RIDE, FROM BURGHCLERE TO LYNDHURST, IN THE NEW FOREST.

"The Reformers have yet many and powerful foes; we have to contend

against a host, such as never existed before in the world. Nine-tenths

of the press; all the channels of speedy communication of sentiment; all

the pulpits; all the associations of rich people; all the taxing-people;

all the military and naval establishments; all the yeomanry cavalry

tribes. Your allies are endless in number and mighty in influence. But,

we have _one ally_ worth the whole of them put together, namely, the

DEBT! This is an ally, whom no honours or rewards can seduce from us.

She is a steady, unrelaxing, persevering, incorruptible ally. An ally

that is proof against all blandishments, all intrigues, all temptations,

and all open attacks. She sets at defiance all '_military_,' all

'_yeomanry cavalry_.' They may as well fire at a ghost. She cares no

more for the sabres of the yeomanry or the Life Guards than Milton's

angels did for the swords of Satan's myrmidons. This ally cares not a

straw about _spies_ and _informers_. She laughs at the employment of

_secret-service money_. She is always erect, day and night, and is

always firmly moving on in our cause, in spite of all the terrors of

gaols, dungeons, halters and axes. Therefore, Mr. JABET, be not so pert.

The combat is not so unequal as you seem to imagine; and, confident and

insolent as you now are, the day of your humiliation may not be far

distant."--LETTER TO MR. JABET, of Birmingham, _Register_, v. 31, p.

477. (Nov. 1816.)

_Hurstbourn Tarrant (commonly called Uphusband), Wednesday, 11th October,

1826._

When quarters are good, you are apt to _lurk_ in them; but, really it

was so wet, that we could not get away from Burghclere till Monday

evening. Being here, there were many reasons for our going to the great

fair at Weyhill, which began yesterday, and, indeed, the day before, at

Appleshaw. These two days are allotted for the selling of sheep only,

though the horse-fair begins on the 10th. To Appleshaw they bring

nothing but those fine curled-horned and long-tailed ewes, which bring

the house-lambs and the early Easter-lambs; and these, which, to my

taste, are the finest and most beautiful animals of the sheep kind, come

exclusively out of Dorsetshire and out of the part of Somersetshire

bordering on that county.

To Weyhill, which is a village of half a dozen houses on a down, just

above Appleshaw, they bring from the down-farms in Wiltshire and

Hampshire, where they are bred, the Southdown sheep; ewes to go away

into the pasture and turnip countries to have lambs, wethers to be

fatted and killed, and lambs (nine months old) to be kept to be sheep.

At both fairs there is supposed to be about two hundred thousand sheep.

It was of some consequence to ascertain how the _price_ of these had

been affected by "_late_ panic," which ended the "respite" of 1822; or

by the "plethora of money" as loan-man Baring called it. I can assure

this political Doctor, that there was no such "plethora" at Weyhill,

yesterday, where, while I viewed the long faces of the farmers, while I

saw consciousness of ruin painted on their countenances, I could not

help saying to myself, "the loan-mongers think they are _cunning_; but,

by ----, they will never escape the ultimate consequences of this

horrible ruin!" The prices, take them on a fair average, were, at both

fairs, just about one-half what they were last year. So that my friend

Mr. Thwaites of the _Herald_, who had a lying Irish reporter at Preston,

was rather hasty, about three months ago, when he told his

_well-informed_ readers, that, "those politicians were deceived, who had

supposed that prices of farm produce would fall in consequence of

'_late_ panic' and the subsequent measures"! There were Dorsetshire ewes

that sold last year, for 50_s._ a head. We could hear of none this year

that exceeded 25_s._ And only think of 25_s._ for one of these fine,

large ewes, nearly fit to kill, and having two lambs in her, ready to be

brought forth in, on an average, six weeks' time! The average is _three

lambs_ to _two of these ewes_. In 1812 these ewes were from 55_s._ to

72_s._ each, at this same Appleshaw fair; and in that year I bought

South-down ewes at 45_s._ each, just such as were, yesterday, sold for

18_s._ Yet the sheep and grass and all things are the same in _real

value_. What a false, what a deceptious, what an infamous thing, this

paper-money system is!

However, it is a pleasure, it is real, it is great delight, it is

boundless joy to me, to contemplate this infernal system in its hour of

_wreck_: swag here: crack there: scroop this way: souse that way: and

such a rattling and such a squalling: and the parsons and their wives

looking so frightened, beginning, apparently, to think that the day of

_judgment_ is at hand! I wonder what master parson of Sharncut, whose

church _can_ contain _eight persons_, and master parson of Draycot

Foliot, who is, for want of a church, inducted under a _tent_, or

temporary _booth_; I wonder what they think of South-down lambs (9

months old) selling for 6 or 7 shillings each! I wonder what the Barings

and the Ricardos think of it. I wonder what those master parsons think

of it, who are half-pay naval, or military officers, as well as master

parsons of the church made by _law_. I wonder what the Gaffer Gooches,

with their parsonships and military offices, think of it. I wonder what

Daddy Coke and Suffield think of it; and when, I wonder, do they mean to

get into their holes and barns again to cry aloud against the "roguery

of reducing the interest of the Debt"; when, I wonder, do these manly,

these modest, these fair, these candid, these open, and, above all

things, these _sensible_, fellows intend to assemble again, and to call

all "the House of Quidenham" and the "House of Kilmainham," or

_Kinsaleham_, or whatever it is (for I really have forgotten); to call,

I say, all these about them, in the holes and the barns, and then and

there again make a formal and solemn protest against COBBETT and against

his roguish proposition for reducing the interest of the Debt! Now, I

have these fellows on the hip; and brave sport will I have with them

before I have done.

Mr. Blount, at whose house (7 miles from Weyhill) I am, went with me to

the fair; and we took particular pains to ascertain the prices. We saw,

and spoke to, Mr. John Herbert, of Stoke (near Uphusband) who was

_asking_ 20_s._, and who did not expect to _get_ it, for South-down

ewes, just such as he _sold_, last year (at this fair), for 36_s._ Mr.

Jolliff, of Crux-Easton, was _asking_ 16_s._ for just such ewes as he

sold, last year (at this fair) for 32_s._ Farmer Holdway had sold "for

less than half" his last year's price. A farmer that I did not know,

told us, that he had sold to a great sheep-dealer of the name of

Smallpiece at the latter's own price! I asked him what that "own price"

was; and he said that he was ashamed to say. The horse-fair appeared to

have no business at all going on; for, indeed, how were people to

purchase horses, who had got only half-price for their sheep?

The sales of sheep, at this one fair (including Appleshaw), must have

amounted, this year, to a hundred and twenty or thirty thousand pounds

less than last year! Stick a pin there, master "Prosperity Robinson,"

and turn back to it again anon! Then came the horses; not equal in

amount to the sheep, but of great amount. Then comes the cheese, a very

great article; and it will have a falling off, if you take quantity into

view, in a still greater proportion. The hops being a monstrous crop,

their _price_ is nothing to judge by. But all is fallen. Even corn,

though, in many parts, all but the wheat and rye have totally failed,

is, taking a quarter of each of the _six sorts_ (wheat, rye, barley,

oats, pease, and beans), 11_s._ 9_d._ cheaper, upon the whole; that is

to say, 11_s._ 9_d._ upon 258_s._ And, if the "_late_ panic" had not

come, it must and it would have been, and according to the small bulk of

the crop, it ought to have been, 150_s._ _dearer_, instead of 11_s._

9_d._ cheaper. Yet, it is too dear, and far too dear, for the working

people to eat! The masses, the assembled masses, must starve, if the

price of bread be not reduced; that is to say, in Scotland and Ireland;

for, _in England_, I hope that the people will "_demand_ and _insist_"

(to use the language of the Bill of Rights) on a just and suitable

provision, agreeably to the law; and, if they do not get it, I trust

that law and justice will, in due course, be done, and strictly done,

upon those who refuse to make such provision. Though, in time, the price

of corn will come down without any repeal of the Corn Bill; and though

it would have come down now, if we had had a good crop, or an average

crop; still the Corn Bill ought now to be repealed, because people must

not be _starved_ in waiting for the next crop; and the "landowners'

monopoly," as the son of "John with the bright sword" calls it, ought to

be swept away; and the sooner it is done, the better for the country. I

know very well that the landowners must lose their estates, if such

prices continue, and if the present taxes continue; I know this very

well; and, I like it well; for, the landowners _may cause the taxes to

be taken off if they will_. "Ah! wicked dog!" say they, "What, then, you

would have us lose the half pay and the pensions and sinecures which our

children and other relations, or that we ourselves, are pocketing out of

the taxes, which are squeezed, in great part, out of the labourer's

skin and bone!" Yes, upon my word, I would; but if you prefer losing

your estates, I have no great objection; for it is hard that, "in a free

country," people should not have their choice of the different roads to

the poor-house. Here is the _rub_: the vote-owners, the seat-owners, the

big borough-mongers, have directly and indirectly, so large a share of

the loaves and fishes, that the share is, in point of clear income,

equal to, and, in some cases, greater than, that from their estates;

and, though this is not the case with the small fry of jolterheads, they

are so linked in with, and overawed by, the big ones, that they have all

the same feeling; and that is, that to cut off half-pay, pensions,

sinecures, commissionerships (such as that of Hobhouse's father), army,

and the rest of the "good things," would be nearly as bad as to take

away the estates, which, besides, are, in fact, in many instances,

nearly gone (at least from the present holder) already, by the means of

mortgage, annuity, rent-charge, settlement, jointure, or something or

other. Then there are the parsons, who with their keen noses, have

smelled out long enough ago, that, if any serious settlement should take

place, _they go_ to a certainty. In short, they know well how the whole

nation (the interested excepted) feel towards them. They know well, that

were it not for their allies, it would soon be queer times with them.

Here, then, is the _rub_. Here are the reasons why the taxes are not

taken off! Some of these jolterheaded beasts were ready to cry, and I

know one that did actually cry to a farmer (his tenant) in 1822. The

tenant told him, that "Mr. Cobbett had been _right_ about this matter."

