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Bygone Sussex. 



William Andrews & Co., 5, Farringdon Avenue, E.G. 



» C. p. SCOTT, M.P., 







The Land of the South Saxons .... i 

Pardon Brasses - - - - - - - lo 

Trial of Henry Robson in 1598 - - - - 28 

In Denis Duval's Country - - - - - 36 

The Long Man of Wilmington - - - - 72 

The True Maid of the South - - - - - 81 

"Old Humphrey's" Grave ----- 89 

A Medieval Legend of Winchelsea - - - - 96 

Poems of Sussex Places ----- ioi 

Spirits at Brightling in 1659 - • - - - - 129 

The Monstrous Child of Chichester - - - 133 

A RusKiN Pilgrimage -.-... 137 

Rye in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries - 144 

The Merchant of Chichester - - - - - 151 

Drayton's Song of Sussex - - - - - 154 

A Sussex Book ..-.-.. 165 

The Mercer's Son of Midhurst . - - - 182 

The Drummer of Herstmonceux .... 184 

Sussex Sun-dials ...... 201 

Tunbridge Wells Early in the Eighteenth Century 210 

The Miller's Tomb ...... 224 

The Sussex Muse ...... 236 

Index. ........ 253 


nr^HE following essays are selected from 
■■■ material that has accumulated in the 

years that Sussex — with its picturesque scenery 
and varied associations — has had a special at- 
traction for the writer, who, though not to the 
manor born, feels as strongly as any of her 
sons the charm of the seaboard and the down. 
Perhaps some of the thousands of visitors who 
throng the Sussex coast in quest of health or 
amusement may find in these pages suggestions 
of historic memories that may add to the interest 
of their stay, and Sussex men themselves may 
recognise that a strong and healthy local senti- 
ment is no bad foundation for an enlightened 

Of the illustrations several are from the facile 
and graceful pencil of Mr. Raffles Davison, who 
has also felt the charm of Sussex scenery — 
a charm that Mr. A. C. Swinburne has put into 
the melodious lines, written between Lancing 
and Shorham : — 

Fair and dear is the land's face here. 

And fair man's work as a man's may be ; 

Dear and fair as the sunbright air 

Is here the record that speaks him free ; 

Free by birth of a sacred earth, and regent ever of all the sea. 


> ^t^ < 

Zbc %m^ of the Soutb Sayons. 


SUSSEX, the "land of the South Saxons," 
has had many chances and changes within 
the historic period. The traces of the Roman 
conquerors may still be seen in the relics of three 
great military roads, and in the encampments on 
its hills. T he Saxon Aella pushed the Br itons 
eastward at the grea t battle of Mercredesbourne . 
a nd founded the Sud-seax Kingdom , which was 
the smallest of the Heptarchy, and at last was 
merged in Wessex by Caedwalla. Saint Wilfrid 
not only converted the people of what was then 
the most savage part of the island, but taught 
them the art of the fisherman, so that they could 
secure other than eels as the harvest of the river 
and sea. Thus the South Saxons found it profit- 
able to abandon their " vain idols." King 
Edilwach and his wife Ebba gave land at Selse y 
for the endowment of the first bishopric for 


Sussex. Earl Godwin's possessions at Bosham 
became the home of his famous son, and it was 
thence that Harold journeyed to Normandy. 
The name of the last of the Saxon Kings is for 
ever connected with that famous battle when 
England was lost and won. Nor is William the 
Conqueror less associated with Sussex on whose 
coast he landed, and where he fought the decisive 
battle that made the Normans masters of the 
realm. Pevensey, that remarkable combination 
of Roman fortress and Norman castle, was 
besieged by the Red King. Arundel Castle was 
the scene of the reception of the Empress Maud 
by the Queen Dowager Adeliza, At Lewes was 
fought the great battle in which Henry HI. 
sustained a crushing defeat by his barons. Peace 
had her victories too, and Sussex was honoured 
by royalty in stately progresses. Henry VHI. 
received a royal welcome at Michelgrove, 
Edward VI. at Petworth, "Good Queen Bess" 
at Cowdray, and George I. at Stanstead. In 
modern times Brighton grew up under the 
patronage of George IV. and William IV. It 
was from Brighton — then the little fishing town 
of Brighthelmstone — that Charles II. escaped to 
France, and it was at Newhaven that Louis 


PhilUppe and his Queen, disguised as Mr. and 
Mrs. Smith, landed on their escape from France. 

We do not now think of Sussex as a seat of 
manufacture, yet here was the earliest seat of the 1 
iron industry. Roman coins have been found in 1 
the old cinder beds, and in the Middle Ages the 
iron- works flourished greatly. The tomb of 
Henry III. was guarded by Sussex railings, and 
the horses that went to the fatal field of Bannock- 
burn were shod with Sussex horse-shoes. When 
artillery came into use, the first cannon were cast 
here. The great forests which covered nearly all ' 
the county were destroyed in the process of 
smelting. The savage animals that once roamed 
in the sylvan glades were exterminated, though 
the wild cat survived at Ashdown to the sixteenth 
century. But by the beginning of the eighteenth 
century, the Sussex iron industry was on the 
wane, and the manufacture passed from the South 
to the North of England. The manufacture ofj 
glass, though perhaps never very extensive, was] 
another branch of the early trade of Sussex. The! 
shepherd and the fisherman are the characteristic 
special types of the industry of the county. The 
Southdown breed of sheep has attained great 
fame. To the maritime industry we owe the 


Cinque Ports, of which Sussex claimed the Port of 
Hastings, the ancient towns of Rye and Win- 
chelsea, with those less noble members the towns 
of Pevensey and Seaford, and the five villages of 
Bulverhithe, Petit Shaw, Hidney, Beakesbourne, 
and Grange. The " barons of the Cinque Ports " 
were men of mark in the Middle Ages. They 
found ships for the defence of the empire. They 
had their own chancery, and at the coronation 
they bore aloft the silken canopy. Smuggling, 
the prohibited importation of brandy, tea, and 
other articles, and "owling" the prohibited 
exportation of wool or sheep were once great 
activities on the Sussex coast, but they are now 
happily as extinct as the Sussex iron-trade. 

There are many names of interest associated 
with the county. " Many shires have done 
worthily," says Fuller, "but Sussex surmounteth 
them all, having bred five Archbishops of Canter- 
bury." These were John Peckham, Thomas 
Bradwardine, Thomas Arundell, and William 
Juxon. Sussex gave Percy Bysshe Shelley to 
English poetry, and John Selden to learning. 
The Howards, the Fiennes, the Sackvilles, the 
Pelhams, the Ashburnhams, the Percys, and the 
Montagues, are amongst its noble and gentle 


families who have won distinction. The three 
Sherley brothers gained a remarkable position in 
the seventeenth century. The three Palmer 
brothers had also picturesque careers. The three 
Smiths of Chichester have a humble niche in the 
temple of fame for contributions to art and verse. 
Jack Cade has been claimed as a Sussex man. The 
gentle and unfortunate poet, William Collins, was 
a native. Dr. Andrew Borde, " Merry Andrew," 
was born at Pevensey. The county claims four 
saints, Richard de la Wych, the canonised Bishop 
of Chichester, St. Wilfrid, St. Cuthman, and 
Lewinna, the virgin martyr, slain by the Saxons 
of the seventh century. The names of John 
Fletcher and the unfortunate Thomas Otway are 
illustrious in dramatic literature. Other Sussex 
worthies are Pell, the mathematician, James 
Hurdis, the gentle poet, Richard Cobden, the 
apostle of free trade, the Hares, Dr. E. D. Clarke, 
the traveller, Henry Morley, and M. A. Lower, 
the antiquary. Gibbon, the historian, is buried at 
Fletching ; and Cartwright, the inventor of the 
power loom at Battle. Nor should we forget Henry 
Burwash, Bishop of Lincoln, of whom Fuller says : 
" Such as mind to be merry may read the pleasant 
story of his apparition, being condemned after his 


death to be viridis viridarius, 'a green forester,' 
because in his lifetime he had violently enclosed 
other men's grounds into his park." William 
Barlow, Bishop of Chichester, had a prosperous 
career, in spite of an enforced exile in the days of 
Queen Mary. His wife's epitaph is rendered by 
Fuller : — 

" Barlow's wife Agathe, doth here remain. 
Bishop, then exile, Bishop then again. 
So long she lived, so well his children sped, 
She saw five Bishops her five daughters wed." 

Less fortunate, in a worldly sense, were the ten 
Protestants, burned in one fire at Lewes, or the 
other sufferers in that time of persecution. But 
Sussex has had worthies of all creeds — Gregory 
Martin, the Roman Catholic exile, who had the 
principal hand in what is called the Douay Bible ; 
Matthew Caffyn, the controversial '* Battle-axe of 
Sussex ;" Richard Challoner, the learned titular 
Bishop of Debra ; and Colonel John Michelborne, 
who was Governor of Londonderry, and held that 
city for William III. in the famous siege in which 
he lost his wife and seven children by famine and 

Sussex, whilst not claiming the first place for 
the grandeur of its churches, has many that are of 


great beauty and interest, though it must be 
sorrowfully admitted that the " restorer " has been 
abroad, and, seeking what he could devour, has 
destroyed much. Yet there are still relics of 
Saxon architecture as at Sompting, Bosham, and 
Worth, whilst the Norman builder can be traced 
at the Shorehams, Bramber, Steyning, Shipley, 
and elsewhere. Chichester, Rye, and East- 
bourne are amongst the transitional structures. 
Early English and Decorated may be seen at 
Arundel, Poynings, and Mayfield, whilst Winchel- 
sea, Alfriston, and Etchingham supply instances 
of later Decorated. There are round towers at 
Southease and Piddinghoe. The Sussex churches 
contain some fine specimens of monumental art, 
noble tombs like those of the Fitzalans at Arundel, 
and the Fiennes at Herstmonceux, and brasses 
such as those at Battle and Etchinofham. 

The antiquary and the lover of the picturesque 
cannot fail to be delighted with the ruined castles 
of Bodiam, Pevensey, Herstmonceux, Hastings, 
Bramber, Amberley, Arundel, Halnaker, Lewes, 
Scotway, Camber, and the Ypres Tower at Rye. 
The religious orders have left their mark in the 
ruined abbeys and monasteries of Battle, Boxgrove, 
Tortington, Hardham, Shulbrede, Lewes, Wil- 


mington, Mayfield, Robertsbridge, and Win- 

It is an old complaint against Sussex that its 
roads are so miry and muddy as to be a terror to 
the traveller, whether he be on horseback, in a 
vehicle, or a plain wayfaring man. Defoe saw, 
not far from Lewes, "an ancient lady, and a lady 
of very good quality," riding to the village church 
in a coach drawn by six oxen, whose united 
strength was necessary to cope with the difficulties 
of the road. And when Prince George of Den- 
mark journeyed to Pet worth to meet Charles VI. 
of Spain, the last nine miles of the journey 
occupied six hours. Matters have greatly im- 
proved since then, and there is no special difficulty 
in visiting any part. The geologist and the 
botanist will find ample reward in his excursions, 
and the woodlands are not silent of song, though 
the ornithologist must lament the disappearance 
of some that were formerly denizens. The 
student of folk-lore may pick up curious items 
about the " pharisees," and learn how magpies 
were shoed at Piddinghoe, and see at Mayfield 
the very tongs with which St. Dunstan pulled 
the devil's nose. 

Sussex is notable for the variety of its interest. 


