<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></SPAN>CHAPTER XL</h2>
<h3>TUNBRIDGE WELLS</h3>
<blockquote><p>Over the border—The beginnings of the wells—Tunbridge Wells
to-day—Mr. George Meredith—The Toad and other
rocks—Eridge—Trespassing in Sussex—Saxonbury—Bayham
Abbey—Lamberhurst—Withyham—The Sackvilles—A domestic
autocrat—"To all you ladies now on land"—Withyham church—The
Sackville monument—John Waylett—Beer and bells—Parish
expenses—Buckhurst and Old Buckhurst—Ashdown Forest—Hartfield
and Bolebroke—A wild region.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I have made Tunbridge Wells our last centre, because it is convenient;
yet as a matter of strict topography, the town is not in Sussex at all,
but in Kent.</p>
<p>In that it is builded upon hills, Tunbridge Wells is like Rome, and in
that its fashionable promenade is under the limes, like Berlin; but in
other respects it is merely a provincial English inland pleasure town
with a past: rather arid, and except under the bracing conditions of
cold weather, very tiring in its steepnesses. No wonder the small
victoria and smaller pony carriage so flourish there.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page391.png" id="page391.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page391.png" width-obs='585' height-obs='700' alt="The Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells" /></p>
<h4><i>The Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells.</i></h4>
<p>The healthful properties of Tunbridge Wells were discovered, as I record
a little later, in 1606; but it was not until Henrietta Maria brought
her suite hither in 1630 that the success of the new cure was assured.
Afterwards came Charles II. and his Court, and Tunbridge Wells was made;
and thenceforward to fail to visit the town at the proper time each year
(although one had the poorest hut to live in the while) was to write
one's self down a boor. A more sympathetic patron was Anne, who<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_391" id="Page_391"></SPAN></span><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</SPAN></span> gave
the first stone basin for the spring—hence "Queen's Well"—and whose
subscription of <i>£</i>100 led to the purchase of the pantiles that paved the
walk now bearing that name. Subsequently it was called the Parade, but
to the older style everyone has very sensibly reverted.</p>
<p>Tunbridge Wells is still a health resort, but the waters no longer
constitute a part of the hygienic routine. Their companion element, air,
is the new recuperative. Not that the spring at the foot of the Pantiles
is wholly deserted: on the contrary, the presiding old lady does quite a
business in filling and cleaning the little glasses; but those visitors
that descend her steps are impelled rather by curiosity than ritual, and
many never try again. Nor is the trade in Tunbridge ware, inlaid work in
coloured woods, what it was. A hundred years ago there was hardly a girl
of any pretensions to good form but kept her pins in a Tunbridge box.</p>
<p>The Pantiles are still the resort of the idle, but of the anonymous
rather than famous variety. Our men of mark and great Chams of
Literature, who once flourished here in the season, go elsewhere for
their recreation and renovation—abroad for choice. Tunbridge Wells now
draws them no more than Bath. But in the eighteenth century a large
print was popular containing the portraits of all the illustrious
intellectuals as they lounged on the Pantiles, with Dr. Johnson and Mr.
Samuel Richardson among the chief lions.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE DUVIDNEY LADIES</div>
<p>The residential districts of Tunbridge Wells—its Mounts, Pleasant, Zion
and Ephraim, with their discreet and prosperous villas—suggest to me
only Mr. Meredith's irreproachable Duvidney ladies. In one of these
well-ordered houses must they have lived and sighed over Victor's
tangled life—surrounded by laurels and laburnum; the lawn either cut
yesterday or to be cut to-day; the semicircular drive a miracle of
gravel unalloyed; a pan of water for Tasso beside the dazzling step.
Receding a hundred years, the same author peoples Tunbridge Wells again,
for it was here, in its heyday, that Chloe suffered.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_393" id="Page_393"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">ROCKS</div>
<p>On Rusthall Common is the famous Toad Rock, which is to Tunbridge Wells
what Thorwaldsen's lion is to Lucerne, and the Leaning Tower to Pisa.
