and left of us low beech-crested hills came into view, and then our road began to climb in right earnest ; up and up we went for two good miles or more, all hard, honest, collar work every yard of it ! And as we rose we left behind and below us the softly-wooded valley, the air became perceptibly cooler, the trees grew fewer and fewer till at last they ceased altogether, save a few stunted thorns that seemed to have a severe struggle to exist at all, and so we presently found ourselves traversing the top of a bleak, barren upland. High up there, even on that calm summer noon, we found a steady breeze blowing from the south (not a cold quarter), yet it made wraps and a light overcoat actually acceptable. What It must be to experience a bleak Nor'-easter in the winter time, therefore, on these unsheltered heights we could imagine, — and felt that we would much rather imagine than experience ! The hills almost encircled us with their rounded ridges darkly outlined against the bright white sky, excepting in one direction where, between their great green slopes, we caught a peep of other distant hills dreamily indistinct. This upland waste was wild almost to weirdness in parts, as where a bent and broken sign-post, black with age, rose up grim and solitary from a dank pool of water, and was darkly silhouetted against the blue void beyond ; its dilapidated, drooping arm — that should show the A BREEZY UPLAND 6l way — pointing aimlessly to the ground, and where near at hand a few straggling thorns, storm twisted into fantastic shapes as though they had been tortured, gave an added feeling of sternness to an already sufficiently dreary prospect. Yet in spite, or perhaps rather because, of its very uncouth wildness, this barren upland had a peculiar fas- cination for us. Such scenes powerfully impress one with the sense of solitude and space ; they give a feeling of the vastness and strength of nature that has an indescribable charm to a vigorous mind, which can never be realised amidst the sylvan surroundings and the gentle graces of lowland meadows, fields, and woods ; of a nature softened, subdued, and made homelike by the ceaseless toil and occupation of man through long centuries. At last our elevated road came to an end and was followed by a long descent that still led us through a sombre, treeless tract of exposed downs. It must surely have been some such stretch of barren land that made the canny Scotchman, with an eye to the profitable rather than the romantic or sublime, exclaim, "Nature is unco' wasteful!" However, the bleakness of the nearer prospect was forgotten in the beauty of the panorama that was suddenly revealed to us as we began our descent, a far-reaching panorama that led our eyes over a richly-wooded valley of sunlit, unshadowed greenery that faded away into a horizon of hazy hills. Down far below us, so that we looked rather upon the roofs of its houses than their walls, was the city of Winchester diminished by space so that it seemed 62 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES like a toy town. Unlike Canterbury, Salisbury, and most other cities, Winchester is not dominated by its cathedral ; neither by tower nor spire nor the mass of its structure does it aggressively assert itself above the humbler homes of man around. The distant view of the city suffers for want of a prominent and central feature, as much as on the other hand Salisbury gains by its graceful soaring spire. At the end of our long descent we found our- selves in the outskirts of " the city of memories," as some one has somewhere called Winchester, but who the some one is, or was, and where he made the remark I cannot call to mind ; which is one of the disadvantages of reading many books and making few notes. Driving along devious and hilly streets, passing by many a quaint and picturesque old building — of which we made a mental note, for further more leisurely inspection and admiration a-foot — we found our way to the old George Inn, I beg pardon, I mean hotel, for the ancient coaching hostelry of that name, formerly beloved by artists and anglers, has taken upon itself the dignity and tide of hotel. The George Inn dates as far back as the four- teenth century, when it covered the same extent of ground as at present, so that if not quite as old as the cathedral, it can claim a very fair antiquity. Of late years it has been altered, internally at any rate, beyond recognition. The old courtyard, into which erst the coaches and post-chaises drove, has been enclosed with a glass roof, the ancient roadway is INN VERSUS HOTEL 63 overed with encaustic tiles on which plants, rugs, nd easy-chairs are placed, and here the modern Durist lounges in a lazy fashion. We remember le old inn as it used to be in years past, and rather ssented the