JOURNAL: RIDE FROM KENSINGTON TO WORTH, IN SUSSEX.

_Monday, May 5, 1823._

From London to Reigate, through Sutton, is about as villanous a tract as

England contains. The soil is a mixture of gravel and clay, with big

yellow stones in it, sure sign of really bad land. Before you descend

the hill to go into Reigate, you pass _Gatton_ ("Gatton and Old Sarum"),

which is a very rascally spot of earth. The trees are here a week later

than they are at Tooting. At Reigate they are (in order to save a few

hundred yards length of road) cutting through a hill. They have lowered

a little hill on the London side of Sutton. Thus is the money of the

country actually thrown away: the produce of labour is taken from the

industrious, and given to the idlers. Mark the process; the town of

Brighton, in Sussex, 50 miles from the Wen, is on the seaside, and is

thought by the stock-jobbers to afford a _salubrious air_. It is so

situated that a coach, which leaves it not very early in the morning,

reaches London by noon; and, starting to go back in two hours and a half

afterwards, reaches Brighton not very late at night. Great parcels of

stock-jobbers stay at Brighton with the women and children. They skip

backward and forward on the coaches, and actually carry on

stock-jobbing, in 'Change Alley, though they reside at Brighton. This

place is, besides, a place of great resort with the _whiskered_ gentry.

There are not less than about twenty coaches that leave the Wen every

day for this place; and there being three or four different roads, there

is a great rivalship for the custom. This sets the people to work to

shorten and to level the roads; and here you see hundreds of men and

horses constantly at work to make pleasant and quick travelling for the

Jews and jobbers. The Jews and jobbers pay the turnpikes, to be sure;

but they get the money from the land and labourer. They drain these,

from John-a-Groat's House to the Land's End, and they lay out some of

the money on the Brighton roads! "Vast _improvements_, ma'am!" as Mrs.

_Scrip_ said to Mrs. _Omnium_, in speaking of the new enclosures on the

villanous heaths of Bagshot and Windsor.--Now, some will say, "Well, it

is only a change from hand to hand." Very true, and if Daddy Coke of

Norfolk like the change, I know not why I should dislike it. More and

more new houses are building as you leave the Wen to come on this road.

_Whence come_ the means of building these new houses and keeping the

inhabitants? Do they come out of _trade_ and _commerce_? Oh, no! they

come from _the land_; but if Daddy Coke like this, what has any one else

to do with it? Daddy Coke and Lord Milton like "national faith;" it

would be a pity to disappoint their liking. The best of this is, it will

bring _down to the very dirt_; it will bring down their faces to the

very earth, and fill their mouths full of sand; it will thus pull down a

set of the basest lick-spittles of power and the most intolerable

tyrants towards their inferiors in wealth that the sun ever shone on. It

is time that these degenerate dogs were swept away at any rate. The

Blackthorns are in full bloom, and make a grand show. When you quit

Reigate to go towards Crawley, you enter on what is called the _Weald of

Surrey_. It is a level country, and the soil is a very, very strong

loam, with clay beneath to a great depth. The fields are small, and

about a third of the land covered with oak-woods and coppice-woods. This

is a country of wheat and beans; the latter of which are about three

inches high, the former about seven, and both looking very well. I did

not see a field of bad-looking wheat from Reigate-hill foot to Crawley,

nor from Crawley across to this place, where, though the whole country

is but poorish, the wheat looks very well; and if this weather hold

about twelve days, we shall recover the lost time. They have been

stripping trees (taking the bark off) about five or six days. The

nightingales sing very much, which is a sign of warm weather. The

house-martins and the swallows are come in abundance; and they seldom do

come until the weather be set in for mild.

_Wednesday, 7th May._

The weather is very fine and warm; the leaves of the _Oaks_ are coming

out very fast: some of the trees are nearly in half-leaf. The _Birches_

are out in leaf. I do not think that I ever saw the wheat look, take it

all together, so well as it does at this time. I see in the stiff land

no signs of worm or slug. The winter, which destroyed so many turnips,

must, at any rate, have destroyed these mischievous things. The oats

look well. The barley is very young; but I do not see anything amiss

with regard to it.--The land between this place and Reigate is stiff.

How the corn may be in other places I know not; but in coming down I met

with a farmer of Bedfordshire, who said that the wheat looked very well

in that county; which is not a county of clay, like the Weald of Surrey.

I saw a Southdown farmer, who told me that the wheat is good there, and

that is a fine corn-country. The bloom of the fruit trees is the finest

I ever saw in England. The pear-bloom is, at a distance, like that of

the _Gueldre Rose_; so large and bold are the bunches. The plum is

equally fine; and even the Blackthorn (which is the hedge-plum) has a

bloom finer than I ever saw it have before. It is rather _early_ to

offer any opinion as to the crop of corn; but if I were compelled to bet

upon it, I would bet upon a good crop. Frosts frequently come after this

time; and if they come in May, they cause "things to come about" very

fast. But if we have no more frosts: in short, if we have, after this, a

good summer, we shall have a fine laugh at the Quakers' and the Jews'

press. Fifteen days' sun will bring _things about_ in reality. The wages

of labour in the country have taken a rise, and the poor-rates an

increase, since first of March. I am glad to hear that the _Straw

Bonnet_ affair has excited a good deal of attention. In answer to

applications upon the subject, I have to observe, that all the

information on the subject will be published in the first week of June.

Specimens of the _straw_ and _plat_ will then be to be seen at No. 183,

Fleet Street.

FROM THE (LONDON) WEN ACROSS SURREY, ACROSS THE WEST OF SUSSEX, AND INTO

THE SOUTH EAST OF HAMPSHIRE.

_Reigate (Surrey), Saturday, 26 July, 1823._

Came from the Wen, through Croydon. It rained nearly all the way. The

corn is good. A great deal of straw. The barley very fine; but all are

backward; and if this weather continue much longer, there must be that

"heavenly blight" for which the wise friends of "social order" are so

fervently praying. But if the wet now cease, or cease soon, what is to

become of the "poor souls of farmers" God only knows! In one article the

wishes of our wise Government appear to have been gratified to the

utmost; and that, too, without the aid of any express form of prayer. I

allude to the hops, of which it is said that there will be, according

to all appearance, none at all! Bravo! Courage, my Lord Liverpool! This

article, at any rate, will not choak us, will not distress us, will not

make us miserable by "over-production!"--The other day a gentleman (and

a man of general good sense too) said to me: "What a deal of wet we

have: what do you think of the weather _now_?"--"More rain," said I.

"D--n those farmers," said he, "what luck they have! They will be as

rich as Jews!"--Incredible as this may seem, it is a fact. But, indeed,

there is no folly, if it relate to these matters, which is, now-a-days,

incredible. The hop affair is a pretty good illustration of the doctrine

of "relief" from "diminished production." Mr. Ricardo may now call upon

any of the hop-planters for proof of the correctness of his notions.

They are ruined, for the greater part, if their all be embarked in hops.

How are they to pay rent? I saw a planter the other day who sold his

hops (Kentish) last fall for sixty shillings a hundred. The same hops

will now fetch the owner of them eight pounds, or a hundred and sixty

shillings.

Thus the _Quaker_ gets rich, and the poor devil of a farmer is squeezed

into a gaol. The _Quakers_ carry on the far greater part of this work.

They are, as to the products of the earth, what the _Jews_ are as to

gold and silver. How they profit, or, rather, the degree in which they

profit, at the expense of those who own and those who till the land, may

be guessed at if we look at their immense worth, and if we at the same

time reflect that they never work. Here is a sect of non-labourers. One

would think that their religion bound them under a curse not to work.

Some part of the people of all other sects work; sweat at work; do

something that is useful to other people; but here is a sect of buyers

and sellers. They make nothing; they cause nothing to come; they breed

as well as other sects; but they make none of the raiment or houses, and

cause none of the food to come. In order to justify some measure for

paring the nails of this grasping sect, it is enough to say of them,

which we may with perfect truth, that if all the other sects were to act

like them, _the community must perish_. This is quite enough to say of

this sect, of the monstrous privileges of whom we shall, I hope, one of

these days, see an end. If I had the dealing with them, I would soon

teach them to use the _spade_ and the _plough_, and the _musket_ too

when necessary.

The rye along the road side is ripe enough; and some of it is reaped and

in shock. At Mearstam there is a field of cabbages, which, I was told,

belonged to Colonel Joliffe. They appear to be early Yorks, and look

very well. The rows seem to be about eighteen inches apart. There may be

from 15,000 to 20,000 plants to the acre; and I dare say that they will

weigh three pounds each, or more. I know of no crop of cattle food equal

to this. If they be early Yorks, they will be in perfection in October,

just when the grass is almost gone. No five acres of common grass land

will, during the year, yield cattle food equal, either in quantity or

quality, to what one acre of land in early Yorks will produce during

three months.