"What!" exclaimed he, "I hope you do not read Cobbett! He will ruin you,

and he would ruin us all. He would introduce anarchy, confusion, and

destruction of property!" Oh, no, Jolterhead! There is no _destruction_

of property. Matter, the philosophers say, is _indestructible_. But, it

is all easily _transferable_, as is well-known to the base Jolterheads

and the blaspheming Jews. The former of these will, however, soon have

the faint sweat upon them again. Their tenants will be ruined _first_:

and, here what a foul robbery these landowners have committed, or at

least, enjoyed and pocketed the gain of! They have given their silent

assent to the one-pound note abolition Bill. They knew well that this

must reduce the price of farm produce _one-half_, or thereabouts; and

yet, they were prepared to take and to insist on, and they do take and

insist on, as high rents as if that Bill had never been passed! What

dreadful ruin will ensue! How many, many farmers' families are now just

preparing the way for their entrance into the poor-house! How many;

certainly many a score farmers did I see at Weyhill, yesterday, who

came there as it were _to know their fate_; and who are gone home

thoroughly convinced, that they shall, as farmers, never see Weyhill

fair again!

When such a man, his mind impressed with such conviction, returns home

and there beholds a family of children, half bred up, and in the notion

that they were _not_ to be mere working people, what must be his

_feelings_? Why, if he have been a bawler against Jacobins and Radicals;

if he have approved of the Power-of-Imprisonment Bill and of Six-Acts;

aye, if he did not rejoice at Castlereagh's cutting his own throat; if

he have been a cruel screwer down of the labourers, reducing them to

skeletons; if he have been an officious detecter of what are called

"poachers," and have assisted in, or approved of, the hard punishments,

inflicted on them; then, in either of these cases, I say, that his

feelings, though they put the suicidal knife into his own hand, are

short of what he deserves! I say this, and this I repeat with all the

seriousness and solemnity with which a man can make a declaration; for,

had it not been for these base and selfish and unfeeling wretches, the

deeds of 1817 and 1819 and 1820 would never have been attempted. These

hard and dastardly dogs, armed up to the teeth, were always ready to

come forth to destroy, not only to revile, to decry, to belie, to

calumniate in all sorts of ways, but, if necessary, absolutely to cut

the throats of, those who had no object, and who could have no object,

other than that of preventing a continuance in that course of measures,

which have finally produced the ruin, and threaten to produce the

absolute destruction, of these base, selfish, hard and dastardly dogs

themselves. _Pity_ them! Let them go for pity to those whom they have

applauded and abetted.

The farmers, I mean the renters, will not now, as they did in 1819,

stand a good long emptying out. They had, in 1822, lost nearly all. The

present stock of the farms is not, in one half of the cases, the

property of the farmer. It is borrowed stock; and the sweeping out will

be very rapid. The notion that the Ministers will "do something" is

clung on to by all those who are deeply in debt, and all who have

leases, or other engagements for time. These _believe_ (because they

anxiously _wish_) that the paper-money, by means of some sort or other,

will be put out again; while the Ministers _believe_ (because they

anxiously _wish_) that the thing can go on, that they can continue to

pay the interest of the debt, and meet all the rest of their spendings,

without one-pound notes and without bank-restriction. Both parties will

be deceived, and in the midst of the strife, that the dissipation of the

delusion will infallibly lead to, the whole THING is very likely to go

to pieces; and that, too, _mind_, tumbling into the hands and placed at

the mercy, of a people, the millions of whom have been fed upon less,

to four persons, than what goes down the throat of one single common

soldier! Please to _mind_ that, Messieurs the admirers of select

vestries! You have _not done it_, Messieurs Sturges Bourne and the

Hampshire Parsons! You _thought_ you had! You meaned well; but it was a

_coup-manque_, a missing of the mark, and that, too, as is frequently

the case, by over-shooting it. The attempt will, however, produce its

just consequences in the end; and those consequences will be of vast

importance.

From Weyhill I was shown, yesterday, the wood, in which took place the

battle, in which was concerned poor Turner, one of the young men, who

was hanged at Winchester, in the year 1822. There was another young man,

named Smith, who was, on account of another game-battle, hanged on the

same gallows! And this for the preservation of the _game_, you will

observe! This for the preservation of the _sports_ of that aristocracy

for whose sake, and solely for whose sake, "Sir James Graham, of

Netherby, descendant of the Earls of Monteith and of the seventh Earl of

Galloway, K.T." (being sure not to omit the K.T.); this hanging of us is

for the preservation of the sports of that aristocracy, for the sake of

whom this Graham, this barefaced plagiarist, this bungling and yet

impudent pamphleteer, would _sacrifice_, would reduce to beggary,

according to his pamphlet, _three hundred thousand families_ (making,

doubtless, _two millions_ of persons), in the middle rank of life! It is

for the preservation, for upholding what he insolently calls the

"dignity" of this sporting aristocracy, that he proposes to rob all

mortgagees, all who have claims upon land! The feudal lords in France

had, as Mr. Young tells us, a right, when they came in, fatigued, from

hunting or shooting, to cause the belly of one of their vassals to be

ripped up, in order for the lord to soak his feet in the bowels! Sir

James Graham of the bright sword does not propose to carry us back so

far as this; he is willing to stop at taking away the money and the

victuals of a very large part of the community; and, monstrous as it may

seem, I will venture to say, that there are scores of the Lord-Charles

tribe who think him moderate to a fault!

But, to return to the above-mentioned hanging at Winchester (a thing

never to be forgotten by me), James Turner, aged 28 years, was accused

of assisting to kill Robert Baker, gamekeeper to Thomas Asheton Smith,

Esq., in the parish of South Tidworth; and Charles Smith, aged 27 years,

was accused of shooting at (not killing) Robert Snellgrove, assistant

gamekeeper to Lord Palmerston (Secretary at War), at Broadlands, in the

parish of Romsey. Poor Charles Smith had better have been hunting after

_shares_ than after _hares_! _Mines_, however _deep_, he would have

found less perilous than the pleasure grounds of Lord Palmerston! I

deem this hanging at Winchester worthy of general attention, and

particularly at this time, when the aristocracy near Andover, and one,

at least, of the members for that town, of whom this very Thomas Asheton

Smith was, until lately, one, was, if the report in the _Morning

Chronicle_ (copied into the Register of the 7th instant) be correct,

endeavouring, at the late Meeting at Andover, to persuade people, that

they (these aristocrats) wished to keep up the price of corn for the

sake of the labourers, whom Sir John Pollen (Thomas Asheton Smith's

son's present colleague as member for Andover) called "poor devils," and

who, he said, had "hardly a rag to cover them!" Oh! wished to keep up

the price of corn for the good of the "poor devils of labourers who have

hardly a rag to cover them!" Amiable feeling, tender-hearted souls!

Cared not a straw about _rents_! Did not; oh no! did not care even about

the farmers! It was only for the sake of the poor, naked devils of

labourers, that the colleague of young Thomas Asheton Smith cared; it

was only for those who were in the same rank of life as James Turner and

Charles Smith were, that these kind Andover aristocrats cared! This was

the only reason in the world for their wanting corn to sell at a high

price? We often say, "_that_ beats everything;" but really, I think,

that these professions of the Andover aristocrats do "_beat

everything_." Ah! but, Sir John Pollen, these professions come _too

late_ in the day: the people are no longer to be deceived by such stupid

attempts at disguising hypocrisy. However, the attempt shall do this: it

shall make me repeat here that which I published on the Winchester

hanging, in the _Register_ of the 6th of April, 1822. It made part of a

"Letter to Landlords." Many boys have, since this article was published,

grown up to the age of thought. Let them now read it; and I hope, that

they will _remember it well_.

* * * * *

I, last fall, addressed ten letters to you on the subject of the

_Agricultural Report_. My object was to convince you, that you would be

ruined; and, when I think of your general conduct towards the rest of

the nation, and especially towards the labourers, I must say that I have

great pleasure in seeing that my opinions are in a fair way of being

verified to the full extent. I dislike the _Jews_; but the Jews are not

so inimical to the industrious classes of the country as you are. We

should do a great deal better with the 'Squires from 'Change Alley, who,

at any rate, have nothing of the ferocious and bloody in their

characters. Engrafted upon your native want of feeling is the sort of

military spirit of command that you have acquired during the late war.

You appeared, at the close of that war, to think that you had made a

_conquest_ of the rest of the nation for ever; and, if it had not been

for the burdens which the war left behind it, there would have been no

such thing as air, in England, for any one but a slave to breathe. The

Bey of Tunis never talked to his subjects in language more insolent than

you talked to the people of England. The DEBT, the blessed Debt, stood

our friend, made you soften your tone, and will finally place you where

you ought to be placed.

This is the last Letter that I shall ever take the trouble to address to

you. In a short time, you will become much too insignificant to merit

any particular notice; but just in the way of _farewell_, and that there

may be something on record to show what care has been taken of the

partridges, pheasants, and hares, while the estates themselves have been

suffered to slide away, I have resolved to address this one more Letter

to you, which resolution has been occasioned by the recent _putting to

death_, at Winchester, of two men denominated _Poachers_. This is a

thing, which, whatever you may think of it, has not been passed over,

and is not to be passed over, without full notice and ample record. The

account of the matter, as it appeared in the public prints, was very

short; but the fact is such as never ought to be forgotten. And, while

you are complaining of your "distress," I will endeavour to lay before

the public that which will show, that the _law_ has not been unmindful

of even your _sports_. The time is approaching, when the people will

have an opportunity of exercising their judgment as to what are called

"Game-Laws;" when they will look back a little at what has been done for

the sake of insuring sport to landlords. In short, landlords as well as

labourers will _pass under review_. But, I must proceed to my subject,

reserving reflections for a subsequent part of my letter.

The account, to which I have alluded, is this:

"HAMPSHIRE. The Lent Assizes for this county concluded on Saturday

morning. The Criminal Calendar contained 58 prisoners for trial, 16 of

whom have been sentenced to suffer death, but two only of that number

(_poachers_) were left by the Judges for execution, viz.: James Turner,

aged 28, for aiding and assisting in killing Robert Baker, gamekeeper to

Thomas Asheton Smith, Esq., in the parish of South Tidworth, and Charles

Smith, aged 27, for having wilfully and maliciously shot at Robert

Snellgrove, assistant gamekeeper to Lord Palmerston, at Broadlands, in

the parish of Romsey, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm. The

Judge (Burrough) observed, it became _necessary to these cases_, that

the _extreme sentence of the law should be inflicted_, to _deter others,

as resistance to gamekeepers was now arrived at an alarming height_,

and many lives had been lost."

