Rural Rides — Through Hampshire, Berkshire, Surrey and Sussex Part 2

(Sunday.

) From Hambledon to Thursley (continued).

From East-Meon, I did not go on to Froxfield church, but turned off to the left to a place (a couple of houses) called _Bower_.

Near this I stopped at a friend's house, which is in about as lonely a situation as I ever saw.

A very pleasant place however.

The lands dry, a nice mixture of woods and fields, and a great variety of hill and dell.

Before I came to East-Meon, the soil of the hills was a shallow loam with flints, on a bottom of chalk; but on this side of the valley of East-Meon; that is to say, on the north side, the soil on the hills is a deep, stiff loam, on a bed of a sort of gravel mixed with chalk; and the stones, instead of being grey on the outside and blue on the inside, are yellow on the outside and whitish on the inside.

In coming on further to the North, I found, that the bottom was sometimes gravel and sometime chalk.

Here, at the time when _whatever it was_ that formed these hills and valleys, the stuff of which Hindhead is composed seems to have run down and mixed itself with the stuff of which _Old Winchester Hill_ is composed.

Free chalk (which is the sort found here) is excellent manure for stiff land, and it produces a complete change in the nature of _clays_.

It is, therefore, dug here, on the North of East-Meon, about in the fields, where it happens to be found, and is laid out upon the surface, where it is crumbled to powder by the frost, and thus gets incorporated with the loam.

At Bower I got instructions to go to Hawkley, but accompanied with most earnest advice not to go that way, for that it was impossible to get along.

The roads were represented as so bad; the floods so much out; the hills and bogs so dangerous; that, really, I began to _doubt_; and, if I had not been brought up amongst the clays of the Holt Forest and the bogs of the neighbouring heaths, I should certainly have turned off to my right, to go over Hindhead, great as was my objection to going that way.

"Well, then," said my friend at Bower, "if you _will_ go that way, by G--, you must go down _Hawkley Hanger_;" of which he then gave me _such_ a description!

But, even this I found to fall short of the reality.

I inquired simply, whether _people were in the habit_ of going down it; and, the answer being in the affirmative, on I went through green lanes and bridle-ways till I came to the turnpike-road from Petersfield to Winchester, which I crossed, going into a narrow and almost untrodden green lane, on the side of which I found a cottage.

Upon my asking the way to _Hawkley_, the woman at the cottage said, "Right up the lane, Sir: you'll come to a _hanger_ presently: you must take care, Sir: you can't ride down: will your horses _go alone_?"

On we trotted up this pretty green lane; and indeed, we had been coming gently and generally up hill for a good while.

The lane was between highish banks and pretty high stuff growing on the banks, so that we could see no distance from us, and could receive not the smallest hint of what was so near at hand.

The lane had a little turn towards the end; so that, out we came, all in a moment, at the very edge of the hanger!

And never, in all my life, was I so surprised and so delighted!

I pulled up my horse, and sat and looked; and it was like looking from the top of a castle down into the sea, except that the valley was land and not water.

I looked at my servant, to see what effect this unexpected sight had upon him.

His surprise was as great as mine, though he had been bred amongst the North Hampshire hills.

Those who had so strenuously dwelt on the dirt and dangers of this route, had said not a word about beauties, the matchless beauties of the scenery.

These hangers are woods on the sides of very steep hills.

The trees and underwood _hang_, in some sort, to the ground, instead of _standing on_ it.

Hence these places are called _Hangers_.

From the summit of that which I had now to descend, I looked down upon the villages of Hawkley, Greatham, Selborne and some others.

From the south-east, round, southward, to the north-west, the main valley has cross-valleys running out of it, the hills on the sides of which are very steep, and, in many parts, covered with wood.

The hills that form these cross-valleys run out into the main valley, like piers into the sea.

Two of these promontories, of great height, are on the west side of the main valley, and were the first objects that struck my sight when I came to the edge of the hanger, which was on the south.

The ends of these promontories are nearly perpendicular, and their tops so high in the air, that you cannot look at the village below without something like a feeling of apprehension.

The leaves are all off, the hop-poles are in stack, the fields have little verdure; but, while the spot is beautiful beyond description even now, I must leave to imagination to suppose what it is, when the trees and hangers and hedges are in leaf, the corn waving, the meadows bright, and the hops upon the poles!