improvements. A homelike inn always ppeals to us far more than the luxurious modern otel where the tweed coat of the wayfarer seems trangely out of keeping, and the foreign table dhote ikes the place of the plain old-fashioned English inner with its honest joints. In a fashionable sea- ide resort one looks for a fashionable hotel, with ossibly a lift, and other presumed advantages, but 1 an ancient city like Winchester, a flavour of the ast in hostelries seems more desirable and more in armony with the old-world surroundings. However, of one alteration we did heartily pprove. The ancient kitchen with its big, wide himney — up which a man might climb, and looking p which we saw a great patch of blue sky — has been inverted into an almost ideal smoke-room, panelled 1 oak from floor to ceiling, having also a most elightful ingle-nook that always gives a peculiarly Dsy charm to a room. I know of a certain grand lodern house wherein, according to my opinion, le only really comfortable room is the old kitchen :he only remaining portion of an earlier mansion) ith its ample recessed fireplace and cross-beamed filing. I fancy also that the owner, in spite of his nely-decorated rooms, thinks likewise in his heart, )r it is the custom of the house, after the servants ave retired, to make up a blazing wood-fire in the reat open range ; and here the gentlemen of the 64 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES house party are invited to smoke their midnight pipe of peace, with a simmering kettle on the hob sug- gestive of certain hot, comforting accompaniments, which the host terms "toddy." Most visitors to Winchester, I imagine, arrive by rail, see the cathedral, and depart. But Win- chester — with its gabled houses, its many quaint nooks and corners, its odd bits of stone and wood carving, its weather-worn, loop-holed walls scattered about here and there — apart from its cathedral, deserves more consideration. Unfortunately the railway enters a place, as it were, by the back door ; so coming thereon one loses the charm of a gradual approach along a highway which houses and build- ings have faced from time immemorial, and thus greet the arriving traveller with their best look, — a gradual approach by which the quiet country roads, according to a natural process of evolution, become by imperceptible degrees the city thoroughfare, and all that is of interest on the way is plainly to be seen. Setting out from our hotel, sketch-book in hand, we went in search of some of the picturesque and interesting buildings that we had noted as we drove in. Winchester is built on the little river Itchen, and close to the stream stands a picturesque old water-mill that we sketched ; this mill represented with trees around in place of houses, would make a charming picture. It is not often that you find an old mill, and a pretty one, by the side of a city street thus — a mill, whether driven by wind or water, seems so essentially of the country. A QUAINT OLD CHURCH 65 Retracing still farther back the road by which j& had entered, we came to and sketched the icturesquely quaint old church of St. Peter's, ^heesehill, originally, judging by certain portions, f Norman construction ; but it has manifestly been o altered from time to time in an apparently hap- .azard manner as now to be but a jumble of archi- scture. The interior is square, which for one thing 3 unusual in a church ; it, moreover, possesses such urious details for an ecclesiastical edifice as Tudor irindows, weather-tiled walls in the topmost part of he tower, which has also a roof above of red tiles. This tower, with its lower story of cool gray flint, rumbling stone windows of unique design, home- ike weather-tiling, wood-framed bell chamber black i^ith age, and lichen - laden russet roof, is a very )icture in building ; and the contrasting colours of ts cool gray flint walls with the warm red of the tiles 3 most pleasing and effective. You might cross he sea to old-world Nuremberg and find nothing nore quaint or more sketchable. When will artists earn the picturesque qualities of some of our ancient owns ? Take Ludlow in Shropshire, for instance which we shall visit later on), with its charming old lalf-timbered houses, ruined castle, ancient gateway, nills, bridges, and other buildings, all so effectively grouped ; where else will you find such a wealth if picture-making material .'' to say nothing of its omantic surroundings of rock, river, wood, crag, ,nd hill. Near to this quaint old church of St. Peter's stands ,n interesting half-timbered gabled house, bent with 66 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES age, and otherwise bearing the undoubted traces of antiquity ; it has a projecting upper story and a carved oaken porch. This house now does duty as a shop, but was