[Illustration: 0046]
|HE is a benefactor to his species who makes two blades of corn grow
where only one grew before." The substantial truth of the aphorism none
will question; vet it would be a doubtful benefit if all our waste
lands were reclaimed and brought under the plough. Enclosure Acts, by
extending the area of our productive soil, have increased the resources
of the country and the food of the people. But the total absorption into
cultivated farms of heath, forest, and woodland would be to purchase the
utilitarian advantage at too high a price.
The open commons of Surrey and the rolling downs of Sussex are, in their
way, of a beauty unsurpassed. Both are chiefly due to the great chalk
formation, which comes down in a south-westerly direction from the
eastern counties, breaks into the Chiltern Hills, extends over the
greater part of Wiltshire, Dorsetshire, and Hampshire; and in the east
of the last-named county becomes separated into two branches; one,
the "North Downs," running almost due east to the North Foreland
and Shakespere's Cliff; the other, the "South Downs," pursuing a
south-easterly direction to Beachy Head. In their long and undulating
course, they form innumerable combinations of picturesque beauty. Places
elsewhere, well known and deservedly famous, are rivalled in loveliness
by many a sequestered scene in the line of the lower chalk country,
of which few but the thinly-scattered inhabitants, and now and then an
unconventional tourist, have ever heard.
[Illustration: 0048]
The charm of these lines of rolling upland is much enhanced by the great
rough plain which they inclose--"the Weald" (i.e. Forest), as it is
termed--extending in an irregular triangle from the point where the
Downs diverge to the British Channel. Geologists have framed many
theories as to the formation of the Weald. It belongs to the Oolite
formation below the chalk; it is the uppermost member of that formation,
and was a deposit of sands and clays in a tropical climate, as is
abundantly evident from animal and vegetable remains found there. These
prove the existence of islands, banks and forests, forming the shores of
a vast estuary, the embouchure of some great river from the west. At
one time, the deep chalk deposit extended all over it; but this was
disturbed by a line of elevation running along its east and west axis,
the superincumbent chalk being broken up and washed away; hence the
cliff-like aspect of the Downs in many places, where they descend
precipitously to the sandy and gravelly edge of the valley, as to a
beach. The remains of the huge land lizards and iguanodons of the Weald,
collected by the late Dr. Mantell, form one of the most conspicuous
exhibitions of fossil bones in the British Museum. The pretty little
fossil ferns, Lonchopteris and Sphenopteris, found nature-printed on the
sandstones, are, on the other hand, the very counterparts, in size and
delicacy, of their present successors.
In early times, as every local historian tells, the Weald was a chief
seat of the iron manufacture in Great Britain. The ironstone found here
was certainly wrought by the Romans and Saxons, if not by the ancient
Britons; and down to the seventeenth century the trade was prosperous.
Many an old manor-house, to the present day, attests this former
prosperity, while its memories linger also in such local names as
Furnace Place, Cinder Hill, and Hammer Ponds. The balustrades round St.
Paul's Cathedral are a relic of the Sussex ironworks. Want of fuel, and
the more abundant and rich ironstone of the Coal-measures, caused the
decay of the industry, after whole forests had been destroyed to feed
the furnaces. The old-fashioned cottages, here and there remaining,
speak of days of former prosperity among the working-classes; nor
are they even yet devoid of comfort, although the transition has been
great--ironworkers then, chicken-fatteners now!
The ridge that runs through the centre of the Weald is called the Forest
Ridge and Ashdown. It is here that the chief beauties of the district
are concentrated, while the whole plain lies open to view from the
heights. Starting from East Grinstead, near to which is the source of
the Medway, a walk of extraordinary interest and sylvan beauty leads by
Forest Row and the ruins of Brambletye House up to High Beeches; from
which spot a pleasant excursion may be made to Horsted Keynes, where the
gentle and saintly Archbishop Leighton lies buried. His grave is in the
chancel; his tomb outside the church. Thence, bearing to the east, the
traveller may work his way to Crowborough Beacon, near the road from
Tunbridge Wells to Lewes, where, with a foreground of moss and fern,
dotted here and there by fir trees, he may look over the whole rolling
surface of the Weald, rich with the flowers of spring, the blossoms of
summer, or the golden fruitage and yellow corn of the autumn; while the
purple downs on either hand close in the prospect, with just one gleam,
beyond Beachy Head, of the distant sea. Then, if desirous of prolonging
his ramble to other points of view, he may cross the hills to
Heathfield, resting on the way at Mayfield, an old-world Wealden town,
once a residence of archbishops, and the traditional scene of the
renowned combat between Dunstan and the Devil. Here the traveller
may find a temporary resting-place in some rustic hostelry, where,
if luxuries are not obtainable, the eggs and bacon are wholesome and
abundant; the sheets are fragrant with lavender, and though perhaps
a little wondered at by the rustic children, he will have a home-like
welcome.
