The agreeable news from France, relative to the intended invasion of
Spain, compelled me to break off, in my last Letter, in the middle of my
_Rural Ride_ of Sunday, the 24th of November. Before I mount again,
which I shall do in this Letter, pray let me ask you what _sort of
apology_ is to be offered to the nation, if the French Bourbons be
permitted to take quiet possession of Cadiz and of the Spanish naval
force? Perhaps you may be disposed to answer, when you have taken time
to reflect; and, therefore, leaving you to _muse_ on the matter, I will
resume my ride.
_November 24._
(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. Take it altogether, this, certainly, is the prettiest garden
that I ever beheld. There was taste and sound judgment at every step in
the laying out of this place. Everywhere utility and convenience is
combined with beauty. The terrace is by far the finest thing of the sort
that I ever saw, and the whole thing altogether is a great compliment to
the taste of the times in which it was formed. I know there are some
ill-natured persons who will say that I want a revolution that would
turn Mr. Drummond out of this place and put me into it. Such persons
will hardly believe me, but upon my word I do not. From everything that
I hear, Mr. Drummond is very worthy of possessing it himself, seeing
that he is famed for his justice and his kindness _towards the labouring
classes_, who, God knows, have very few friends amongst the rich. If
what I have heard be true, Mr. Drummond is singularly good in this way;
for, instead of hunting down an unfortunate creature who has exposed
himself to the lash of the law; instead of regarding a crime committed
as proof of an inherent disposition to commit crime; instead of
rendering the poor creatures desperate by this species of
_proscription_, and forcing them on to the _gallows_, merely because
they have once merited the _Bridewell_; instead of this, which is the
common practice throughout the country, he rather seeks for such
unfortunate creatures to take them into his employ, and thus to reclaim
them, and to make them repent of their former courses. If this be true,
and I am credibly informed that it is, I know of no man in England so
worthy of his estate. There may be others to act in like manner; but I
neither know nor have heard of any other. I had, indeed, heard of this,
at Alresford in Hampshire; and, to say the truth, it was this
circumstance, and this alone, which induced me to ask the favour of Mr.
Drummond to go through his park. But, besides that Mr. Drummond is very
worthy of his estate, what chance should I have of getting it if it came
to a _scramble_? There are others who like pretty gardens as well as I;
and if the question were to be decided according to the law of the
strongest, or, as the French call it, by the _droit du plus fort_, my
chance would be but a very poor one. The truth is, that you hear nothing
but _fools_ talk about revolutions _made for the purpose of getting
possession of people's property_. They never have their spring in any
such motives. They are _caused by Governments themselves_; and though
they do sometimes cause a new distribution of property to a certain
extent, there never was, perhaps, one single man in this world that had
anything to do, worth speaking of, in the causing of a revolution, that
did it with any such view. But what a strange thing it is, that there
should be men at this time to fear _the loss of estates_ as the
consequence of a convulsive revolution; at this time, when the estates
are actually passing away from the owners before their eyes, and that,
too, in consequence of measures which have been adopted for what has
been called the _preservation of property_, against the designs of
Jacobins and Radicals! Mr. Drummond has, I dare say, the means of
preventing his estate from being actually taken away from him; but I am
quite certain that that estate, except as a place to live at, is not
worth to him, at this moment, one single farthing. What could a
revolution do for him _more_ than this? If one could suppose the power
of doing what they like placed in the hands of the labouring classes; if
one could suppose such a thing as this, which never was yet seen; if one
could suppose anything so monstrous as that of a revolution that would
leave no public authority anywhere; even in such a case, it is against
nature to suppose that the people would come and turn him out of his
house and leave him without food; and yet that they must do, to make
him, as a landholder, worse off than he is; or, at least, worse off than
he must be in a very short time. I saw, in the gardens at Albury Park,
what I never saw before in all my life; that is, some plants of the
_American Cranberry_. I never saw them in America; for there they grow
in those swamps, into which I never happened to go at the time of their
bearing fruit. I may have seen the plant, but I do not know that I ever
did. Here it not only grows, but bears; and there are still some
cranberries on the plants now. I tasted them, and they appeared to me to
have just the same taste as those in America. They grew in a long bed
near the stream of water which I have spoken about, and therefore it is
clear that they may be cultivated with great ease in this country. The
road, through Shire along to Dorking, runs up the valley between the
chalk-hills and the sand-hills; the chalk to our left and the sand to
our right. This is called the Home Dale. It begins at Reigate and
terminates at Shalford Common, down below Chilworth.