The first thing to observe here is, that there were _sixteen_ persons

sentenced to suffer death; and that the only persons actually put to

death, were those who had been endeavouring to get at the hares,

pheasants or partridges of Thomas Asheton Smith, and of our Secretary at

War, Lord Palmerston. Whether the Judge Burrough (who was long Chairman

of the Quarter Sessions in Hampshire), uttered the words ascribed to

him, or not, I cannot say; but the words have gone forth in print, and

the impression they are calculated to make is this: that it was

necessary to put these two _men to death_, in order to deter others from

resisting gamekeepers. The putting of these men to death has excited a

very deep feeling throughout the County of Hants; a feeling very

honourable to the people of that county, and very natural to the breast

of every human being.

In this case there appears to have been a killing, in which Turner

_assisted_; and Turner might, by possibility, have given the fatal blow;

but in the case of Smith, there was no killing at all. There was a mere

_shooting at_, with intention to do him bodily harm. This latter offence

was not a crime for which men were put to death, even when there was no

assault, or attempt at assault, on the part of the person shot at; this

was not a crime punished with death, until that terrible act, brought in

by the late Lord Ellenborough, was passed, and formed a part of our

matchless Code, that Code which there is such a talk about _softening_;

but which softening does not appear to have in view this Act, or any

portion of the Game-Laws.

In order to form a just opinion with regard to the offence of these two

men that have been hanged at Winchester, we must first consider the

motives by which they were actuated, in committing the acts of violence

laid to their charge. For, it is the intention, and not the mere act,

that constitutes the crime. To make an act murder, there must be _malice

aforethought_. The question, therefore, is, did these men attack, or

were they the attacked? It seems to be clear that they were the attacked

parties: for they are executed, according to this publication, to deter

others from _resisting_ gamekeepers!

I know very well that there is Law for this; but what I shall endeavour

to show is, that the Law ought to be altered; that the people of

Hampshire ought to petition for such alteration; and that if you, the

Landlords, were wise, you would petition also, for an alteration, if not

a total annihilation of that terrible Code, called the Game-Laws, which

has been growing harder and harder all the time that it ought to have

been wearing away. It should never be forgotten, that, in order to make

punishments efficient in the way of example, they must be thought just

by the Community at large; and they will never be thought just if they

aim at the protection of things belonging to one particular class of the

Community, and, especially, if those very things be grudged to this

class by the Community in general. When punishments of this sort take

place, they are looked upon as unnecessary, the sufferers are objects of

pity, the common feeling of the Community is in their favour, instead of

being against them; and it is those who cause the punishment, and not

those who suffer it, who become objects of abhorrence.

Upon seeing two of our countrymen hanging upon a gallows, we naturally,

and instantly, run back to the cause. First we find the fighting with

gamekeepers; next we find that the men would have been transported if

caught in or near a cover with guns, after dark; next we find that these

trespassers are exposed to transportation because they are in pursuit,

or supposed to be in pursuit, of partridges, pheasants, or hares; and

then, we ask, where is the foundation of a law to punish a man with

transportation for being in pursuit of these animals? And where, indeed,

is the foundation of the Law, to take from any man, be he who he may,

the right of catching and using these animals? We know very well; we are

instructed by mere feeling, that we have a right to live, to see and to

move. Common sense tells us that there are some things which no man can

reasonably call his property; and though poachers (as they are called)

do not read _Blackstone's Commentaries_, they know that such animals as

are of a wild and untameable disposition, any man may seize upon and

keep for his own use and pleasure. "All these things, so long as they

remain in possession, every man has a right to enjoy without

disturbance; but if once they escape from his custody, or he voluntarily

abandons the use of them, they return to the common stock, and any man

else has an equal right to seize and enjoy them afterwards." (Book 2,

Chapter 1.)

In the Second Book and Twenty-sixth Chapter of _Blackstone_, the poacher

might read as follows: "With regard likewise to wild animals, all

mankind had by the original grant of the Creator a right to pursue and

take away any fowl or insect of the air, any fish or inhabitant of the

waters, and any beast or reptile of the field: and this natural right

still continues in every individual, unless where it is restrained by

the civil laws of the country. And when a man has once so seized them,

they become, while living, his qualified property, or, if dead, are

absolutely his own: so that to steal them, or otherwise invade this

property, is, according to the respective values, sometimes a criminal

offence, sometimes only a civil injury."

Poachers do not read this; but that reason which is common to all

mankind tells them that this is true, and tells them, also, _what to

think_ of any positive law that is made to restrain them from this right

granted by the Creator. Before I proceed further in commenting upon the

case immediately before me, let me once more quote this English Judge,

who wrote fifty years ago, when the Game Code was mild indeed, compared

to the one of the present day. "Another violent alteration," says he,

"of the English Constitution consisted in the depopulation of whole

countries, for the purposes of the King's royal diversion; and

subjecting both them, and all the ancient forests of the kingdom, to the

unreasonable severities of forest laws imported from the continent,

whereby the slaughter of a beast was made almost as penal as the death

of a man. In the Saxon times, though no man was allowed to kill or chase

the King's deer, yet he might start any game, pursue and kill it upon

his own estate. But the rigour of these new constitutions vested the

sole property of all the game in England in the King alone; and no man

was entitled to disturb any fowl of the air, or any beast of the field,

of such kinds as were specially reserved for the royal amusement of the

Sovereign, without express license from the King, by a grant of a chase

or free warren: and those franchises were granted as much with a view to

preserve the breed of animals, as to indulge the subject. From a similar

principle to which, though the forest laws are now mitigated, and by

degrees grown entirely obsolete, yet from this root has sprung up a

bastard slip, known by the name of the Game-Law, now arrived to and

wantoning in its highest vigour: both founded upon the same unreasonable

notions of permanent property in wild creatures; and both productive of

the same tyranny to the commons: but with this difference; that the

forest laws established only one mighty hunter throughout the land, the

game-laws have raised a little Nimrod in every manor." (Book 4, Chapter

33.)

When this was written nothing was known of the present severity of the

law. Judge Blackstone says that the Game Law was then wantoning in its

_highest vigour_; what, then, would he have said, if any one had

proposed to make it _felony_ to resist a gamekeeper? He calls it tyranny

to the commons, as it existed in his time; what would he have said of

the present Code; which, so far from being thought a thing to be

_softened_, is never so much as mentioned by those humane and gentle

creatures, who are absolutely supporting a sort of reputation, and

aiming at distinction in Society, in consequence of their incessant talk

about softening the Criminal Code?

The Law may say what it will, but the feelings of mankind will never be

in favour of this Code; and whenever it produces putting to death, it

will, necessarily, excite horror. It is impossible to make men believe

that any particular set of individuals should have a permanent property

in wild creatures. That the owner of land should have a quiet possession

of it is reasonable and right and necessary; it is also necessary that

he should have the power of inflicting pecuniary punishment, in a

moderate degree, upon such as trespass on his lands; but his right can

go no further according to reason. If the law give him ample

compensation for every damage that he sustains, in consequence of a

trespass on his lands, what right has he to complain?

The law authorises the King, in case of invasion, or apprehended

invasion, to call upon all his people to take up arms in defence of the

country. The Militia Law compels every man, in his turn, to become a

soldier. And upon what ground is this? There must be some reason for it,

or else the law would be tyranny. The reason is, that every man has

_rights_ in the country to which he belongs; and that, therefore, it is

his duty to defend the country. Some rights, too, beyond that of merely

living, merely that of breathing the air. And then, I should be glad to

know, what rights an Englishman has, if the pursuit of even wild animals

is to be the ground of transporting him from his country? There is a

sufficient punishment provided by the law of trespass; quite sufficient

means to keep men off your land altogether! how can it be necessary,

then, to have a law to transport them for coming upon your land? No, it

is not for coming upon the land, it is for coming after the wild

animals, which nature and reason tells them, are as much theirs as they

are yours.

It is impossible for the people not to contrast the treatment of these

two men at Winchester with the treatment of some gamekeepers that have

killed or maimed the persons they call poachers; and it is equally

impossible for the people, when they see these two men hanging on a

gallows, after being recommended to mercy, not to remember the almost

instant pardon, given to the exciseman, who was not recommended to

mercy, and who was found guilty of wilful murder in the County of

Sussex!

It is said, and, I believe truly, that there are more persons imprisoned

in England for offences against the game-laws, than there are persons

imprisoned in France (with more than twice the population) for all sorts

of offences put together. When there was a loud outcry against the

cruelties committed on the priests and the seigneurs, by the people of

France, Arthur Young bade them remember the cruelties committed on the

people by the game-laws, and to bear in mind how many had been made

galley-slaves for having killed, or tried to kill, partridges,

pheasants, and hares!

However, I am aware that it is quite useless to address observations of

this sort to you. I am quite aware of that; and yet, there are

circumstances, in your present situation, which, one would think, ought

to make you _not very gay_ upon the hanging of the two men at

Winchester. It delights me, I assure you, to see the situation that you

are in; and I shall, therefore, now, once more, and for the last time,

address you upon that subject. We all remember how haughty, how insolent

you have been. We all bear in mind your conduct for the last thirty-five

years; and the feeling of pleasure at your present state is as general

as it is just. In my _ten Letters_ to you, I told you that you would

lose your estates. Those of you who have any capacity, except that which

is necessary to enable you to kill wild animals, see this now, as

clearly as I do; and yet you evince no intention to change your courses.

You hang on with unrelenting grasp; and cry "pauper" and "poacher" and

"radical" and "lower orders" with as much insolence as ever! It is

always thus: men like you may be convinced of error, but they never

change their conduct. They never become just because they are convinced

that they have been unjust: they must have a great deal more than that

conviction to make them just.

* * * * *

Such was what I _then_ addressed to the Landlords. How well it fits the

_present_ time! They are just in the same sort of _mess_, now, that they

were in 1822. But, there is this most important difference, that the

paper-money cannot _now_ be put out, in a quantity sufficient to save

them, without producing not only a "_late_ panic," worse than the last,

but, in all probability, a total blowing up of the whole system,

game-laws, new trespass-laws, tread-mill, Sunday tolls, six-acts,

sun-set and sun-rise laws, apple-felony laws, select-vestry laws, and

all the whole THING, root and trunk and branch! Aye, not sparing,

perhaps, even the tent, or booth of induction, at Draycot Foliot! Good

Lord! how should we be able to live without game-laws! And tread-mills,

then? And Sunday-tolls? How should we get on without pensions,

sinecures, tithes, and the other "glorious institutions" of this "mighty

_empire_"? Let us turn, however, from the thought; but, bearing this in

mind, if you please, Messieurs the game-people; that if, no matter in

what shape and under what pretence; if, I tell you, paper be put out

again, sufficient to raise the price of a Southdown ewe to the last

year's mark, the whole system goes to atoms. I tell you that; mind it;

and look sharp about you, O ye fat parsons; for tithes and half-pay

will, be you assured, never, from that day, again go in company into

parson's pocket.