From the south-west, round, eastward, to the north, lie the _heaths_, of which Woolmer Forest makes a part, and these go gradually rising up to Hindhead, the crown of which is to the north-west, leaving the rest of the circle (the part from north to north-west) to be occupied by a continuation of the valley towards Headley, Binstead, Frensham and the Holt Forest.

So that even the _contrast_ in the view from the top of the hanger is as great as can possibly be imagined.

Men, however, are not to have such beautiful views as this without some trouble.

We had had the view; but we had to go down the hanger.

We had, indeed, some roads to get along, as we could, afterwards; but we had to get down the hanger first.

The horses took the lead, and crept partly down upon their feet and partly upon their hocks.

It was extremely slippery too; for the soil is a sort of marle, or, as they call it here, maume, or mame, which is, when wet, very much like _grey soap_.

In such a case it was likely that I should keep in the rear, which I did, and I descended by taking hold of the branches of the underwood, and so letting myself down.

When we got to the bottom, I bade my man, when he should go back to Uphusband, tell the people there, that _Ashmansworth Lane_ is not the _worst_ piece of road in the world.

Our worst, however, was not come yet, nor had we by any means seen the most novel sights.

After crossing a little field and going through a farm-yard, we came into a lane, which was, at once, road and river.

We found a hard bottom, however; and when we got out of the water, we got into a lane with high banks.

The banks were quarries of white stone, like Portland-stone, and the bed of the road was of the same stone; and, the rains having been heavy for a day or two before, the whole was as clean and as white as the steps of a fund-holder or dead-weight door-way in one of the Squares of the _Wen_.

Here were we, then, going along a stone road with stone banks, and yet the underwood and trees grew well upon the tops of the banks.

In the solid stone beneath us, there were a horse-track and wheel-tracks, the former about three and the latter about six inches deep.

How many many ages it must have taken the horses' feet, the wheels, and the water, to wear down this stone, so as to form a hollow way!

The horses seemed alarmed at their situation; they trod with fear;

but they took us along very nicely, and, at last, got us safe into the indescribable dirt and mire of the road from Hawkley Green to Greatham.

Here the bottom of all the land is this solid white stone, and the top is that _mame_, which I have before described.

The hop-roots penetrate down into this stone.

How deep the stone may go I know not; but, when I came to look up at the end of one of the piers, or promontories, mentioned above, I found that it was all of this same stone.

At Hawkley Green, I asked a farmer the way to Thursley.

He pointed to one of two roads going from the green; but it appearing to me, that that would lead me up to the London road and over Hindhead, I gave him to understand that I was resolved to get along, somehow or other, through the "low countries."

He besought me not to think of it.

However, finding me resolved, he got a man to go a little way to put me into the Greatham road.

The man came, but the farmer could not let me go off without renewing his entreaties, that I would go away to Liphook, in which entreaties the man joined, though he was to be paid very well for his trouble.

Off we went, however, to Greatham.

I am thinking, whether I ever did see _worse_ roads.

Upon the whole, I think, I have; though I am not sure that the roads of New Jersey, between Trenton and Elizabeth-Town, at the breaking up of winter, be worse.

Talk of _shows_, indeed!

Take a piece of this road; just a cut across, and a rod long, and carry it up to London.

That would be something like a _show_!

Upon leaving Greatham we came out upon Woolmer Forest.

Just as we were coming out of Greatham, I asked a man the way to Thursley.

"You _must_ go to _Liphook_, Sir," said he.

"But," I said, "I _will not_ go to Liphook."

These people seemed to be posted at all these stages to turn me aside from my purpose, and to make me go over that _Hindhead_, which I had resolved to avoid.

I went on a little further, and asked another man the way to Headley, which, as I have already observed, lies on the western foot of Hindhead, whence I knew there must be a road to Thursley (which lies at the North East foot) without going over that miserable hill.

The man told me, that I must go across the _forest_.

I asked him whether it was a _good_ road: "It is a _sound_ road," said he, laying a weighty emphasis upon the word _sound_.

"Do people _go_ it?"

said I. "_Ye-es_," said he.

"Oh then," said I, to my man, "as it is a _sound_ road, keep you close to my heels, and do not attempt to go aside, not even for a foot."