_Reigate, December 1._
I set off this morning with an intention to go across the Weald to
Worth; but the red rising of the sun and the other appearances of the
morning admonished me to keep upon _high ground_; so I crossed the Mole,
went along under Boxhill, through Betchworth and Buckland, and got to
this place just at the beginning of a day of as heavy rain, and as
boisterous wind, as, I think, I have ever known in England. _In_ one
rotten borough, one of the most rotten too, and with another still more
rotten _up upon the hill_, in Reigate, and close by Gatton, how can I
help reflecting, how can my mind be otherwise than filled with
reflections on the marvellous deeds of the Collective Wisdom of the
nation! At present, however (for I want to get to bed) I will notice
only one of those deeds, and that one yet "_incohete_," a word which Mr.
Canning seems to have coined for the _nonce_ (which is not a coined
word), when Lord Castlereagh (who cut his throat the other day) was
accused of making a _swap_, as the horse-jockeys call it, of a
_writer-ship_ against a _seat_. It is _barter_, _truck_, _change_,
_dicker_, as the Yankees call it, but as our horse-jockeys call it
_swap_, or _chop_. The case was this: the chop had been _begun_; it had
been entered on; but had not been completed; just as two jockeys may
have _agreed_ on a chop and yet not actually _delivered_ the horses to
one another. Therefore, Mr. Canning said that the act was _incohete_,
which means, without cohesion, without consequence. Whereupon the House
entered on its Journals a solemn resolution, that it was its duty to
_watch over its purity with the greatest care_; but that the said act
being "_incohete_" the House did not think it necessary to proceed any
further in the matter! It unfortunately happened, however, that in a
very few days afterwards--that is to say, on the memorable eleventh of
June, 1809--Mr. Maddocks accused the very same Castlereagh of having
actually sold and delivered a seat to Quintin Dick for three thousand
pounds. The accuser said he was ready to bring to the bar proof of the
fact; and he moved that he might be permitted so to do. Now, then, what
did Mr. Canning say? Why, he said that the reformers were a low degraded
crew, and he called upon the House to make a stand against democratical
encroachment? And the House did not listen to him, surely? Yes, but it
did! And it voted by a thundering majority, that it would not hear the
evidence. And this vote was, by the leader of the Whigs, justified upon
the ground that the deed complained of by Mr. Maddocks was according to
a practice which was as notorious as _the sun at noon day_. So much for
the word "_incohete_," which has led me into this long digression. The
deed, or achievement, of which I am now about to speak is not the
Marriage Act; for that is _cohete_ enough: that has had plenty of
consequences. It is the New Turnpike Act, which, though passed, is as
yet "incohete;" and is not to be cohete for some time yet to come. I
hope it will become _cohete_ during the time that Parliament is sitting,
for otherwise it will have _cohesion_ pretty nearly equal to that of the
Marriage Act. In the first place this Act makes _chalk_ and _lime_
everywhere liable to turnpike duty, which in many cases they were not
before. This is a monstrous oppression upon the owners and occupiers of
clay lands; and comes just at the time, too, when they are upon the
point, many of them, of being driven out of cultivation, or thrown up to
the parish, by other burdens. But it is the provision with regard to the
_wheels_ which will create the greatest injury, distress and confusion.
The wheels which this law orders to be used on turnpike roads, on pain
of enormous toll, cannot be used on the _cross-roads_ throughout more
than nine-tenths of the kingdom. To make these roads and the
_drove-lanes_ (the private roads of farms) fit for the cylindrical
wheels described in this Bill, would cost a pound an acre, upon an
average, upon all the land in England, and especially in the counties
where the land is poorest. It would, in these counties, cost a tenth
part of the worth of the fee-simple of the land. And this is enacted,
too, at a time when the wagons, the carts, and all the dead stock of a
farm; when the whole is falling into a state of irrepair; when all is
actually perishing for want of means in the farmer to keep it in repair!