In this North of Hampshire, as everywhere else, the churches and all

other things exhibit indubitable marks of decay. There are along under

the north side of that chain of hills, which divide Hampshire from

Berkshire, in this part, taking into Hampshire about two or three miles

wide of the low ground along under the chain, eleven churches along in a

string in about fifteen miles, the chancels of which would contain a

great many more than all the inhabitants, men, women, and children,

sitting at their ease with plenty of room. How should this be otherwise,

when, in the parish of Burghclere, one single farmer holds by lease,

under Lord Carnarvon, as one farm, the lands that men, now living, can

remember to have formed fourteen farms, bringing up, in a respectable

way, fourteen families. In some instances these small farmhouses and

homesteads are completely gone; in others the buildings remain, but in a

tumble-down state; in others the house is gone, leaving the barn for use

as a barn or as a cattle-shed; in others the out-buildings are gone, and

the house, with rotten thatch, broken windows, rotten door-sills, and

all threatening to fall, remains as the dwelling of a half-starved and

ragged family of labourers, the grand-children, perhaps, of the decent

family of small farmers that formerly lived happily in this very house.

This, with few exceptions, is the case all over England; and, if we duly

consider the nature and tendency of the hellish system of taxing, of

funding, and of paper-money, it must do so. Then, in this very parish of

Burghclere, there was, until a few months ago, a famous cock-parson, the

"Honourable and Reverend" George Herbert, who had grafted the _parson_

upon the _soldier_ and the _justice_ upon the parson; for he died, a

little while ago, a half-pay officer in the army, rector of two

parishes, and chairman of the quarter sessions of the county of Hants!!

Mr. HONE gave us, in his memorable "_House that Jack built_," a portrait

of the "Clerical Magistrate." Could not he, or somebody else, give us a

portrait of the _military_ and of the _naval parson_? For such are to be

found all over the kingdom. Wherever I go, I hear of them. And yet,

there sits Burdett, and even Sir Bobby of the Borough, and say not a

word upon the subject! This is the case: the King dismissed Sir Bobby

from the half-pay list, scratched his name out, turned him off, stopped

his pay. Sir Bobby complained, alleging, that the half-pay was a reward

for past services. No, no, said the Ministers: it is a _retaining fee_

for _future_ services. Now, the law is, and the Parliament declared, in

the case of parson Horne Tooke, that once a parson always a parson, and

that a parson cannot, of course, again serve as an officer under the

crown. Yet these military and naval parsons have "a retaining fee for

future military and naval services!" Never was so barefaced a thing

before heard of in the world. And yet there sits Sir Bobby, stripped of

his "retaining fee," and says not a word about the matter; and there sit

the _big Whigs_, who gave Sir Bobby the subscription, having sons,

brothers, and other relations, military and naval parsons, and the _big

Whigs_, of course, bid Sir Bobby (albeit given enough to twattle) hold

his tongue upon the subject; and there sit Mr. Wetherspoon (I think it

is), and the rest of Sir Bobby's Rump, toasting "the _independence_ of

the Borough and its member!"

"That's our case," as the lawyers say: match it if you can, devil, in

all your roamings up and down throughout the earth! I have often been

thinking, and, indeed, expecting, to see Sir Bobby turn parson himself,

as the likeliest way to get back his half-pay. If he should have "a

call," I do hope we shall have him, for parson at Kensington; and, as an

inducement, I promise him, that I will give him a good thumping

Easter-offering.

In former RIDES, and especially in 1821 and 1822, I described very fully

this part of Hampshire. The land is a chalk bottom, with a bed of

reddish, stiff loam, full of flints, at top. In those parts where the

bed of loam and flints is deep the land is arable or woods: where the

bed of loam and flints is so shallow as to let the plough down to the

chalk, the surface is downs. In the deep and long valleys, where there

is constantly, or occasionally, a stream of water, the top soil is

blackish, and the surface meadows. This has been the distribution from

all antiquity, except that, in ancient times, part of that which is now

downs and woods was _corn-land_, as we know from the _marks of the

plough_. And yet the Scotch fellows would persuade us, that there were

scarcely any inhabitants in England before it had the unspeakable

happiness to be united to that fertile, warm, and hospitable country,

where the people are so well off that they are _above_ having

poor-rates!

The tops of the hills here are as good corn-land as any other part; and

it is all excellent corn-land, and the fields and woods singularly

beautiful. Never was there what may be called a more _hilly_ country,

and _all in use_. Coming from Burghclere, you come up nearly a mile of

steep hill, from the top of which you can see all over the country, even

to the Isle of Wight; to your right a great part of Wiltshire; into

Surrey on your left; and, turning round, you see, lying below you, the

whole of Berkshire, great part of Oxfordshire, and part of

Gloucestershire. This chain of lofty hills was a great favourite with

Kings and rulers in ancient times. At Highclere, at Combe, and at other

places, there are remains of great encampments, or fortifications; and

Kingsclere was a residence of the Saxon Kings, and continued to be a

royal residence long after the Norman Kings came. KING JOHN, when

residing at Kingsclere, founded one of the charities which still exists

in the town of Newbury, which is but a few miles from Kingsclere.

From the top of this lofty chain, you come to Uphusband (or the Upper

Hurstbourn) over two miles or more of ground, descending in the way that

the body of a snake descends (when he is going fast) from the high part,

near the head, down to the tail; that is to say, over a series of hill

and dell, but the dell part going constantly on increasing upon the

hilly part, till you come down to this village; and then you, continuing

on (southward) towards Andover, go up, directly, half a mile of hill so

steep, as to make it very difficult for an ordinary team with a load to

take that load up it. So this _Up_-hurstbourn (called so because _higher

up the valley_ than the other Hurstbourns), the flat part of the road to

which, from the north, comes in between two side-hills, is in as narrow

and deep a dell as any place that I ever saw.

The houses of the village are, in great part, scattered about, and are

amongst very lofty and fine trees; and, from many, many points round

about, from the hilly fields, now covered with the young wheat, or with

scarcely less beautiful sainfoin, the village is a sight worth going

many miles to see. The lands, too, are pretty beyond description. These

chains of hills make, below them, an endless number of lower hills, of

varying shapes and sizes and aspects and of relative state as to each

other; while the surface presents, in the size and form of the fields,

in the woods, the hedgerows, the sainfoin, the young wheat, the turnips,

the tares, the fallows, the sheep-folds and the flocks, and, at every

turn of your head, a fresh and different set of these; this surface all

together presents that which I, at any rate, could look at with pleasure

for ever. Not a sort of country that I like so well as when there are

_downs_ and a _broader valley_ and _more of meadow_; but a sort of

country that I like next to that; for, here, as there, there are no

ditches, no water-furrows, no dirt, and never any drought to cause

inconvenience. The chalk is at bottom, and it takes care of all. The

crops of wheat have been very good here this year, and those of barley

not very bad. The sainfoin has given a fine crop of the finest sort of

hay in the world, and, this year, without a drop of wet.

I wish, that, in speaking of this pretty village (which I always return

to with additional pleasure), I could give _a good account_ of the state

of _those, without whose labour there would be neither corn nor sainfoin

nor sheep_. I regret to say, that my account of this matter, if I give

it truly, must be a dismal account indeed! For I have, in no part of

England, seen the labouring people so badly off as they are here. This

has made so much impression on me, that I shall enter fully into the

matter with names, dates, and all the particulars in the IVth Number of

the "POOR MAN'S FRIEND." This is one of the great purposes for which I

take these "Rides." I am persuaded, that, before the day shall come when

my labours must cease, _I shall have mended the meals of millions_. I

may over-rate the effects of my endeavours; but, this being my

persuasion, I should be guilty of a great neglect of duty, were I not to

use those endeavours.

_Andover, Sunday, 15th October._

I went to Weyhill, yesterday, to see the close of the hop and of the

cheese fair; for, after the sheep, these are the principal articles. The

crop of hops has been, in parts where they are grown, unusually large

and of super-excellent quality. The average price of the Farnham _hops_

has been, as nearly as I can ascertain, seven pounds for a

hundredweight; that of Kentish hops, five pounds, and that of the

Hampshire and Surrey hops (other than those of Farnham), about five

pounds also. The prices are, considering the great weight of the crop,

very good; but, if it had not been for the effects of "_late_ panic"

(proceeding, as Baring said, from a "plethora of money,") these prices

would have been a full third, if not nearly one half, higher; for,

though the crop has been so large and so good, there was hardly any

stock on hand; the country was almost wholly without hops.

As to cheese, the price, considering the quantity, has been not one half

so high as it was last year. The fall in the positive price has been

about 20 per cent., and the quantity made in 1826 has not been above

two-thirds as great as that made in 1825. So that, here is a fall of

_one-half_ in real relative price; that is to say, the farmer, while he

has the same rent to pay that he paid last year, has only half as much

money to receive for cheese, as he received for cheese last year; and

observe, on some farms, cheese is almost the only saleable produce.

After the fair was over, yesterday, I came down from the Hill (3 miles)

to this town of Andover; which has, within the last 20 days, been more

talked of, in other parts of the kingdom, than it ever was before from

the creation of the world to the beginning of those 20 days. The Thomas

Asheton Smiths and the Sir John Pollens, famous as they have been under

the banners of the Old Navy Purser, George Rose, and his successors,

have never, even since the death of poor Turner, been half so famous,

they and this Corporation, whom they represent, as they have been since

the Meeting which they held here, which ended in their defeat and

confusion, pointing them out as worthy of that appellation of "Poor

Devils," which Pollen thought proper to give to those labourers without

whose toil his estate would not be worth a single farthing.