Indeed, it was a _sound_ road.

The rain of the night had made the fresh horse tracks visible.

And we got to Headley in a short time, over a sand-road, which seemed so delightful after the flints and stone and dirt and sloughs that we had passed over and through since the morning!

This road was not, if we had been benighted, without its dangers, the forest being full of quags and quicksands.

This is a tract of Crown lands, or, properly speaking, _public lands_, on some parts of which our Land Steward, Mr. Huskisson, is making some plantations of trees, partly fir, and partly other trees.

What he can plant the _fir_ for, God only knows, seeing that the country is already over-stocked with that rubbish.

But this _public land_ concern is a very great concern.

If I were a Member of Parliament, I _would_ know what timber has been cut down, and what it has been sold for, since year 1790. However, this matter must be _investigated_, first or last.

It never can be omitted in the winding up of the concern; and that winding up must come out of wheat at four shillings a bushel.

It is said, hereabouts, that a man who lives near Liphook, and who is so mighty a hunter and game pursuer, that they call him _William Rufus_; it is said that this man is _Lord of the Manor of Woolmer Forest_.

This he cannot be without _a grant_ to that effect; and, if there be a grant, there must have been a _reason_ for the grant.

This _reason_ I should very much like to know; and this I would know if I were a Member of Parliament.

That the people call him the _Lord of the Manor_ is certain; but he can hardly make preserves of the plantations; for it is well known how marvellously _hares_ and _young trees_ agree together!

This is a matter of great public importance; and yet, how, in the present state of things, is an _investigation_ to be obtained?

Is there a man in Parliament that will call for it?

Not one.

Would a dissolution of Parliament mend the matter?

No; for the same men would be there still.

They are the same men that have been there for these thirty years; and the _same men_ they will be, and they _must be_, until there be _a reform_.

To be sure when one dies, or cuts his throat (as in the case of Castlereagh), another _one_ comes;

but it is the _same body_.

And, as long as it is that same body, things will always go on as they now go on.

However, as Mr. Canning says the body "_works well_," we must not say the contrary.

The soil of this tract is, generally, a black sand, which, in some places, becomes _peat_, which makes very tolerable fuel.

In some parts there is clay at bottom; and there the _oaks_ would grow; but not while there are _hares_ in any number on the forest.

If trees be to grow here, there ought to be no hares, and as little hunting as possible.

We got to Headly, the sign of the Holly-Bush, just at dusk, and just as it began to rain.

I had neither eaten nor drunk since eight o'clock in the morning; and as it was a nice little public-house, I at first intended to stay all night, an intention that I afterwards very indiscreetly gave up.

I had _laid my plan_, which included the getting to Thursley that night.

When, therefore, I had got some cold bacon and bread, and some milk, I began to feel ashamed of stopping short of my _plan_, especially after having so heroically persevered in the "stern path," and so disdainfully scorned to go over Hindhead.

I knew that my road lay through a hamlet called _Churt_, where they grow such fine _bennet-grass_ seed.

There was a moon; but there was also a hazy rain.

I

had heaths to go over, and I might go into quags.

Wishing to execute my plan, however, I at last brought myself to quit a very comfortable turf-fire, and to set off in the rain, having bargained to give a man three shillings to guide me out to the Northern foot of Hindhead.

I took care to ascertain, that my guide knew the road perfectly well; that is to say, I took care to ascertain it as far as I could, which was, indeed, no farther than his word would go.

Off we set, the guide mounted on his own or master's horse, and with a white smock frock, which enabled us to see him clearly.

We trotted on pretty fast for about half an hour; and I perceived, not without some surprise, that the rain, which I knew to be coming from the _South_, met me full in the face, when it ought, according to my reckoning, to have beat upon my right cheek.

I called to the guide repeatedly to ask him if he was _sure that he was right_, to which he always answered "Oh!

yes, Sir, I know the road."

I did not like this, "_I know the road_."

At last, after going about six miles in nearly a Southern direction, the guide turned short to the left.

That brought the rain upon my right cheek, and, though I could not very well account for the long stretch to the South, I thought, that, at any rate, we were _now_ in the right track; and, after going about a mile in this new direction, I began to ask the guide _how much further we had to go_; for I had got a pretty good soaking, and was rather impatient to see the foot of Hindhead.