Lucerne's lion emerged from the stone under the sculptor's mallet and
chisel, but the Rusthall monster was evolved by natural processes, and
it is a toad only by courtesy. An inland rock is, however, to most
English people so rare an object that Rusthall has almost as many
pilgrims as Stonehenge. The Toad is free; the High Rocks, however, which
are a mile distant, cannot be inspected by the curious for less than
sixpence. One must pass through a turnstile before these wonders are
accessible. Rocks in themselves having insufficient drawing power, as
the dramatic critics say, a maze has been added, together with swings, a
seesaw, arbours, a croquet lawn, and all the proper adjuncts of a
natural phenomenon. The effect is to make the rocks appear more unreal
than any rocks ever seen upon the stage. Freed from their
pleasure-garden surroundings they would become beautifully wild and
romantic and tropically un-English; but as it is, with their notice
boards and bridges, they are disappointing, except of course to
children. They are no disappointment to children; indeed, they go far to
make Tunbridge Wells a children's wonderland. There is no kind of
dramatic game to which the High Rocks would not make the best
background. Finer rocks, because more remote and free from labels and
tea rooms, are those known as Penn's Rocks, three miles in the
south-west, in a beautiful valley.</p>
<div class="sidenote">SAXONBURY</div>
<p>Eridge, whither all visitors to Tunbridge Wells must at one time or
another drive, is the seat of the Marquis of Abergavenny, whose imposing
A, tied, like a dressing gown, with heavy tassels, is embossed on every
cottage for miles around. In character the park resembles Ashburnham,
while in extent it vies with the great parks of the south-west, Arundel,
Goodwood and Petworth; but it has none of their spacious coolnesses. Yet
Eridge Park has joys that these others know not of—brake fern four feet
high, and the conical hill on<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_394" id="Page_394"></SPAN></span> which stands Saxonbury Tower, jealously
guarded from the intruding traveller by the stern fiat of "Mr. Macbean,
steward." Sussex is a paradise of notice boards (there is a little
district near Forest Row where the staple industry must be the
prosecuting of trespassers), and one has come ordinarily to look upon
these monitions without active resentment; but when the Caledonian
descends from his native heath to warn the Sussex man off Sussex
ground—more, to warn the Saxon from his own bury—the situation becomes
acute. By taking, however, the precaution of asking at a not too
adjacent cottage for permission to ascend the hill, one may circumvent
the Scottish prosecutor.</p>
<p>The hill is very important ground in English history, as the following
passage from Sir William Burrell's MSS. in the British Museum
testifies:—"In Eridge Park are the remains of a military station of the
Saxon invaders of the country, which still retains the name of Saxonbury
Hill. It is on the high ground to the right, as the traveller passes
from Frant to Mayfield. On the summit of this hill (from whence the
cliffs of Dover may be seen) are to be traced the remains of an ancient
fortification; the fosse is still plainly discernible, enclosing an area
of about two acres, from whence there is but one outlet. The apex of the
hill within is formed of a strong compact body of stone, brought hither
from a distance, on which doubtless was erected some strong military
edifice. This was probably one of the stations occupied by the Saxons
under Ella, their famous chief, who, at the instance of Hengist, King of
Kent, invaded England towards the close of the fifth century. It is said
that they settled in Sussex, whence they issued in force to attack the
important British station of Anderida or Andredceaster. Antiquaries are
not agreed as to the precise situation of this military station; some
imagining it to have been at Newenden, on the borders of Kent; others at
Pevensey, or Hastings, in Sussex. The country, from the borders of Kent<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_395" id="Page_395"></SPAN></span>
to those of Hampshire, comprises what was called the Forest of
Andredsweald, now commonly called the Weald, was formerly full of strong
holds and fastnesses, and was consequently well calculated for the
retreat of the ancient Britons from before the regular armies of the
Romans, as well as for the establishment of points of attack by the
succeeding invaders who coped with them on terms somewhat reversed. The