Having laid my plan to sleep at Andover last night, I went with two

Farnham friends, Messrs. Knowles and West, to dine at the ordinary at

the George Inn, which is kept by one Sutton, a rich old fellow, who wore

a round-skirted sleeved fustian waistcoat, with a dirty white apron tied

round his middle, and with no coat on; having a look the _eagerest_ and

the _sharpest_ that I ever saw in any set of features in my whole

life-time; having an air of authority and of mastership, which, to a

stranger, as I was, seemed quite incompatible with the meanness of his

dress and the vulgarity of his manners; and there being, visible to

every beholder, constantly going on in him a pretty even contest between

the servility of avarice and the insolence of wealth. A great part of

the farmers and other fair-people having gone off home, we found

preparations made for dining only about ten people. But, after we sat

down, and it was seen that we designed to dine, guests came in apace,

the preparations were augmented, and as many as could dine came and

dined with us.

After the dinner was over, the room became fuller and fuller; guests

came in from the other inns, where they had been dining, till, at last,

the room became as full as possible in every part, the door being

opened, the door-way blocked up, and the stairs, leading to the room,

crammed from bottom to top. In this state of things, Mr. Knowles, who

was our chairman, gave _my health_, which, of course, was followed by a

_speech_; and, as the reader will readily suppose, to have an

opportunity of making a speech was the main motive for my going to dine

at _an inn_, at any hour, and especially at _seven o'clock_ at night. In

this speech, I, after descanting on the present devastating ruin, and on

those successive acts of the Ministers and the Parliament by which such

ruin had been produced; after remarking on the shuffling, the tricks,

the contrivances from 1797 up to last March, I proceeded to offer to the

company _my reasons_ for believing, that no attempt would be made to

relieve the farmers and others, by putting out the paper-money again, as

in 1822, or by a bank-restriction. Just as I was stating these my

reasons, on a prospective matter of such deep interest to my hearers,

amongst whom were land-owners, land-renters, cattle and sheep dealers,

hop and cheese producers and merchants, and even one, two or more,

country bankers; just as I was engaged in stating _my reasons_ for my

opinion on a matter of such vital importance to the parties present, who

were all listening to me with the greatest attention; just at this time,

a noise was heard, and a sort of row was taking place in the passage,

the cause of which was, upon inquiry, found to be no less a personage

than our landlord, our host Sutton, who, it appeared, finding that my

speech-making had cut off, or, at least, suspended, all intercourse

between the dining, now become a drinking, room and the _bar_; who,

finding that I had been the cause of a great "restriction in the

exchange" of our money for his "neat" "genuine" commodities downstairs,

and being, apparently, an ardent admirer of the "liberal" system of

"free trade"; who, finding, in short, or, rather, supposing, that, if my

tongue were not stopped from running, his taps would be, had, though an

old man, fought, or, at least, forced his way up the thronged stairs and

through the passage and door-way, into the room, and was (with what

breath the struggle had left him) beginning to bawl out to me, when some

one called to him, and told him that he was causing an interruption, to

which he answered, that that was what he had come to do! And then he

went on to say, in so many words, that my speech injured his sale of

liquor!

The disgust and abhorrence, which such conduct could not fail to excite,

produced, at first, a desire to quit the room and the house, and even a

proposition to that effect. But, after a minute or so, to reflect, the

company resolved not to quit the room but to turn him out of it who had

caused the interruption; and the old fellow, finding himself _tackled_,

saved the labour of shoving, or kicking, him out of the room, by

retreating out of the door-way with all the activity of which he was

master. After this I proceeded with my speech-making; and, this being

ended, the great business of the evening, namely, drinking, smoking, and

singing, was about to be proceeded in by a company, who had just closed

an arduous and anxious week, who had before them a Sunday morning to

sleep in, and whose wives were, for the far greater part, at a

convenient distance. An assemblage of circumstances more auspicious to

"free trade" in the "neat" and "genuine," has seldom occurred! But, now

behold, the old fustian-jacketed fellow, whose head was, I think,

_powdered_, took it into that head not only to lay "restrictions" upon

trade, but to impose an absolute embargo; cut off entirely all supplies

whatever from his bar to the room, _as long as I remained in that room_.

A message to this effect, from the old fustian man, having been, through

the waiter, communicated to Mr. Knowles, and he having communicated it

to the company, I addressed the company in nearly these words:

"Gentlemen, born and bred, as you know I was, on the borders of this

county, and fond, as I am of bacon, _Hampshire hogs_ have, with me,

always been objects of admiration rather than of contempt; but that

which has just happened here, induces me to observe, that this feeling

of mine has been confined to hogs of _four legs_. For my part, I like

your company too well to quit it. I have paid this fellow _six

shillings_ for the wing of a fowl, a bit of bread, and a pint of small

beer. I have a right to sit here; I want no drink, and those who do,

being refused it here, have a right to send to other houses for it, and

to drink it here."

However, Mammon soon got the upper hand downstairs, all the fondness for

"free trade" returned, and up came the old fustian-jacketed fellow,

bringing pipes, tobacco, wine, grog, sling, and seeming to be as pleased

as if he had just sprung a mine of gold! Nay, he, soon after this, came

into the room with two gentlemen, who had come to him to ask where I

was. He actually came up to me, making me a bow, and, telling me that

those gentlemen wished to be introduced to me, he, with a fawning look,

laid his hand upon my knee! "Take away your _paw_," said I, and, shaking

the gentlemen by the hand, I said, "I am happy to see you, gentlemen,

even though introduced by this fellow." Things now proceeded without

interruption; songs, toasts, and speeches filled up the time, until

half-past two o'clock this morning, though in the house of a landlord

who receives the sacrament, but who, from his manifestly ardent

attachment to the "liberal principles" of "free trade," would, I have no

doubt, have suffered us, if we could have found money and throats and

stomachs, to sit and sing and talk and drink until two o'clock of a

Sunday afternoon instead of two o'clock of a Sunday morning. It was not

politics; it was not _personal_ dislike to me; for the fellow knew

nothing of me. It was, as I told the company, just this: he looked upon

their bodies as so many gutters to drain off the contents of his taps,

and upon their purses as so many small heaps from which to take the

means of augmenting his great one; and, finding that I had been, no

matter how, the cause of suspending this work of "reciprocity," he

wanted, and no matter how, to restore the reciprocal system to motion.

All that I have to add is this: that the next time this old

sharp-looking fellow gets _six shillings_ from me, for a dinner, he

shall, if he choose, _cook me_, in any manner that he likes, and season

me with hand so unsparing as to produce in the feeders thirst

unquenchable.

To-morrow morning we set off for the New Forest; and, indeed, we have

lounged about here long enough. But, as some apology, I have to state,

that, while I have been in a sort of waiting upon this great fair, where

one hears, sees, and learns so much, I have been writing No. IV. of the

"_Poor Man's Friend_," which, price twopence, is published once a month.

I see, in the London newspapers, accounts of _dispatches from Canning_!

I thought that he went solely "on a party of pleasure!" So, the

"dispatches" come to tell the King how the pleasure party gets on! No:

what he is gone to Paris for is to endeavour to prevent the "_Holy_

Allies" from doing anything which shall sink the English Government in

the eyes of the world, and _thereby favour the radicals_, who are

enemies of _all_ "regular Government," and whose success in England

would _revive republicanism_ in France. This is my opinion. The subject,

if I be right in my opinion, was too ticklish to be committed to paper:

Granville Levison Gower (for that is the man that is now Lord Granville)

was, perhaps, not thought quite a match for the French as _a talker_;

and, therefore, the Captain of Eton, who, in 1817, said, that the "ever

living luminary of British prosperity was only hidden behind a cloud;"

and who, in 1819, said, that "Peel's Bill had set the currency question

at rest for ever;" therefore the profound Captain is gone over to see

what _he_ can do.

But, Captain, a word in your ear: we do not care for the Bourbons any

more than we do for you! My real opinion is, that there is nothing that

can put England to rights, that will not shake the Bourbon Government.

This is my opinion; but I defy the Bourbons to save, or to assist in

saving, the present system in England, unless they and their friends

will subscribe and pay off your debt for you, Captain of toad-eating and

nonsensical and shoe-licking Eton! Let them pay off your debt for you,

Captain; let the Bourbons and their allies do that; or they cannot save

you; no, nor can they help you, even in the smallest degree.

_Rumsey (Hampshire), Monday Noon, 16th Oct._

Like a very great fool, I, out of senseless complaisance, waited, this

morning, to breakfast with the friends, at whose house we slept last

night, at Andover. We thus lost two hours of dry weather, and have been

justly punished by about an hour's ride in the rain. I settled on

Lyndhurst as the place to lodge at to-night; so we are here, feeding our

horses, drying our clothes, and writing the account of our journey. We

came, as much as possible, all the way through the villages, and, almost

all the way, avoided the turnpike-roads. From Andover to Stockbridge

(about seven or eight miles) is, for the greatest part, an open corn and

sheep country, a considerable portion of the land being downs. The wheat

and rye and vetch and sainfoin fields look beautiful here; and, during

the whole of the way from Andover to Rumsey, the early turnips of both

kinds are not bad, and the stubble turnips very promising. The downs are

green as meadows usually are in April. The grass is most abundant in all

situations, where grass grows. From Stockbridge to Rumsey we came nearly

by the river side, and had to cross the river several times. This, the

River Teste, which, as I described, in my Ride of last November, begins

at Uphusband, by springs, bubbling up, in March, out of the bed of that

deep valley. It is at first a bourn, that is to say, a stream that runs

only a part of the year, and is the rest of the year as dry as a road.

About 5 miles from this periodical source, it becomes a stream all the

year round. After winding about between the chalk hills, for many miles,

first in a general direction towards the south-east, and then in a

similar direction towards the south-west and south, it is joined by the

little stream that rises just above and that passes through the town of

Andover. It is, after this, joined by several other little streams, with

names; and here, at Rumsey, it is a large and very fine river, famous,

all the way down, for trout and eels, and both of the finest quality.

_Lyndhurst (New Forest), Monday Evening, 16th October._

I have just time, before I go to bed, to observe that we arrived here,

about 4 o'clock, over about 10 or 11 miles of the best road in the

world, having a choice too, for the great part of the way, between these

smooth roads and green sward. Just as we came out of Rumsey (or Romsey),

and crossed our River Teste once more, we saw to our left, the sort of

park, called _Broadlands_, where poor Charles Smith, who (as mentioned

above) was hanged for _shooting at_ (_not killing_) one Snellgrove, an

assistant-gamekeeper of Lord Palmerston, who was then our Secretary at

War, and who is in that office, I believe, now, though he is now better

known as a Director of the grand Mining Joint-Stock Company, which shows

the great _industry_ of this Noble and "Right Honourable person," and

also the great scope and the various nature and tendency of his talents.