The breezy South Downs, the bold hill of 
Chanctonbury, the great rift of the Devil's Dyke, 
the wide extending Weald, the quaint old-world 
villages nestling amid the trees, the busy modern 
towns of Brighton and St. Leonards, the stately 
mansions of Goodwood, Petworth, and Norman- 
hurst, the ruined castles and monasteries 
eloquent of bygone ages, and the mighty waters 
of the ocean for ever washing its shores, all 
combine to make Sussex a land of enchantment 
for those who have the salt of the sea in their 
blood, who delight in the beauty of hill and 
woodland, or who care to muse upon the intricate 
movements of those forces that have made 
the nation. For Sussex was the scene of 
the most decisive incident in the whole 
of England's history, that great victory of William 
the Conqueror, when the Norman was grafted 
upon the Saxon stock, producing in due season that 
strongest and most conglomerate of races, the 
" true born Englishmen," who, scorning the narrow 
limits of their island home, have since gone forth 
to the ends of the earth, and taken possession of 
no small portion of the globe, and have founded 
an empire which is the largest and most populous 
in the world. 

lPar^on Brasses. 

A PARDON brass is one which promises to 
the bystander, who shall offer up a certain 
number of prayers for the repose of those whose 
grave he beholds, a remission of a portion of the 
punishment due to his own sins and to be 
endured in a future life. There are three 
remarkable instances of this monumental form 
of " indulgence " in connection with Sussex. 

In the great church of Winchelsea is th e 
g ravestone of Reginald Allard . The brass 
which once decorated it is gone, but round the 
edges of the tombstone the inscription can still 
be partially made out. In its complete form it 
read : " Reginald allard q*i morout le xv jour de 
avrill r an m ccc viii gist icy. Dieu de s' Alme 
ait merci. Q'i pur s' alme priera 1 jour de 
pardon auera."* Here it will be seen the 
promise is given of fifty days' remission of punish- 
ment in return for a single prayer for the soul of 
the dead man. 

* Sussex Archaological Collections y xxiii., 190. 


J ohn, the seventh Earl Warren , was buried in 
1305, at Lewes P riory, with an inscription, which 
Dugdale has preserved : — 

" Vous qe passer ou bouche close, 
Prier pour cely ke cy repose : 
En vie come vous esti jadis fu, 
Et vous tiel serretz comme je su ; 
Sir Johon Count de Garenne gist icy ; 
Dieu de sa alme eit mercy, 
Ky pur sa alme priera 
Trois mill jours de pardon avera." 

In the fine church of Herstmonceux , sacred in 
our own time by its many memories of JuHus 
Hare, his brother and his friends, is a brass to 
the memory of Sir William Fiennes , an ancestor 
of the powerful Lords Dacre of the south. The 
inscription is : " William Ffienles Chiualer, qy 
morust le xviii jour de Janever 1' an del 
Incarnacon nre [Seigneur] Jh' u Cryst m cccc 
V gist ycy [Dieu de sa alme eyt mercie] qy pur 
sa alme devostement Pater noster et Ave priera 
vj "'^ jours de pardon en auera." "* Here it will 
be noticed that the precise prayers to be said 
are named, and instead of fifty days, one hundred 
and twenty days of pardon are promised. 

The subject is one of great curiosity and 

* Sussex Archaological Collections y xxm., 167. 


interest. The Sussex brasses can only be explain- 
ed by reference to those existing elsewhere, and 
to the custom of the Middle Ages in relation to 
" indulgences." Dr. Fairbank has called attention 
to indulgences granted by the Archbishop of York 
at the close of the thirteenth and beginning of the 
fourteenth century. Thus, in 1286, there is one of 
ten days for the soul of a man buried at Dover, 
one of an unmentioned term for a man buried at 
Kirkstall, one for a lady whose body is buried at 
" Bysse-mede " and whose heart is buried at Cam- 
bridge, and for another lady buried at Lincoln. 
There is also one of ten days for a man and wife 
who are buried at Stapleford. Although it is not 
expressly stated, these indulgences were probably 
granted to those who prayed for the well-being of 
these departed persons. There can be no doubt 
in the historic instance of Eleanor, the well- 
beloved wife of Edward I. The King wrote to 
Archbishop Romano desiring the prayers of the 
faithful for the dead Queen, and the Archbishop 
granted a forty days' indulgence to those who 
should offer prayer on behalf of Queen Eleanor's 
soul. This was granted 28th November, and 
again 8th December, 1290. Again, in 13 19, 
Archbishop Melton gave an indulgence of thirty 


days to all who would hear the mass of Robert 
de Bardleby, Canon of York and the King's 
clerk, on Easter day, and pray for the good estate 
of the said Robert and his father and mother. 
In these York grants it is noticeable they are not 
made merely within the limits of the diocese, but 
apparently were granted for any locality.* 

Mr. J. G. Waller observes : " The announce- 
ment of pardon for saying prayers for the 
deceased is very commonly found on monumental 
brasses, but never before has the promised 
reward been of so liberal a character [as in that 
of the Macclesfield monument, to be mentioned 
presently]. In the earlier examples, those of the 
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, a very 
common form of inscription appears, in which 
forty days of pardon is promised to those 
praying at the tomb. This occurs so frequently 
that it seems to have been the most usual term. 
About this period very many similar ones occur, 
but the largest amount of ' pardon ' vouchsafed 
appears on a small brass, having two demi figures, 
in Heylesdon Church, Norfolk, where ten years 
and forty days are granted. This is an unusual 

* Transactions of the Cambridge University Association of Brass 
Collectors, No. xi. , vol. ii. , p. 9. Several instances in this paper are given 
by Dr. Fairbank. See also No. x., p. 19. 


instance, and the date of the monument is about 
the close of the fourteenth century."* What- 
ever the multitude of pardon brasses may have 
been, comparatively few are recorded, and the 
extent of the remission promised by them varies 
very considerably, and is sometimes greatly in 
excess of the limit mentioned by Mr. Waller. 

At Cobham, in Kent, is the tomb of Dame 
Joan de Cobham, who died in 1298. The 
inscription is : " Dame J one de Kobeham gist 
isi Deus de sa alme eit merci ki ke pur le alme 
priera, quarante jours de pardon avera." 

At Hellesdon, Norfolk, is a brass assigned to 
the year 1370, and the inscription, after giving 
the names of Richard de Heylesdone, and Beat- 
rice, his wife, says: "qi p lour almes p' era x. 
aans & xl. jours de pardoun auera." 

William, Marquis of Berkeley, who died in 
149 1, and was buried in the Friars Augustin, 
London [now " Austinfriars," Old Broad Street], 
left a testament in which he says : " Also I will 
that my exors shall purchase a pardon from 
Rome, as large as might be, for plein remission 
of the sins of all those who shall be confessed 
and contrite at Longbrigge from evensong to 

* Journal British Arcfusological Association^ v., 259. 


evensong in the feast of the Trinity, and there 
say Paternosters and 3 aves for my soul and the 
soul aforesaid." 

In the middle aisle of York Cathedral there 
was buried John Albain, painter, and his wife 
Alice, for praying for whom eighty days' pardon 
is granted ; there is no date. An undated tomb, 
once in St. Neots, Huntingdonshire, gives one 
hundred days. That of William de Basynge, 
prior of Winchester, promised three years one 
hundred and forty-five days of pardon. Dr. 
Rock explains it as a pardon of forty days multi- 
plied by the number of bishops, thirty-one, who 
had concurred in the grant.* This he regards as 
an abuse. 

At Great Coates, Lincolnshire, on the brass of 

Sir Thomas Barnardiston and his lady, 1503, is a 

similar grant of pardon : — 

" Of yo charite say a pr noster aue & creed, 
& ye schall haue a C days of p'don to yo"" med." 

The epitaph formerly on the brass of John 
Marsham and wife, St. John's, Maddermarket, 
Norwich, 1525, illustrates the change of religious 
opinion at this period. The original inscription 
was in ten English lines, and concluded : — 

* Church of our Fathers, vol. iii,, p. 74. 


" Ye shall not lose your charitable devocion 
XII Cardinals have granted you xii dayes of Pardon." 

The plate was afterwards reversed, and the new 
inscription engraved on the back, " Of your 
Chary te," etc., and it concluded, "on whose 
soulles," etc. 

Richard Hollinworth, in describing the Strange- 
ways Chantry in Manchester Church, observes 
" In it there is a pardon under the picture of the 
Resurrection of Christ from the Sepulchre. The 
pardon for V. Pater nr. V aves and a crede, is 
xxvi thousand and xxvi dayes of pardon." This 
brass has long since disappeared, nor is there 
anything to show with what particular tomb it 
was connected. 

The promise contained in the Manchester 
pardon is identical as to the term with the inscrip- 
tion on a brass which still remains at Macclesfield, 
although it is now in an imperfect state. The 
picture in the last-named represents the miracul- 
ous mass of Saint Gregory the Great, and shows 
Christ as appearing to him in answer to his 
prayer for a manifestation of the reality of the 
presence in the sacrament. The " Mass of St. 
Gregory " was not infrequently chosen by artists, 
but Mr. Earwaker has pointed out that this is the 


only known brass dealing with it. Hollinworth 
was probably not well posted in matters of 
Catholic art, but he can scarcely have confused 
subjects so different as the mass of St. Gregory 
and Christ rising from the sepulchre, or we might 
be tempted to think that the Manchester and 
Macclesfield brasses were replicas af each other. 
The suggestion has indeed been made that the 
brass formerly at Manchester is now at Maccles- 
field, but a picture of the latter, taken before the 
time of Hollinworth, is in existence. If, how- 
ever, the Manchester brass was mutilated so as to 
make the figure of the saint less striking, the 
picture might then easily be taken to represent 
the resurrection of Christ. The Macclesfield 
pardon is part of the memorial brass of Roger 
Legh and Elizabeth, his wife. She died in 1489, 
and he in 1506, so that the monument may be 
referred to the early years of the sixteenth 
century. It is noteworthy that whilst the inscrip- 
tion which records the deaths is in Latin, the 
pardon, which occupies a distinct position in the 
design, is in English, and reads : " The p'don for 
saying of v. pater nosf & v aves and a cred is 
xxvi thousand yeres and xxvi dayes of pardon." 
It is engraved in Mr. J. P. Earwaker's East 


Cheshire. These enormous grants of indulgence 
are stigmatised by Dr. Rock as " spurious and 
imaginary." * 

It is greatly to be regretted that there is no 
known sketch of the Manchester brass, nor a 
description sufficiently detailed to show whether 
it was a " Mass of St. Gregory " or some form of 
the " Image of Pity." Indulgences in the form 
of broadsides, printed from wooden blocks, were 
very popular at the close of the fifteenth century 
and early part of the sixteenth. These curious 
relics of Christian art have been described by the 
late Henry Bradshaw, who says : "In the cuts 
found in Holland, Belgium, France, and Germany, 
there is a certain amount of similarity. St. 
Gregory is kneeling before the altar ; our Lord 
appears on the altar ; and all around the back- 
ground is filled with the symbols of the 
passion scattered around. In many copies 
of the Primer, or Book of Horce, written 
in England, a picture of the 'Imago Pietatis ' 
or * Arma Crucifixi ' is prefixed to the Psalms 
of the Passion. St. Gregory does not appear, 
but a half-length figure of our Lord appearing 
above a tomb or altar, with the symbols 

* Church of our Fathers^ ^- IT- 


grouped round him."^ These symbols were 
about the year 1487, formed into a border 
for the central figure. In Caxton's Primer 
issued about that year, there is a figure of 
Christ standing half out of a tomb or altar. 
The inscription promises three thousand two 
hundred and fifty-seven years of pardon for the 
devout saying of five paternosters, five aves, and 
a creed. This is repeated in an edition of the 
Horce believed to have been printed in 1494 by 
Wynkyn de Worde in the house of Caxton. A 
broadside indulgence printed by Caxton about 
1490 represented Christ wounded and rising from 
a tomb. The inscription likewise grants three 
thousand two hundred and fifty-seven years of 
pardon. The " Ecce Homo" indulgence dis- 
covered by Mr. W. Y. Ottley, is now in the 
British Museum. The text is : — 

" Seynt gregor' with o/ir' popes and bysshoppes yn feer' 
Haue grauted' of pardon xxvi dayes and xxvi Mill' yeer. 
To/eym that before /is fygur' on/eir knees. 
Deuotly say v paternoster and v avees." 