_Worth (Sussex), Wednesday, 30 July._

Worth is ten miles from Reigate on the Brighton-road, which goes through

Horley. Reigate has the Surrey chalk hills close to it on the North, and

sand-hills along on its South, and nearly close to it also. As soon as

you are over the sand-hills, you come into a country of _deep_ clay; and

this is called the _Weald_ of Surrey. This Weald winds away round,

towards the West, into Sussex, and towards the East, into Kent. In this

part of Surrey it is about eight miles wide, from North to South, and

ends just as you enter the parish of Worth, which is the first parish

(in this part) in the county of Sussex. All across the Weald (the strong

and stiff clays) the corn looks very well. I found it looking well from

the Wen to Reigate, on the villanous spewy soil between the Wen and

Croydon; on the chalk from Croydon to near Reigate; on the loam, sand

and chalk (for there are all three) in the valley of Reigate; but not

quite so well on the sand. On the clay all the corn looks well. The

wheat, where it has begun to die, is dying of a good colour, not black,

nor in any way that indicates blight. It is, however, all backward. Some

few fields of white wheat are changing colour; but for the greater part

it is quite green; and though a sudden change of weather might make a

great alteration in a short time, it does appear that the harvest must

be later than usual. When I say this, however, I by no means wish to be

understood as saying that it must be so late as to be injurious to the

crop. In 1816, I saw a barley-rick making in November. In 1821, I saw

wheat uncut, in Suffolk, in October. If we were now to have good,

bright, hot weather, for as long a time as we have had wet, the whole of

the corn in these Southern counties would be housed, and great part of

it threshed out, by the 10th of September. So that all depends on the

weather, which appears to be clearing up in spite of Saint Swithin. This

Saint's birth-day is the 15th of July; and it is said that if rain fall

on his birth-day it will fall on _forty days_ successively. But I

believe that you reckon retrospectively as well as prospectively; and if

this be the case, we may, this time, escape the extreme unction; for it

began to rain on the 26th of June; so that it rained 19 days before the

15th of July; and as it has rained 16 days since, it has rained, in the

whole, 35 days, and, of course, five days more will satisfy this wet

soul of a saint. Let him take his five days; and there will be plenty of

time for us to have wheat at four shillings a bushel. But if the Saint

will give us no credit for the 19 days, and will insist upon his forty

daily drenchings _after_ the fifteenth of July; if he will have such a

soaking as this at the celebration of the anniversary of his birth, let

us hope that he is prepared with a miracle for feeding us, and with a

still more potent miracle for keeping the farmers from riding over us,

filled, as Lord Liverpool thinks their pockets will be, by the

annihilation of their crops!

The upland meadow grass is, a great deal of it, not cut yet along the

Weald. So that in these parts there has been not a great deal of hay

spoiled. The clover hay was got in very well; and only a small part of

the meadow hay has been spoiled in this part of the country. This is not

the case, however, in other parts, where the grass was forwarder, and

where it was cut before the rain came. Upon the whole, however, much hay

does not appear to have been spoiled as yet. The farmers along here,

have, most of them, begun to cut to-day. This has been a fine day; and

it is clear that they expect it to continue. I saw but two pieces of

Swedish turnips between the Wen and Reigate, but one at Reigate, and but

one between Reigate and Worth. During a like distance in Norfolk or

Suffolk, you would see two or three hundred fields of this sort of root.

Those that I do see here look well. The white turnips are just up, or

just sown, though there are some which have rough leaves already. This

Weald is, indeed, not much of land for turnips; but from what I see

here, and from what I know of the weather, I think that the turnips must

be generally good. The after-grass is surprisingly fine. The lands which

have had hay cut and carried from them are, I think, more _beautiful_

than I ever saw them before. It should, however, always be borne in mind

that this _beautiful_ grass is by no means the _best_. An acre of this

grass will not make a quarter part so much butter as an acre of

rusty-looking pasture, made rusty by the rays of the sun. Sheep on the

commons _die_ of the _beautiful_ grass produced by long-continued rains

at this time of the year. Even geese, hardy as they are, die from the

same cause. The rain will give quantity; but without sun the quality

must be poor at the best. The woods have not shot much this year. The

cold winds, the frosts, that we had up to Midsummer, prevented the trees

from growing much. They are beginning to shoot now; but the wood must be

imperfectly ripened.

I met at Worth a beggar, who told me, in consequence of my asking where

he belonged, that he was born in South Carolina. I found, at last, that

he was born in the English army, during the American rebel-war; that he

became a soldier himself; and that it had been his fate to serve under

the Duke of York, in Holland; under General Whitelock, at Buenos Ayres;

under Sir John Moore, at Corunna; and under "the Greatest Captain," at

Talavera! This poor fellow did not seem to be at all aware that in the

last case he partook in _a victory_! He had never before heard of its

being a victory. He, poor fool, thought that it was _a defeat_. "Why,"

said he, "we _ran away_, Sir." Oh, yes! said I, and so you did

afterwards, perhaps, in Portugal, when Massena was at your heels; but it

is only in certain cases that running away is a mark of being defeated;

or, rather, it is only with certain commanders. A matter of much more

interest to us, however, is that the wars for "social order," not

forgetting Gatton and Old Sarum, have filled the country with beggars,

who have been, or who pretend to have been, soldiers and sailors. For

want of looking well into this matter, many good and just, and even

sensible men are led to give to these army and navy beggars what they

refuse to others. But if reason were consulted, she would ask what

pretensions these have to a preference? She would see in them men who

had become soldiers or sailors because they wished to live without that

labour by which other men are content to get their bread. She would ask

the soldier beggar whether he did not voluntarily engage to perform

services such as were performed at Manchester; and if she pressed him

for _the motive_ to this engagement, could he assign any motive other

than that of wishing to live without work upon the fruit of the work of

other men? And why should reason not be listened to? Why should she not

be consulted in every such case? And if she were consulted, which would

she tell you was the most worthy of your compassion, the man who, no

matter from what cause, is become a beggar after forty years spent in

the raising of food and raiment for others as well as for himself; or

the man who, no matter again from what cause, is become a beggar after

forty years living upon the labour of others, and during the greater

part of which time he has been living in a barrack, there kept for

purposes explained by Lord Palmerston, and always in readiness to answer

those purposes? As to not giving to beggars, I think there is a law

against giving! However, give to them people will, as long as they ask.

Remove the _cause_ of the beggary, and we shall see no more beggars; but

as long as there are _boroughmongers_ there will be beggars enough.

_Horsham (Sussex), Thursday, 31 July._

I left Worth this afternoon about 5 o'clock, and am got here to sleep,

intending to set off for Petworth in the morning, with a view of

crossing the South Downs and then going into Hampshire through Havant,

and along at the southern foot of Portsdown Hill, where I shall see the

earliest corn in England. From Worth you come to Crawley along some

pretty good land; you then turn to the left and go two miles along the

road from the Wen to Brighton; then you turn to the right, and go over

six of the worst miles in England, which miles terminate but a few

hundred yards before you enter Horsham. The first two of these miserable

miles go through the estate of Lord Erskine. It was a bare heath, with

here and there, in the better parts of it, some scrubby birch. It has

been, in part, planted with fir-trees, which are as ugly as the heath

was: and, in short, it is a most villanous tract. After quitting it, you

enter a forest; but a most miserable one; and this is followed by a

large common, now enclosed, cut up, disfigured, spoiled, and the

labourers all driven from its skirts. I have seldom travelled over eight

miles so well calculated to fill the mind with painful reflections. The

ride has, however, this in it: that the ground is pretty much elevated,

and enables you to look about you. You see the Surrey hills away to the

North; Hindhead and Blackdown to the North West and West; and the South

Downs from the West to the East. The sun was shining upon all these,

though it was cloudy where I was. The soil is a poor, miserable,

clayey-looking sand, with a sort of sandstone underneath. When you get

down into this town, you are again in the Weald of Sussex. I believe

that _Weald_ meant _clay_, or low, wet, stiff land. This is a very nice,

solid, country town. Very clean, as all the towns in Sussex are. The

people very clean. The Sussex women are very nice in their dress and in

their houses. The men and boys wear smock-frocks more than they do in

some counties. When country people do not they always look dirty and

comfortless. This has been a pretty good day; but there was a little

rain in the afternoon; so that St. Swithin keeps on as yet, at any rate.

The hay has been spoiled here, in cases where it has been cut; but a

great deal of it is not yet cut. I speak of the meadows; for the

clover-hay was all well got in. The grass, which is not cut, is

receiving great injury. It is, in fact, in many cases rotting upon the

ground. As to corn, from Crawley to Horsham there is none worth speaking

of. What there is is very good, in general, considering the quality of

the soil. It is about as backward as at Worth: the barley and oats

green, and the wheat beginning to change colour.