attack of the Saxons on Anderida was successful, and the consequence was
their permanent establishment in Sussex and Surrey, from which time they
probably retained a military station on this hill.</p>
<p>"There is likewise within the park a place called Danes Gate. This was
doubtless a part of a military way; and as it would happen that the last
successful invaders would occupy the same strong posts which had been
formed by their predecessors, this Danes Gate was probably the military
communication between Crowborough, undoubtedly a Danish station, and
Saxonbury Hill."</p>
<p>The view from Saxonbury extends far in each quarter, embracing both
lines of Downs, North and South. The long low irregular front of Eridge
Castle is two or three miles to the north-west, with its lake before it.</p>
<div class="sidenote">LORD NORTH'S DISCOVERY</div>
<p>Queen Elizabeth stayed at Eridge for six days in 1573, on her progress
to Northiam, where we saw her dining and changing her shoes. Lord
Burleigh, who accompanied her, found the country hereabouts dangerous,
and "worse than in the Peak." It was another of the guests at Eridge
that made Tunbridge Wells; for had not Dudley, Lord North, when
recuperating there in 1606, discovered that the (Devil-flavoured)
chalybeate water of the neighbourhood was beneficial, the spring would
not have been enclosed nor would other of London's fatigued young bloods
have drunk of it.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page396.png" id="page396.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page396.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='656' alt="Bayham Abbey" /></p>
<h4><i>Bayham Abbey.</i></h4>
<div class="sidenote">BAYHAM ABBEY</div>
<p>Enough remains of Bayham Abbey, five miles south-east of Tunbridge
Wells, to show that it was once a very considerable monastery. The
founder was Sir Robert de<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_396" id="Page_396"></SPAN></span> Turneham, one of the knights of Richard
Cœur de Lion, famous for cracking many crowns with his "fauchion,"
and the founder also of Combwell Abbey at Goudhurst, not far distant.
Edward I. and Edward II. were both entertained at Bayham, while a
fortunate visit from St. Richard, Bishop of Chichester, put the Abbey in
possession of a bed (on which he had slept) which cured all them that
afterwards lay in it. Between Bayham and Goudhurst is Lamberhurst, on
the boundary. (The church and part of the street are indeed in Kent.)
Lamberhurst's boast is that its furnaces were larger than any in Sussex;
and that they made the biggest guns. The old iron railings around St.
Paul's are said to have come from the Lamberhurst iron works—2,500 in
all, each five feet<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_397" id="Page_397"></SPAN></span> six inches in height, with seven gates. The
Lamberhurst cannon not only served England, but some, it is whispered,
found their way to French privateers and were turned against their
native land.</p>
<p>Sweetest of spots in the neighbourhood of Tunbridge Wells is Withyham,
in the west, lying to the north of Ashdown Forest, a small and retired
village, with a charming church, a good inn (the Dorset Arms), Duckings,
a superb piece of old Sussex architecture, Old Buckhurst, an interesting
ruin, new Buckhurst's magnificent park, and some of the best country in
the county. Once the South Down district is left behind I think that
Withyham is the jewel of Sussex. Moreover, the proximity of the wide
high spaces of Ashdown Forest seems to have cleared the air; no longer
is one conscious of the fatigue that appertains to the triangular hill
district between Tunbridge Wells, Robertsbridge and Uckfield.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE SPLENDID SACKVILLES</div>
<p>Withyham is notable historically for its association with the great and
sumptuous Sackville family, which has held Buckhurst since Henry II.,
and of which the principal figure is Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst,
first Earl of Dorset, who was born here in 1536, Queen Elizabeth's Lord
Treasurer and part author of <i>Gorboduc</i>. After him came Robert
Sackville, second earl, who founded Sackville College at East Grinstead;
and then Richard, the third earl, famous for the luxury in which he
lived at Knole in Kent and Dorset House in London. Among this nobleman's
retinue was a first footman rejoicing (I hope) in the superlatively
suitable name of Acton Curvette: a name to write a comedy around.