[Illustration: 0050]
Again we leave the beaten track, and push on through the vale of
Heathfield to the south; for a walk of seven or eight miles will bring
us to Hurstmonceux, inseparably connected with the name and work of
Archdeacon Hare, the philosophic theologian and devout Christian, whose
books on the Victory of Faith and the Mission of the Comforter have done
so much to elevate the religious thought of the age; and who, by
his _Vindication of Luther_, has made it impossible for any man of
competent knowledge and fair judgment to repeat old calumnies against
the great Reformer.
[Illustration: 0051]
We visit the castle--one of the finest remains of the later
feudalism--fortress and mansion in one. "Persons who have visited Rome,"
writes Archdeacon Hare, "on entering the Castle-court, and seeing the
piles of brickwork strewn about, have been reminded of the Baths of
Caracalla, though of course on a miniature scale; the illusion being
perhaps fostered by the deep blue of the Sussex sky, which, when
compared with that in more northerly parts of England, has almost an
Italian character." After exploring the great ruddy-tinted ruins, we
may ascend to the church, taking a glance at the rectory, the home of
so much piety and genius, seeing once again in thought the archdeacon's
friend and curate, poor John Sterling, as described by Hare, with his
tall form rapidly advancing across the lawn to the study window; or
more pensively may pass to the churchyard, where so many members of the
parted family band sleep as "one in Christ."
Before turning northwards, let us make our way to Beachy Mead, grandest
of the English chalk headlands in the south; or, resting for a while at
Eastbourne, that bright modern watering-place, between the sea and the
hills, with the quaint Sussex village in the background, we may prepare
for a long, health-giving, inspiring ramble over the South Downs, "that
chain of majestic mountains," as White of Selborne calls them--for the
most part bare treeless hills, sweeping in many a grand curve, broken
by shadowed "coombes," or wooded flowery "deans." On the way to Lewes,
Firle Beacon, one of the highest points of the Downs, may be ascended,
after which the traveller may take the rail to Brighton and Shoreham,
and strike up hill again into what is perhaps the finest part of the
range, where, from Chanctonbury Ring, he will be able to command at
one view all its most characteristic features. The height itself is
conspicuous far and wide, from its dark crown of fir trees. Probably the
"Ring" denotes here the ancient entrenchment, British or Roman, which
is circular, or it may be a reminiscence of the time when fairies were
believed in; "fairy rings" being a common feature of the Downs; caused
really by the growth of mushrooms, the grass, by the decay of the
latter, becoming of a deeper green.
[Illustration: 0053]
Steyning is the nearest station to Chanctonbury, and we would advise
the tourist to take train there for the North Downs, or better still, to
proceed in the opposite direction to Arundel, famous for its picturesque
castle and park, with its fair historic pastures: but in either case the
Weald will be crossed via Horsham. About half way between Arundel and
Horsham, many a traveller will be disposed to turn off to the little
Sussex town of Midhurst, on the edge of the Weald, where Richard Cobden
was born, and where the old "Schola Grammaticalis," the most prominent
building in the town, has the twin honour of the great Free Trader's
early education, as well as that of Sir Charles Lyell, the geologist.
Between this town and Dorking, whither the traveller is bound, he may
see to his left the wooded slopes and imposing tower-crowned summit of
Leith Hill, the loftiest elevation in southeastern England. If he can
leave the rail, say at the little roadside station of Capel, and climb
the hill from the south-east by Ockley and Tanhurst, he will not only
be richly rewarded, but may perhaps express his astonishment that such
views and such a walk should be found within a short afternoon's journey
of London. From the summit of Leith Hill, it is said that ten counties
are visible; not only Kent, Sussex, and Surrey, but Hampshire,
Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Middlesex. Hertfordshire, and
Essex. The eye ranges, in short, from a height of just less than 1000
feet over a circumference of 200 miles of fair and various landscape;
valley and upland; broad meadows and wooded slopes, with many an open
ridge against the sky. Only the charm of river or lake is wanting;
but we are in no mood to be critical. Downwards, the walk is full of
interest, through wooded lanes to Anstiebury, where there is a fine
Roman encampment, and on to romantic Holmwood, with its pine woods and
breezy common; past Deepdene, the wonderfully beautiful seat of the
Hope family, and so to Dorking, where the wearied pedestrian will find a
pleasant rest, with nothing to excite him, save the remembrances of his
little excursion.