_Billingshurst (Sussex), Friday Morning, 1 Aug._

This village is 7 miles from Horsham, and I got here to breakfast about

seven o'clock. A very pretty village, and a very nice breakfast in a

very neat little parlour of a very decent public-house. The landlady

sent her son to get me some cream, and he was just such a chap as I was

at his age, and dressed just in the same sort of way, his main garment

being a blue smock-frock, faded from wear, and mended with pieces of new

stuff, and, of course, not faded. The sight of this smock-frock brought

to my recollection many things very dear to me. This boy will, I dare

say, perform his part at Billingshurst, or at some place not far from

it. If accident had not taken me from a similar scene, how many villains

and fools, who have been well teazed and tormented, would have slept in

peace at night, and have fearlessly swaggered about by day! When I look

at this little chap; at his smock-frock, his nailed shoes, and his

clean, plain, and coarse shirt, I ask myself, will anything, I wonder,

ever send this chap across the ocean to tackle the base, corrupt,

perjured Republican Judges of Pennsylvania? Will this little, lively,

but, at the same time, simple boy, ever become the terror of villains

and hypocrites across the Atlantic? What a chain of strange

circumstances there must be to lead this boy to thwart a miscreant

tyrant like Mackeen, the Chief Justice and afterwards Governor of

Pennsylvania, and to expose the corruptions of the band of rascals,

called a "Senate and a House of Representatives," at Harrisburgh, in

that state!

I was afraid of rain, and got on as fast as I could: that is to say, as

fast as my own diligence could help me on; for, as to my horse, he is to

go only _so fast_. However, I had no rain; and got to Petworth, nine

miles further, by about ten o'clock.

_Petworth (Sussex), Friday Evening, 1 Aug._

No rain, until just at sunset, and then very little. I must now look

back. From Horsham to within a few miles of Petworth is in the Weald of

Sussex; stiff land, small fields, broad hedge-rows, and invariably

thickly planted with fine, growing oak trees. The corn here consists

chiefly of wheat and oats. There are some bean-fields, and some few

fields of peas; but very little barley along here. The corn is very good

all along the Weald; backward; the wheat almost green; the oats quite

green; but, late as it is, I see no blight; and the farmers tell me that

there is no blight. There may be yet, however; and therefore our

Government, our "_paternal_ Government," so anxious to prevent "over

production," need not _despair_ as yet, at any rate. The beans in the

Weald are not very good. They got lousy before the wet came; and it came

rather too late to make them recover what they had lost. What peas there

are look well. Along here the wheat, in general, may be fit to cut in

about 16 days' time; some sooner; but some later, for some is perfectly

green. No Swedish turnips all along this country. The white turnips are

just up, coming up, or just sown. The farmers are laying out lime upon

the wheat fallows, and this is the universal practice of the country. I

see very few sheep. There are a good many orchards along in the Weald,

and they have some apples this year; but, in general, not many. The

apple trees are planted very thickly, and, of course, they are small;

but they appear healthy in general; and in some places there is a good

deal of fruit, even this year. As you approach Petworth, the ground

rises and the soil grows lighter. There is a hill which I came over,

about two miles from Petworth, whence I had a clear view of the Surrey

chalk-hills, Leithhill, Hindhead, Blackdown, and of the South Downs,

towards one part of which I was advancing. The pigs along here are all

black, thin-haired, and of precisely the same sort of those that I took

from England to Long Island, and with which I pretty well stocked the

American states. By-the-by, the trip, which Old Sidmouth and crew gave

me to America, was attended with some interesting consequences; amongst

which were the introducing of the Sussex pigs into the American

farmyards; the introduction of the Swedish turnip into the American

fields; the introduction of American apple trees into England; and the

introduction of the making, in England, of the straw plat, to supplant

the Italian; for, had my son not been in America, this last would not

have taken place; and in America he would not have been, had it not been

for Old Sidmouth and crew. One thing more, and that is of more

importance than all the rest, Peel's Bill arose out of the "puff-out"

Registers; these arose out of the trip to Long Island; and out of Peel's

Bill has arisen the best bothering that the wigs of the Boroughmongers

ever received, which bothering will end in the destruction of the

Boroughmongering. It is curious, and very _useful_, thus to trace events

to their causes.

Soon after quitting Billingshurst I crossed the river Arun, which has a

canal running alongside of it. At this there are large timber and coal

yards, and kilns for lime. This appears to be a grand receiving and

distributing place. The river goes down to Arundale, and, together with

the valley that it runs through, gives the town its name. This valley,

which is very pretty, and which winds about a good deal, is the dale of

the Arun: and the town is the town of the Arun-dale. To-day, near a

place called Westborough Green, I saw a woman bleaching her home-spun

and home-woven linen. I have not seen such a thing before, since I left

Long Island. There, and, indeed, all over the American States, North of

Maryland, and especially in the New England States, almost the whole of

both linen and woollen used in the country, and a large part of that

used in towns, is made in the farmhouses. There are thousands and

thousands of families who never use either, except of their own making.

All but the weaving is done by the family. There is a loom in the house,

and the weaver goes from house to house. I once saw about three thousand

farmers, or rather country people, at a horse-race in Long Island, and

my opinion was, that there were not five hundred who were not dressed in

home-spun coats. As to linen, no farmer's family thinks of buying linen.

The Lords of the Loom have taken from the land, in England, this part of

its due; and hence one cause of the poverty, misery, and pauperism that

are becoming so frightful throughout the country. A national debt and

all the taxation and gambling belonging to it have a natural tendency to

draw wealth into great masses. These masses produce a power of

_congregating_ manufactures, and of making the many work at them, for

the _gain of a few_. The taxing Government finds great convenience in

these congregations. It can lay its hand easily upon a part of the

produce; as ours does with so much effect. But the land suffers greatly

from this, and the country must finally feel the fatal effects of it.

The country people lose part of their natural employment. The women and

children, who ought to provide a great part of the raiment, have nothing

to do. The fields _must_ have men and boys; but where there are men and

boys there will be _women_ and _girls_; and as the Lords of the Loom

have now a set of real slaves, by the means of whom they take away a

great part of the employment of the countrywomen and girls, these must

be kept by poor-rates in whatever degree they lose employment through

the Lords of the Loom. One would think that nothing can be much plainer

than this; and yet you hear the _jolterheads_ congratulating one another

upon the increase of Manchester, and such places! My straw affair will

certainly restore to the land some of the employment of its women and

girls. It will be impossible for any of the "rich ruffians;" any of the

horse-power or steam-power or air-power ruffians; any of these greedy,

grinding ruffians, to draw together bands of men, women and children,

and to make them slaves, in the working of straw. The raw material comes

of itself, and the hand, and the hand alone, can convert it to use. I

thought well of this before I took one single step in the way of

supplanting the Leghorn bonnets. If I had not been certain that no rich

ruffian, no white slave holder, could ever arise out of it, assuredly

one line upon the subject never would have been written by me. Better a

million times that the money should go to Italy; better that it should

go to enrich even the rivals and enemies of the country; than that it

should enable these hard, these unfeeling men, to draw English people

into crowds and make them slaves, and slaves too of the lowest and most

degraded cast.

As I was coming into this town I saw a new-fashioned sort of

stone-cracking. A man had a sledge-hammer, and was cracking the heads of

the big stones that had been laid on the road a good while ago. This is

a very good way; but this man told me that he was set at this because

the farmers had _no employment_ for many of the men. "Well," said I,

"but they pay you to do this!" "Yes," said he. "Well, then," said I, "is

it not better for them to pay you for working _on their land_?" "I can't

tell, indeed, Sir, how that is." But only think; here is half the

haymaking to do: I saw, while I was talking to this man, fifty people in

one hay-field of Lord Egremont, making and carrying hay; and yet, at a

season like this, the farmers are so poor as to be unable to pay the

labourers to work on the land! From this cause there will certainly be

some falling off in production. This will, of course, have a tendency to

keep prices from falling so low as they would do if there were no

falling off. But can this _benefit_ the farmer and landlord? The poverty

of the farmers is seen in their diminished stock. The animals are sold

_younger_ than formerly. Last year was a year of great slaughtering.

There will be less of everything produced; and the quality of each thing

will be worse. It will be a lower and more mean concern altogether.

Petworth is a nice market town; but solid and clean. The great abundance

of _stone_ in the land hereabouts has caused a corresponding liberality

in paving and wall building; so that everything of the building kind has

an air of great strength, and produces the agreeable idea of durability.

Lord Egremont's house is close to the town, and, with its out-buildings,

garden walls, and other erections, is, perhaps, nearly as big as the

town; though the town is not a very small one. The Park is very fine,

and consists of a parcel of those hills and dells which Nature formed

here when she was in one of her most sportive modes. I have never seen

the earth flung about in such a wild way as round about Hindhead and

Blackdown; and this Park forms a part of this ground. From an elevated

part of it, and, indeed, from each of many parts of it, you see all

around the country to the distance of many miles. From the South East to

the North West, the hills are so lofty and so near, that they cut the

view rather short; but for the rest of the circle you can see to a very

great distance. It is, upon the whole, a most magnificent seat, and the

Jews will not be able to get it from the _present_ owner; though, if he

live many years, they will give even him a _twist_. If I had time, I

would make an actual survey of one whole county, and find out how many

of the old gentry have lost their estates, and have been supplanted by

the Jews, since Pitt began his reign. I am sure I should prove that in

number they are one-half extinguished. But it is _now_ that they go. The

little ones are, indeed, gone; and the rest will follow in proportion as

the present farmers are exhausted. These will keep on giving rents as

long as they can beg or borrow the money to pay rents with. But a little

more time will so completely exhaust them that they will be unable to

pay; and as that takes place, the landlords will lose their estates.