This is the time that the Lord Johns and the Lord Henries and the rest
of that Honourable body have thought proper to enact that the whole of
the farmers in England shall have new wheels to their wagons and carts,
or, that they shall be punished by the payment of heavier tolls! It is
useless, perhaps, to say anything about the matter; but I could not help
noticing a thing which has created such a general alarm amongst the
farmers in every part of the country where I have recently been.
_Worth (Sussex), December 2._
I set off from Reigate this morning, and after a pleasant ride of ten
miles, got here to breakfast.--Here, as everywhere else, the farmers
appear to think that their last hour is approaching.--Mr. _Charles
B----'s farms_; I believe it is _Sir_ Charles B----; and I should be
sorry to withhold from him his title, though, being said to be a very
good sort of a man, he might, perhaps, be able to shift without it: this
gentleman's farms are subject of conversation here. The matter is
curious in itself, and very well worthy of attention, as illustrative of
the present state of things. These farms were, last year, taken into
hand by the owner. This was stated in the public papers about a
twelvemonth ago. It was said that his tenants would not take the farms
again at the rent which he wished to have, and that therefore he took
the farms into hand. These farms lie somewhere down in the west of
Sussex. In the month of August last I saw (and I think in one of the
Brighton newspapers) a paragraph stating that Mr. B----, who had taken
his farms into hand the Michaelmas before, had already got in his
harvest, and that he had had excellent crops! This was a sort of
bragging paragraph; and there was an observation added which implied
that the farmers were great fools for not having taken the farms! We now
hear that Mr. B---- has let his farms. But, now, mark how he has let
them. The custom in Sussex is this: when a tenant quits a farm, he
receives payment, according to valuation, for what are called the
dressings, the half-dressings, for seeds and lays, and for the growth of
underwood in coppices and hedge-rows; for the dung in the yards; and, in
short, for whatever he leaves behind him, which, if he had stayed, would
have been of value to him. The dressings and half-dressings include not
only the manure that has been recently put into the land, but also the
summer ploughings; and, in short, everything which has been done to the
land, and the benefit of which has not been taken out again by the
farmer. This is a good custom; because it ensures good tillage to the
land. It ensures, also, a fair start to the new tenant; but then,
observe, it requires some money, which the new tenant must pay down
before he can begin, and therefore this custom presumes a pretty deal of
capital to be possessed by farmers. Bearing _these_ general remarks in
mind, we shall see, in a moment, the case of Mr. B----. If my
information be correct, he has let his farms: he has found tenants for
his farms; but not tenants to pay him anything for dressings,
half-dressings, and the rest. He was obliged to pay the out-going
tenants for these things. Mind that! He was obliged to pay them
according to the custom of the country; but he has got nothing of this
sort from his in-coming tenants! It must be a poor farm, indeed, where
the valuation does not amount to some hundreds of pounds. So that here
is a pretty sum sunk by Mr. B----; and yet even on conditions like
these, he has, I dare say, been glad to get his farms off his hands.
There can be very little security for the payment of rent where the
tenant pays no in-coming; but even if he get no rent at all, Mr. B----
has done well to get his farms off his hands. Now, do I wish to
insinuate that Mr. B---- asked too much for his farms last year, and
that he wished to squeeze the last shilling out of his farmers? By no
means. He bears the character of a mild, just, and very considerate man,
by no means greedy, but the contrary. A man very much beloved by his
tenants; or, at least, deserving it. But the truth is, he could not
believe it possible that his farms were so much fallen in value. He
could not believe it possible that his estate had been taken away from
him by the legerdemain of the Pitt System, which he had been supporting
all his life: so that he thought, and very naturally thought, that his
old tenants were endeavouring to impose upon him, and therefore resolved
to take his farms into hand. Experience has shown him that farms yield
no rent, in the hands of the landlord at least; and therefore he has put
them into the hands of other people. Mr. B----, like Mr. Western, has
not read the _Register_. If he had, he would have taken any trifle from
his old tenants, rather than let them go. But he surely might have read
the speech of his neighbour and friend Mr. Huskisson, made in the House
of Commons in 1814, in which that gentleman said that, with wheat at
less than double the price that it bore before the war, it would be
impossible for any rent at all to be paid. Mr. B---- might have read
this; and he might, having so many opportunities, have asked Mr.