formerly, as is evident, a private residence. On its time -toned face we read the following inscription : — Old Cheesehill Rectory Known as " The Oldest House " I4S°- It appeared to us a thoughtful act of somebody to thus make known, for the benefit of strangers, the history and age of this ancient building. I will not, however, weary you, kind reader, by a further account of our wanderings in and about old Winchester ; suffice to say that for the artist, archaeologist, or antiquary this ancient city has much of interest to show, — and it is a good and pleasant thing for each one to make his own discoveries. Next morning we set forth to see the cathedral before proceeding on our way. For a regulation and detailed description of this venerable pile I must refer my readers to one of the numerous handbooks thereon. I merely propose, in due course, to note one or two matters that specially interested us, and that might possibly escape the notice of the general tourist, who is, as a rule, personally conducted, or guide-book led. On a previous visit we had our- selves in this manner duly " done " the cathedral, that is, under the guidance of an intelligent verger. We had inspected its many monuments in the pre- scribed order, its chantry chapels, mortuary chests A SMALL CONGREGATION 67 (in which are presumed to be preserved the mingled bones of martyrs, saints, and — sinners I had nearly written, but I mean — Saxon kings), the rightfully famous William of Wykeham's tomb (an exquisite specimen of fourteenth-century work), the stone that marks the spot where William Rufus is said to be buried, and very much else besides that appeals to the lover of the historic past. But that morning we went in a different spirit ; we desired not details, however interesting ; we simply wished to rest a while in the sombre old fane and to let the spirit and the mystery of its grandeur and gloom impress itself upon us. As we entered we found that the morning service was being held to a congregation of four besides the verger, — two of these four, however, as we afterwards discovered, were simply waiting till the service was over in order to view the cathedral, — and I sincerely trust that the tiny congregation of five, all told, appreciated the fact that the intoning of the officiating clergymen, perhaps I should say priests, and the superb chanting of the choristers was for their sole benefit. By the way, it struck us that the chanting was superior to the intoning. A cathedral service is a very fine thing, but is it not sometimes a waste of energy ? We could not help wondering whether it ever chanced that the congregation consisted merely of the verger, or vergers ! As we walked to our seat we trod on tombs, for almost every stone here marks a grave, though the inscriptions on some are obliterated by the tread of 68 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES generations of worshippers, and of otiiers who come, not to worship, but to see. As the choir chanted in tones of wonderful purity, and the organ's note — mellowed by the vast arched and pillared space — rose and fell again like a dream of music, a sense of the grandeur and the glamour of the medieval faith came over us ; but poetry is not faith, neither is romance religion ; they are as far as the poles asunder. "God . . . dwelleth not in temples made with hands ; neither is worshipped with men's hands, as though He needed anything." We listened, charmed beyond the power of words to convey, to the trained voices of the choir, and whilst we listened questions would come to us un- bidden and unsought : Was this majestic fane the outcome of a mighty faith or of superstition, or a mingling of both, combined with a deep and true love of art '^ Has priestcraft, with its dogmas, been the friend or foe of Christianity? Is Le Gallienne right in saying that "Organised Christianity has probably done more to retard the ideals that were its Founder's than any other agency in the world " ; and again that " Not by the persecutor, but by the priest, has the world so far won the battle against Christ " ? Says Russell Lowell also, " We have tried the Christian religion for eighteen centuries : is it not time that the religion of Christ were tried .''" Poor doubting humanity asks for a sign in a faith- less age, and no sign is given it. The days of miracles are over, and the modern scorner sneers at the medieval miracles, and states that the only miracle was that they ever were believed. A GRAND INTERIOR 6s Whence ? Whither ? Wherefore ? How ? Which ? Why ? All ask at once, all wait reply. Men feel old systems cracking under 'em ; Life saddens to a mere conundrum, Which once Religion solved, but she Has lost — has Science found ? — the key. And as our thoughts wandered thus, and ques- tions arose that we could not