The extent of the pardon, it will be noticed, is 
the same as on the Macclesfield and Manchester, 
but the repetition of the creed is not laid down as 

* See Bradshaw's Collected Papers, p. 84, et seq. cf., also p. 256. 


a condition. But in an indulgence now preserved 

in Lincoln Minster Library, the resemblance is 

exact. It represents Christ with wounded body 

and crossed hands standing half out of a tomb. 

Below on the face of the altar or tomb are the 

words : — 

" The pdon for v. Pr nr v. 

aues & a crede is xvvjM, 

yeres & xxvi dayes." 

Hollinworth's words are certainly more exactly 
applicable to this picture than to the " Mass of 
St. Gregory." 

So at Quatford, Shropshire, there were some 
wall paintings, and under one, which represented 
Christ rising from the sepulchre, were these 
lines : — 

" Seynt Gregory and other popes 
and bysschops grants sex and 
twenty thousand yere of pardon 
thritti dayes to alle that saies devou 
telye knelying afore pis ymage fife 
paternosters fyfe aves and a cred." * 

It will be seen that the amount of the pardon 
varies greatly. In the thirteenth century we 
have examples of ten days, and forty days ; in 
the fourteenth century thirty, forty-six, and fifty 

* Rock, vol. iii., p. 77. 


days, forty and of three thousand days — unless 
there has been some error in transcribing the 
epitaph. In the fifteenth century we have one 
hundred and twenty days ; and in the sixteenth, 
twelve days and one hundred days ; two thousand 
six hundred years twenty-six days ; and three 
thousand two hundred and fifty-seven years. It 
is not altogether a case of chronological expan- 
sion, although the longest pardons are the latest 
in date. 

The " Mass of St. Gregory " as the illustration 
on letters of indulgence is found in many printed 
and MS. Horce of fifteenth and sixteenth 

The religious poems of William de Shoreham, 
who was Vicar of Chart-Sutton, in Kent, in the 
reign of Edward II., were edited by Thomas 
Wright for the Percy Society. He was the first 
vicar, and was perhaps previously a monk of the 
priory of Leeds, to which the rectory of Chart- 
Sutton was impropriated by Walter, Archbishop 
of Canterbury. Wright thinks him to have been 
a native of Shoreham, near Otford, in Kent, but 
it seems equally probable that he took his name 
from the much better known Sussex Shoreham. 
There are several pious colophons to his verses, 


and one reads thus : — " Oretis pro anima domini 
Willehni de Sckorham, quondam vicarii de Chart 
juxta Ledes, qui comiposuit istani cornpilacionem de 
septem mortalibus peccatis. Et omnibus dicentibus 
oracionem dominicam cum salutacione angelica 
quadraginta dies veniae a domino Symone archie- 
piscopo Cantuariae concedunfur.'' 

Robert de Cologne, in a treatise on indulgences, 
printed at Zutphen in 1518, says that St. Gregory 
granted fourteen thousand years of indulgence ; 
that Nicholas V. doubled them ; that Calixtus 
III. added five prayers to the five paternosters 
and five aves, and then doubled the indulgence ; 
that Sixtus IV. added two more prayers, two 
paternosters, and two aves, and again doubled the 
indulgence; and that Innocent VIII. added two 
more prayers, with two paternosters and two 
aves, and again doubled the previous indulgence. 
Opinions are divided as to whether the total 
result of the operations is seventy thousand, 
ninety-two thousand, or one hundred and twelve 
thousand years of pardon. A " Mass of St. 
Gregory" is facsimiled in Holtrop's Monuments 
Typographiques des Pay bas au XVieme Siecle. 
In this the risen Christ is seen standing on an 
altar, before which kneels St. Gregory, whilst the 


background is crowded widi the instruments and 
emblems of the Passion, but these are not, as in 
most English prints of the Image of Pity, 
arranged as a border framing the whole picture. 
The inscription is in Flemish, and promises four- 
teen thousand years of pardon. The print is 
believed to have been issued between 1455 and 

Of course the " Imaofo Pietatis " and the 
" Mass of St. Gregory " were not the only artistic 
indulgences. There is a fine wood engraving 
belonging probably to the school of Gaudenzio 
Ferrari, and dating from the early years of the 
sixteenth century, representing the Virgin and 
Child and St. Joseph with a considerable amount 
of landscape. Underneath is an Ave Maria and 
a statement also in Latin that Sixtus IV. had 
granted " xi milia annorum " for each time it was 
said. To consider the many indulgences printed 
in the infancy of typography would lead us far 

The papal grants of " indulgences " were 
among the abuses that led to the Reformation 
under Luther. Indulgences appear to have been 
developed as a powerful instrument for the pro- 
motion of the crusades, those remarkable, but in 


the end futile, efforts to accomplish the redemp- 
tion of the Holy Land from the "infidels" — on 
which the Popes had set their heart. The 
remission promised to the actual crusaders was 
afterwards extended to those who were less 
directly engaged. " Thus, for instance, it became 
necessary in course of time to reward by remis- 
sions of so and so many days those who would 
consent even to be present at the preaching of 
the papal legate who came to announce a crusade; 
and, finally, just before the fall of Acre, full 
remission was granted to those who would con- 
tribute anything at all to the lost cause." * " One 
papal legate in 12 19 offered to the crusaders 
willing to remain in the Holy Land that he would 
absolve the souls of their fathers, mothers, 
brothers, sisters, wives, and children." t The 
system was extended in many ways. 

The theory of the Roman Catholic Church as 
to indulgfences is that in addition to the eternal 
punishment of sin there is also a temporal punish- 
ment, and that as the former may be remitted by 
the merits of the Saviour, so the latter may be 
shortened by the merit of certain good works or 

* E. F. Henderson, Select Historical Documents, 1892, p. 272. 
t Ibid. 


acts of devotion of the faithful. An indulgence 
is not, as is too often said by the opponents of 
the Roman Church, either a remission of sin or a 
permission to sin, nor is it of avail without the 
repentance and amendment of the sinner.* But 

* The teaching of the Roman Communion on the subject of "indul- 
gences" is set forth in the following passages, chiefly from the Prompta 
Bibliotheca of F. Lucius Ferraris (Venice, 1772) : — i. " By an Indulgence, 
moral fault is not remitted, but only the temporal penalty (poena) still 
remaining to be paid in this life or in purgatory. 2. Whenever in the 
form or grant of an Indulgence remission of sins is said to be granted by 
it, we understand by 'sin' the penalty of sin, in accordance with 11. 
Machabees xii., 46. The whole passage reads: — {43) 'And making a 
gathering, he (Judas the Machabee) sent 12,000 drachmas of silver to 
Jerusalem for sacrifice to be offered for the sins of the dead, thinking well 
and religiously concerning the resurrection. (44) For if he had not hoped 
that they that were slain should rise again, it would have seemed super- 
fluous and vain io pray for the dead. (45) And because he considered that 
they who had fallen asleep with godliness had great grace laid up for them. 
(46) It is therefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead that 
they may be loosed from sins.' 3. As to Indulgences ' from penalty and 
fault ' (a poena et culpa), ' Benedict XIV. pronounces these to be 
apocryphal, even if only venial sins were meant : De Synodo, lib. 13, Cap. 
18, No. 7.' 4. The Indulgence called "A Quarantine means of Forty 
Days, that is to say a remission of as much punishment (poena) as would 
have been remitted for the penance ( poenitentia ) of 40 Days formerly fixed 
by the Church for certain sins, in the Penitential Canons." And so of 
other Indulgences for fixed periods. Ferraris says; "We are not to 
understand that so many days or years are remitted of punishment in 
Purgatory, or that a stay of that much time in Purgatory is abated — (for 
indeed it is not likely that Purgatory will be in existence for the 200,000 or 
300,000 years for which an Indulgence is sometimes granted), — but by such 
an Indulgence is meant that so much punishment is remitted by it as would 
be remitted in virtue of the penance appointed by the Penitential Rules 
(canons) in the Canon Law, if such penance were performed in this world 
for the number of days or years mentioned." So in the "Catholic Directory" 
for 1893 we read: — "In the early ages of the Church, 'canonical 
penances ' as they were called were inflicted for sin ; and an Indulgence of 
forty days, for example, represents a remission of as much of the temporal 
punishment as would have been remitted by means of forty days of such 
canonical penance ; but how much that is, or would have been, is not 
known to us." 5. As to Indulgences of 100 years, 1,000, ioo,coo, etc., 


without going into these theological refinements, 
it cannot be doubted that the system was one 
which led to enormous abuse. The hypocrisy, 
craft, and falsehood of those who made a traffic 
of the sale of pardons and indulgences has left its 

years, P. Minderer in his Treatise on Indulgences, pronounces them to be 
of trivial credibility. " Soto has not hesitated to aflfirni that they were 
fictions of the Quaestors [i.e., the Preachers of Indulgences such as those 
before the Reformation for the raising of funds for building St. Peters, 
etc.]. Estius openly says they are fabrications and forgeries, and in no 
wise attributable to the Holy See. The Venerable Cardinal Thomasius 
concludes that they are incredible and altogether improbable. See 
Benedict XIV., De Synodo, Book xiii., Ch. l8." 6. "St. Pius V., Pope, 

27 January, 1567, revoked all Indulgences that included the gaining of 
money (quaestus). See also the Council of Trent on this matter, Session 
25, in the Decree of Indulgences ; and Session 21, ch. 9, on Reformation. 
Paul v., 23 May, 1606, revoked all Indulgences granted by his pre- 
decessors to all or any Religious Orders, and issued a new series in their 
stead. In his * Constitution ' of 23 May, 1606, effecting this, he recites 
that 'Our predecessor, of happy memory, Clement VIII., with great 
diligence and solicitude, endeavoured to abolish abuses and corruptions 
that had crept into the giving of Indulgences, and also into the accepting 
of them.' Clement VIII. reigned from 1592 to 1605. Innocent XL, in 
a 'Decree' dated 7 March, 1678 (not relating merely to Religious Orders 
like the above ' Constitution ' of Paul V. ), refers to ' certain made-up 
(confidae), and altogether false Indulgences that are carried about 
( circumferentum) through divers parts of the Christian world ; and others 
that on examination have been found to be either apocryphal or already 
revoked by the Roman Pontiffs, or no longer valid owing to a lapse of 
time ;" and records that a Congregation of Cardinals, to whom this 
matter had been referred, has drawn up a list of such Indulgences, and 
that the said Congregation ' declares them to be partly made-up and 
clearly false, partly apocryphal, or from some other cause null and 
void, and that can benefit nobody, and forbids them to be published any- 
where as true, or to be put forward as capable of being gained by the 
faithful, and strictly orders to be destroyed all sheets and books in which 
they are so put forward or alleged, unless the said Indulgences have been 
diligently expunged therefrom. And ' [the said Congregation] hereby [»".«., 
by making specific mention of those in its list] does not wish it to be 
inferred that all others not mentioned in this Decree are therefore to be 
held as true and legitimate and tactily approved.' The Decree concludes : 


mark indelibly on popular as well as on theological 
literature. Chaucer as well as Luther may be 
cited in evidence of the evils of that system 
which these pardon brasses recall to memory. 