Just at this time, in raising my head and looking forward as I spoke to the guide, what should I see, but a long, high, and steep _hanger_ arising before us, the trees along the top of which I could easily distinguish!

The fact was, we were just getting to the outside of the heath, and were on the brow of a steep hill, which faced this hanging wood.

The guide had begun to descend, and I had called to him to stop; for the hill was so steep, that, rain as it did and wet as my saddle must be, I got off my horse in order to walk down.

But, now behold, the fellow discovered, that he _had lost his way_!

--Where we were I could not even guess.

There was but one remedy, and that was to get back, if we could.

I became guide now; and did as Mr. Western is advising the Ministers to do, _retraced_ my steps.

We went back about half the way that we had come, when we saw two men, who showed us the way that we ought to go.

At the end of about a mile, we fortunately found the turnpike-road; not, indeed, at the _foot_, but on the _tip-top_ of that very Hindhead, on which I had so repeatedly _vowed_ I would not go!

We came out on the turnpike some hundred yards on the Liphook side of the buildings called _the Hut_; so that we had the whole of three miles of hill to come down at not much better than a foot pace, with a good pelting rain at our backs.

It is odd enough how differently one is affected by the same sight, under different circumstances.

At the "_Holly Bush_" at Headly there was a room full of fellows in white smock frocks, drinking and smoking and talking, and I, who was then dry and warm, _moralized_ within myself on their _folly_ in spending their time in such a way.

But, when I got down from Hindhead to the public-house at Road-Lane, with my skin soaking and my teeth chattering, I thought just such another group, whom I saw through the window sitting round a good fire with pipes in their mouths, the _wisest assembly_ I had ever set my eyes on.

A real _Collective Wisdom_.

And, I most solemnly declare, that I felt a greater veneration for them than I have ever felt even for the _Privy Council_, notwithstanding the Right Honorable Charles Wynn and the Right Honorable Sir John Sinclair belong to the latter.

It was now but a step to my friend's house, where a good fire and a change of clothes soon put all to rights, save and except the having come over Hindhead after all my resolutions.

This mortifying circumstance; this having been _beaten_, lost the guide the _three shillings_ that I had agreed to give him.

"Either," said I, "you did not know the way well, or you did: if the former, it was dishonest in you to undertake to guide me: if the latter, you have wilfully led me miles out of my way."

He grumbled; but off he went.

He certainly deserved nothing;

for he did not know the way, and he prevented some other man from earning and receiving the money.

But, had he not caused me to _get upon Hindhead_, he would have had the three shillings.

I had, at one time, got my hand in my pocket; but the thought of having been _beaten_ pulled it out again.

Thus ended the most interesting day, as far as I know, that I ever passed in all my life.

Hawkley-hangers, promontories, and stone-roads will always come into my mind when I see, or hear of, picturesque views.

I forgot to mention, that, in going from Hawkley to Greatham, the man, who went to show me the way, told me at a certain fork, "That road goes to _Selborne_."

This put me in mind of a book, which was once recommended to me, but which I never saw, entitled "_The History and Antiquities of Selborne_," (or something of that sort) written, I think, by a parson of the name of _White_, brother of Mr. _White_, so long a Bookseller in Fleet-street.

This parson had, I think, the living of the parish of Selborne.

The book was mentioned to me as a work of great curiosity and interest.

But, at that time, the THING was biting _so very sharply_ that one had no attention to bestow on antiquarian researches.

Wheat at 39_s.

_ a quarter, and Southdown ewes at 12_s.

_ 6_d.

_ have so weakened the THING'S jaws and so filed down its teeth, that I shall now certainly read this book if I can get it.

By-the-bye if _all the parsons_ had, for the last thirty years, employed their leisure time in writing the histories of their several parishes, instead of living, as many of them have, engaged in pursuits that I need not here name, neither their situation nor that of their flocks would, perhaps, have been the worse for it at this day.

_Thursley (Surrey), Nov.

25. _ In looking back into Hampshire, I see with pleasure the farmers bestirring themselves to get a County Meeting called.

There were, I was told, nearly five hundred names to a Requisition, and those all of land-owners or occupiers.