Indeed many of them, and even a large portion of them, have, in fact, no

estates now. They are _called_ theirs; but the mortgagees and annuitants

receive the rents. As the rents fall off, sales must take place, unless

in cases of entails; and if this thing go on, we shall see Acts passed

to _cut off entails_, in order that the Jews may be put into full

possession. Such, thus far, will be the result of our "glorious

victories" over the French! Such will be, in part, the price of the

deeds of Pitt, Addington, Perceval, and their successors. For having

applauded such deeds; for having boasted of the Wellesleys; for having

bragged of battles won by _money_ and by money _only_, the nation

deserves that which it will receive; and as to the landlords, they,

above all men living, deserve punishment. They put the power into the

hands of Pitt and his crew to torment the people; to keep the people

down; to raise soldiers and to build barracks for this purpose. These

base landlords laughed when affairs like that of Manchester took place.

They laughed at the _Blanketteers_. They laughed when Canning jested

about Ogden's rupture. Let them, therefore, now take the full benefit of

the measures of Pitt and his crew. They would fain have us believe that

the calamities they endure do not arise from the acts of the Government.

What do they arise from, then? The Jacobins did not contract the _Debt_

of 800,000,000_l._ sterling. The Jacobins did not create a _Dead Weight_

of 150,000,000_l._ The Jacobins did not cause a pauper-charge of

200,000,000_l._ by means of "new enclosure bills," "vast improvements,"

paper-money, potatoes, and other "proofs of prosperity." The Jacobins

did not do these things. And will the Government pretend that

"Providence" did it? That would be "blasphemy" indeed.----Poh! These

things are the price of efforts to crush freedom in France, _lest the

example of France should produce a reform in England_. These things are

the price of that undertaking; which, however, has not yet been crowned

with _success_; for the question is _not yet decided_. They boast of

their victory over the French. The Pitt crew boast of their achievements

in the war. They boast of the battle of Waterloo. Why! what fools could

not get the same, or the like, if they had as much _money_ to get it

with? Shooting with a _silver gun_ is a saying amongst game-eaters. That

is to say, _purchasing_ the game. A waddling, fat fellow that does not

know how to prime and load will, in this way, beat the best shot in the

country. And this is the way that our crew "beat" the people of France.

They laid out, in the first place, six hundred millions which they

borrowed, and for which they mortgaged the revenues of the nation. Then

they contracted for a "dead weight" to the amount of one hundred and

fifty millions. Then they stripped the labouring classes of the commons,

of their kettles, their bedding, their beer-barrels; and, in short, made

them all paupers, and thus fixed on the nation a permanent annual charge

of about 8 or 9 millions, or a gross debt of 200,000,000_l._ By these

means, by these anticipations, our crew did what they thought would keep

down the French nation for ages; and what they were sure would, for the

present, enable them to keep up the _tithes_ and other things of the

same sort in England. But the crew did not reflect on the _consequences_

of the anticipations! Or, at least, the landlords, who gave the crew

their power, did not thus reflect. These consequences are now come, and

are coming; and that must be a base man indeed who does not see them

with pleasure.

_Singleton (Sussex), Saturday, 2 Aug._

Ever since the middle of March I have been trying remedies for the

_hooping-cough_, and have, I believe, tried everything, except riding,

wet to the skin, two or three hours amongst the clouds on the South

Downs. This remedy is now under trial. As Lord Liverpool said, the other

day, of the Irish Tithe Bill, it is "under experiment." I am treating my

disorder (with better success, I hope) in somewhat the same way that the

pretty fellows at Whitehall treat the disorders of poor Ireland. There

is one thing in favour of this remedy of mine, I shall _know_ the effect

of it, and that, too, in a short time. It rained a little last night. I

got off from Petworth without baiting my horse, thinking that the

weather looked suspicious; and that St. Swithin meaned to treat me to a

dose. I had no great-coat, nor any means of changing my clothes. The

hooping-cough made me anxious; but I had fixed on going along the South

Downs from Donnington Hill down to Lavant, and then to go on the flat to

the South foot of Portsdown Hill, and to reach Fareham to-night. Two

men, whom I met soon after I set off, assured me that it would not rain.

I came on to Donnington, which lies at the foot of that part of the

South Downs which I had to go up. Before I came to this point, I crossed

the Arun and its canal again; and here was another place of deposit for

timber, lime, coals, and other things. White, in his history of

Selborne, mentions a hill, which is one of the Hindhead group, from

which two springs (one on each side of the hill) send water into the

_two seas_: the _Atlantic_ and the _German Ocean_! This is big talk: but

it is a fact. One of the streams becomes the _Arun_, which falls into

the Channel; and the other, after winding along amongst the hills and

hillocks between Hindhead and Godalming, goes into the river _Wey_,

which falls into the Thames at Weybridge. The soil upon leaving

Petworth, and at Petworth, seems very good; a fine deep loam, a sort of

mixture of sand and soft chalk. I then came to a sandy common; a piece

of ground that seemed to have no business there; it looked as if it had

been tossed from Hindhead or Blackdown. The common, however, during the

rage for "improvements," has been _enclosed_. That impudent fellow, Old

Rose, stated the number of Enclosure Bills as an indubitable proof of

"national prosperity." There was some _rye_ upon this common, the sight

of which would have gladdened the heart of Lord Liverpool. It was, in

parts, not more than eight inches high. It was ripe, and, of course, the

straw dead; or I should have found out the owner, and have bought it to

make _bonnets_ of! I defy the Italians to grow worse rye than this. The

reader will recollect that I always said that we could grow _as poor_

corn as any Italians that ever lived. The village of Donton lies at the

foot of one of these great chalk ridges which are called the South

Downs. The ridge in this place is, I think, about three-fourths of a

mile high, by the high road, which is obliged to go twisting about, in

order to get to the top of it. The hill sweeps round from about West

North West, to East South East; and, of course, it keeps off all the

heavy winds, and especially the South West winds, before which, in this

part of England (and all the South and Western part of it) even the oak

trees seem as if they would gladly flee; for it shaves them up as

completely as you see a quickset hedge shaved by hook or shears. Talking

of hedges reminds me of having seen a box-hedge, just as I came out of

Petworth, more than twelve feet broad, and about fifteen feet high. I

dare say it is several centuries old. I think it is about forty yards

long. It is a great curiosity.

The apple trees at Donnington show their gratitude to the hill for its

shelter; for I have seldom seen apple trees in England so large, so

fine, and, in general, so flourishing. I should like to have, or to see,

an orchard of American apples under this hill. The hill, you will

observe, does not shade the ground at Donnington. It slopes too much for

that. But it affords complete shelter from the mischievous winds. It is

very pretty to look down upon this little village as you come winding up

the hill.

From this hill I ought to have had a most extensive view. I ought to

have seen the Isle of Wight and the sea before me; and to have looked

back to Chalk Hill at Reigate, at the foot of which I had left some

bonnet-grass bleaching. But, alas! _Saint Swithin_ had begun his works

for the day before I got to the top of the hill. Soon after the two

turnip-hoers had assured me that there would be no rain, I saw,

beginning to poke up over the South Downs (then right before me) several

parcels of those white, curled clouds that we call _Judges' Wigs_. And

they are just like Judges' wigs. Not the _parson-like_ things which the

Judges wear when they have to listen to the dull wrangling and duller

jests of the lawyers; but those _big_ wigs which hang down about their

shoulders, when they are about to tell you a little of _their

intentions_, and when their very looks say, "_Stand clear_!" These

clouds (if rising from the South West) hold precisely the same language

to the great-coatless traveller. Rain is _sure_ to follow them. The sun

was shining very beautifully when I first saw these Judges' wigs rising

over the hills. At the sight of them he soon began to hide his face! and

before I got to the top of the hill of Donton, the white clouds had

become black, had spread themselves all around, and a pretty decent and

sturdy rain began to fall. I had resolved to come to this place

(Singleton) to breakfast. I quitted the turnpike road (from Petworth to

Chichester) at a village called Upwaltham, about a mile from Donnington

Hill; and came down a lane, which led me first to a village called

Eastdean; then to another called Westdean, I suppose; and then to this

village of Singleton, and here I am on the turnpike road from Midhurst

to Chichester. The lane goes along through some of the finest farms in

the world. It is impossible for corn land and for agriculture to be

finer than these. In cases like mine, you are pestered to death to find

out the way to _set out_ to get from place to place. The people you have

to deal with are innkeepers, ostlers, and post-boys; and they think you

mad if you express your wish to avoid turnpike roads; and a great deal

more than half mad if you talk of going, even from necessity, by any

other road. They think you a strange fellow if you will not ride six

miles on a turnpike road rather than two on any other road. This plague

I experienced on this occasion. I wanted to go from Petworth to Havant.