' A report on these thing having been made by the Secretary to the Holy 
Father, his Holiness has approved the whole, and ordered it to be 
inviolably observed. Given at Rome, 7th March, 1678.' " 7. Ferraris 
goes on to give, in six pages of double columns, "Sundry Decrees lately 
issued (and printed in the Bullarium of Clement XL), in which many 
things are laid down and declared concerning Indulgences, and some 
things are prohibited and interdicted as false and apocryphal." 

^rial of Ibenr^ IRobsoii in 1598. 

IN the golden days of Elizabeth, when the 
ancient town of the Cinque Ports was still 
'* Rye Royal," there happened a strange tragedy, 
the particulars of which are commemorated in a 
tract, written by L. B. — whose full name remains 
unknown — and which the title page states to be 
"printed by Felix Kingston for R. W., and are to 
be solde in Paternoster Row at the sio^ne of the 
Talbot" in 1598. 

This account is noteworthy, not only in 
relation to forensic medicine, but to the 
methods of criminal law as administered in the 
days of the Tudors. The facts are in a small 
compass. Henry Robson, a fisherman of Rye, 
was for a long time well thought of by his 
neighbours, but a taste for lavish expenditure led 
him into debt, and being unable to satisfy his 
creditors, he was, as the result of several suits, 
cast into prison as a debtor, and remained there 
without any prospect of release. He had a 
faithful, honest wife, but she was unable to pay 


his debts, and he conceived a strong but 
concealed dislike for her. If she were out of the 
way Robson thought he could turn what remained 
of his goods and estate into money, and by 
fleeing into the Netherlands escape the persecu- 
tion of his obdurate creditors. One day, in 
conversation with a fellow prisoner, he expressed 
his regret that his wife's continuance in life 
hindered his escape. The other scoundrel there- 
upon offered to procure ratsbane, and to teach 
Robson how it mioht be used without fear of 

Glasier, such was the worthy's name, was soon 
after released from durance. By Robson's 
request he bought some ratsbane at the shop of 
Fisher, a mercer in Rye. This he conveyed to 
Robson, and told him to mix it with glass beaten 
small, and wrap it in the skin of a shoulder of 
mutton, making the packet of poison about the 
size of a hazelnut. The poison was to be 
administered to Robson's wife per vaginam when 
next she would come to stay with her husband. 
This we are told was done on her next visit. 
Soon after her return home she began to be 
seriously ill, and as her pains continued and 
increased, medical aid was called in, The 


physicians were unable to relieve her, but 
strongly suspected foul play. After some five 
days she died, and a post mortem examination 
revealed the presence of ratsbane and glass ' ' in 
everie vaine." Inquiries were set on foot, and 
the purchase of the poison from Fisher was 
discovered. Glasier hearing of this absconded. 
Naturally enough suspicion fell upon the husband, 
and after some denials he confessed, and at the 
next sessions was tried, condemned, and hanged. 
Let us first consider the accuracy of the 
narrative of the poisoning as given by the Tudor 
pamphleteer. On this point I have to thank 
Professor J. Dixon Mann for a note on the 
pathology of the case. The first point is as to 
the precise meaning of "ratsbane." In Ramsey's 
*' De Venenis " (1660), he refers to "that kind 
of arsenick which they usually lay for mice 
(commonly called by us, ratsbane)." There is, 
therefore, nothing impossible in the narrative. 
There are many cases on record of persons being 
poisoned by the external application of arsenic, as 
for example, when it has been applied by quacks 
to cancerous growths of the breast. The intro- 
duction of the poison into the vagina would be 
likely to be followed by the general symptoms of 


arsenical poisoning. The addition of powdered 
glass by abrading the mucous membrane would 
facilitate the introduction of the poison into the 
system and probably cause death within the time 

Powdered glass is still used by Indian poisoners. 
The only improbability is the statement that both 
glass and ratsbane were found in every vein. 
The glass would not be found in the veins 
because it would not get there ; the arsenic 
probably would be present in the blood, but it is 
doubtful if the chemical knowledge of that age 
would be equal to its detection. The statement 
is probably a rhetorical exaggeration of the fact 
that arsenic was found in the body of the poor 

There is therefore every reason to think that 
Robson was guilty of the murder, but our 
modern sense of fair play to accused persons 
revolts from the method employed in trepanning 

* It may be remembered that another remarkable trial for alleged murder 
by arsenical poisoning occurred at Lewes assizes in 1826. A woman was 
accused of poisoning her husband by the administration of arsenic. There 
was some divergence of medical opinion as to the length of time in which 
the poison would operate fatally. Mr. G. A. Mantell, the famous 
geologist, who was then in practice as a surgeon in that town, and his brother 
Joshua, who was in the same profession, were satisfied that the woman 
was innocent, and ultimately procured her pardon. One result of this 
trial was the publication of Mantell's treatise on arsenical poisoning. 


him into an admission of his guilt. The circum- 
stances of the wife's visit to, and stay with her 
husband in prison, the purchase of the poison by 
his crony, Glasier, and the subsequent flight of 
that worthy, the discovery of arsenic in the body, 
all pointed to the suspicion of wife-murder, and it 
is not surprising that some persons should have 
openly avowed their belief in Robson's guilt. 
The Mayor, Jurats, and Recorder of Rye 
assembled, and it was decided to send for Robson. 

" Neighbour Robson," said Mr. Francis Bolton, 
the Recorder, "we understand by one Glasier, 
that you had certain poison of him, which you 
caused him to buy. Now we have' sent for you to 
know to what intent you bought it? For that 
you are suspected of the death of your wife, and 
by some manifestly accused." 

Robson protested that he was as ignorant as a 
newly born child both of the death of his wife and 
of any such poison. 

"Nay," said the Recorder, "if you be so 
obstinate, we will bring Glasier forth who to your 
shame shall testify it, and then you are guilty not 
only of the poison, but of the act doing. And 
therefore confess the truth, and shame the 


** Well," said Robson, " I had, indeed, ratsbane, 
but what of that ? " 

"Why didst thou deny it then?" asked the 
Recorder. "It shows a guilty conscience. But 
what didst thou with it ? And to what intent 
didst thou buy it ? " 

"Why," replied Robson, "the Courthouse is 
full of rats, and I bought it to kill them." 

" That is not so," said the Recorder, " But the 
devil is the father of lies, and I fear thou art his 
son. Confess the truth of what thou didst with 

" Well," answered Robson, "if you will needs 
know, I will truly resolve you. I have been long 
in prison, and I have often heard that poison will 
break open any iron lock, and therefore I bought 
it thinking thereby to get my liberty. Now I 
have told the truth, I hope you will pardon me."* 

" No," said the Recorder, " thou hast not told 
the truth, for with it and glass mingled together 
thou didst poison thy wife ; and therefore as thou 
lookest for any favour at our hands, confess how 
and in what manner thou didst it and who was 
thy counsellor in it ? " 

" Well then " replied Robson, " I perceive you 

* A very curious bit of folk-lore. 


glut after my blood, and if it will pleasure you, you 
shall have it." He imagined from the Recorder's 
bold statement that Glasier had made an avowal 
and that further denial would be unavailing, and 
therefore in the words of our chronicler "openly 
declared the whole manner aforesaid, how and in 
what manner he had done it, and for what cause, 
and who was his Counsellor. Which they 
hearing, greatly marvelled, and committed him to 
prison, where he remained till the Sessions Day, 
when he was arraigned and condemned, and 
according to the law he there was adjudged to be 
hanged, which was performed." 

It is not at all probable that in the absence 
of Glasier, Robson could have been convicted but 
for the confession which the Recorder tricked him 
into making. The words so graphically reported 
by the pamphleteer read more like those of a 
French juge d' instruction than of an English 
magistrate as the duty of the latter would now be 
interpreted. Even the humblest instruments of 
the law are to-day expected to warn their prisoner 
that he need not make any incriminating state- 
ment. No accused person is expected to aid in 
his own conviction. But our forensic annals 
show that in the past judges did not always so 


interpret their duty. The genius of Bunyan has 
drawn a vivid picture of the conduct of a criminal 
assize in his day, and although the account of the 
trial of Christian and Faithful may seem now a 
monstrous exaggeration, there is only too much 
evidence for accepting it as a faithful picture. 
And the case of Henry Robson, even on the 
assumption of his guilt, is another example of the 
unfairness which once prevailed in the administra-. 
tion of the law. 

3n Denis Buval's Countrp. 

IN his interesting " Reminiscences," Dean 
Hole has a characteristic notice of 
Thackeray. "I went," he says, "with Leech, 
and the servant told us that he was engaged. 
As we were going disappointed away, Miss 
Thackeray opened the door and called to us, ' Of 
course, papa will see you.' We went up to his 
study, and found him sitting, more suo, with his 
face turned to the back of his chair, on which a 
small board was fastened for his writing materials. 
He sighed, and said he was wearied by his long 
monotonous work (it was nigh the end, for the 
last pages of ' Denis Duval ' were before him) ; 
and Leech said, ' Why don't you have a holiday 
and take the girls to the seaside?' He made no 
verbal answer, but, rising slowly, plunged his 
hands to the very bottom of his pockets, brought 
them out, shook, replaced them, and then 
resumed his seat." 

There is room for difference of opinion as to 
which is Thackeray's masterpiece, but there are 


many who think that in " Denis Duval," which 
unhappily was still incomplete when death stayed 
the skilful hand, we have the ripest and mellowest 
expression of his genius, even though it may lack 
the supremest touches which mark certain scenes 
in "Vanity Fair" and "The Newcomes." As in 
other of Thackeray's works there is local colour, 
and a visit to " Denis Duval's " country will show 
to what extent he has reproduced the spirit of the 
scene even when he has thought it necessary to 
depart from strict archaeological accuracy. The 
earlier scenes are laid at Rye and Winchelsea, those 
two quaint old towns which are the delight of the 
antiquary and the artist. Thackeray's observant 
eyes saw the charm of the old-fashioned streets, 
the antique houses, the ruined towers, the great 
gates looking landward and seaward, and the long 
stretch of marsh leading to the waters of the 
Enpflish Channel. There have been few to 
celebrate in verse the glories and reverses of the 
" Two Ancient Towns " which watch each other 
from two hills across the three miles of 
road and marsh separating them ; but Edward, 
Lord Thurlow, has written a sonnet, " To 
Rye in Sussex," — the approach that is from the 
sea : — 


" Before me on old ocean's pebbly marge, 
And marshy plains, upon a spacious bay. 
The mighty works of labour stand at large, 
When violence within this Realm had sway : 

The antique castle glooms deserted now, 
A monument of wasteful war and pride, 
And Winchelsea upon its raised brow. 
That the vain shock of ages hath defied : 

Before me Rye, once town of dignity. 
Stands like a falcon on its perched rock : 
Long may it view the everlasting sea, 
Forsaken of the waves, and brave the shock 

Of fruitless Time, till in the fatal hour 
Oblivion shall our silver Isle devour." 