What would our old fathers of the "dark ages" have said, if they had

been told, that their descendants would, at last, become so enlightened

as to enable Jews and loan-jobbers to take away noblemen's estates by

mere "watching the turn of the market," and to cause members, or, at

least, one Member, of that "most Honourable, Noble, and Reverend

Assembly," the King's Privy Council, in which he himself sits: so

_enlightened_, I say, as to cause one of this "most Honourable and

Reverend body" to become a Director in a mining speculation? How one

_pities_ our poor, "dark-age, bigoted" ancestors, who would, I dare

say, have been as ready to _hang_ a man for proposing such a "liberal"

system as this, as they would have been to hang him for _shooting at_

(not killing) an assistant game-keeper! Poor old fellows! How much they

lost by not living in our enlightened times! I am here close by the Old

Purser's son George Rose's!

RIDE: FROM LYNDHURST (NEW FOREST) TO BEAULIEU ABBEY; THENCE TO

SOUTHAMPTON AND WESTON; THENCE TO BOTLEY, ALLINGTON, WEST END, NEAR

HAMBLEDON; AND THENCE TO PETERSFIELD, THURSLEY, GODALMING.

But where is now the goodly audit ale?

The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail?

The farm which never yet was left on hand?

The marsh reclaim'd to most improving land?

The impatient hope of the expiring lease?

The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!

In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill,

In vain the Commons pass their patriot Bill;

The _Landed Interest_--(you may understand

The phrase much better leaving out the _Land_)--

The land self-interest groans from shore to shore,

For fear that plenty should attain the poor.

Up, up again, ye rents! exalt your notes,

Or else the Ministry will lose their votes,

And patriotism, so delicately nice,

Her loaves will lower to the market price.

LORD BYRON, _Age of Bronze_.

_Weston Grove, Wednesday, 18 Oct., 1826._

Yesterday, from Lyndhurst to this place, was a ride, including our

round-abouts, of more than forty miles; but the roads the best in the

world, one half of the way green turf; and the day as fine an one as

ever came out of the heavens. We took in a breakfast, calculated for a

long day's work, and for no more eating till night. We had slept in a

room, the access to which was only through another sleeping room, which

was also occupied; and, as I had got up about _two o'clock_ at Andover,

we went to bed, at Lyndhurst, about _half-past seven_ o'clock. I was,

of course, awake by three or four; I had eaten little over night; so

that here lay I, not liking (even after day-light began to glimmer) to

go through a chamber, where, by possibility, there might be "a lady"

actually _in bed_; here lay I, my bones aching with lying in bed, my

stomach growling for victuals, imprisoned by my _modesty_. But, at last,

I grew impatient; for, modesty here or modesty there, I was not to be

penned up and starved: so, after having shaved and dressed and got ready

to go down, I thrusted George out a little before me into the other

room; and through we pushed, previously resolving, of course, not to

look towards _the bed_ that was there. But, as the devil would have it,

just as I was about the middle of the room, I, like Lot's wife, turned

my head! All that I shall say is, first, that the consequences that

befel her did not befal me, and, second, that I advise those, who are

likely to be hungry in the morning, not to sleep in _inner rooms_; or,

if they do, to take some bread and cheese in their pockets. Having got

safe downstairs, I lost no time in inquiry after the means of obtaining

a breakfast to make up for the bad fare of the previous day; and finding

my landlady rather tardy in the work, and not, seemingly, having a

proper notion of the affair, I went myself, and, having found a

butcher's shop, bought a loin of small, fat, wether mutton, which I saw

cut out of the sheep and cut into chops. These were brought to the inn;

George and I ate about 2lb. out of the 5lb., and, while I was writing a

letter, and making up my packet, to be ready to send from Southampton,

George went out and found a poor woman to come and take away the rest of

the loin of mutton; for our _fastings_ of the day before enabled us to

do this; and, though we had about forty miles to go, to get to this

place (through the route that we intended to take), I had resolved, that

we would go without any more _purchase_ of victuals and drink this day

also. I beg leave to suggest to my _well-fed_ readers; I mean, those who

have at their command more victuals and drink than they can possibly

swallow; I beg to suggest to such, whether this would not be a good way

for them all to find the means of bestowing charity? Some poet has said,

that that which is given in _charity_ gives a blessing on both sides; to

the giver as well as the receiver. But I really think that if, _in

general_, the food and drink given, came out of food and drink

_deducted_ from the usual quantity swallowed by the giver, the

_blessing_ would be still greater, and much more certain. I can speak

for myself, at any rate. I hardly ever eat more than _twice_ a day; when

at home, never; and I never, if I can well avoid it, eat any meat later

than about one or two o'clock in the day. I drink a little tea, or milk

and water at the usual tea-time (about 7 o'clock); I go to bed at eight,

if I can; I write or read, from about four to about eight, and then

hungry as a hunter, I go to breakfast, eating _as small a parcel_ of

cold meat and bread as I can prevail upon my teeth to be satisfied with.

I do just the same at dinner time. I very rarely taste _garden-stuff_ of

any sort. If any man can show me, that he has done, or can do, _more

work_, bodily and mentally united; I say nothing about good health, for

of that the public can know nothing; but I refer to _the work_: the

public know, they see, what I can do, and what I actually have done, and

what I do; and when any one has shown the public, that he has done, or

can do, more, then I will advise my readers attend to him, on the

subject of diet, and not to me. As to _drink_, the less the better; and

mine is milk and water, or _not-sour_ small beer, if I can get the

latter; for the former I always can. I like the milk and water best; but

I do not like much water; and, if I drink much milk, it loads and

stupefies and makes me fat.

Having made all preparations for a day's ride, we set off, as our first

point, for a station, in the Forest, called New Park, there to see

something about _plantations_ and other matters connected with the

affairs of our prime cocks, the Surveyors of Woods and Forests and Crown

Lands and Estates. But, before I go forward any further, I must just

step back again to Rumsey, which we passed rather too hastily through on

the 16th, as noticed in the RIDE that was published last week. This town

was, in ancient times, a very grand place, though it is now nothing more

than a decent market-town, without anything to entitle it to particular

notice, except its church, which was the church of an Abbey Nunnery

(founded more, I think, than a thousand years ago), and which church was

the burial place of several of the Saxon Kings, and of "Lady

Palmerstone," who, a few years ago, "died in child-birth"! What a

mixture! But there was another personage buried here, and who was, it

would seem, a native of the place; namely, Sir William Petty, the

ancestor of the present Marquis of Lansdown. He was the son of _a

cloth-weaver_, and was, doubtless, himself a weaver when young. He

became a surgeon, was first in the service of Charles I.; then went into

that of Cromwell, whom he served as physician-general to his army in

Ireland (alas! poor Ireland), and, in this capacity, he resided at

Dublin till Charles II. came, when he came over to London (having become

very rich), was knighted by that profligate and ungrateful King, and he

died in 1687, leaving a fortune of 15,000_l._ a year! This is what his

biographers say. He must have made pretty good use of his time while

physician-general to Cromwell's army, in poor Ireland! _Petty_ by nature

as well as by name, he got, from Cromwell, a "patent for

_double-writing_, invented by him;" and he invented a "_double-bottomed

ship to sail against wind and tide_, a model of which is still preserved

in the library of the Royal Society," of which he was a most worthy

member. His great art was, however, the amassing of money, and the

getting of _grants of lands in poor Ireland_, in which he was one of the

most successful of the English adventurers. I had, the other day,

occasion to observe that the word _Petty_ manifestly is the French word

_Petit_, which means _little_; and that it is, in these days of

degeneracy, pleasing to reflect that there is _one family_, at any rate,

that "Old England" still boasts one family, which retains the character

designated by its pristine name; a reflection that rushed with great

force into my mind, when, in the year 1822, I heard the present noble

head of the family say, in the House of Lords, that he thought that a

currency of paper, convertible into gold, was the best and most solid

and safe, especially since _Platina_ had been discovered! "Oh, God!"

exclaimed I to myself, as I stood listening and admiring "below the

bar;" "Oh, great God! there it is, there it is, still running in the

blood, that genius which discovered the art of double writing, and of

making ships with double-bottoms to sail against wind and tide!" This

noble and profound descendant of Cromwell's army-physician has now seen

that "paper, convertible into gold," is not quite so "solid and safe" as

he thought it was! He has now seen what a "late panic" is! And he might,

if he were not so very well worthy of his family name, openly confess

that he was deceived, when, in 1819, he, as one of the Committee, who

reported in favour of Peel's Bill, said that the country could pay the

interest of the debt in gold! Talk of a _change of Ministry_, indeed!

What is to be _gained_ by putting this man in the place of any of those

who are in power now?

To come back now to Lyndhurst, we had to go about three miles to New

Park, which is a _farm_ in the New Forest, and nearly in the centre of

it. We got to this place about nine o'clock. There is a good and large

mansion-house here, in which the "Commissioners" of Woods and Forests

reside, when they come into the Forest. There is a garden, a farm-yard,

a farm, and a nursery. The place looks like a considerable gentleman's

seat; the house stands in a sort of _park_, and you can see that a great

deal of expense has been incurred in levelling the ground, and making it

pleasing to the eye of my lords "the Commissioners." My business here

was to see, whether anything had been done towards the making of _Locust

plantations_. I went first to Lyndhurst to make inquiries; but I was

there told that New Park was the place, and the only place, at which to

get information on the subject; and I was told, further, that the

Commissioners were now at New Park; that is to say those experienced

tree planters, Messrs. Arbuthnot, Dawkins, and Company. Gad! thought I,

I am here coming in close contact with a branch, or at least a twig, of

the great THING itself! When I heard this, I was at breakfast, and, of

course, dressed for the day. I could not, out of my extremely limited

wardrobe, afford a clean shirt for the occasion; and so, off we set,

just as we were, hoping that their worships, the nation's tree planters,

would, if they met with us, excuse our dress, when they considered the

nature of our circumstances. When we came to the house, we were stopped

by a little fence and fastened gate. I got off my horse, gave him to

George to hold, went up to the door, and rang the bell. Having told my

business to a person, who appeared to be a foreman, or bailiff, he, with

great civility, took me into a nursery which is at the back of the

house; and I soon drew from him the disappointing fact that my lords,

the tree-planters, had departed the day before! I found, as to

_Locusts_, that a patch were sowed last spring, which I saw, which are

from one foot to four feet high, and very fine and strong, and are, in

number, about enough to plant two acres of ground, the plants at four

feet apart each way. I found that, last fall, some few Locusts had been

put out into plantations of other trees already made; but that they had

_not thriven_, and had been _barked_ by the hares! But a little bunch of

these trees (same age), which were planted in the nursery, ought to

convince my lords, the tree-planters, that, if they were to do what they

ought to do, the public would very soon be owners of fine plantations of

Locusts, for the use of the navy. And, what are the _hares_ kept _for_

here? _Who_ eats them? What _right_ have these Commissioners to keep

hares here, to eat up the trees? Lord Folkestone killed his hares before

he made his plantation of Locusts; and, why not kill the hares in the

_people's_ forest; for the _people's_ it is, and that these

Commissioners ought always to remember. And then, again, why this farm?