My way was through Singleton and Funtington. I had no business at

Chichester, which took me too far to the South; nor at Midhurst, which

took me too far to the West. But though I stayed all day (after my

arrival) at Petworth, and though I slept there, I could get no

directions how to set out to come to Singleton, where I am now. I

started, therefore, on the Chichester road, trusting to my enquiries of

the country people as I came on. By these means I got hither, down a

long valley, on the South Downs, which valley winds and twists about

amongst hills, some higher and some lower, forming cross dells, inlets,

and ground in such a variety of shapes that it is impossible to

describe; and the whole of the ground, hill as well as dell, is fine,

most beautiful corn land, or is covered with trees or underwood. As to

St. Swithin, I set him at defiance. The road was flinty, and very

flinty. I rode a foot pace; and got here wet to the skin. I am very glad

I came this road. The corn is all fine; all good; fine crops, and no

appearance of blight. The barley extremely fine. The corn not forwarder

than in the Weald. No beans here; few oats comparatively; chiefly wheat

and barley; but great quantities of Swedish turnips, and those very

forward. More Swedish turnips here upon one single farm than upon all

the farms that I saw between the Wen and Petworth. These turnips are, in

some places, a foot high, and nearly cover the ground. The farmers are,

however, plagued by this St. Swithin, who keeps up a continual drip,

which prevents the thriving of the turnips and the killing of the weeds.

The _orchards_ are good here in general. Fine walnut trees, and an

abundant crop of walnuts. This is a series of villages all belonging to

the Duke of Richmond, the outskirts of whose park and woods come up to

these farming lands, all of which belong to him; and I suppose that

every inch of land that I came through this morning belongs either to

the Duke of Richmond or to Lord Egremont. No _harm_ in that, mind, if

those who till the land have _fair play_; and I should act unjustly

towards these noblemen if I insinuated that the husbandmen have not fair

play as far as the landlords are concerned; for everybody speaks well of

them. There is, besides, _no misery_ to be seen here. I have seen no

wretchedness in Sussex; nothing to be at all compared to that which I

have seen in other parts; and as to these villages in the South Downs,

they are beautiful to behold. Hume and other historians rail against the

_feudal_-system; and we, "enlightened" and "free" creatures as we are,

look back with scorn, or, at least, with surprise and pity, to the

"vassalage" of our forefathers. But if the matter were well enquired

into, not slurred over, but well and truly examined, we should find that

the people of these villages were _as free_ in the days of William Rufus

as are the people of the present day; and that vassalage, only under

other names, exists now as completely as it existed then. Well; but out

of this, if true, arises another question: namely, Whether the millions

would derive any benefit from being transferred from these great Lords

who possess them by hundreds, to Jews and jobbers who would possess them

by half-dozens, or by couples? One thing we may say with a certainty of

being right: and that is, that the transfer would be bad for the Lords

themselves. There is an appearance of comfort about the dwellings of the

labourers all along here that is very pleasant to behold. The gardens

are neat, and full of vegetables of the best kinds. I see very few of

"Ireland's lazy root;" and never, in this country, will the people be

base enough to lie down and expire from starvation under the operation

of the _extreme unction_! Nothing but a _potato-eater_ will ever do

that. As I came along between Upwaltham and Eastdean, I called to me a

young man, who, along with other turnip-hoers, was sitting under the

shelter of a hedge at breakfast. He came running to me with his victuals

in his hand; and I was glad to see that his food consisted of a good

lump of household bread and not a very small piece of _bacon_. I did not

envy him his appetite, for I had at that moment a very good one of my

own; but I wanted to know the distance I had to go before I should get

to a good public-house. In parting with him, I said, "You do get some

_bacon_ then?" "Oh, yes! Sir," said he, and with an emphasis and a swag

of the head which seemed to say, "We _must_ and _will_ have _that_." I

saw, and with great delight, a pig at almost every labourer's house. The

houses are good and warm; and the gardens some of the very best that I

have seen in England. What a difference, good God! what a difference

between this country and the neighbourhood of those corrupt places

_Great Bedwin_ and _Cricklade_. What sort of _breakfast_ would this man

have had in a mess of _cold potatoes_? Could he have _worked_, and

worked in the wet, too, with such food? Monstrous! No society ought to

exist where the labourers live in a hog-like sort of way. The _Morning

Chronicle_ is everlastingly asserting the mischievous consequences of

the want of _enlightening_ these people "_i' th a Sooth_;" and telling

us how well they are off in the North. Now this I know, that in the

North the "enlightened" people eat _sowens_, _burgoo_, _porridge_, and

_potatoes_: that is to say, _oatmeal and water_, or the root of _extreme

unction_. If this be the effect of their _light_, give me the _darkness_

"o' th a Sooth." This is according to what I have heard. If, when I go

to the North, I find the labourers _eating more meat_ than those of the

"Sooth," I shall then say that "enlightening" is a very good thing; but

give me none of that "light," or of that "grace," which makes a man

content with oatmeal and water, or that makes him patiently lie down and

die of starvation amidst abundance of food. The _Morning Chronicle_

hears the labourers crying out in Sussex. They are right to cry out in

time. When they are actually brought down to the extreme unction it is

useless to cry out. And next to the extreme unction is the _porridge_ of

the "enlightened" slaves who toil in the factories for the Lords of the

Loom. Talk of _vassals_! Talk of _villains_! Talk of _serfs_! Are there

any of these, or did feudal times ever see any of them, so debased, so

absolutely slaves, as the poor creatures who, in the "enlightened"

North, are compelled to work fourteen hours in a day, in a heat of

eighty-four degrees; and who are liable to punishment for looking out at

a window of the factory!

This is really a soaking day, thus far. I got here at nine o'clock. I

stripped off my coat, and put it by the kitchen fire. In a parlour just

eight feet square I have another fire, and have dried my shirt on my

back. We shall see what this does for a hooping-cough. The clouds fly so

low as to be seen passing by the sides of even little hills on these

downs. The Devil is said to be busy in a _high_ wind; but he really

appears to be busy now in this South West wind. The Quakers will, next

market day, at Mark Lane, be as busy as he. They and the Ministers and

St. Swithin and Devil all seem to be of a mind.

I must not forget the _churches_. That of Donnington is very small for a

church. It is about twenty feet wide and thirty long. It is, however,

sufficient for the population, the amount of which is two hundred and

twenty-two, not one half of whom are, of course, ever at church at one

time. There is, however, plenty of room for the whole: the "tower" of

this church is about double the size of a _sentry-box_. The parson,

whose name is Davidson, did not, when the Return was laid before

Parliament, in 1818, reside in the parish. Though the living is a large

living, the parsonage house was let to "a lady and her three daughters."

What impudence a man must have to put this into a Return! The church at

Upwaltham is about such another, and the "tower" still less than that at

Donnington. Here the population is seventy-nine. The parish is a

rectory, and in the Return before mentioned, the parson (whose name was

Tripp) says that the church will hold the population, but that the

parsonage house will not hold him! And why? Because it is "a miserable

cottage." I looked about for this "miserable cottage," and could not

find it. What on impudent fellow this must have been! And, indeed, what

a state of impudence have they not now arrived at! Did he, when he was

ordained, talk anything about a fine house to live in? Did Jesus Christ

and Saint Paul talk about fine houses? Did not this priest most solemnly

vow to God, upon the altar, that he would be constant, in season and out

of season, in watching over the souls of his flock? However, it is

useless to remonstrate with this set of men. Nothing will have any

effect upon them. They will keep grasping at the tithes as long as they

can reach them. "_A miserable cottage!_" What impudence! What, Mr.

Tripp, is it a fine house that you have been appointed and ordained to

live in? Lord Egremont is the patron of Mr. Tripp; and he has a _duty_

to perform too; for the living is _not his_: he is, in this case, only

an hereditary _trustee_ for the public; and he ought to see that this

parson resides in the parish, which, according to his own Return, yields

him 125_l._ a-year. Eastdean is a Vicarage, with a population of 353, a

church which the parson says will hold 200, and which I say will hold

600 or 700, and a living worth 85_l._ a-year, in the gift of the Bishop

of Chichester.

Westdean is united with Singleton, the living is in the gift of the

Church at Chichester and the Duke of Richmond alternately; it is a large

living, it has a population of 613, and the two churches, says the

parson, will hold 200 people! What careless, or what impudent fellows

these must have been. These two churches will hold a thousand people,

packed much less close than they are in meeting houses.

At Upwaltham there is a toll gate, and when the woman opened the door of

the house to come and let me through, I saw some _straw plat_ lying in a

chair. She showed it me; and I found that it was made by her husband, in

the evenings, after he came home from work, in order to make him a hat

for the harvest. I told her how to get better straw for the purpose; and

when I told her that she must cut the grass, or the grain, _green_, she

said, "Aye, I dare say it is so: and I wonder we never thought of that

before; for we sometimes make hats out of rushes, cut green, and dried,

and the hats are very durable." This woman ought to have my _Cottage

Economy_. She keeps the toll-gate at Upwaltham, which is called Waltham,

and which is on the turnpike road from Petworth to Chichester. Now, if

any gentleman who lives at Chichester will call upon my Son, at the

Office of the Register in Fleet Street, and ask for a copy of _Cottage

Economy_, to be given to this woman, he will receive the copy, and my

thanks, if he will have the goodness to give it to her, and to point to

her the Essay on Straw Plat.