The two towns are not difficult of access by the 
South-Eastern Railway. The traveller who 
alights at Winchelsea can, after rambling through 
its streets and lanes, pass through its ancient 
gateway, and proceed by the winding road to 
Rye. The ramble can be extended to Camber 
Castle and Rye harbour without difficulty. From 
the low-lying land may be seen upon the two hills 
which face each other the " Two Ancient 
Towns " of Winchelsea and Rye. 

T he older Winchelsea , where William th e 
Norman landed in 1067 on his second arrival in 
this country, was destroyed by the sea, partly in 
1250, and wholly in 1287 . The town was then 
removed to its present position, but the base of 



the hill on which it stands was in those days washed 
by the waves. The sea has since receded and left 
Winchelsea literally stranded. But the great 
Edward saw the capacities of the place, and 
planned here a strong town with walls, gates, 
churches, monasteries, and all the other 
belongings of a prosperous mediseval community. 
The late Mr. E. A. Freeman was much struck by 
the appearance of Winchelsea, which he declared 
to be "from the point of view of municipal and 
parliamentary antiquary one of the most 
interesting places in England." It differs from a 
ruined town, and is the City that Never Was. 
" It is most striking," says Freeman, "to see the 
preparations which were made for what was to be, 
the walls which fence in nothing, the gates which 
lead to nothing, the large and splendid church 
began but never finished, the streets laid out in 
regular order according to the plan always 
followed in the foundations of the great King, but 
streets which have never yet grown into the form 
of houses. The one thing which was finished, 
the Friars' Church, is now a ruin. A country 
house with its usual appendages stands within the 
walls of the town, and all that has come of the 
great borough which was designed is a small 


village." This passage, written for the Saturday 
Review in 187 1, stands unaltered in the 
" Historical Essays" issued almost simultaneously 
with the death of the great scholar in 1892. 
There is, however, some reason to think that the 
Church was finished and that the nave was 
destroyed. Winchelsea was the object of various 
attacks on the part of the French, who came on 
errands of plunder and massacre in 1359, 1368, 
and 1449. By this time the sea was forsaking it. 
The intended glories of the Edwardian foundation 
failed of accomplishment. " Winchelsea," as Mr. 
Coventry Patmore has said, "is a town in a 
trance, a sunny dream of centuries ago : but Rye 
is a bit of the old world living pleasantly on in 
ignorance of the new." 

Rye is situated in an exposed position, and for 
its protection the Ypres Tower was built by 
William D'Ypres, Earl of Kent, in the middle of 
the twelfth century. From this great watchtower 
the whole of the coast could be seen. In 1149, 
the town had a charter for walling and fortification. 
The receding of the waters afterwards exposed 
the north side of the town, and Edward completed 
its defence by the erection of a massive gateway, 
flanked by towers, and having nail-studded 


wooden doors and a portcullis. From the 
gateway extended a wall twenty- eight feet high 
and five feet thick, with a deep fosse. About 
1448, the wall built by Richard I. on the eastern 
cliff was ruined by the undermining operations of 
the sea. The defences of Rye did not suffice to 
keep away the French, who made several 
incursions. Early in the thirteenth century it 
was captured by the Dauphin of France, and 
again in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries it 
was sacked more than once. The town became a 
place of refuge for the Huguenots after the 
massacre of St. Bartholomew. Fishing and 
smuggling were both Rye industries. The 
borough has never lost a measure of quiet 
prosperity however far it may have been left 
behind by younger and more energetic rivals. 

These "Two Ancient Towns," as they are 
styled in the charters which include them in the 
Cinque Ports, are the scenes of " Denis Duval." 
The first intention of Thackeray had been to 
give his hero the name of Blaise. This was 
afterwards changed to Denis, and by the 
adoption of this designation he linked the hero 
with a real and notable personage of the time. 
Peter Denis was the son of a French Protestant 


minister, the Rev. Jacob Denis, a native of La 
Rochefoucault, in Angumois, who had been 
exiled from his fatherland by the revocation of 
the Edict of Nantes. The refugee pastor settled 
at Chester, took orders in the Anglican Church, 
married Miss Martha Leach, "a lady of an 
ancient Lancashire family," and became father of 
twelve children. The youngest but one was 
Peter, who was born at Chester in 17 12. His 
father is believed to have been one of the masters 
of the King's School there, and the son probably 
obtained his education in that institution. He 
received his lieutenant's commission in 1739, and 
went with Anson in the expedition which made 
the "Centurion" famous. They sailed in 1740, 
a badly equipped expedition of six ships, of which 
two never rounded Cape Horn, and another, the 
" Wager," was driven ashore and lost. When 
the " Centurion " reached Juan Fernandez there 
were not more than thirty men on board capable 
of work. The desperate plight of the expedition 
may be judged from the statement that of the 961 
men who had left England there were but 335 
men and boys remaining. "With these in 
the "Centurion" and the "Gloucester," Anson 
destroyed the Spanish commerce, blockaded the 


ports, and burned the town of Paita. Having 
missed the Spanish treasure ships, he sailed for 
China, and had to abandon two of his ships. 
The " Centurion " alone remained, and was taken 
to Macoa, and the crew increased to 227 by the 
enlistment of Negroes, Dutchmen, and Lascars. 
These were carefully drilled, and on June 20th, 
1743, Anson captured the great Spanish galleon 
with its crew of 600 men and its ^500,000 worth 
of treasure. He returned home, was protected 
by a friendly fog from the French fleet, and then 
the ship's company, with band playing and colours 
flying, marched through London City with the 
thirty-two wagon-loads of the "loot" they had 
obtained from the Spaniard. Anson's dispute 
with the Admiralty may have hindered the 
immediate promotion of Denis, but his time came. 
In 1744-5, when Anson was one of the Board of 
Admiralty, Denis became post-captain, and he 
commanded the "Centurion" in the fight with La 
Jonquiere, when the captured French ships 
included the " Gloire " and the "Invincible," 
which was commanded by Captain de St. George. 
When the Frenchman surrendered his sword to 
Anson he said, " Monsieur, vous avez vaincu 
rinvincible et la Gloire vous suit," — a frank 


epigram that gained him the friendship of the 
victor. It was the pleasant duty of Denis to take 
home the despatches in which the victory was 
announced. He served in ParHament for the 
borough of Heydon. In 1756, he was on the 
home station, and formed part of the Court- 
Martial that had the melancholy duty of trying 
Admiral Byng. It seems clear that they had no 
option but to find him guilty of negligence. 
Their strong recommendation to mercy was 
disregarded by the King, and whatever discredit 
attaches to the execution of Byng must be laid, 
not to his judges, but to the inhumanity of George 
II. Denis formed part of Sir Edward Hawke's 
unsuccessful expedition against Rochefort in 
1757; captured the " Raisonnable " in 1758, and 
had his share in the great victory of Quiberon Bay 
in 1759; — a battle which Prof. Laughton has 
characterised as " the greatest victory at sea since 
the defeat of the Spanish Armada." In 1 761, as 
Thackeray records, it was the agreeable task of 
Denis to bring to her English home and bride- 
groom the German princess, so long known to 
our grandfathers as "Good Queen Charlotte." 
Denis became a baronet in 1767, and after further 
service of an uneventful kind, he died in 1778, 


when the title became extinct. He is buried in 
the grounds of St. George the Martyr, Holborn, 
There, too, Hes his wife, who although known as 
Miss Pappett, was a natural daughter of John 
James Heidegger, the famous " Count Ugly," 
who figures alike in the pictures of Hogarth, the 
verse of Pope, and the prose of Fielding. 
Heidegger was the partner of Handel in some 
operatic ventures, and made a large income by 
theatrical management and masquerades, so loose 
in character that the Middlesex grand jury 
presented their projector as " the principal 
promoter of vice and immorality." Elizabeth 
Pappett became the wife of Denis on September 
2nd, 1750, and died December 30th, 1765. Such 
was the career of the real personage, whom 
Thackeray has made the god-father of his 
imaginary hero. 

Denis Duval tells us that he was born at 
Winchelsea, " where there has been a French 
church ever since Queen Bess' time and the 
dreadful day of St. Bartholomew," Here his 
grandfather was precentor. There was a Hugue- 
not church at Winchelsea in the Armada days, 
but unlike that at Canterbury, where the French 
services are still held in the Crypt of the 


Cathedral, the Huguenots of Winchelsea had died 
out or had been incorporated in the mass of 
EngHsh protestantism long before the time of 
Denis Duval. So also the Huguenot Church at 
Rye ceased early in the i8th century. This is 
an initial anachronism, but Thackeray took care 
to make sure as to the constitution and manage- 
ment of these churches, so that the glimpses 
afforded are accurate. 

The French church at Rye began in the reign 
of Elizabeth, and the arrival of the fugitive 
Protestants was sometimes a matter of great 
embarrassment to the authorities, which was 
increased in 1563 by the return of soldiers and 
people from Havre when the plague broke out in 
the little town. There were further influxes in 
1568 and 1572, and in 1574 a municipal 
regulation was devised against the advent of 
pauper refugees. One of the few exceptions to 
the good qualities of the Huguenots is afforded by 
Marie Gosling, wife of Philip Williams, who, in 
1598, was executed for " murthering her own 
child." In 1586, there were over 1,500 refugees 
in the town. Some of these were persons of 
wealth and substance. It was impossible for Rye 
to absorb so large a number, and they found 


openings for themselves elsewhere, so that by 
1622 there were only between twenty and thirty 
foreigners, presumably recent arrivals, as the 
descendants of the older settlers would now 
be recognised as townspeople. When the 
persecution of 1680 began there was a new 
irruption, and in 1682 the parishoners agreed to 
allow the use of the church for services in French 
from eight to ten, and from twelve to two " as 
hertofore." The last record of the congregation 
in Rye is of the year 1728, when they received 
^35 2s. od. from the Royal Bounty Fund. 