--Precisely what they mean to petition for I do not know; but (and now I address myself to you, Mr. Canning,) if they do not petition _for a reform of the Parliament_, they will do worse than nothing.

You, Sir, have often told us, that the HOUSE, however got together, "works well."

Now, as I said in 1817, just before I went to America to get out of the reach of our friend, the _Old Doctor_, and to use my _long arm_; as I said then, in a Letter addressed to Lord Grosvenor, so I say now, show me the inexpediency of reform, and I will hold my tongue.

Show us, prove to us, that the House "works well," and I, for my part, give the matter up.

It is not the construction or the motions of a machine that I ever look at: all I look after is _the effect_.

When, indeed, I find that the effect is deficient or evil, I look to the construction.

And, as I now see, and have for many years seen, evil effect, I seek a remedy in an alteration in the machine.

There is now nobody; no, not a single man, out of the regions of Whitehall, who will pretend, that the country can, without the risk of some great and terrible convulsion, go on, even for twelve months longer, unless there be a great change of some sort in the mode of managing the public affairs.

Could you see and hear what I have seen and heard during this Rural Ride, you would no longer say, that the House "works well."

Mrs. Canning and your children are dear to you; but, Sir, not more dear than are to them the wives and children of, perhaps, two hundred thousand men, who, by the Acts of this same House, see those wives and children doomed to beggary, and to beggary, too, never thought of, never regarded as more likely than a blowing up of the earth or a falling of the sun.

It was reserved for this "working well" House to make the fire-sides of farmers scenes of gloom.

These fire-sides, in which I have always so delighted, I now approach with pain.

I was, not long ago, sitting round the fire with as worthy and as industrious a man as all England contains.

There was his son, about 19 years of age; two daughters from 15 to 18; and a little boy sitting on the father's knee.

I knew, but not from him, that there was _a mortgage_ on his farm.

I was anxious to induce him _to sell without delay_.

With this view I, in an hypothetical and round-about way, approached _his case_, and at last I came to final consequences.

The deep and deeper gloom on a countenance, once so cheerful, told me what was passing in his breast, when turning away my looks in order to seem not to perceive the effect of my words, I saw the eyes of his wife full of tears.

She had made the application; and there were her children before her!

And am I to be _banished for life_ if I express what I felt upon this occasion!

And does this House, then, "work well?"

How many men, of the most industrious, the most upright, the most exemplary, upon the face of the earth, have been, by this one Act of this House, driven to despair, ending in madness or self-murder, or both!

Nay, how many scores!

And, yet, are we to be banished for life, if we endeavour to show, that this House does not "work well?"

--However, banish or banish not, these facts are notorious: _the House_ made all the _Loans_ which constitute the debt: _the House_ contracted for the Dead Weight: _the House_ put a stop to gold-payments in 1797: _the House_ unanimously passed Peel's Bill.

Here are _all_ the causes of the ruin, the misery, the anguish, the despair, and the madness and self-murders.

Here they are _all_.

They have all been Acts of this House; and yet, we are to be banished if we say, in words suitable to the subject, that this House does not "_work well_!"

This one Act, I mean this _Banishment Act_, would be enough, with posterity, to characterize this House.

When they read (and can believe what they read) that it actually passed a law to banish for life any one who should write, print, or publish anything having a _tendency_ to bring it into _contempt_; when posterity shall read this, and believe it, they will want nothing more to enable them to say what sort of an assembly it was!

It was delightful, too, that they should pass this law just after they had passed _Peel's Bill_!

Oh, God!

thou art _just_!

As to _reform_, it _must come_.

Let what else will happen, it must come.

Whether before, or after, all the estates be transferred, I cannot say.

But, this I know very well; that the later it come, the _deeper_ will it go.

I shall, of course, go on remarking, as occasion offers, upon what is done by and said in this present House; but I know that it can do nothing efficient for the relief of the country.

I have seen some men of late, who seem to think, that even a reform, enacted, or begun, by this House, would be an evil; and that it would be better to let the whole thing go on, and produce its natural consequence.

I am not of this opinion: I am for a reform as soon as possible, even though it be not, at first, precisely what I could wish; because, if the debt blow up before the reform take place, confusion and uproar there must be; and I do not want to see confusion and uproar.