_Fareham (Hants), Saturday, 2 August._

Here I am in spite of St. Swithin!--The truth is, that the Saint is

like most other oppressors; _rough_ him! _rough_ him! and he relaxes.

After drying myself, and sitting the better part of four hours at

Singleton, I started in the rain, boldly setting the Saint at defiance,

and expecting to have not one dry thread by the time I got to Havant,

which is nine miles from Fareham, and four from Cosham. To my most

agreeable surprise, the rain ceased before I got by Selsey, I suppose it

is called, where Lord Selsey's house and beautiful and fine estate is.

On I went, turning off to the right to go to Funtington and Westbourn,

and getting to Havant to bait my horse, about four o'clock.

From Lavant (about two miles back from Funtington) the ground begins to

be a sea side flat. The soil is somewhat varied in quality and kind; but

with the exception of an enclosed common between Funtington and

Westbourn, it is all good soil. The corn of all kinds good and earlier

than further back. They have begun cutting peas here, and near Lavant I

saw a field of wheat nearly ripe. The Swedish turnips very fine, and

still earlier than on the South Downs. Prodigious crops of walnuts; but

the apples bad along here. The South West winds have cut them off; and,

indeed, how should it be otherwise, if these winds happen to prevail in

May, or early in June?

On the new enclosure, near Funtington, the wheat and oats are both

nearly ripe.

In a new enclosure, near Westbourn, I saw the only really blighted wheat

that I have yet seen this year. "Oh!" exclaimed I, "that my Lord

Liverpool, that my much respected stern-path-of-duty-man, could but see

that wheat, which God and the seedsman intended to be _white_; but which

the Devil (listening to the prayers of the Quakers) has made _black_!

Oh! could but my Lord see it, lying flat upon the ground, with the

May-weed and the Couch-grass pushing up through it, and with a whole

flock of rooks pecking away at its ears! Then would my much valued Lord

say, indeed, that the 'difficulties' of agriculture are about to receive

the 'greatest abatement!'"

But now I come to one of the great objects of my journey: that is to

say, to see the state of the corn along at the South foot and on the

South side of Portsdown Hill. It is impossible that there can be,

anywhere, a better corn country than this. The hill is eight miles long,

and about three-fourths of a mile high, beginning at the road that runs

along at the foot of the hill. On the hill-side the corn land goes

rather better than half way up; and on the sea-side the corn land is

about the third (it may be half) a mile wide. Portsdown Hill is very

much in the shape of an oblong tin cover to a dish. From Bedhampton,

which lies at the Eastern end of the hill, to Fareham, which is at the

Western end of it, you have brought under your eye not less than eight

square miles of corn fields, with scarcely a hedge or ditch of any

consequence, and being, on an average, from twenty to forty acres each

in extent. The land is excellent. The situation good for manure. The

spot the _earliest in the whole kingdom_. Here, if the corn were

backward, then the harvest must be backward. We were talking at Reigate

of the prospect of a backward harvest. I observed that it was a rule

that if no _wheat were cut_ under Portsdown Hill on the hill _fair-day_,

26th July, the harvest must be generally backward. When I made this

observation the fair-day was passed; but I determined in my mind to come

and see how the matter stood. When, therefore, I got to the village of

Bedhampton, I began to look out pretty sharply. I came on to Wimmering,

which is just about the mid-way along the foot of the hill, and there I

saw, at a good distance from me, five men reaping in a field of wheat of

about 40 acres. I found, upon enquiry, that they began this morning, and

that the wheat belongs to Mr. Boniface, of Wimmering. Here the first

sheaf is cut that is cut in England: that the reader may depend upon. It

was never known that the average even of Hampshire was less than ten

days behind the average of Portsdown Hill. The corn under the hill is as

good as I ever saw it, except in the year 1813. No beans here. No peas.

Scarcely any oats. Wheat, barley, and turnips. The Swedish turnips not

so good as on the South Downs and near Funtington; but the wheat full as

good, rather better; and the barley as good as it is possible to be. In

looking at these crops one wonders whence are to come the hands to clear

them off.

A very pleasant ride to-day; and the pleasanter for my having set the

wet Saint at defiance. It is about thirty miles from Petworth to

Fareham; and I got in in very good time. I have now come, if I include

my _boltings_, for the purpose of looking at farms and woods, a round

hundred miles from the Wen to this town of Fareham; and in the whole of

the hundred miles I have not seen one single wheat-rick, though I have

come through as fine corn countries as any in England, and by the

homesteads of the richest of farmers. Not one single wheat-rick have I

seen, and not one rick of any sort of corn. I never saw nor heard of the

like of this before; and if I had not witnessed the fact with my own

eyes I could not have believed it. There are some farmers who have corn

in their barns, perhaps; but when there is no _rick_ left, there is very

little corn in the hands of farmers. Yet the markets, St. Swithin

notwithstanding, do not rise. This harvest must be three weeks later

than usual, and the last harvest was three weeks earlier than usual. The

last crop was begun upon at once, on account of the badness of the wheat

of the year before. So that the last crop will have had to give food

for thirteen months and a half. And yet the markets do not rise! And yet

there are men, farmers, mad enough to think that they have "got past the

bad place," and that things will come about, and are coming about! And

Lethbridge, of the Collective, withdraws his motion because he has got

what he wanted: namely, a return of good and "_remunerating_ prices!"

The _Morning Chronicle_ of this day, which has met me at this place, has

the following paragraph. "The weather is much improved, though it does

not yet assume the character of being fine. At the Corn Exchange since

Monday the arrivals consist of 7,130 quarters of wheat, 450 quarters of

barley, 8,300 quarters of oats, and 9,200 sacks of flour. The demand for

wheat is next to Zero, and for oats it is extremely dull. To effect

sales, prices are not much attended to, for the demand cannot be

increased at the present currency. The farmers should pay attention to

oats, for the foreign new, under the King's lock, will be brought into

consumption, unless a decline takes place immediately, and a weight will

thereby be thrown over the markets, which under existing circumstances

will be extremely detrimental to the agricultural interests. Its

distress however does not deserve much sympathy, for as soon as there

was a prospect of the payment of rents, the cause of the people was

abandoned by the Representatives of Agriculture in the Collected Wisdom,

and Mr. Brougham's most excellent measure for increasing the consumption

of Malt was neglected. Where there is no sympathy, none can be expected,

and the land proprietors need not in future depend on the assistance of

the mercantile and manufacturing interests, should their own distress

again require a united effort to remedy the general grievances." As to

the mercantile and manufacturing people, what is the land to expect from

them? But I agree with the _Chronicle_ that the landlords deserve ruin.

They abandoned the public cause the moment they thought that they saw a

prospect of getting rents. That prospect will soon disappear, unless

they pray hard to St. Swithin to insist upon forty days wet _after_ his

birth-day. I do not see what the farmers can do about the price of oats.

They have no power to do anything, unless they come with their cavalry

horses and storm the "King's lock." In short, it is all confusion in

men's minds as well as in their pockets. There must be something

completely out of joint when the Government are afraid of the effects of

a good crop. I intend to set off to-morrow for Botley, and go thence to

Easton; and then to Alton and Crondall and Farnham, to see how the

_hops_ are there. By the time that I get back to the Wen I shall know

nearly the real state of the case as to crops; and that, at this time,

is a great matter.

THROUGH THE SOUTH-EAST OF HAMPSHIRE, BACK THROUGH THE SOUTH-WEST OF

SURREY, ALONG THE WEALD OF SURREY, AND THEN OVER THE SURREY HILLS DOWN

TO THE WEN.

_Batley (Hampshire), 5th August, 1823._

I got to Fareham on Saturday night, after having got a soaking on the

South Downs on the morning of that day. On the Sunday morning, intending

to go and spend the day at Titchfield (about three miles and a half from

Fareham), and perceiving, upon looking out of the window, about 5

o'clock in the morning, that it was likely to rain, I got up, struck a

bustle, got up the ostler, set off and got to my destined point before 7

o'clock in the morning. And here I experienced the benefits of early

rising; for I had scarcely got well and safely under cover, when St.

Swithin began to pour down again, and he continued to pour during the

whole of the day. From Fareham to Titchfield village a large part of the

ground is a common enclosed some years ago. It is therefore amongst the

worst of the land in the country. Yet I did not see a bad field of corn

along here, and the Swedish turnips were, I think, full as fine as any

that I saw upon the South Downs. But it is to be observed that this land

is in the hands of dead-weight people, and is conveniently situated for

the receiving of manure from Portsmouth. Before I got to my friend's

house, I passed by a farm where I expected to find a wheat-rick

standing. I did not, however; and this is the strongest possible proof

that the stock of corn is gone out of the hands of the farmers. I set

out from Titchfield at 7 o'clock in the evening, and had seven miles to

go to reach Botley. It rained, but I got myself well furnished forth as

a defence against the rain. I had not gone two hundred yards before the

rain ceased; so that I was singularly fortunate as to rain this day; and

I had now to congratulate myself on the success of the remedy for the

hooping-cough which I used the day before on the South Downs; for

really, though I had a spell or two of coughing on Saturday morning when

I set out from Petworth, I have not had, up to this hour, any spell at

all since I got wet upon the South Downs. I got to Botley about nine

o'clock, having stopped two or three times to look about me as I went

along; for I had, in the first place, to ride, for about three miles of

my road, upon a turnpike road of which I was the projector, and, indeed,

the maker. In the next place I had to ride, for something better than

half a mile of my way, along between fields and coppices that were mine

until they came into the hands of the mortgagee, and by the side of

cottages of my own building. The only matter of much interest with me

was the state of the inhabitants of those cottages. I stopped at two or

three places, and made some little enquiries; I rode up to two or three

houses in the village of Botley, which I had to pass through, and just

before it was dark I got to a farmhouse close by the church, and what

was more, not a great many yards from the dwelling of that delectable

creature, the Botley parson, whom, however, I have not seen during my

stay at this place.