Richard Sackville, the fifth earl, was a more domestic peer, of whom we
have some intimate and amusing glimpses in the memorandum books and
diaries which he kept at Knole. Thus:—</p>
<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='memorandum books'>
<tr>
<td>"Hy. Mattock for scolding to extremity on Sunday 12th October 1661 without cause </td>
<td>0 0 3</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_398" id="Page_398"></SPAN></span>"Hy. Mattock for disposing of my Cast linnen without my order</td>
<td>0 0 3</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>"Robert Verrell for giving away my money</td>
<td>0 0 6</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="sidenote">"TO ALL YOU LADIES"</div>
<p>Lastly we come to Charles Sackville, sixth earl, that Admirable
Crichton, the friend of Charles II. and the patron of poets, who spent
the night before an engagement in the Dutch war in writing the sprightly
verses, "To all you ladies now on land," wherein occurs this agreeable
fancy:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Then, if we write not by each post,</div>
<div class="i1">Think not we are unkind;</div>
<div>Nor yet conclude our ships are lost</div>
<div class="i1">By Dutchmen or by wind;</div>
<div>Our tears we'll send a speedier way:</div>
<div>The tide shall bring them twice a day.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div>The king with wonder and surprise,</div>
<div class="i1">Will swear the seas grow bold;</div>
<div>Because the tides will higher rise</div>
<div class="i1">Than e'er they did of old:</div>
<div>But let him know it is our tears</div>
<div>Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.</div>
</div></div>
<p>Upon the sixth Earl of Dorset's monument in Withyham Church is inscribed
Pope's epitaph, beginning:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Dorset, the grace of Courts, the Muses pride,</div>
<div>Patron of arts, and judge of nature dy'd!</div>
<div>The scourge of pride, though sanctify'd or great,</div>
<div>Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:</div>
<div>Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,</div>
<div>His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.</div>
</div></div>
<p>The church is very prettily situated on a steep mound, at the western
foot of which is a sheet of water; at the eastern foot, the village. So
hidden by trees is it that approaching Withyham from Hartfield one is
unconscious of its proximity. The glory of the church is the monument,
in the Sackville Chapel, to Thomas Sackville, youngest son of the fifth
Earl of Dorset. There is nothing among the many tombs which we have
seen<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_399" id="Page_399"></SPAN></span> more interesting than this, although for charm it is not to be
compared with, say, the Shurley monument at Isfield. The young man
reclines on the tomb; at one side of him is the figure of his father,
and at the other, of his mother, both life-like and life-size, dressed
in their ordinary style. The attitudes being extremely natural the total
effect is curiously realistic. On the sides of the tomb, in bas-relief,
are the figures of the six brothers and six sisters of the youth, some
quite babies. The sculptor was Caius Cibber, Colley Cibber's father.
Other monuments are also to be seen in the Sackville Chapel, but that
which I have described is the finest.</p>
<p>Had Withyham church not been destroyed by fire, in 1663, in a "tempest
of thunder and lightning," it would now be second to none in Sussex in
interest and the richness of its tombs; for in that fire perished in the
Sackville aisle, now no more, on the northern side, other and perhaps
nobler Sackville monuments. The vaults, where many Sackvilles lie, were
not however injured. In the Sackville Chapel is a large window recording
the genealogy of the family, which is now represented by Earl De la
Warr, at the foot of which are the words in Latin, "The noble family of
Sackville here awaits the Resurrection."</p>
<div class="sidenote">JOHN WAYLETT, BELL-FOUNDER</div>
<p>Withyham has three of the bells of John Waylett, an itinerant
bell-founder at the beginning of the eighteenth century. His method was
to call on the vicar and ask if anything were wanted; and if a bell was
cracked, or if a new one was desired, he would dig a mould in a
neighbouring field, build a fire, collect his metal and perform the task
on the spot. Waylett's business might be called the higher tinkering.