answer, and problems that we could not solve, our eyes wandered also to The great minster transept, Where the lights like glories fall. And the sweet choir sings, And the organ rings, Along the emblazoned wall. Through the stained-glass windows, that glowed in the light like molten jewels, the glorified sunshine streamed and painted the hoary walls and pillars of the hallowed pile with glowing prismatic colours as though a gorgeous page of an illuminated missal had been transferred there. The mysterious gray gloom beyond acted as a foil to the miracle of colour of stained window and pictured wall ; and whilst we were deep in thought and admiration, the service ended and we were left to meditate alone in peace- ful solitude, which is more religious and impressive to some minds than the grandest ritual or most sumptuous ceremonial, that indeed disturbs rather than helps many a true worshipper. After a time we shook off our reverie and wandered over the vast cathedral, whose very stones are histories, in search of the last resting-place, not of saint or martyr, proud prelate or crowned king, 70 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES but of a simple fisherman — worthy Izaak Walton, to wit. However, we could not discover, even by the most careful search, where that honest-hearted old angler rested, so that after all we had to appeal to the verger for guidance, who conducted us to the South Transept, where, after removing some protecting matting, he pointed out to us a flat tomb- stone laid in the floor, on which we read : — Here resteth the body of Mr. izaak WALTON Who dyed the i 5th of December 1683 Alas ! Hee's gone before. Gone to return no more, Our panting Breasts aspire After their aged Sire Whose well-spent Ufe did last Full ninety years and past. But now he hath begun That which will nere be done Crown'd with eternall Blisse, We wish our Souls with his. No wonder that we could not find his tomb if it is kept thus covered over, we thought ; perhaps the verger divined what was passing in our minds, for presently he exclaimed, " You see, sir, we take great care of it : we've plenty of bishops and kings, but only one Izaak Walton." Well and truly spoken, worthy verger ! Returning down the nave our attention was arrested by another slab laid on the floor of the north aisle; this marks the resting-place of Jane A BOLD CONCEPTION 71 .usten the novelist, who, we learnt from the inscrip- on, was interred there in 181 7. Close to the vestibule of the cathedral, on the wall f the north aisle, we noticed the original elaborately orked iron grille that formerly protected the shrine f St. Swithin (or Swithun, according to ancient ocuments, but this is a detail for learned anti- uaries), who, as the pluvial saint of Winchester, has lade an undying fame for himself. This grille ates from 1093, and is the oldest one in existence. t is interesting as showing to what perfection such irly iron-work attained, and the ornamental skill of s unknown designer. Before leaving the cathedral we took a farewell lance down its grand old nave, the longest in Eng- md, stopping some time to admire the splendid ffect of light and shade that was presented to us, )gether with the vanishing perspective of wall and 'indow, vaulted roof and springing arch. We tried 3 imagine how the sacred fane must have appeared efore the ambitious Bishop Wykeham converted, r rather completed, the conversion of the earlier rim and massive Norman masonry into veritable ^alls of light by his graceful perpendicular windows, t was a bold conception that of transforming the ombre walls of gray stone into walls of coloured ;lass and light ; but it was done, and the building ?as brightened and beautified thereby. Here perhaps one may pause to remark, anent he modern restorer,- that the great architects of last times were neither over-careful nor considerate 1 preserving the work of their predecessors ; as a 72 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES matter of fact they were very much the contrary. Here at Winchester as well as elsewhere they frequently entirely altered or even pulled down great portions of the fabrics which their forefathers had raised, and left those fabrics very different from what they found them, to the actual complete chang- ing of their styles as far as opportunities permitted. Were the modern architect to do likewise, what an outcry there would be ! Yet these men of old thought no harm of what they did, — however, there were no art critics in those days to enlighten them, or to dispute their doings, though there was plenty of art, — they but added a chapter of history to a volume in stone, as plainly to be read by the initi- ated as any printed page. The question arises, Is this volume in stone ended ? What peculiar distinctive architectural