I am for a reform of _some sort_, and _soon_; but, when I say of _some sort_, I do not mean of Lord John Russell's sort; I do not mean a reform in the Lopez way.

In short, what I want is, to see the _men_ changed.

I want to see _other men_ in the House; and as to _who_ those other men should be, I really should not be very nice.

I have seen the Tierneys, the Bankeses, the Wilberforces, the Michael Angelo Taylors, the Lambs, the Lowthers, the Davis Giddies, the Sir John Sebrights, the Sir Francis Burdetts, the Hobhouses, old or young, Whitbreads the same, the Lord Johns and the Lord Williams and the Lord Henries and the Lord Charleses, and, in short, all _the whole family_; I have seen them all there, all the same faces and names, all my life time; I see that neither adjournment nor prorogation nor dissolution makes any change in _the men_; and, caprice let it be if you like, I want to see a change _in the men_.

These have done enough in all conscience; or, at least, they have done enough to satisfy me.

I want to see some fresh faces, and to hear a change of some sort or other in the sounds.

A "_hear, hear_," coming everlastingly from the same mouths, is what I, for my part, am tired of.

I am aware that this is not what the "_great reformers_" in the House mean.

They mean, on the contrary, no such thing as a change of men.

They mean that _Lopez_ should sit there for ever; or, at least, till succeeded by a legitimate heir.

I believe that Sir Francis Burdett, for instance, has not the smallest idea of an Act of Parliament ever being made without his assistance, if he chooses to assist, which is not very frequently the case.

I believe that he looks upon a seat in the House as being his property; and that the other seat is, and ought to be, held as a sort of leasehold or copyhold under him.

My idea of reform, therefore;

my change of faces and of names and of sounds will appear quite horrible to him.

However, I think the nation begins to be very much of my way of thinking; and this I am very sure of, that we shall never see that change in the management of affairs, which we most of us want to see, unless there be a pretty complete change of men.

Some people will blame me for speaking out so broadly upon this subject.

But I think it the best way to disguise nothing; to do what is _right_;

to be sincere; and to let come what will.

_Godalming, November 26 to 28. _ I came here to meet my son, who was to return to London when we had done our business.

--The turnips are pretty good all over the country, except upon the very thin soils on the chalk.

At Thursley they are very good, and so they are upon all these nice light and good lands round about Godalming.

This is a very pretty country.

You see few prettier spots than this.

The chain of little hills that run along to the South and South-East of Godalming, and the soil, which is a good loam upon a sand-stone bottom, run down on the South side, into what is called the _Weald_.

This Weald is a bed of clay, in which nothing grows well but oak trees.

It is first the Weald of Surrey and then the Weald of Sussex.

It runs along on the South of Dorking, Reigate, Bletchingley, Godstone, and then winds away down into Kent.

In no part of it, as far as I have observed, do the oaks grow finer than between the sand-hill on the South of Godstone and a place called Fellbridge, where the county of Surrey terminates on the road to East Grinstead.

At Godalming we heard some account of a lawsuit between Mr. Holme Sumner and his tenant, Mr. Nash; but the particulars I must reserve till I have them in black and white.

In all parts of the country, I hear of landlords that begin to _squeak_, which is a certain proof that they begin to feel the bottom of their tenants' pockets.

No man can pay rent; I mean any rent at all, except out of capital; or, except under some peculiar circumstances, such as having a farm near a spot where the fundholders are building houses.

When I was in Hampshire, I heard of terrible breakings up in the Isle of Wight.

They say, that the general rout is very near at hand there.

I

heard of one farmer, who held a farm at seven hundred pounds a-year, who paid his rent annually, and punctually, who had, of course, seven hundred pounds to pay to his landlord last Michaelmas; but who, before Michaelmas came, thrashed out and sold (the harvest being so early) the whole of his corn; sold off his stock, bit by bit; got the very goods out of his house, leaving only a bed and some trifling things; sailed with a fair wind over to France with his family; put his mother-in-law into the house to keep possession of the house and farm, and to prevent the landlord from entering upon the land for a year or better, unless he would pay to the mother-in-law a certain sum of money!

Doubtless the landlord had already sucked away about three or four times seven hundred pounds from this farmer.