The home of the Duvals was in " Port St," an 
imaginary name for one of the Winchelsea 
thoroughfares. Here one evening in 1769 the 
Comtesse heard the story of the woman burned to 
death on Penenden or Pickenden Heath for the 
murder of her husband. The case was a very 
curious one. A well-to-do butcher at Hythe, in 
Kent, fell in love with his servant girl, who, 
however, refused to marry him, and to escape his 
importunities returned to her friends who lived in 
another town of the same county. Here she 
found a more acceptable suitor in a young 
smuggler named Benjamin Buss. This fellow's 
love was not of a very delicate order, and he 


urged his sweetheart to marry her elderly lover in 
order that at his death they might enjoy the 
money which the butcher had scraped together. 
She was exceedingly unwilling to comply with 
this advice, but finally consented. To expedite 
their expected good fortune was the next thought 
of Buss, and he again induced the woman to be 
his accomplice. A few days after the marriage, 
the butcher and his bride went for a few days' 
outing, and Buss was invited to be one of the 
company. They set off on horseback, and at 
Burmash, — by which Burwash is probably meant 
— Lott, having broken his bridle, dismounted to 
mend it, and a public-house being at hand, he 
went in, and the butcher ordered some " milk 
bumbo."* On coming out, he first gave some to 
his wife and then to Buss, neither of whom 
dismounted, and then drank some himself. He 
complained that it was bitter, and hot, and had a 
bad taste. The landlady was surprised and hurt 
at this disapproval, and strenuously vouched for 
the excellence of the ingredients. When the 
guests had gone, she herself tasted the mixture, 
and found it very nasty. She called the attention 

* Smollelt, in a note to " Roderick Random," which appeared in 1748, 
describes "Bumbo" as a liquor composed of rum, sugar, water, and 
nutmeg, but the name was applied to other alcoholic mixtures. 


of her daughter-in-law to the matter, who also 
had a tablespoonful, and then, throwing the rest 
away, noticed that there was a sediment at the 
bottom of the vessel. Although the younger 
woman vomited, no suspicion of poison arose, and 
the badness of the " bumbo " was attributed to 
the water. Lott had partaken more liberally, 
and between Burmash and Bonington became 
seriously ill. They stopped there for tea, and 
Lott drank plentifully, and so recovered from the 
effect of the corrosive sublimate which had been 
administered to him. Buss, on this first dis- 
appointment, procured larger doses, and these 
were given to the unfortunate husband, who died 
after nine days of intense suffering. Suspicion of 
poisoning arose, and on examination before a 
justice of the peace Mrs. Lott confessed the 
crime. She was imprisoned seven months at 
Canterbury, and thence removed to Maidstone, 
where she remained four months awaiting her 
trial. This was owing to the illness of the 
apothecary from whom the poison had been 
bought. He died, however, before the Assizes 
came on. Buss at first denied his guilt, then in 
an attack of jail fever, confessed, and on his 
recovery retracted his confession. The trial came 


on at Maidstone, 19th July, 1769. Both were 
found guilty. Her attitude was one of great 
humility and dejection, especially when the child 
she had borne in prison was brought into court 
for her to suckle. The execution took place on 
Penenden Heath. Buss was dressed in black, 
and drawn in a waggon with four horses. Mrs. 
Lott, wearing the mourning gown she had bought 
on her husband's death, followed in a hurdle also 
drawn by four horses, The man was executed 
first, and when he had hung for a quarter-of-an 
hour, Mrs. Lott was carried to a stake about a 
hundred yards away from the gallows. The 
stake was about seven feet high, and near the top 
was a peg, on which the woman standing on a 
stool was fastened by the neck. The stool was 
pulled away, and when she was quite dead, a 
chain was fastened round the body and the stake, 
fagots were piled up, and these being lighted, the 
body of the unhappy woman was reduced to 

It was in " Port St." that a " no Popery " riot 
was threatened at the funeral of the Comtesse de 
Saverne, and averted by the courage and good 
feeling of the Rector, whose appeal to the angry 
mob was successful in appeasing their anger. 


" There was no outcry any more. The Httle 
procession fell into an orderly rank, passed 
through the streets, and round the Protestant 
Church to the old burying ground behind the 
house of the Priory. The Rector walked 
between the two Roman Catholic clergymen. I 
imagine the scene before me now — the tramp of 
the people, the flicker of a torch or two ; and then 
we go in at the gate of the Priory ground into the 
old graveyard of the monastery, where a grave 
had been dug." 

What Thackeray calls Sandgate is probably 
the Strandgate. Here it was that Denis used to 
drag in a little wheel-chair the baby Agnes, who 
afterwards became his wife. It was in one of 
these excursions that the Comte de Saverne, the 
day before the duel at Boulogne with La Motte — 
the fatal duel which ended his life — saw his child, 
the infant with which his wife had fled from her 
home. " O Agnes, Agnes ! How the years roll 
away ! What strange events have befallen us : 
what passionate griefs have we had to suffer : 
what a merciful Heaven has protected us, since 
that day when your father knelt over the little car, 
in which his child lay sleeping ! I have the 
picture in my mind now. I see a winding road 


leading down to one of the gates of our town ; 
' the blue marsh-land, and yonder, across the marsh, 
Rye towers and gables ; a great silver sea 
stretching beyond, and that dark man's figure 
stooping and looking at the child asleep. He 
never kissed the infant or touched her. I 
remember it woke smiling, and held out its little 
arms, and he turned away with a sort of groan." 

When the poor distraught Countess had in her 
madness left her child on the sea shore, and came 
back with a bleeding foot and without one of her 
slippers, the boy Denis sets out to find the little 
child he loves. "A sudden thought comes to 
me, and, whenever I remember it, my heart is 
full of thankfulness to the gracious Giver of all 
good thoughts, Madame, of whom I was not 
afraid, and who sometimes was amused by my 
prattle, would now and then take a walk 
accompanied by Martha, her maid, who held the 
infant, and myself, who liked to draw it in its 
carriage. We used to walk down to the shore, 
and there was a rock there on which the poor 
lady would sit for hours. * You take her home, 
mother,' says I, all in a tremble. 'You give me 
the lantern, and I'll go — I'll go — ' I was off 
before I said where. Down I went, through 


Westgate ; down I ran along the road towards 
the place where I guessed at. When I had gone 
a few hundred yards, I saw in the road something 
white. It was the Countess's slipper, that she 
had left there. I knew she had gone that way. 
I got down to the shore, running, running with 
all my little might. The moon had risen by this 
time, shining gloriously over a great silvery sea. 
A tide of silver was pouring in over the sand. 
Yonder was that rock where we often had sat. 
The infant was sleeping on it under the stars 
unconscious. He, who loves little children, had 
watched over it. I scarcly can see the words as I 
write them down. My little baby was waking. 
She had known nothing of the awful sea coming 
nearer with each wave ; but she knew me as I 
came, and smiled, and warbled a little infant 
welcome. I took her up in my arms, and trotted 
home with my pretty burden. As I paced up the 
hill, Monsieur de la Motte and one of the French 
clergyman met me. By ones and twos, the other 
searchers after my little wanderer came home 
from their quest. She was laid in her little crib, 
and never knew, until years later, the danger 
from which she had been rescued." 

That which Thackeray calls the Westgate 


would be the New Gate, leading from Winchelsea 
to Pett and Fairlight. 

In the High Street of Rye is the Grammar 
School, built at the cost of Thomas Peacock, 
gentleman, in 1636, and endowed by him two years 
later. For some years there was on the front a 
sun-dial, given by Col. de Lacy Evans, who at 
one time served Rye in Parliament, but this 
monitor of time has been removed to the Town 
Hall, and the quaint brick building with its 
projecting pilasters is probably little altered from 
what it was when Denis Duval passed through 
its arched doorway into the schoolroom beyond. 
Thackeray calls its Pocock's. Denis boarded, it 
will be remembered, with the hypocritical Rudge, 
who combined with the business, openly pursued, 
of a grocer, the concealed trade of a smuggler, 
and added to both the pious pretentions of " chief 
man among the Wesleyans." 

The first visit to Rye of the Apostle of 
Methodism was in October, 1758. He preached 
there again in November, 1767, "when," he 
says, "a poor prodigal who was cut to the 
heart the first time I was there, was one 
of the audience ; but exceeding drunk." On 
December iith, 1769, he was again at Rye, and 


"judging most of the congregation to be 
awakened," he took the parable of Dives and 
Lazarus as the topic of his discourse. On 30th 
October, 1771, he walked from Rye to Win- 
chelsea, " said to have been once a large city, 
with abundance of trade and of inhabitants, the 
sea washing the foot of the hill on which it 
stands. The situation is exceeding bold, the hill 
being high and steep on all sides. But the town 
is shrunk almost into nothing, and the seven 
churches into half a one. I preached at eleven 
in the new square to a considerable number of 
serious people." Remembering Mr. Rudge's 
character, it is noteworthy that Wesley records in 
his diary under date November 22nd, 1773, that 
in Sussex he '* found abundance of good people 
willing to hear the good word, at Rye in particular. 
And they do many good things gladly ; but they 
will not part with the accursed thing — smuggling, 
so I fear with regard to them our labour will be in 
vain." He visited Rye again 21st November, 
1775, and on January 19th, 1778, he sorrowfully 
notes, " How large a society would be here could 
we but spare them in one thing. Nay, but then 
all our labour would be in vain. One sin allowed 
would intercept the whole blessing." Doubtless 


this is another allusion to smuggling, and in 
November, 1778, he refers to the doubtful dispu- 
tations of the Rye brethern. In December, 1784, 
he pursued his weary journey through the snowy 
roads, but when he arrived late the house was 
well filled with serious hearers, so that he did not 
repent of his labours. On 28th October, 1788, 
he went by the stage coach from London, due at 
Rye by six in the evening, but finding it would 
not arrive until eight, he took a post chaise at 
Hawkhurst, and " with much ado " reached Rye 
soon after six. Without staying to eat or drink, 
he proceeded to the crowded meeting house, and 
with difficulty making his way through the people, 
prayed and preached. Another meeting was held 
at five o'clock in the morning on the following day 
before Wesley's departure. On 28th January, 
1789, Wesley opened the new preaching house at 
Rye. "It is," he says, "a noble building, much 
loftier than most of our buildings, and finely 
situated at the head of the town." Next day he 
preached both at Winchelsea and Rye. On his 
last visit he preached at Rye to a large 
congregation on 5th October, 1790. "I was 
now," he says, "informed how signally God had 
overtaken that wretch who murdered Mr. 


Haddock some years since. Being lately over- 
taken by Captain Bray in one of the King's 
cutters, he made a desperate resistance, and even 
when boarded, fought still, and drew a cutlass at 
Captain Bray ; who then hewed him in pieces 
with his cutlass." This is one of the many grim 
legends of Sussex smuggling. His last visit was 
on 6th October, 1790, when he went to "that 
poor skeleton of ancient Winchelsea." He stayed 
at the house of an eminently pious woman. Miss 
Jones, who gave him an account of a desperate 
illness which had kept her in bed two months. 
One day the thought came into her mind, " Lord, 
if thou wilt, thou canst make me whole ! Be it 
according to thy will," and immediately she felt 
well again, and arose and dressed herself. 
Standing under the large tree by the side of the 
Church, he called to " most of the inhabitants " of 
the town, " The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand ; 
repent and believe the gospel." He preached 
again in the meeting house at Rye, but the 
sermon preached under the tree by Winchelsea 
Church was the last delivered in the open air by 
the founder of Methodism, who died 2nd March, 
1 79 1, at the age of 88. 
When Denis is at school at Rye, a plot is 


hatched against him by Rudge's daughter, who is 
doubtless instigated by Weston. He is accused 
of stealing marked money, which is found in his 
box, having been put there by the conspirators. 
Here is the Town Hall where the charge was 
made, where the perjured witnesses swore falsely, 
where the boy's innocence was triumphantly 
established. And as he came out of the court- 
house " postboys were galloping all over the land 
to announce that we were at war with France." 
The schoolboys had another problem now added 
to their discussions of the American War and 
Burgoyne's surrender. "We had a half holiday 
for Long Island," said Tom Parrott, " I suppose 
we shall be flogged all round for Saratoga." 
After the trial, Dr. Barnard, the good clergyman, 
takes the boy a walk by the old Ypres Tower, 
built as a fort, but for generations used as a 
prison. Then they go into the Church of Rye, 
where the boy gratefully and reverently joins in 
thanksgiving to the heavenly power that had 
delivered him from peril. At Rye, Denis and the 
other boys were constantly down at the water, 
and "learned to manage a boat pretty easy." 
Here he half-a-dozen times took part in 
smuggling adventures, quite unconscious of the 


illegal character of the enterprise, until his mother 
after a conversation with the friendly Dr. Barnard, 
says, "He has reason. The boy shall not go out 
any more. We will try and have one honest man 
in the family." All along the coast smuggling 
went on, and Rye harbour did not differ from its 
neighbours in this respect. Soon after this occurs 
Denis Duval's journey to London, in company 
with Dr. Barnard and Mr. George Weston. 
They are attacked by a highwayman, whom 
young Denis Duval shoots with a little pistol 
charged with small shot. The highwayman is 
really Joseph Weston in disguise. The two 
brothers, whilst living at the Priory and passing 
off as country squires and adherents of the 
Roman Catholic faith, are really " gentlemen 
highway-men " and smugglers. Thackeray has 
here preserved the names of two notorious 