What is it _for_? Why, the pretence for it is this: that it is necessary

to give the deer _hay_, in winter, because the lopping down of limbs of

trees for them to _browse_ (as used to be the practice) is injurious to

the growth of timber. That will be a very good reason for having a

_hay-farm_, when my lords shall have proved two things; first, that hay,

in quantity equal to what is raised here, could not be bought for a

twentieth part of the money that this farm and all its trappings cost;

and, second, that there ought to be any deer kept! What are these deer

_for_? Who are to _eat_ them? Are they for the Royal Family? Why, there

are more deer bred in Richmond Park alone, to say nothing of Bushy Park,

Hyde Park, and Windsor Park; there are more deer bred in Richmond Park

alone, than would feed all the branches of the Royal Family and all

their households all the year round, if every soul of them ate as hearty

as ploughmen, and if they never touched a morsel of any kind of meat but

venison! For what, and _for whom_, then, are deer kept, in the New

Forest; and why an expense of hay-farm, of sheds, of racks, of keepers,

of lodges, and other things attending the deer and the game; an expense,

amounting to more money annually than would have given relief to all the

starving manufacturers in the North! And again I say, _who_ is all this

venison and game _for_? There is more game even in Kew Gardens than the

Royal Family can want! And, in short, do they ever taste, or even hear

of, any game, or any venison, from the New Forest?

What a pretty thing here is, then! Here is another deep bite into us by

the long and sharp-fanged Aristocracy, who so love Old Sarum! Is there a

man who will say that this is right? And that the game should be kept,

too, to eat up trees, to destroy plantations, to destroy what is first

paid for the planting of! And that the public should pay keepers to

preserve this game! And that the _people_ should be _transported_ if

they go out by night to catch the game that they pay for feeding!

Blessed state of an Aristocracy! It is pity that it has got a nasty,

ugly, obstinate DEBT to deal with! It might possibly go on for ages,

deer and all, were it not for this DEBT. This New Forest is a piece of

property, as much belonging _to the public_ as the Custom-House at

London is. There is no man, however poor, who has not a right in it.

Every man is owner of a part of the deer, the game, and of the money

that goes to the keepers; and yet, any man may be _transported_, if he

go out by night to catch any part of this game! We are compelled to pay

keepers for preserving game to eat up the trees that we are compelled to

pay people to plant! Still however there is comfort; we _might_ be worse

off; for the Turks made the Tartars pay a tax called _tooth-money_; that

is to say, they eat up the victuals of the Tartars, and then made them

pay for the _use of their teeth_. No man can say that we are come quite

to that yet: and, besides, the poor Tartars had no DEBT, no blessed Debt

to hold out hope to them.

The same person (a very civil and intelligent man) that showed me the

nursery, took me, in my way, back, through some plantations of _oaks_,

which have been made amongst fir-trees. It was, indeed, a plantation of

Scotch firs, about twelve years old, in rows, at six feet apart. Every

third row of firs was left, and oaks were (about six years ago) planted

instead of the firs that were grubbed up; and the winter shelter, that

the oaks have received from the remaining firs, has made them grow very

finely, though the land is poor. Other oaks planted in the _open, twenty

years_ ago, and in land deemed better, are not nearly so good. However,

these oaks, between the firs, will take fifty or sixty good years to

make them timber, and, until they be _timber_, they are of very little

use; whereas the same ground, planted with Locusts (and the _hares_ of

"my lords" kept down), would, at this moment, have been worth fifty

pounds an acre. What do "my lords" care about this? _For them_, for "my

lords," the New Forest would be no better than it is now; no, nor _so

good_ as it is now; for there would be no hares for them.

From New Park, I was bound to Beaulieu Abbey, and I ought to have gone

in a south-easterly direction, instead of going back to Lyndhurst, which

lay in precisely the opposite direction. My guide through the

plantations was not apprised of my intended route, and, therefore, did

not instruct me. Just before we parted, he asked me _my name_: I thought

it lucky that he had not asked it before! When we got nearly back to

Lyndhurst, we found that we had come three miles out of our way; indeed,

it made six miles altogether; for we were, when we got to Lyndhurst,

three miles further from Beaulieu Abbey than we were when we were at New

Park. We wanted, very much, to go to the site of this ancient and famous

Abbey, of which the people of the New Forest seemed to know very little.

They call the place _Bewley_, and even in the maps it is called

_Bauley_. _Ley_, in the Saxon language, means _place_, or rather _open

place_; so that they put _ley_ in place of _lieu_, thus beating the

Normans out of some part of the name at any rate. I wished, besides, to

see a good deal of this New Forest. I had been, before, from Southampton

to Lyndhurst, from Lyndhurst to Lymington, from Lymington to Sway. I had

now come in on the north of Minstead from Romsey, so that I had seen the

north of the Forest and all the west side of it, down to the sea. I had

now been to New Park and had got back to Lyndhurst; so that, if I rode

across the Forest down to Beaulieu, I went right across the middle of

it, from north-west to south-east. Then, if I turned towards

Southampton, and went to Dipten and on to Ealing, I should see, in fact,

the whole of this Forest, or nearly the whole of it.

We therefore started, or, rather, turned away from Lyndhurst, as soon as

we got back to it, and went about six miles over a heath, even worse

than Bagshot-Heath; as barren as it is possible for land to be. A little

before we came to the village of Beaulieu (which, observe, the people

call _Beuley_), we went through a wood, chiefly of beech, and that beech

seemingly destined to grow food for pigs, of which we saw, during this

day, many, many thousands. I should think that we saw at least a hundred

hogs to one deer. I stopped, at one time, and counted the hogs and pigs

just round about me, and they amounted to 140, all within 50 or 60 yards

of my horse. After a very pleasant ride, on land without a stone in it,

we came down to the Beaulieu river, the highest branch of which rises at

the foot of a hill, about a mile and a half to the north-east of

Lyndhurst. For a great part of the way down to Beaulieu it is a very

insignificant stream. At last, however, augmented by springs from the

different sand-hills, it becomes a little river, and has, on the sides

of it, lands which were, formerly, very beautiful meadows. When it comes

to the village of Beaulieu, it forms a large pond of a great many acres;

and on the east side of this pond is the spot where this famous Abbey

formerly stood, and where the external walls of which, or a large part

of them, are now actually standing. We went down on the western side of

the river. The Abbey stood, and the ruins stand, on the eastern side.

Happening to meet a man, before I got into the village, I, pointing with

my whip across towards the Abbey, said to the man, "I suppose there is a

bridge down here to get across to the Abbey." "That's not the Abbey,

Sir," says he: "the Abbey is about four miles further on." I was

astonished to hear this; but he was very positive; said that some people

called it the Abbey; but that the Abbey was further on; and was at a

farm occupied by farmer John Biel. Having chapter and verse for it, as

the saying is, I believed the man; and pushed on towards farmer John

Biel's, which I found, as he had told me, at the end of about four

miles. When I got there (not having, observe, gone over the water to

ascertain that the other was the spot where the Abbey stood), I really

thought, at first, that this must have been the site of the Abbey of

Beaulieu; because, the name meaning _fine place_, this was a thousand

times finer place than that where the Abbey, as I afterwards found,

really stood. After looking about it for some time, I was satisfied that

it had not been an Abbey; but the place is one of the finest that ever

was seen in this world. It stands at about half a mile's distance from

the water's edge at high-water mark, and at about the middle of the

space along the coast, from Calshot castle to Lymington haven. It

stands, of course, upon a rising ground; it has a gentle slope down to

the water. To the right, you see Hurst castle, and that narrow passage

called the Needles, I believe; and, to the left, you see Spithead, and

all the ships that are sailing or lie anywhere opposite Portsmouth. The

Isle of Wight is right before you, and you have in view, at one and the

same time, the towns of Yarmouth, Newton, Cowes and Newport, with all

the beautiful fields of the island, lying upon the side of a great bank

before, and going up the ridge of hills in the middle of the island.

Here are two little streams, nearly close to the ruin, which filled

ponds for fresh-water fish; while there was the Beaulieu river at about

half a mile or three quarters of a mile to the left, to bring up the

salt-water fish. The ruins consist of part of the walls of a building

about 200 feet long and about 40 feet wide. It has been turned into a

barn, in part, and the rest into cattle-sheds, cow-pens, and inclosures

and walls to inclose a small yard. But there is another ruin, which was

a church or chapel, and which stands now very near to the farm-house of

Mr. John Biel, who rents the farm of the Duchess of Buccleugh, who is

now the owner of the abbey-lands and of the lands belonging to this

place. The little church or chapel, of which I have just been speaking,

appears to have been a very beautiful building. A part only of its walls

is standing; but you see, by what remains of the arches, that it was

finished in a manner the most elegant and expensive of the day in which

it was built. Part of the outside of the building is now surrounded by

the farmer's garden: the interior is partly a pig-stye and partly a

goose-pen. Under that arch which had once seen so many rich men bow

their heads, we entered into the goose-pen, which is by no means one of

the _nicest_ concerns in the world. Beyond the goose-pen was the

pig-stye, and in it a hog, which, when fat, will weigh about 30 score,

actually rubbing his shoulders against a little sort of column which had

supported the font and its holy water. The farmer told us that there was

a hole, which, indeed, we saw, going down into the wall, or rather, into

the column where the font had stood. And he told us that many attempts

had been made to bring water to fill that hole, but that it never had

been done.