features do we add to buildings now that reflect the art feel- ing of our age ? Do we add a page of the present to the stone history of the past for our descendants to admire or wonder at ? I am not now referring to the Churchwardens era, for this came not of art but of ignorance ; and if modern additions to or alterations of old buildings be blameworthy, even though made to suit the spirit of the times and changed forms of worship, should we not, in common fairness, also blame William of Wykeham, who did the same thing on the grandest scale ? What would be thought of the modern architect who would treat to-day, say, the Norman Abbey of Romsey as Wykeham treated the Norman Cathedral of Win- chester of his day ? What, I wonder } A CONCEIT IN WORDS 73 There is such a thing as consistency, and were one logically to carry out a restoration of a fabric to its original intention, as manifestly revealed in its earliest parts, according to the line laid down by many learned and enthusiastic antiquaries and archaeologists, what would be the result ? Why, we should have to restore backwards many a now glorious Gothic fane to a grim and gloomy Norman structure stamped with the sternness of centuries past. Outside the cathedral, on a projecting buttress of its fine west front, cut in the stone, is the follow- ing anagram ; this we made out with difficulty, for the lettering is somewhat weather - worn and indistinct : — -^ ILL ,PREC AC ATOR AMBULA. Which may be put into Latin thus : " Iliac precator : Hac viator ambula"; and translated into terse English : " That way to pray : this way to walk." I may perhaps explain that one hand points towards the cathedral door, the other in the direction of the pathway that leads away from it. This is a happy specimen of one of those quaint conceits in words that the scholarly builders of old delighted in ; and for the poor, unlettered people they provided jests in stone which the medieval carver knew so well how to tell. Rambling about the byways of the city we 74 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES found ourselves in College Street, and upon the front of a pleasant-looking, unpretentious little house we observed a tablet fixed and thus inscribed : — In this House Jane Austen lived her last days and died July i8th, 1817. CHAPTER V An ancient dole — A wonderful jump of a horse — Hursley — The grave of John Keble — Romsey and its Norman abbey — A beautiful monument — A ghastly relic — An evening walk — A curious mistake — The wrong use of words — An amateur angler — " Merrie England" — A lighthouse for land travellers — The finest view in England — Salisbury. Winchester lies in a hollow, surrounded by shelter- ing chalk hills that slope gently down to the valley. Trust the monks of old to select a well-favoured spot to build in, and if they felt assured of the world to come they knew very certainly also how to make the best of this one. We arrived at Winchester by a long descent, and we left it by a long ascent, passing, just beyond our hotel, beneath a hoary, crumbling archway (the West Gate) of truly medieval aspect, which appears to divide the ancient original city from the less ancient suburbs that have grown up around its former boundaries. At the end of our long ascent, to our left, we caught sight of the gray old hospital of St. Cross, an interesting relic of past times ; at the gate oi which is given to this day the "Wayfarer's Dole" — consisting, we were told, of a horn of ale and a piece of bread — to all who may demand it. Had the 76 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES hospital not been so far out of our way, we latter- day nineteenth-century pilgrims would much like to have tested the St. Cross brew, if not its baking, just for the sake of old romance. This hospital was originally founded in 1136, and with its daily dole forms a strange and picturesque survival of a primi- tive past, and long may it remain unchanged to us in an age of change. We can ill afford to lose such graphic reminders of a vanished and never- returning epoch. After the long rise our road began gradually to descend through hedgerowed pastures and brown tilled fields, and before us lay a lovely stretch of un- dulating country that gave our visions and our minds a charming sense of spaciousness. On the summit of a near isolated hill we observed a small stone obelisk, very conspicuous owing to its prominent position. We inquired of an intelligent native the meaning of this, and for once received a clear and fairly concise answer. " That," said he, " marks the spot where a horse lies buried which ran away with its rider in the hunting field and jumped down into a deep chalk pit ; but neither rider nor horse was hurt, which was considered almost a miracle. After- wards, when the horse