The career of the Westons was very remark- 
able, and even if some liberal discount be made 
from the stories told of them the record of their 
successful villany remains an interesting chapter 
in the romance of crime. Several accounts were 
published of their trials, and the greatly 
promising title of one will be found recorded in a 


footnote.* The two brothers were both daring and 
accomplished rogues. George Weston was born 
in 1753, at Stone in Staffordshire, and was the son 
of a small farmer. He received his education at 
a Grammar School, and had the reputation of 
being the best penman of all the pupils, an 
accomplishment which he afterwards turned to 
evil uses. Joseph was born at Stone, in 1759, 
educated at the same school as his brother, but 
was not so good a scholar. George came to 
London in 1773 to seek his fortune, and became 
chief clerk in a mercantile house at ;^200 a year, 
which was a considerable salary in those days. 
Then he sent for his brother, and gave him a post. 
So far George's career was creditable, but "gay 
life " had charms he could not or would not resist ; 
he misappropriated money and fled to Holland, 

* '* Genuine memoirs of the Lives of George and Joseph Weston, now 
under sentence of death in Newgate ; the first for forgery, the latter for 
shooting at John Davis, and wounding him in Cock Lane. Including a 
particular account of all their adventures, exploits, manoeuvres, forgeries, 
travels, amours, and intrigues of different kinds from their infancy to the 
present time ; with a curious and authentic description of the manner of 
their being taken, very different from what has hitherto been represented. 
To which is now added an account of their escaping from Newgate on the 
second of July 1782 and the manner of their being retaken. With their 
trials at large at the Old Bayley on Saturday July 6. Taken down 
verbatum in shorthand by [William] Williamson, shorthand writer ; 
together with Judge Buller's curious and judicious charge to the Jury. The 
second Edition. London : printed for John Walker, 44, Paternoster Row." 
8vo, pp. IV., 76. 


whither his brother followed. George came back 
to England in disguise, cut his fine hair and wore 
a wig. At Durham he is said to have captivated 
an elderly Methodist, but the marriage was 
frustrated by a barrister on the circuit, who 
recognised Weston. He thereupon left Durham, 
and went to York races. Having lost his money 
there, he joined Whiteley's company of comedians, 
and acted under the name of Wilford. His next 
move was to Manchester, where he was a school- 
master, and read the London papers "at the 
club." He is said to have been chosen 
Constable — which appears to be false, — forged 
draughts on publicans, and left in haste lest a 
worse thing should befall him. In 1774, the two 
brothers met at a fair in Warwickshire, where 
they were both swindling. At Lynn, they 
induced a farmer with whom they lodged to lend 
them all his money, which was over a hundred 
pounds in amount. A girl whom Joseph had 
seduced, threatening trouble, the brothers went to 
Scotland. At Blackburn they passed under the 
name of Gilbert. Returning to London, they 
traded on the charms of a notorious courtezan of 
the day. George took a house in Queen Anne 
Street and played the part of a country squire. 


and had many visitors, who were chiefly sporting 
men. They borrowed plate from " Fanny " for a 
big dinner party, and did not return the loan they 
had thus obtained from the frail but good-natured 
lady of the town. They next robbed the Bristol 
mail, and advertised to lend money on plate. 
The money lent was that which they had stolen. 
On the day of their arrrest the Westons gave a bill 
of sale for ^2,500, and jewels were sold for ^4,000. 
In 1776, they were at Brough in Lincolnshire, and 
in the same year they rented an estate at Becken- 
ham, Kent, in the name of Green, and one at 
Bratley as Gilbert. They were arrested at 
Bishop's Castle, Shropshire, but apparently 
escaped. In 1777, we hear of them on a farm of 
Lord Alborough's in Ireland. Here they paid 
their way by forged bills and draughts. They 
were known as "the two pigeons at Lucas's," for 
their play at hazard ; but they were rooks, not 
pigeons. From Ireland they went to Tenby, 
where George was Mr. Scott and Joseph Mr. 
Watson. A matter of a forged draft led them 
from Tenby to Biddeford. In August, 1778, they 
were at Brecknock, engaged in the aristrocratic 
amusement of grouse shooting. They combined 
business with this pleasure by forging a draft in 


the name of Joseph Hart. They now passed as 
James Clark and Thomas Smith. George was 
arrested, tried at Warwick Assizes, and con- 
demned to be hung, but escaped from jail. At 
the end of 1778, the brothers had a vessel of their 
own at Folkestone, and were called " the gentle- 
men smugglers " by the meaner crew engaged in 
that illegal but lucrative business. They are 
heard of in Scotland again, and also in Liverpool. 
The crowning exploit of their career as highway- 
men was on January 29th, 1781, when they 
robbed the Bristol Mail, and took from it the large 
sum of ^10,000. George travelled in a post- 
chaise north to Newcastle. Several of the bills 
were passed by one of the brothers, disguised as a 
footman. About Michaelmas, the brace of rogues 
took the " Friars," Winchelsea, and passed as Mr. 
Johnson and Samuel Watson. They had a couple 
of " ladies " with them, who were supposed to be 
their wives. They were milliners of easy virtue 
from Red Lion Square, but as ignorant of the real 
character of their husbands as the rest of the 
world, "Mrs Johnson" and "Mrs. Watson" 
were quiet, well-behaved girls, and were received 
without suspicion by the neighbouring gentry. 
The Westons kept up good style, had servants 


in liveries, and kept hunters. They lived at 
Winchelsea until January, 1782, when they took 
a house at Brompton for the girls. The Westons 
visited Margate, and played there with a young 
lawyer who could not pay. The result was a 
fierce dispute. George took off his glove, 
and a bystander noticed that he had a peculiar 
thumb nail, resembling a parrot's beak. This 
was the mark of a man wanted for the 
Bristol robbery. The bystander set off for 
London, and the police-runners came down — a few 
hours after the brothers had sailed for Ostend. 
They returned to their fine house at Winchelsea 
to find that, as they had not paid for the 
furniture and plate, the creditors had taken out 
a writ. The officers who had to serve it met 
the brothers at Rye and tried to dismount Joseph, 
but the Westons showed their pistols and rode off 
safely to London. They were, however, followed 
to Clement's Hotel, at the corner of Holies and 
Wardour Street. They actually passed the officer 
stationed at the door to apprehend them, but a 
hue and cry was raised and they turned up 
Richmond's Buildings, which proved to be a cul- 
de-sac, and so returning were arrested in Broad 
Street. George was knocked down by a 


carpenter with a plank of wood, Joseph was also 
knocked down, his captor being a currier who 
disabled him by breaking his legs. He fired off 
pistols but without damaging anyone. Joseph 
was committed to Tothill Fields Prison, and 
George to Newgate. Their cases were set down 
for trial at the Old Bailey Sessions, May 15th, 
1782, but were postponed. George, who stood 
five feet seven inches high, was dressed as an 
abbe. Joseph, who was five feet ten, wore a 
military costume. He had on a scarlet frock coat 
with red buttons, a white waistcoat, and his hair d 
lArtois. On the 2nd of July their wives break- 
fasted with them in Newgate, and they ordered a 
large bottle of wine, so large that the wicket was 
opened to pass it in. Knocking down a man and 
woman, the Westons now escaped. They had 
sawn off their fetters in anticipation of such an 
attempt. Joseph ran down Cock Lane, when one 
John Davis was passing with a sack of peas on 
his back. Hearing a cry of "Stop Thief," 
he arrested the further progress of Joseph, who 
threatened him with his pistol and finally shot at 
him. The delay was fatal to escape, and Joseph 
was taken back to Newgate. George was re- 
captured in Warwick Lane, and the two other 


prisoners who had escaped in the confusion were 
also retaken. On July 4th the brothers were 
brought up, and Saturday, July 6th, fixed for their 
trial. There were thirty-seven counts in the 
indictment. They were first tried for robbing the 
Bristol mail, and although they were undoubtably 
the culprits, a verdict of "not guilty" was 
returned. George was then tried in the King's 
Bench for forgery and found guilty. Joseph was 
tried for shooting at John Davis, who gave 
evidence, and a verdict of guilty was returned in 
this case also, so that the two brothers found 
themselves, at the end of their career of extrava- 
gance and swindling, under a common sentence 
of death. Joseph's conviction was secured under 
the •' Black Act " (9, George II., c, 22), which 
seems to have been originally aimed at com- 
binations of poachers — "ill-designing and dis- 
orderly persons [who] have associated themselves 
under the name of ' Blacks,' and entered into 
confederacies to support and assist one another in 
stealing and destroying deer, robbing warrens and 
fishponds." Weston was not a " Black," but he 
had shot at a man, and the meshes of this 
particular law were strong enough to retain him. 
The two brothers, George and Joseph Weston, 


were executed at Tyburn, 3rd September, 1782. 
That day at nine o'clock, Newgate opened its 
gloomy gates to six men doomed to death. 
There were two carts each having three convicts 
in it. The Westons read in the breviary, 
occasionally " directing their eyes in the posture 
of fervent ejaculations to heaven." The other 
condemned men were Protestants, and were as 
busy with the Prayer Book, except the youngest, 
who met his fate with "hardened insensibility." 
A priest had accompanied the Ordinary of 
Newgate in his carriage, and when the ropes were 
fastened round the necks of the convicts, these 
good ministers of the gospel got into the carts 
where the six poor wretches now stood awaiting 
their end. When the Westons had made their 
confession, the priest at the desire of George, 
repeatedly " put his hand into his pocket from 
which he extracted various articles which were 
disposed of agreeably to his advice," The two 
brothers bade farewell to the priest, to the 
Ordinary, to their fellow sufferers, and then after 
a fraternal embrace, they joined their hands 
together, and were launched into eternity. Their 
struggles were brief, a few convulsions, and the 
pathetic black figures, but a moment previously 


full of life and — let us hope — of sincere penitence 
for misspent lives, were still for evermore. 

The present mansion known as the Friary, at 
Winchelsea, only dates from the second decade of 
the present century, but in the grounds is the 
choir of a ruined house of the Friars Minors. 
These Franciscan monks had a place in Winchel- 
sea soon after the establishment of the order in 
England in 1220, and when the old town was 
ruined, a fresh site was selected on the hill where 
the new town was to be built. The apse and ruined 
arch are very picturesque. Though the temporary 
home of the Westons has disappeared, the ancient 
burial ground remains, and here fancy may act 
over again the solemn scene when the unhappy 
Clarisse de Saverne was committed to the earth. 
And up this garden wall Denis would clamber to 
see little Agnes, and to be endangered by 
brickbats from his enemy, Joseph Weston. 
Denis walked round by the Friary from Rye that 
he might have a glimpse of Agnes' " little 
twinkling window in a gable of the Priory House, 
where the light used to be popped out at nine 
o'clock." Writing years after, in the midst of his 
happy home, Denis says, " T'other day when we 
took over the King of France to Calais (^His 


Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence being in 
command), I must needs hire a post-chaise from 
Dover, to look at that old window in the Priory 
House, at Winchelsea. I went through the old 
tears, despairs, tragedies. I sighed as senti- 
mentally, after forty years, as though the infandi 
dolores were fresh upon me, as though I were the 
schoolboy trudging back to his task, and taking a 
last look at his dearest joy. I used as a boy to 
try and pass that window at nine, and I knew a 
prayer was said for the inhabitant of yonder 
chamber. She knew my holidays, and my hours 
of going to school and returning thence. If my 
little maid hung certain signals in that window, 
such as a flower, for example, to indicate all was 
well, a cross curtain, and so forth. I hope she 
practised no very unjustifiable statagems. We 
agreed to consider that she was a prisoner in the 
hands of the enemy ; and we had few means of 
communication, save these simple artifices, which 
are allowed to be fair in love and war." 