He would not be able to enter upon his farm without a process that would cost him some money, and without the farm being pretty well stocked with thistles and docks, and perhaps laid half to common.

Farmers on the coast opposite France are not so firmly bounden as those in the interior.

Some hundreds of these will have carried their allegiance, their capital (what they have left), and their skill, to go and grease the fat sow, our old friends the Bourbons.

I

hear of a sharp, greedy, hungry shark of a landlord, who says that "some law must be passed;" that "Parliament must do something to prevent this!"

There is a pretty fool for you!

There is a great jackass (I beg the real jackass's pardon), to imagine that the people at Westminster can do anything to prevent the French from suffering people to come with their money to settle in France!

This fool does not know, perhaps, that there are Members of Parliament that live in France more than they do in England.

I have heard of one, who not only lives there, but carries on vineyards there, and is never absent from them, except when he comes over "to attend to his duties in Parliament."

He perhaps sells his wine at the same time, and that being genuine, doubtless brings him a good price; so that the occupations harmonize together very well.

The Isle of Wight must be rather peculiarly distressed; for it was the scene of monstrous expenditure.

When the _pure_ Whigs were in power, in 1806, it was proved to them and to the Parliament, that in several instances, _a barn_ in the Isle of Wight was rented by the "envy of surrounding nations" for more money than the rest of the whole farm!

These barns were wanted as _barracks_; and, indeed, such things were carried on in that Island as never could have been carried on under anything that was not absolutely "the admiration of the world."

These sweet pickings, caused, doubtless, a great rise in the rent of the farms; so that, in this Island, there is not only the depression of price, and a greater depression than anywhere else, but also the loss of the pickings, and these together leave the tenants but this simple choice; beggary or flight; and as most of them have had a pretty deal of capital, and will be likely to have some left as yet, they will, as they perceive the danger, naturally flee for succour to the Bourbons.

This is, indeed, something new in the History of English Agriculture; and were not Mr. Canning so positive to the contrary, one would almost imagine that the thing which has produced it does not work so very well.

However, that gentleman seems resolved to prevent us, by his _King of Bohemia_ and his two _Red Lions_, from having any change in this thing; and therefore the landlords, in the Isle of Wight, as well as elsewhere, must make the best of the matter.

_November 29. _ Went on to Guildford, where I slept.

Everybody, that has been from Godalming to Guildford, knows, that there is hardly another such a pretty four miles in all England.

The road is good; the soil is good;

the houses are neat; the people are neat: the hills, the woods, the meadows, all are beautiful.

Nothing wild and bold, to be sure, but exceedingly pretty; and it is almost impossible to ride along these four miles without feelings of pleasure, though you have rain for your companion, as it happened to be with me.

_Dorking, November 30. _ I came over the high hill on the south of Guildford, and came down to Chilworth, and up the valley to Albury.

I noticed, in my first Rural Ride, this beautiful valley, its hangers, its meadows, its hop-gardens, and its ponds.

This valley of Chilworth has great variety, and is very pretty; but after seeing Hawkley, every other place loses in point of beauty and interest.

This pretty valley of Chilworth has a run of water which comes out of the high hills, and which, occasionally, spreads into a pond; so that there is in fact a series of ponds connected by this run of water.

This valley, which seems to have been created by a bountiful providence, as one of the choicest retreats of man; which seems formed for a scene of innocence and happiness, has been, by ungrateful man, so perverted as to make it instrumental in effecting two of the most damnable of purposes; in carrying into execution two of the most damnable inventions that ever sprang from the minds of man under the influence of the devil!

namely, the making of _gunpowder_ and of _banknotes_!

Here in this tranquil spot, where the nightingales are to be heard earlier and later in the year than in any other part of England; where the first bursting of the buds is seen in Spring, where no rigour of seasons can ever be felt; where everything seems formed for precluding the very thought of wickedness; here has the devil fixed on as one of the seats of his grand manufactory; and perverse and ungrateful man not only lends him his aid, but lends it cheerfully!

As to the gunpowder, indeed, we might get over that.

In some cases that may be innocently, and, when it sends the lead at the hordes that support a tyrant, meritoriously employed.

The alders and the willows, therefore, one can see, without so much regret, turned into powder by the waters of this valley; but, the _Bank-notes_!