Botley lies in a valley, the soil of which is a deep and stiff clay. Oak

trees grow well; and this year the wheat grows well, as it does upon all

the clays that I have seen. I have never seen the wheat better in

general, in this part of the country, than it is now. I have, I think,

seen it heavier; but never clearer from blight. It is backward compared

to the wheat in many other parts; some of it is quite green; but none of

it has any appearance of blight. This is not much of a barley country.

The oats are good. The beans that I have seen, very indifferent.

The best news that I have learnt here is, that the Botley parson is

become quite a gentle creature, compared to what he used to be. The

people in the village have told me some most ridiculous stories about

his having been hoaxed in London! It seems that somebody danced him up

from Botley to London, by telling him that a legacy had been left him,

or some such story. Up went the parson on horseback, being in too great

a hurry to run the risk of coach. The hoaxers, it appears, got him to

some hotel, and there set upon him a whole tribe of applicants,

wet-nurses, dry-nurses, lawyers with deeds of conveyance for borrowed

money, curates in want of churches, coffin-makers, travelling

companions, ladies' maids, dealers in Yorkshire hams, Newcastle coals,

and dealers in dried night-soil at Islington. In short, if I am rightly

informed, they kept the parson in town for several days, bothered him

three parts out of his senses, compelled him to escape, as it were, from

a fire; and then, when he got home, he found the village posted all over

with handbills giving an account of his adventure, under the pretence of

offering 500_l._ reward for a discovery of the hoaxers! The good of it

was the parson ascribed his disgrace _to me_, and they say that he

perseveres to this hour in accusing me of it. Upon my word, I had

nothing to do with the matter, and this affair only shows that I am not

the only friend that the parson has in the world. Though this may have

had a tendency to produce in the parson that amelioration of deportment

which is said to become him so well, there is something else that has

taken place, which has, in all probability, had a more powerful

influence in this way; namely, a great reduction in the value of the

parson's living, which was at one time little short of five hundred

pounds a year, and which, I believe, is now not the half of that sum!

This, to be sure, is not only a natural but a necessary consequence of

the change in the value of money. The parsons are neither more nor less

than another sort of landlords. They must fall, of course, in their

demands, or their demands will not be paid. They may take in kind, but

that will answer them no purpose at all. They will be less people than

they have been, and will continue to grow less and less, until the day

when the whole of the tithes and other Church property, as it is called,

shall be applied to public purposes.

_Easton (Hampshire), Wednesday Evening, 6th August._

This village of Easton lies at a few miles towards the north-east from

Winchester. It is distant from Botley, by the way which I came, about

fifteen or sixteen miles. I came through Durley, where I went to the

house of farmer Mears. I was very much pleased with what I saw at

Durley, which is about two miles from Botley, and is certainly one of

the most obscure villages in this whole kingdom. Mrs. Mears, the

farmer's wife, had made, of the crested dog's tail grass, a bonnet which

she wears herself. I there saw girls platting the straw. They had made

plat of several degrees of fineness; and they sell it to some person or

persons at Fareham, who, I suppose, makes it into bonnets. Mrs. Mears,

who is a very intelligent and clever woman, has two girls at work, each

of whom earns per week as much (within a shilling) as her father, who is

a labouring man, earns per week. The father has at this time only 7_s._

per week. These two girls (and not very stout girls) earn six shillings

a week each: thus the income of this family is, from seven shillings a

week, raised to nineteen shillings a week. I shall suppose that this may

in some measure be owing to the generosity of ladies in the

neighbourhood, and to their desire to promote this domestic manufacture;

but if I suppose that these girls receive double compared to what they

will receive for the same quantity of labour when the manufacture

becomes more general, is it not a great thing to make the income of the

family nineteen shillings a week instead of seven? Very little, indeed,

could these poor things have done in the field during the last forty

days. And, besides, how clean; how healthful; how everything that one

could wish is this sort of employment! The farmer, who is also a very

intelligent person, told me that he should endeavour to introduce the

manufacture as a thing to assist the obtaining of employment, in order

to lessen the amount of the poor-rates. I think it very likely that this

will be done in the parish of Durley. A most important matter it is,

_to put paupers in the way of ceasing to be paupers_. I could not help

admiring the zeal as well as the intelligence of the farmer's wife, who

expressed her readiness to teach the girls and women of the parish, in

order to enable them to assist themselves. I shall hear, in all

probability, of their proceedings at Durley, and if I do, I shall make a

point of communicating to the Public an account of those interesting

proceedings. From the very first, from the first moment of my thinking

about this straw affair, I regarded it as likely to assist in bettering

the lot of the labouring people. If it has not this effect, I value it

not. It is not worth the attention of any of us; but I am satisfied that

this is the way in which it will work. I have the pleasure to know that

there is one labouring family, at any rate, who are living well through

my means. It is I, who, without knowing them, without ever having seen

them, without even now knowing their names, have given the means of good

living to a family who were before half-starved. This is indisputably my

work; and when I reflect that there must necessarily be, now, some

hundreds of families, and shortly, many thousands of families, in

England, who are and will be, through my means, living well instead of

being half-starved, I cannot but feel myself consoled; I cannot but feel

that I have some compensation for the sentence passed upon me by

Ellenborough, Grose, Le Blanc, and Bailey; and I verily believe, that in

the case of this one single family in the parish of Durley I have done

more good than Bailey ever did in the whole course of his life,

notwithstanding his pious Commentary on the Book of Common Prayer. I

will allow nothing to be good, with regard to the labouring classes,

unless it make an addition to their victuals, drink, or clothing. As to

their _minds_, that is much too sublime matter for me to think about. I

know that they are in rags, and that they have not a belly-full; and I

know that the way to make them good, to make them honest, to make them

dutiful, to make them kind to one another, is to enable them to live

well; and I also know that none of these things will ever be

accomplished by Methodist sermons, and by those stupid, at once stupid

and malignant things, and roguish things, called Religious Tracts.

It seems that this farmer at Durley has always read the Register, since

the first appearance of little _Two-penny Trash_. Had it not been for

this reading, Mrs. Mears would not have thought about the grass; and had

she not thought about the grass, none of the benefits above mentioned

would have arisen to her neighbours. The difference between this affair

and the spinning-jenny affairs is this: that the spinning-jenny affairs

fill the pockets of "rich ruffians," such as those who would have

murdered me at Coventry; and that this straw affair makes an addition

to the food and raiment of the labouring classes, and gives not a penny

to be pocketed by the rich ruffians.

From Durley I came on in company with farmer Mears through Upham. This

Upham is the place where Young, who wrote that bombastical stuff, called

"Night Thoughts," was once the parson, and where, I believe, he was

born. Away to the right of Upham lies the little town of Bishop's

Waltham, whither I wished to go very much, but it was too late in the

day. From Upham we came on upon the high land, called Black Down. This

has nothing to do with that Black-down Hill, spoken of in my last ride.

We are here getting up upon the chalk hills, which stretch away towards

Winchester. The soil here is a poor blackish stuff, with little white

stones in it, upon a bed of chalk. It was a down not many years ago. The

madness and greediness of the days of paper-money led to the breaking of

it up. The corn upon it is miserable; but as good as can be expected

upon such land.

At the end of this tract we come to a spot called Whiteflood, and here

we cross the old turnpike road which leads from Winchester to Gosport

through Bishop's Waltham. Whiteflood is at the foot of the first of a

series of hills over which you come to get to the top of that lofty

ridge called Morning Hill. The farmer came to the top of the first hill

along with me; and he was just about to turn back, when I, looking away

to the left, down a valley which stretched across the other side of the

down, observed a rather singular appearance, and said to the farmer,

"What is that coming up that valley? is it smoke, or is it a cloud?" The

day had been very fine hitherto; the sun was shining very bright where

we were. The farmer answered, "Oh, it's smoke; it comes from Ouselberry,

which is down in that bottom behind those trees." So saying, we bid each

other good day; he went back, and I went on. Before I had got a hundred

and fifty yards from him, the cloud which he had taken for the

Ouselberry smoke came upon the hill and wet me to the skin. He was not

far from the house at Whiteflood; but I am sure that he could not

entirely escape it. It is curious to observe how the clouds sail about

in the hilly countries, and particularly, I think, amongst the

chalk-hills. I have never observed the like amongst the sand-hills, or

amongst rocks.