Sussex has some forty of his bells. He cast the Steyning peal in 1724,
and earlier in the same year he had made a stay at Lewes, erecting a
furnace there, as Benvenuto Cellini tells us he used to do, and
remedying defective peals all around. Among others he recast the old
treble and made a new treble for Mayfield. It seems to have been
universally thirsty work:<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_400" id="Page_400"></SPAN></span> the churchwardens' papers contain an account
for beer in connection with the enterprise:</p>
<div class="sidenote">BEER</div>
<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='beer'>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td align="right"><i>£ s. d.</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>For beer to the ringers when the Bell founder was here</td>
<td align="right">2 6</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>When the bell was weighed</td>
<td align="right">3 6</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>When the bell was loaded</td>
<td align="right">2 0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>In carrying ye bell to Lewes and back again</td>
<td align="right">1 10 0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>When the bell was waid and hung up</td>
<td align="right">3 0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>For beer to the officers and several others a hanging up ye bell</td>
<td align="right">18 0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>In beer to the ringers when ye bell was hung</td>
<td align="right">6 6</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>The Withyham churchwardens also expended 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> on beer when
Waylett came to spread thirst abroad. I find also among the entries from
the parish account-book, which Mr. Sutton, the vicar, prints in his
<i>Historical Notes on Withyham</i>, a very interesting and informing book,
the following items:</p>
<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='5' summary='parish account-book'>
<tr>
<td></td>
<td align="right"><i>s. d.</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>1711. April ye 20, pd. to Goody Sweatman for Beere had at ye Books making</td>
<td align="right">2 6</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Aug. ye 19, pd. to Edward Groombridge for digging a
grave and Ringing ye Nell for Goody Hammond </td>
<td align="right">2 6</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Aug. ye 26, pd. to Sweatman for beere at ye
Writing of Boocks for ye window-tax</td>
<td align="right">2 0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Aug. 15th, Pd. to Sweatman for beer at ye
chusing of surveyor Dec<sup>br</sup> ye 26</td>
<td align="right">5 0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>1714. Pd. to good wife Sweatman for beer
when ye bells were put to be cast</td>
<td align="right">2 6</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>Buckhurst, one of the seats of Lord De la Warr, is a splendid domain,
with the most perfect golf greens I ever saw, but no deer, all of them
having been exiled a few years since. The previous home of the
Sackvilles was Old Buckhurst in the valley to the west, of which only
the husk<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_401" id="Page_401"></SPAN></span> now remains. One can see that the mansion was of enormous
extent; and the walls were so strongly built that when an attempt was
recently made to destroy and utilise a portion for road mending, the
project had to be abandoned on account of the hardness of the mortar.
One beautiful tower (out of six) still stands. An underground passage,
which is said variously to lead to the large lake in Buckhurst Park, to
the church, and to Bolebroke at Hartfield, has never been explored
farther than the first door that blocks the way; nor have the seven cord
of gold, rumoured to be buried near the house, come to light.</p>
<div class="sidenote">OLD RURAL ARCHITECTURE</div>
<div class="sidenote">IN PRAISE OF "DUCKINGS"</div>
<p>It was of Duckings, the beautiful timbered farmhouse of which Withyham
is justly proud, that Jefferies thus wrote, in his essay on "Buckhurst
Park": "Our modern architects try to make their rooms mathematically
square, a series of brick boxes, one on the other like pigeon-holes in a
bureau, with flat ceilings and right angles in the corners, and are said
to go through a profound education before they can produce these
wonderful specimens of art. If our old English folk could not get an
arched roof, then they loved to have it pointed, with polished timber
beams in which the eye rested as in looking upwards through a tree.
Their rooms they liked of many shapes, and not at right angles in the
corners, nor all on the same dead level of flooring. You had to go up a
step into one, and down a step into another, and along a winding passage
into a third, so that each part of the house had its individuality. To
these houses life fitted itself and grew to them; they were not mere
walls, but became part of existence. A man's house was not only his
castle, a man's house was himself. He could not tear himself away from
his house, it was like tearing up the shrieking mandrake by the root,
almost death itself. Now we walk in and out of our brick boxes
unconcerned whether we live in this villa or that, here or yonder. Dark
beams inlaid in the walls support the gables; heavier timber, placed
horizontally, forms, as it were, the foundation of the first floor. This
horizontal beam has warped<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_402" id="Page_402"></SPAN></span> a little in the course of time, the
alternate heat and cold of summers and winters that make centuries. Up
to this beam the lower wall is built of brick set to curve of the
timber, from which circumstance it would appear to be a modern
insertion. The beam, we may be sure, was straight originally, and the
bricks have been fitted to the curve which it subsequently took. Time,
no doubt, ate away the lower work of wood, and necessitated the
insertion of new materials. The slight curve of the great beam adds, I
think, to the interest of the old place, for it is a curve that has
grown and was not premeditated; it has grown like the bough of a tree,
not from any set human design. This, too, is the character of the house.