Mr. Biel was very civil to us. As far as related to us, he performed the

office of hospitality, which was the main business of those who formerly

inhabited the spot. He asked us to dine with him, which we declined, for

want of time; but, being exceedingly hungry, we had some bread and

cheese and some very good beer. The farmer told me that a great number

of gentlemen had come there to look at that place; but that he never

could find out what the place had been, or what the place at Beuley had

been. I told him that I would, when I got to London, give him an account

of it; that I would write the account down, and send it down to him. He

seemed surprised that I should make such a promise, and expressed his

wish not to give me so much trouble. I told him not to say a word about

the matter, for that his bread and cheese and beer were so good that

they deserved a full history to be written of the place where they had

been eaten and drunk. "God bless me, Sir, no, no!" I said, I will, upon

my soul, farmer. I now left him, very grateful on our part for his

hospitable reception, and he, I dare say, hardly being able to believe

his own ears, at the generous promise that I had made him, which

promise, however, I am now about to fulfil. I told the farmer a little,

upon the spot, to begin with. I told him that the name was all wrong:

that it was no _Beuley_ but _Beaulieu_; and that Beaulieu meant _fine

place_; and I proved this to him, in this manner. You know, said I,

farmer, that when a girl has a sweet-heart, people call him her _beau_?

Yes, said he, so they do. Very well. You know, also, that we say,

sometimes, you shall have this in _lieu_ of that; and that when we say

_lieu_, we mean in _place_ of that. Now the _beau_ means _fine_, as

applied to the young man, and the _lieu_ means _place_; and thus it is,

that the name of this place is _Beaulieu_, as it is so fine as you see

it is. He seemed to be wonderfully pleased with the discovery; and we

parted, I believe, with hearty good wishes on his part, and, I am sure,

with very sincere thanks on my part.

The Abbey of Beaulieu was founded in the year 1204, by King John, for

thirty monks of the reformed Benedictine Order. It was dedicated to the

blessed Virgin Mary; it flourished until the year 1540, when it was

suppressed, and the lands confiscated, in the reign of Henry VIII. Its

revenues were, at that time, _four hundred and twenty-eight pounds, six

shillings and eight pence a year_, making, in money of the present day,

upwards of _eight thousand five hundred pounds_ a year. The lands and

the abbey, and all belonging to it, were granted by the king, to one

Thomas Wriothesley, who was a court-pander of that day. From him it

passed by sale, by will, by marriage or by something or another, till,

at last, it has got, after passing through various hands, into the hands

of the Duchess of Buccleugh. So much for the abbey; and, now, as for the

ruins on the farm of Mr. John Biel: they were the dwelling-place of

Knights' Templars, or Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. The building

they inhabited was called an Hospital, and their business was to relieve

travellers, strangers, and persons in distress; and, if called upon, to

accompany the king in his wars to uphold christianity. Their estate was

also confiscated by Henry VIII. It was worth, at the time of being

confiscated, upwards of _two thousand pounds a year_, money of the

present day. This establishment was founded a little before the Abbey of

Beaulieu was founded; and it was this foundation and not the other that

gave the name of Beaulieu to both establishments. The Abbey is not

situated in a very fine place. The situation is low; the lands above it

rather a swamp than otherwise; pretty enough altogether; but by no means

a fine place. The Templars had all the reason in the world to give the

name of Beaulieu to their place. And it is by no means surprising that

the monks were willing to apply it to their Abbey.

Now, farmer John Biel, I dare say that you are a very good Protestant;

and I am a monstrous good Protestant too. We cannot bear the Pope, nor

"they there priests that makes men confess their sins and go down upon

their marrow-bones before them." But, master Biel, let us give the devil

his due; and let us not act worse by those Roman Catholics (who

by-the-bye were our forefathers) than we are willing to act by the devil

himself. Now then, here were a set of monks, and also a set of Knights'

Templars. Neither of them could marry; of course, neither of them could

have wives and families. They could possess no private property; they

could bequeath nothing; they could own nothing; but that which they

owned in common with the rest of their body. They could hoard no money;

they could save nothing. Whatever they received, as rent for their

lands, they must necessarily spend upon the spot, for they never could

quit that spot. They did spend it all upon the spot: they kept all the

poor; Beuley, and all round about Beuley, saw no misery, and had never

heard the damned name of pauper pronounced, as long as those monks and

Templars continued! You and I are excellent Protestants, farmer John

Biel; you and I have often assisted on the 5th of November to burn Guy

Fawkes, the Pope and the Devil. But, you and I, farmer John Biel, would

much rather be life holders under monks and Templars, than rack-renters

under duchesses. The monks and the knights were the _lords_ of their

manors; but the farmers under them were not rack-renters; the farmers

under them held by lease of lives, continued in the same farms from

father to son for hundreds of years; they were real yeomen, and not

miserable rack-renters, such as now till the land of this once happy

country, and who are little better than the drivers of the labourers,

for the profit of the landlords. Farmer John Biel, what the Duchess of

Buccleugh does, you know, and I do not. She may, for anything that I

know to the contrary, leave her farms on lease of lives, with rent so

very moderate and easy, as for the farm to be half as good as the

farmer's own, at any rate. The Duchess may, for anything that I know to

the contrary, feed all the hungry, clothe all the naked, comfort all the

sick, and prevent the hated name of _pauper_ from being pronounced in

the district of Beuley; her Grace may, for anything that I know to the

contrary, make poor-rates to be wholly unnecessary and unknown in your

country; she may receive, lodge, and feed the stranger; she may, in

short, employ the rents of this fine estate of Beuley, to make the whole

district happy; she may not carry a farthing of the rents away from the

spot; and she may consume, by herself, and her own family and servants,

only just as much as is necessary to the preservation of their life and

health. Her Grace may do all this; I do not say or insinuate that she

does not do it all; but, Protestant here or Protestant there, farmer

John Biel, this I do say, that unless her Grace do all this, the monks

and the Templars were better for Beuley than her Grace.

From the former station of the Templars, from real Beaulieu of the New

Forest, we came back to the village of Beaulieu, and there crossed the

water to come on towards Southampton. Here we passed close along under

the old abbey walls, a great part of which are still standing. There is

a mill here which appears to be turned by the fresh water, but the fresh

water falls, here, into the salt water, as at the village of Botley. We

did not stop to go about the ruins of the abbey; for you seldom make

much out by minute inquiry. It is the political history of these places;

or, at least, their connexion with political events, that is

interesting. Just about the banks of this little river, there are some

woods and coppices, and some corn-land; but, at the distance of half a

mile from the water-side, we came out again upon the intolerable heath,

and went on for seven or eight miles over that heath, from the village

of Beaulieu to that of Marchwood. Having a list of trees and enclosed

lands away to our right all the way along, which list of trees from the

south-west side of that arm of the sea which goes from Chalshot castle

to Redbridge, passing by Southampton, which lies on the north-east side.

Never was a more barren tract of land than these seven or eight miles.

We had come seven miles across the forest in another direction in the

morning; so that a poorer spot than this New Forest, there is not in all

England; nor, I believe, in the whole world. It is more barren and

miserable than Bagshot heath. There are less fertile spots in it, in

proportion to the extent of each. Still, it is so large, it is of such

great extent, being, if moulded into a circle, not so little, I believe,

as 60 or 70 miles in circumference, that it must contain some good spots

of land, and, if properly and honestly managed, those spots must produce

a prodigious quantity of timber. It is a pretty curious thing, that,

while the admirers of the paper-system are boasting of our "_waust

improvements Ma'am_," there should have been such a visible and such an

enormous dilapidation in all the solid things of the country. I have, in

former parts of this ride, stated, that, in some counties, while the

parsons have been pocketing the amount of the tithes and of the glebe,

they have suffered the parsonage-houses either to fall down and to be

lost, brick by brick, and stone by stone, or to become such miserable

places as to be unfit for anything bearing the name of a gentleman to

live in; I have stated, and I am at any time ready to prove, that, in

some counties, this is the case in more than one half of the parishes!

And now, amidst all these "waust improvements," let us see how the

account of timber stands in the New Forest! In the year 1608, a survey

of the timber, in the New Forest, was made, when there were loads of oak

timber fit for the navy, 315,477. Mark that, reader. Another survey was

taken in the year 1783; that is to say, in the glorious Jubilee reign.

And, when there were, in this same New Forest, loads of oak timber fit

for the navy, 20,830. "Waust improvements, Ma'am," under "the Pilot that

weathered the storm," and in the reign of Jubilee! What the devil, some

one would say, could have become of all this timber? Does the reader

observe that there were three hundred and fifteen thousand, four hundred

and seventy-seven _loads_? and does he observe that a load is _fifty-two

cubic feet_? Does the reader know what is the price of this load of

timber? I suppose it is now, taking in lop, top and bark, and bought

upon the spot (timber fit for the navy, mind!), ten pounds a load at the

least. But let us suppose that it has been, upon an average, since the

year 1608, just the time that the Stuarts were mounting the throne; let

us suppose that it has been, on an average, four pounds a load. Here is

a pretty tough sum of money. This must have gone into the pockets of

somebody. At any rate, if we had the same quantity of timber now that we

had when the Protestant Reformation took place, or even when Old Betsy

turned up her toes, we should be now three millions of money richer than

we are; not in _bills_; not in notes payable to bearer on demand; not in

Scotch "cash credits;" not, in short, in lies, falseness, impudence,

downright blackguard cheatery and mining shares and "Greek cause" and

the devil knows what.

I shall have occasion to return to this New Forest, which is, in

reality, though, in general, a very barren district, a much more

interesting object to Englishmen than are the services of my Lord

Palmerston, and the warlike undertakings of Burdett, Galloway and

Company; but I cannot quit this spot, even for the present, without

asking the Scotch population-mongers and Malthus and his crew, and

especially George Chalmers, if he should yet be creeping about upon the

face of the earth, what becomes of all their notions of the scantiness

of the ancient population of England; what becomes of all these notions,

of all their bundles of ridiculous lies about the fewness of the people

in former times; what becomes of them all, if historians have told us

one word of truth, with regard to the formation of the New Forest, by

William the Conqueror. All the historians say, every one of them says,

that this King destroyed several populous towns and villages in order to

make this New Forest.