From Whiteflood you come over a series of hills, part of which form a

rabbit-warren called Longwood warren, on the borders of which is the

house and estate of Lord Northesk. These hills are amongst the most

barren of the downs of England; yet a part of them was broken up during

the rage for improvements; during the rage for what empty men think was

an augmenting of the _capital_ of the country. On about twenty acres of

this land, sown with wheat, I should not suppose that there would be

twice twenty bushels of grain! A man must be mad, or nearly mad, to sow

wheat upon such a spot. However, a large part of what was enclosed has

been thrown out again already, and the rest will be thrown out in a very

few years. The down itself was poor; what, then, must it be as

corn-land! Think of the destruction which has here taken place. The

herbage was not good, but it was something; it was something for every

year, and without trouble. Instead of grass it will now, for twenty

years to come, bear nothing but that species of weeds which is hardy

enough to grow where the grass will not grow. And this was "augmenting

the capital of the nation." These new enclosure-bills were boasted of by

George Rose and by Pitt as proofs of national prosperity! When men in

power are ignorant to this extent, who is to expect anything but

consequences such as we now behold.

From the top of this high land called _Morning Hill_, and the real name

of which is _Magdalen Hill_, from a chapel which once stood there

dedicated to Mary Magdalen; from the top of this land you have a view of

a circle which is upon an average about seventy miles in diameter; and I

believe in no one place so little as fifty miles in diameter. You see

the Isle of Wight in one direction, and in the opposite direction you

see the high lands in Berkshire. It is not a pleasant view, however. The

fertile spots are all too far from you. Descending from this hill, you

cross the turnpike-road (about two miles from Winchester), leading from

Winchester to London through Alresford and Farnham. As soon as you cross

the road, you enter the estate of the descendant of Rollo, Duke of

Buckingham, which estate is in the parish of Avington. In this place the

Duke has a farm, not very good land. It is in his own hands. The corn is

indifferent, except the barley, which is everywhere good. You come a

full mile from the roadside down through this farm, to the Duke's

mansion-house at Avington, and to the little village of that name, both

of them beautifully situated, amidst fine and lofty trees, fine meadows,

and streams of clear water. On this farm of the Duke I saw (in a little

close by the farmhouse) several hens in coops with broods of pheasants

instead of chickens. It seems that a gamekeeper lives in the farmhouse,

and I dare say the Duke thinks much more of the pheasants than of the

corn. To be very solicitous to preserve what has been raised with so

much care and at so much expense is by no means unnatural; but, then,

there is a measure to be observed here; and that measure was certainly

outstretched in the case of Mr. Deller. I here saw, at this gamekeeping

farmhouse, what I had not seen since my departure from the Wen; namely,

a wheat-rick! Hard, indeed, would it have been if a Plantagenet, turned

farmer, had not a wheat-rick in his hands. This rick contains, I should

think, what they call in Hampshire ten loads of wheat, that is to say,

fifty quarters, or four hundred bushels. And this is the only rick, not

only of wheat, but of any corn whatever, that I have seen since I left

London. The turnips upon this farm are by no means good; but I was in

some measure compensated for the bad turnips by the sight of the Duke's

turnip-hoers, about a dozen females, amongst whom there were several

very pretty girls, and they were as merry as larks. There had been a

shower that had brought them into a sort of huddle on the road side.

When I came up to them, they all fixed their eyes upon me, and, upon my

smiling, they bursted out into laughter. I observed to them that the

Duke of Buckingham was a very happy man to have such turnip-hoers, and

really they seemed happier and better off than any work-people that I

saw in the fields all the way from London to this spot. It is curious

enough, but I have always observed that the women along this part of the

country are usually tall. These girls were all tall, straight, fair,

round-faced, excellent complexion, and uncommonly gay. They were well

dressed too, and I observed the same of all the men that I saw down at

Avington. This could not be the case if the Duke were a cruel or hard

master; and this is an act of justice due from me to the descendant of

Rollo. It is in the house of Mr. Deller that I make these notes, but as

it is _injustice_ that we dislike, I must do Rollo justice; and I must

again say that the good looks and happy faces of his turnip-hoers spoke

much more in his praise than could have been spoken by fifty lawyers,

like that Storks who was employed, the other day, to plead against the

Editor of the _Bucks Chronicle_, for publishing an account of the

selling-up of farmer Smith, of Ashendon, in that county. I came through

the Duke's Park to come to Easton, which is the next village below

Avington. A very pretty park. The house is quite in the bottom; it can

be seen in no direction from a distance greater than that of four or

five hundred yards. The river Itchen, which rises near Alresford, which

runs down through Winchester to Southampton, goes down the middle of

this valley, and waters all its immense quantity of meadows. The Duke's

house stands not far from the river itself. A stream of water is brought

from the river to feed a pond before the house. There are several

avenues of trees which are very beautiful, and some of which give

complete shelter to the kitchen garden, which has, besides,

extraordinarily high walls. Never was a greater contrast than that

presented by this place and the place of Lord Egremont. The latter is

all loftiness. Everything is high about it; it has extensive views in

all directions. It sees and can be seen by all the country around. If I

had the ousting of one of these noblemen, I certainly, however, would

oust the Duke, who, I dare say, will by no means be desirous of seeing

arise the occasion of putting the sincerity of the compliment to the

test. The village of Easton is, like that of Avington, close by the

waterside. The meadows are the attraction; and, indeed, it is the

meadows that have caused the villages to exist.

_Selborne (Hants), Thursday, 7th August, Noon._

I took leave of Mr. Deller this morning, about 7 o'clock. Came back

through Avington Park, through the village of Avington, and, crossing

the Itchen river, came over to the village of Itchen Abas. _Abas_ means

_below_. It is a French word that came over with Duke Rollo's

progenitors. There needs no better proof of the high descent of the

Duke, and of the antiquity of his family. This is that Itchen Abas where

that famous Parson-Justice, the Reverend Robert Wright, lives, who

refused to hear Mr. Deller's complaint against the Duke's servant at his

own house, and who afterwards, along with Mr. Poulter, bound Mr. Deller

over to the Quarter Sessions for the alleged assault. I have great

pleasure in informing the public that Mr. Deller has not had to bear the

expenses in this case himself; but that they have been borne by his

neighbours, very much to the credit of those neighbours. I hear of an

affair between the Duke of Buckingham and a Mr. Bird, who resides in

this neighbourhood. If I had had time I should have gone to see Mr.

Bird, of whose treatment I have heard a great deal, and an account of

which treatment ought to be brought before the public. It is very

natural for the Duke of Buckingham to wish to preserve that game which

he calls his hobby-horse; it is very natural for him to delight in his

hobby; but _hobbies_, my Lord Duke, ought to be gentle, inoffensive,

perfectly harmless little creatures. They ought not to be suffered to

kick and fling about them: they ought not to be rough-shod, and, above

all things, they ought not to be great things like those which are

ridden by the Life-guards: and, like them, be suffered to dance, and

caper, and trample poor devils of farmers under foot. Have your hobbies,

my Lords of the Soil, but let them be gentle; in short, let them be

hobbies in character with the commons and forests, and not the high-fed

hobbies from the barracks at Knightsbridge, such as put poor Mr. Sheriff

Waithman's life in jeopardy. That the game should be preserved, every

one that knows anything of the country will allow; but every man of any

sense must see that it cannot be preserved by sheer force. It must be

rather through love than through fear; rather through good-will than

through ill-will. If the thing be properly managed, there will be plenty

of game without any severity towards any good man. Mr. Deller's case was

so plain: it was so monstrous to think that a man was to be punished for

being on his own ground in pursuit of wild animals that he himself had

raised: this was so monstrous, that it was only necessary to name it to

excite the indignation of the country. And Mr. Deller has, by his spirit

and perseverance, by the coolness and the good sense which he has shown

throughout the whole of this proceeding, merited the commendation of

every man who is not in his heart an oppressor. It occurs to me to ask

here, who it is that finally _pays_ for those "counsels' opinions" which

Poulter and Wright said they took in the case of Mr. Deller; because, if

these counsels' opinions are paid for by the county, and if a Justice of

the Peace can take as many counsels' opinions as he chooses, I should

like to know what fellow, who chooses to put on a bobtail wig and call

himself a lawyer, may not have a good living given to him by any crony

Justice at the expense of the county. This never can be legal. It never

can be binding on the county to pay for these counsels' opinions.

However, leaving this to be enquired into another time, we have here, in

Mr. Deller's case, an instance of the worth of counsels' opinions. Mr.

Deller went to the two Justices, showed them the Register with the Act

of Parliament in it, called upon them to act agreeably to that Act of

Parliament; but they chose to take counsels' opinion first. The two

"counsel," the two "lawyers," the two "learned friends," told them that

they were right in rejecting the application of Mr. Deller and in

binding him over for the assault; and, after all, this Grand Jury threw

out the Bill, and in that throwing out showed that they thought the

counsels' opinions not worth a straw.