[Illustration: 0055]
If he were not well prepared for its exceeding loveliness beforehand, it
must have been to him a surprise as well as a delight. Comparisons are
proverbially distasteful, but we can understand, if we can not wholly
endorse, the rapturous verdict of John Dennis, who gives it as his
opinion that the prospect from Leith Hill "surpasses at once in rural
charm, pomp, and magnificence" the view of the Val d'Arno from the
Apennines, or of the Campagna from Tivoli.
[Illustration: 0056]
We are now fairly in the Surrey Hills, and may put what some will think
the very crown to these south-eastern excursions by a walk from Dorking
to Farnham. Ascending by one of many lanes, shadowed (at the time of our
visit) by hedges bright with hawthorn berries, and stately trees just
touched with the russet and gold of early autumn, we are soon upon an
upland stretch of heath and forest, still remaining in all the wildness
of nature. Sometimes the path leads us between venerable trees--oak and
beech and yew, whose branches form an impenetrable roof overhead, then
traverses a sweep of bare hill, bright with gorse and heather, then
plunges into some fairy dell, carpeted with softest moss. Many of the
"stately homes of England," with their embowering trees upon the lower
slopes, add a charm to the scene by their reminiscences as well as by
their beauty. To the left is Wotton; made famous by the name and
genius of John Evelyn, author of _Sylva_ and the _Diary_--the scholar,
gentleman, and Christian--pure-minded in an age of corruption, and the
admiration of dissolute courtiers, who could respect what they would not
imitate. It is to him that Cowley says:
"Happy art thou, whom God does bless
With the full choice of thine own happiness;
And happier yet, because thou'rt blest
With wisdom how to choose the best."
That the choice was made, for life and death, appears by the inscription
which Evelyn directed to be placed on his tombstone at Wotton. "That
living in an age of extraordinary events and revolution, he had learned
from thence this truth, which he desired might be thus communicated to
posterity: that all is vanity which is not honest, and that there is no
solid wisdom but real piety."
Two or three miles further Albury is reached, with its lovely gardens
designed by Evelyn. The curious traveller may here inspect the sumptuous
church erected by the late Mr. Drummond, the owner of Albury, for the
followers of Edward Irving. The worth of Mr. Drummond's character, with
the shrewd sense and caustic wit by which he was wont to enliven
the debates of the House of Commons, laid a deeper hold upon his
contemporaries than his theological peculiarities; and the special views
of which this temple is the costly memorial have proved of insufficient
power to sway the minds and hearts of men. Still ascending, we reach
again the summit of steep downs, and advancing by noble yew-trees gain
at Newland's Corner another magnificent view. The hill of the "Holy
Martyrs'" Chapel, now corrupted to "Saint Martha's," may next be
climbed, and a short rest at the fine old town of Guildford will be
welcome. The castle, the churches with their monuments, and Archbishop
Abbot's Hospital, are all worthy of a visit; but, unless we have a day
to spare, we must be content with but a hurried glance, for we have
still the "Hog's Back" to traverse, a ten miles' walk to Farnham.
Climbing from the station at Guildford through pleasant lanes, the
traveller emerges upon a narrow chalk-ridge, half-a-mile wide, and
nearly level, which etymologists tell us was called by the Anglo-Saxons
_Hoga_, a hill, whence the ridge received its name. Possibly, however,
a simpler derivation, as the more obvious, is also the more correct. The
long upland unbroken line might not unaptly have been compared with
one of those long, lean, narrow-backed swine with which early English
illuminations make us familiar; and the homeliness of the name
would quite accord with the habit of early topographers. The walk is
interesting, but, after the varied beauties of the way from Dorking to
Guildford, may appear at first slightly monotonous. On either side the
fair, fertile champaign of Surrey stretches to the horizon, broken
here and there by low wood-crowned hills, and at one point especially,
between Puttenham on the left, and Wanborough on the right, the
combinations of view are very striking. Puttenham church-tower, and the
manor-house, formerly the Priory, peep out from amongst the foliage of
some grand old trees. A few cottages and farmhouses lie scattered about
picturesquely, forming the very ideal of an old English village; while
pine-covered Crooksbury Hill, with the Devil's Jumps and Hindhead in
the farther distance, make a striking background to the view. "Wan" is
evidently "Woden," and here there was no doubt a shrine of the ancient
Saxon deity.
We must not omit in passing to drink of the Wanborough spring, among the
freshest and purest in England; never known, it is said, to freeze.
Pursuing our journey, we presently look down upon Moor Park and
Waverley, which we may either visit now, descending by the little,
village of Seale, or reserve for an excursion from Farnham. Waverley
contains the picturesque remains of an old Cistercian Abbey, built as
the Cistercians always did build, in a charming valley, embosomed in
hills, irrigated by a clear running stream, abounding in fish, and with
current enough to turn the mill of the monastery. The annals of this
great establishment, extending over two hundred and thirty years, were
published towards the close of the seventeenth century; and Sir Walter
Scott took from them the name now so familiar wherever the English
language is spoken.