Huskisson for an explanation of it. This gentleman is now a great
advocate for _national faith_; but may not Mr. B---- ask him whether
there be no faith to be kept with the landlord? However, if I am not
deceived, Mr. B---- or Sir Charles B---- (for I really do not know which
it is) is a member of the Collective! If this be the case he has had
something to do with the thing himself; and he must muster up as much as
he can of that "patience" which is so strongly recommended by our great
new state doctor Mr. Canning.
I cannot conclude my remarks on this Rural Ride without noticing the new
sort of language that I hear everywhere made use of with regard to the
parsons, but which language I do not care to repeat. These men may say
that I keep company with none but those who utter "sedition and
blasphemy;" and if they do say so, there is just as much veracity in
their words as I believe there to be charity and sincerity in the hearts
of the greater part of them. One thing is certain; indeed, two things:
the first is, that almost the whole of the persons that I have conversed
with are farmers; and the second is, that they are in this respect all
of one mind! It was my intention, at one time, to go along the south of
Hampshire to Portsmouth, Fareham, Botley, Southampton, and across the
New Forest into Dorsetshire. My affairs made me turn from Hambledon this
way; but I had an opportunity of hearing something about the
neighbourhood of Botley. Take any one considerable circle where you know
everybody, and the condition of that circle will teach you how to judge
pretty correctly of the condition of every other part of the country. I
asked about the farmers of my old neighbourhood, one by one; and the
answers I received only tended to confirm me in the opinion that the
whole race will be destroyed; and that a new race will come, and enter
upon farms without capital and without stock; be a sort of bailiffs to
the landlords for a while, and then, if this system go on, bailiffs to
the Government as trustee for the fundholders. If the account which I
have received of Mr. B----'s new mode of letting be true, here is one
step further than has been before taken. In all probability the stock
upon the farms belongs to him, to be paid for when the tenant can pay
for it. Who does not see to what this tends? The man must be blind
indeed who cannot see confiscation here; and can he be much less than
blind if he imagine that relief is to be obtained by the _patience_
recommended by Mr. Canning?
* * * * *
Thus, Sir, have I led you about the country. All sorts of things have I
talked of, to be sure; but there are very few of these things which have
not their interest of one sort or another. At the end of a hundred miles
or two of travelling, stopping here and there; talking freely with
everybody; hearing what gentlemen, farmers, tradesmen, journeymen,
labourers, women, girls, boys, and all have to say; reasoning with some,
laughing with others, and observing all that passes; and especially if
your manner be such as to remove every kind of reserve from every class;
at the end of a tramp like this, you get impressed upon your mind a true
picture, not only of the state of the country, but of the state of the
people's minds throughout the country. And, Sir, whether you believe me
or not, I have to tell you that it is my decided opinion that the
people, high and low, with one unanimous voice, except where they live
upon the taxes, _impute their calamities to the House of Commons_.
Whether they be right or wrong is not so much the question in this case.
That such is the fact I am certain; and having no power to make any
change myself, I must leave the making or the refusing of the change to
those who have the power. I repeat, and with perfect sincerity, that it
would give me as much pain as it would give to any man in England, to
see a change _in the form of the Government_. With _King_, _Lords_, and
_Commons_, this nation enjoyed many ages of happiness and of glory.
_Without Commons_, my opinion is, it never can again see anything but
misery and shame; and when I say Commons I _mean_ Commons; and by
Commons, I mean men elected by the free voice of the untitled and
unprivileged part of the people, who, in fact as well as in law, are the
Commons of England.