To think that the springs which God has commanded to flow from the sides of these happy hills, for the comfort and the delight of man; to think that these springs should be perverted into means of spreading misery over a whole nation; and that, too, under the base and hypocritical pretence of promoting its _credit_ and maintaining its _honour_ and its _faith_!

There was one circumstance, indeed, that served to mitigate the melancholy excited by these reflections; namely, that a part of these springs have, at times, assisted in turning rags into _Registers_!

Somewhat cheered by the thought of this, but, still, in a more melancholy mood than I had been for a long while, I rode on with my friend towards _Albury_, up the valley, the sand-hills on one side of us and the chalk-hills on the other.

Albury is a little village consisting of a few houses, with a large house or two near it.

At the end of the village we came to a park, which is the residence of Mr. Drummond.

--Having heard a great deal of this park, and of the gardens, I wished very much to see them.

My way to Dorking lay through Shire, and it went along on the outside of the park.

I _guessed_, as the Yankees say, that there must be a way through the park to Shire; and I fell upon the scheme of going into the park as far as Mr. Drummond's house, and then asking his leave to go out at the other end of it.

This scheme, though pretty bare-faced, succeeded very well.

It is true that I was aware that I had not a _Norman_ to deal with; or, I should not have ventured upon the experiment.

I sent in word that, having got into the park, I should be exceedingly obliged to Mr. Drummond if he would let me go out of it on the side next to Shire.

He not only granted this request, but, in the most obliging manner, permitted us to ride all about the park, and to see his gardens, which, without any exception, are, to my fancy, the prettiest in England; that is to say, that I ever saw in England.

They say that these gardens were laid out for one of the Howards, in the reign of Charles the Second, by Mr. Evelyn, who wrote the _Sylva_.

The mansion-house, which is by no means magnificent, stands on a little flat by the side of the parish church, having a steep, but not lofty, hill rising up on the south side of it.

It looks right across the gardens, which lie on the slope of a hill which runs along at about a quarter of a mile distant from the front of the house.

The gardens, of course, lie facing the south.

At the back of them, under the hill, is a high wall;

and there is also a wall at each end, running from north to south.

Between the house and the gardens there is a very beautiful run of water, with a sort of little wild narrow sedgy meadow.

The gardens are separated from this by a hedge, running along from east to west.

From this hedge there go up the hill, at right angles, several other hedges, which divide the land here into distinct gardens, or orchards.

Along at the top of these there goes a yew hedge, or, rather, a row of small yew trees, the trunks of which are bare for about eight or ten feet high, and the tops of which form one solid head of about ten feet high, while the bottom branches come out on each side of the row about eight feet horizontally.

This hedge, or row, is _a quarter of a mile long_.

There is a nice hard sand-road under this species of umbrella; and, summer and winter, here is a most delightful walk!

Behind this row of yews, there is a space, or garden (a quarter of a mile long you will observe) about thirty or forty feet wide, as nearly as I can recollect.

At the back of this garden, and facing the yew-tree row, is a wall probably ten feet high, which forms the breastwork of a _terrace_; and it is this terrace which is the most beautiful thing that I ever saw in the gardening way.

It is a quarter of a mile long, and, I believe, between thirty and forty feet wide; of the finest green sward, and as level as a die.

The wall, along at the back of this terrace, stands close against the hill, which you see with the trees and underwood upon it rising above the wall.

So that here is the finest spot for fruit trees that can possibly be imagined.

At both ends of this garden the trees in the park are lofty, and there are a pretty many of them.

The hills on the south side of the mansion-house are covered with lofty trees, chiefly beeches and chestnut: so that a warmer, a more sheltered, spot than this, it seems to be impossible to imagine.

Observe, too, how judicious it was to plant the row of yew trees at the distance which I have described from the wall which forms the breastwork of the terrace: that wall, as well as the wall at the back of the terrace, are covered with fruit trees, and the yew tree row is just high enough to defend the former from winds, without injuring it by its shade.

In the middle of the wall, at the back of the terrace, there is a recess about thirty feet in front and twenty feet deep, and here is a _basin_, into which rises a spring coming out of the hill.

The overflowings of this basin go under the terrace and down across the garden into the rivulet below.

So that here is water at the top, across the middle, and along at the bottom of this garden.