Divided from Waverley by a winding lane, whose high banks and profuse
undergrowth remind us of Devonshire, lies Moor Park. Hither Sir William
Temple retired from the toils of State, to occupy his leisure by
gardening, planting, and in writing memoirs. A trim garden, with
stiff-clipped hedges, and watered by a straight canal which runs through
it, is doubtless a reminiscence of Temple's residence as our ambassador
at the Hague. "But," says Lord Macaulay, "there were other inmates of
Moor Park to whom a higher interest belongs. An eccentric, uncouth,
disagreeable young Irishman, who had narrowly escaped plucking at
Dublin, attended Sir William as an amanuensis for board and twenty
pounds a year; dined at the second table, wrote bad verses in praise of
his employer, and made love to a very pretty dark-eyed young girl,
who waited on Lady Giffard. Little did Temple imagine that the coarse
exterior of his dependant concealed a genius equally suited to politics
and to letters, a genius destined to shake great kingdoms, to stir the
laughter and the rage of millions, and to leave to posterity memorials
which can only perish with the English language. Little did he think
that the flirtation in his servants' hall, which he, perhaps, scarcely
deigned to make the subject of a jest, was the beginning of a long,
unprosperous love, which was to be as widely famed as the passion of
Petrarch or Abelard. Sir William's secretary was Jonathan Swift. Lady
Giffard's waiting-maid was poor Stella."
Just outside the lodge gate, at the end of the park furthest from the
mansion, is a small house covered with roses and evergreens. It is known
to the peasantry as Dame Swift's cottage. Our rustic guide pointed it
out by this name, but who Dame Swift was he did not know. He had never
heard of Stella and her sad history. An object of far greater interest
to him was a large fox-earth, a couple of hundred yards away, in which
some years ago "a miser" had lived and died. A whole crop of legends
have already sprung up about the mysterious inmate of the cave. He was
a nobleman, so said our informant, who had been crossed in love: he
had made a vow that no human being should see his face, and accordingly
never came out till after nightfall, even then being closely wrapped up
in his cloak. After his death a party of ladies and gentlemen came
down from London in a post-chaise and four; and having buried the body
carried away "a cartload of golden guineas and fine dresses, which he
had hid in the cave."
[Illustration: 0059]
The picturesqueness of the approach to Farnham, whether over the last
ridge of the Hog's Back, or through the lanes from Seale, Moor Park,
and Waverley, is much enhanced by the hop-gardens, which occupy about a
thousand acres in the neighbourhood. For excellence the Farnham hops are
considered to bear the palm, although the chief field of this peculiar
branch of cultivation is in Kent. No south-eastern rambles, especially
in the early autumn, would be complete without a visit to the gardens
where the hop-picking is in full operation. It is the great holiday
for thousands of the humbler class of Londoners, as well as the chosen
resort of thousands of the "finest pisantry" from the Emerald Isle.
Costermongers, watermen, sempstresses, factory girls, labourers of
all descriptions, young and old, bear a hand at the work. The air is
invigorating, the task to the industrious is easy, and the pay is not
bad. The hop-pickers, who are in such numbers that they cannot obtain
even humble lodgings in the villages, sleep in barns, sheds, stables,
and booths, or even under the hedges in the lanes. A rough kind of
order is maintained among themselves; although outbreaks of violence and
debauchery sometimes happen. On the whole the work is not unhealthy, and
the opportunity of engaging in it is as real a boon to the hop-pickers
as the journey to Scarborough or Biarritz to those of another class.
Besides which, the great gathering of people gives opportunities of
which Christian activity avails itself; and the evening visit to the
encampment, the homely address, the quiet talk, and the well-chosen
tract, have been instrumental of lasting good to those whom religious
agencies elsewhere had failed to reach.
[Illustration: 0060]
Farnham has special associations with both the Church and the Army; and
the impartial visitor will no doubt take an opportunity of seeing the
stately moated castle, the abode of the Bishops of Winchester, and of
visiting the neighbouring camp of Aldershot. The politician will recal
the name of William Cobbett, who was born in this neighbourhood, and
in his own direct and homely style, often dwells on his boyish
recollections of its charms. Some will not forget another name
associated with this little Surrey town. One among the sweetest singers
of our modern Israel, Augustus Toplady, was born at Farnham. He died
at the age of thirty-eight, but he lived long enough to write "Rock of
Ages, cleft for me and none need covet a nobler earthly immortality."
[Illustration: 0062]