died, his master had him buried there on the exact spot from which the horse jumped, and placed that monument above him in memory of the event." Then we came to a level country, and our road led us past a beautifully-wooded park in which were a number of fine big beech trees, a tree so much more graceful than the elm that it seems a pity it is HURSLEY CHURCH 77 not more cultivated in parks. Some neat little cot- tages followed the park, and we found ourselves suddenly in a charming little tree-embowered village ; this we discovered from our map to be Hursley. Here the ivy-covered church, with its gray flint tower and cared - for God's acre, attracted our attention ; it was a spot to make one almost " in love with death." A peace, hardly of this world, seems to brood incumbent over that tranquil sleeping-place of the dead. I have to own, with shame if needs be, that until we had entered that peaceful and pretty church and seen the brass on the chancel floor placed there to the memory of John Keble, author of the Christian Year, I had no idea that he was vicar here for over thirty years. The simple inscription on this brass runs as follows : — JOHN KEBLE Vicar of Hursley 1835-1866 Fell asleep in the Lord March 29, 1866. Aged 74 years. The open timber roof of this gem of a country church is curiously lighted with top windows. The only other instance of this quaint arrangement we have come across during our wanderings over England is at the ancient Saxon wooden church of •St. Edmund's at Greenstead in Essex (which I have described in a former work A Tour in a Phaeton), perhaps the oldest church in the world, and whose walls are upright halves of the trunks of trees perpendicularly placed. 78 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES Leaving Hursley, surely one of the sweetest villages in all England, we drove through an avenue of trees that lined the highway and would have been an ornament to any park ; then it was up hill to the hamlet of Ampfield, which possesses an ugly church, charmingly situated in a wooded God's acre wherein we found a stone fountain. Here an old roadside inn, with a big bay window full of flowers and a great grass plot in front, looked clean and inviting, nevertheless we proceeded along without calling a halt, as Romsey was only a few miles farther on and we desired to see its famous abbey that day. Now came a prolonged descent, bounded by thick woods on either side, so that our view was limited to the long lines of the road and ruts thereon ahead vanishing far away into a narrow point ; an object study in perspective. Then the woods ceased and the old town of Romsey came into view clustering around its glori- ous Norman abbey, and encircled by bright emerald fields through which the silvery Test wound in and out, the distance being bounded by tree-clad hills of greeny blue. The prospect was a picture, and but for the intruding, assertive railway — that ugly necessity of the nineteenth century — we might easily have imagined ourselves medieval pilgrims looking down upon a medieval city ! But a truce to romance. In due course we found ourselves in the sleepy cobble-paved market-place of Romsey, and, driving under an old-fashioned archway, we entered the courtyard of the old White Horse hostelry, where- upon a motherly landlady came forth to greet us ROMSEY ABBEY 79 with a ready, cheery smile that made us feel at home forthwith. How pleasant it is to be received thus, as we frequently were ! There is a something about the road, I cannot precisely define what, that seems to make one a real traveller, — a somebody quite apart from the individual merely arriving by rail, — and that appears to engender a more natural and a more hearty welcome. Finding the town, as well as our inn, much to our liking, we secured rooms for the night so as to have ample time to not only see the abbey but to ramble round about the quaint old place and make some sketches should the mood incline, for we did nothing under compulsion. Our first visit was, naturally, to the abbey, which we were fortunate enough to find open and the clerk within, so we were saved a tiresome hunt after that individual, who, according to our experience, is to be found anywhere but at home. The clerk was con- ducting a party over the building when we entered, so we began a quiet inspection of the interior on our own account ; this, however, was not fated to last long. Having seen his party out at the door, the clerk approached us manifestly with a view of offer- ing his services. Somehow this making a sort of a show place of a temple of worship — whether by gratuities or by charging so much a head as prevails at times — is not to our mind. One cannot contem- plate in peace with a guide at your elbow like a walking handbook, telling you what to see, and