It is not large, nor overburdened with gables, not ornamental, nor what
is called striking, in any way, but simply an old English house, genuine
and true. The warm sunlight falls on the old red tiles, the dark beams
look the darker for the glow of light, the shapely cone of the hop-oast
rises at the end; there are swallows and flowers, and ricks and horses,
and so it is beautiful because it is natural and honest. It is the
simplicity that makes it so touching, like the words of an old ballad.
Now at Mayfield there is a timber house which is something of a show
place, and people go to see it, and which certainly has many more lines
in its curves and woodwork, but yet did not appeal to me, because it
seemed too purposely ornamental. A house designed to look well, even age
has not taken from its artificiality. Neither is there any cone nor
cart-horses about. Why, even a tall chanticleer makes a home look
homely. I do like to see a tall proud chanticleer strutting in the yard
and barely giving way as I advance, almost ready to do battle with a
stranger like a mastiff. So I prefer the simple old home by Buckhurst
Park."</p>
<div class="sidenote">ASHDOWN FOREST</div>
<p>The forest of which Ashdown Forest was a part extended once in unbroken
sombre density from Kent to Hampshire, a distance of 120 miles. It was
known to the Romans as Sylva Anderida, giving its name to Anderida (or
Pevensey) on<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_403" id="Page_403"></SPAN></span> the edge of it; to the Saxons it was Andreaswald. Wolves,
wild boar and deer then roamed its dark recesses. Our Ashdown
Forest—all that now remains of this wild track—was for long a Royal
hunting ground. Edward III. granted it to John of Gaunt, who, there's no
doubt, often came hither for sport. It is supposed that he built a
chapel near Nutley ("Chapel Wood" marks the site) where, on one occasion
at least, John Wycliffe the reformer officiated. At Forest Row, as we
have seen, the later lords who hunted here built their lodges and kept
their retainers. There are no longer any deer in the Forest; the modern
sportsman approaches it with a cleek where his forerunner carried a bow.
A hundred years ago, in the smuggling days, it was a very dangerous
region.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page403.png" id="page403.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page403.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='607' alt="Ashdown Forest, from East Grinstead" /></p>
<h4><i>Ashdown Forest, from East Grinstead.</i></h4>
<p>Hartfield, the village next to Withyham in the west, is<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_404" id="Page_404"></SPAN></span> uninteresting;
but it has a graceful church, and at Bolebroke, once the home of the
Dalyngruges, whom we met at Bodiam, and later of the Sackvilles, are the
remains of a noble brick mansion. The towered gateway still stands, and
it is not difficult to reconstruct in the mind's eye the house in its
best period. Of old cottage architecture Hartfield also has a pretty
example in Lych-Gate Cottage, by the churchyard. "Castle field," north
of the village, probably marks the site of an ancient castle, or hunting
lodge, of the Barons of Pevensey. That there was good hunting in these
parts the name Hartfield itself goes to prove.</p>
<div class="sidenote">OUR JOURNEY'S END</div>
<p>Between Withyham and Hartfield in the north, and Crowborough Beacon and
Wych Cross in the south, is some of the finest open country in Sussex,
where one may walk for hours and meet no human creature. Here are silent
desolate woods—the Five Hundred Acre Wood, under Crowborough, chief of
them—and vast wastes of undulating heath, rising here and there to
great heights crowned with fir trees, as at Gill's Lap. A few enclosed
estates interrupt the forest's open freedom, but nothing can tame it.
Sombre dark heather gives the prevailing note, but between Old Lodge and
Pippinford Park I once came upon a green and luxuriant valley that would
not have been out of place in Tyrol; while there is a field near Chuck
Hatch where in April one may see more dancing daffodils than ever
Wordsworth did.</p>
<p>And here we leave the county.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_405" id="Page_405"></SPAN></span></p>
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