giv- ing you particulars of this and that in a mechanical, parrot-like manner begotten of long years of repeti- tion of the same things. On the whole I prefer a So THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES handbook to a clerk, you can put it in your pocket safely out of the way ! However, In this case, we managed to strike a bargain with our would-be guide, — on due presentation of a silver coin of the realm, — to be allowed to inspect the interior of the grand old abbey in our own way and at our leisure ; promising faithfully on our part and on our word of honour as utter strangers that we would not run away with any of the monuments, cut our names anywhere, or do anything else that we ought not to do. The clerk looked at us somewhat doubtfully at first, as though considering whether he ought to trust us or not, but our " tip " was on a generous scale, so that we managed to overcome any latent scruples he might have had. Romsey Abbey was one of the many pleasant sur- prises and discoveries of our journey ; we knew of its existence certainly, but we were not at all prepared to find it a most perfect and little spoilt example of Nor- man architecture — solid, sombre, with a grandeur of mass and rounded form that is as different from the light and graceful Early English Gothic as a fortress from a palace, or a ponderous tome of prose from a dainty volume of poems. A Norman fane is im- pressive on account of its strength, powerful con- trasts of light and shade, and rich, suggestive gloom, as well as from its right-down honesty of building and lasting-looking solidity. The Norman mason never scamped his work ; he knew better, for they had a rough and ready way in those times of dealing with such dishonesty ; in fine, scamping was a dangerous thing to do for the scamper, not, as in the A POEM IN STONE 8l reversed order of nowadays, for those who follow after him. " Buggins " the speculative builder, and the old firm of " Jerry Brothers " would have had a bad time of it in those days. Amongst the monuments in the abbey one specially struck us as being exceedingly beautiful and chaste in design, as well as in feeling and con- ception. It was to a little child, who was represented as lying down on a couch asleep with some wild flowers crushed in her tiny hand as though she had just gathered them and had come home tired to rest. It was a pretty and touching idea, and the sculptured figure was tenderly rendered and true to nature. The inanimate marble seemed almost to breathe. The name of the artist of this poem in stone I know not, nor whether he be alive or dead ; but I do know that no other monument, however beautiful, ever appealed to my feelings in the same degree. Before it we stood silently impressed. On it we read the following brief inscription : — To the Memory of ALICE Daughter of Mr. Francis Taylor Surgeon of this Town. And that was all, but sufficient ; for true sorrow is ever retiring, there is that which words cannot say because too deep for words. On the floor of the chancel we noticed an ancient tomb -slab which is of interest from its high antiquity — if genuine. I make this reserva- tion as the lettering thereon, as follows, appeared 6 82 THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES remarkably clear and clean cut considering its age ; but I presume that the authorities ecclesiastical would not allow any inscription that was not above reproach within the sacred abbey walls. This then is it : — Johanna Abbatissa de Rumeseye 1349- Near to the doorway we found the clerk waiting for us ; his office of guide was not to be ignored thus slightingly by two strangers. He had something, he said, to show us that we could not possibly discover for ourselves, — for the all-sufficient reason that it was kept carefully preserved out of sight under lock and key. We submitted to the inevitable, it is ever thus ; it is man with his trivial details that worries the contemplative pilgrim in these glorious shrines of ancient devotion. And what, think you, this valued treasure was that needs be guarded with such jealous care, — gold or jewels from sacked tomb of Prior or Abbot, of Bishop or warrior knight.'' No such thing ! The clerk brought forth a semi- circular box, and, lifting the lid, disclosed a woman's scalp, to which was attached a long tress of auburn hair carefully braided ; this rested on a block of black oak. "That," exclaimed the clerk, "was discovered in a curious triangular coffin by some workmen over forty years ago. When the coffin was opened a beautiful woman was revealed with her face and features perfectly preserved, but everything fell to dust immediately on exposure CURIOUS STONE SCULPTURE 83 to the air except what you now see. Who the woman was could not be discovered, but from the shape and mal