One night, when Denis has taken Agnes home, 
and is walking from the Friary by the Church 
wall, he is bludgeoned and taken up by the press- 
gang at the instigation of his enemies, but 
fortunately is carried on board the '* Serapis," 


commanded by Captain Pearson, who Is 
acquainted with him, knows his history, and is a 
friend of Dr. Barnard. So Denis Duval is 
entered as a first-class volunteer, and is rigged out 
by the proud mother, determined to make a 
gentlemen as well as a sailor and an honest man 
of her son. Denis and Agnes were thus parted 
" I shall see you on Sunday, and this was 
Friday ! Even that interval seemed long to me. 
Little did either of us know what a long 
separation was before us, and what strange 
changes, dangers, adventures, I was to undergo 
ere I again should press that dearest hand." 

The press-gang ended the connection of Denis 
with Rye and Winchelsea, nor need we follow 
further a story so well known. Death arrested 
the skilful hand of Thackeray before the picture 
was completed, but the outlines at least we know 
of Denis Duval's adventures in British ships and 
French prisons ; his ultimate conquest of fate ; his 
happy marriage, his green old age, and his death 
full of years and honours as Rear-Admiral Sir 
Denis Duval, k.c.b. 

As we wander through the quaint streets of 
Rye aud Winchelsea, and the country lanes by 
which they are bordered, we are under the spell 


of the magic of genius. History, in her safer 
records, associates the ancient towns with the 
presence of the great King Edward I. and the 
great Queen EHzabeth ; here have dwelt bold 
sailors and brave warriors, refugees from 
oppression have found hospitable haven, but of all 
the real persons who, in eight centuries, have lived 
and moved and had their being here, none have 
the reality and permanance of Denis Duval, of 
Agnes, and the rest of the fictitious creatures, the 
offspring of Thackeray's brain, to whom he gave 
a local habitation and a lasting name in Rye and 

Zbc "XotiG riDan of Milmington/' 

"'T'^HE world knows nothing of its greatest 
-*- men " is the declaration of the poet, and 
it may safely be affirmed that thousands of the 
visitors who yearly flock to Hastings, St. 
Leonard's, Bexhill, and Eastbourne are unaware 
that an easy excursion would bring them into 
proximity with the smallest church, the largest 
"man," and the oldest inn in the United King- 
dom. From all the Sussex watering-places it is 
easy to reach Polegate Junction. From the 
station we descend into the Lewes Road, and 
turning to the right, we see a fingerpost which 
invites us to Jevington, but, resisting the tempta- 
tion, proceed steadily along the highway until we 
come to a third fingerpost, which indicates the 
road lo Wilmington. The highway was mono- 
tonous and not particularly interesting, but this 
country by road is of a different quality. The 
lane is bounded on each side by steep hedgerows 
plentifully studded with wild flowers. The 
cottages have a quaint and old-fashioned air. 


The landscape is steeped In a sense of quiet and 
repose. A long low-built joiner's shop is open to 
the view ; wood and tools are visible, but not 
even a solitary workman. Picturesque but lonely 
is the aspect of the village of Wilmington. To 
the right of the lane some steps lead up the 
slight eminence upon which the church is placed. 
In the green God's-acre lie the silent patriarchs 
of the village, their hands folded from labour, and 
their voices hushed and still. An enormous yew- 
tree stands at the east end of the church, and we 
rest for a while on the low benches beneath its 
ample shade. The church door, as is frequently 
the case in Sussex, is standing open, and we 
enter.* The restorer has been at work here as 

* It is noteworthy that Horace Smith's poem "Why are they Shut ?" was 
composed while the author was sitting outside a country church, in Sussex, 
much regretting that, as it was week day, he could not gain admittance to 
the sacred edifice. 

" Why are our churches shut with jealous care, 

Bolted and barred against our bosom's yearning, 
Save for the few short hours of Sabbath prayer, 
With the bell's tolling statedly returning — 
Why are they shut ? 

If with diurnal drudgeries o'erwrought, 

Or sick of dissipation's dull vagaries, 
We wish to snatch one little space for thought. 

Or holy respite in our sanctuaries — 
Why are they shut ? 

What ! shall the church, the house of prayer no more 

Give tacit notice from its fastened portals. 
That for six days 'tis useless to adore. 

Since God will hold no communings with mortals? ' 

Why are they shut ? 


elsewhere, and since 1883, Wilmington has lost 
the untouched appearance that delights the 
archaeologist, although it may not always have 
the same charm for the parson and his flock. 
Some of the arches at Wilmington appear to be 
cut out of the chalk. There is a finely-carved 
pulpit with an elaborate canopy which well repay 
examination ; but what has become of the 
grotesque figure which formerly decorated the 
western wall ? There is no one visible to answer 
this question. Next to the church are some 
ruins of an Augustinian priory, and from the 
churchyard there is an extensive view of char- 
Are there no sinners in the churchless week, 

Who wish to sanctify a vowed repentance? 
Are there no hearts bereft which fain would seek 
The only balm for Death's unpitying sentence ? 
Why are they shut ? 

Are there no poor, no wronged, no heir of grief, 

No sick who, when their strength or courage falters. 

Long for a moment's respite or relief, 
By kneeling at God of mercy's altars? 
Why are they shut ? 

Are there no wicked whom, if tempted in, 

Some qualm of conscience or devout suggestion 
Might suddenly redeem from future sin? 

Oi if there be, how solemn is the question — 
Why are they shut ? 

In foreign climes mechanics leave their tasks 

To breath a passing prayer in their cathedrals. 
There they have week-day shrines, and no one asks 

When he would kneel to them and count his head-rolls — 
Why are they shut ? 

Seeing them enter sad and disconcerted, 
To quit those cheering fanes with looks of gladness, — 

How often have my thoughts to ours reverted ! 
How oft have I exclaimed in tones of sadness — 
Why are they shut 


acteristic Sussex scenery. To-day, with soft 
fleecy clouds floating here and there across the 
sky that overhangs the South Downs and the 
plains dotted with hamlets that stretch from 
them, it is such a landscape as Constable loved to 

With lingering steps we leave the churchyard, 
and, regaining the lane, are soon past the village. 
Then signs of life become visible, and we watch 
with lazy interest some men who are ploughing. 
To the left there is a cart track leading from the 
road to a chalk pit that comes into view. This 
brings us to the largest " man " in the United 

For who within a parish church can stroll 
Wrapt in its week-day stillness and vacation, 

Nor feel that in the very air his soul 

Receives a sweet and hallowing lustration ? 
Why are they shut ? 

The vacant pews, blank aisles, and empty choir, 
All in a deep sepulchral silence shrouded, 

An awe more solemn and intense inspire. 

Then when with Sabbath congregations crowded. 
Why are they shut? 

The echoes of our footsteps, as we tread 
On hollow graves, are spiritual voices ; 

And holding mental converse with the dead. 
In holy reveries our soul rejoices. 
Why are they shut ? 

If there be one — one only — who might share 
This sanctifying week-day adoration, 

Were but our churches open to his prayer. 
Why — I demand with earnest iteration — 
Why are they shut 7 


The " Long Man of Wilmington " is an 
enormous figure marked upon the steep hillside 
of one of the South Downs. The local patriots, 
fearful lest the grassy outlines should grow dim, 
have marked them out with bricks. A ruder 
pictorial effort could hardly be imagined, but 
gradually as we move about there is something 
of distinctness in the huge image. A shapeless 
cap appears to surmount a face which has eyes" 
and nose, but no mouth. A stiff but sturdy right 
arm is outstretched to clasp a staff that is the 
exact length of the whole figure. The left arm 
holds a similar walking-stick. With these aids to 
locomotion the " Long Man " appears to be 
making a step forward on the hillside. The feet 
are enormous and unshapely lumps. The figure 
i s 230 feet in length , and the width from staff t o 
staff is I IQ feet. As we walk round its outlines 
on the stiff short grass with which the chalky 
downs are covered, we recognise the enormous 
size of this Sussex Giant. His greatness grows 
upon us. Seen from below, the outlines are not 
always quite easy to discern, and his proportions 
do not seem impressive ; but a " perambulation of 
the boundaries " proves him to be a veritable son 
of Anak. When this grassy sculpture was first 


carved, and with what object, are matters of 
plentiful conjecture, but scant certainty. There 
i s a simil ar figure at C e rne Ab bas, in Dorsets hire, 
which is 180 feel Jon^^. The Cerne Giant holds 
in his hands a club 1 2 1 feet long. This is close 
to a former Benedictine monastery, just as the 
"Long Man" is near an Augustinian priory. 
Hence these rude earth sculptures have been 
attributed to monastic influences. Others regard 
them as of much greater antiquity, and believe 
them to be representations of ancient British 
deities. This is the view taken by the Rev. W. 
de St. Croix, who, in 1874, with the concurrence 
and assistance of the Duke of Devonshire and 
others interested in the locality, had the fading 
outlines marked by bricks. Dr. J. S. Phene is a 
strong supporter of this theory. Both quote the 
well-known passage in Csesar as to the images 
which the Gauls made of their gods. Dr. Phene 
thinks that this spot at Wilmington was a sacri- 
ficial arena. 

We now leave the Lono- Man of Wilminofton 
in his solitary state, and, ascending the steep 
above his head, we are soon amid the breezes of 
the South Downs. After this blow, we descend 
until we reach the lane that leads to Folkington, 


but instead of descending upon that tiny Saxon 
settlement, we find a track over a hill of lower 
range, and after a time we see across the fields 
t he church of Lullington , and are quickly at it. 
There is an ample churchyard, but the tomb- 
stones are very few. As the church door is 
fastened, we seek the key, and find it in the 
keeping of a cottager close by. The entrance 
may be described as a second-hand barn-door, 
and it opens into a room that is said to be sixteen 
feet square . The description appears to be 
accurate. On the wall in front the Creed and 
the Commandments are painted in fading colours. 
To the right and in the corner is the pulpit ; to 
the left is the space allotted for the choir. To 
the right of the entrance door stands a plain but 
massive font ; to the left is a very small stove 
let into the wall. That is all. We return to the 
churchyard, and look again at the outside. The 
edifice is a single square tower, surmounted by 
what looks like a wooden belfrey, ornamented 
with a weather-vane. In the wall by the door is 
a tablet to the memory of a former rector, but 
Time's effacing finger has made most of the 
laudatory epitaph illegible. Close by, and jut- 
ting out from the wall^ is a low ruined wall, 


including the fragmentary tracery of a Gothic 
window. One famous name is associated 
with this tiny parish, for when Elizabeth was 
Queen, the lord of the manor of Lullington was 
Sir Philip Sidney. We enter into conversation 
with the woman-sacristan of this tiny edifice. 
" What is the population of Lullington now ?" 
" There are only sixteen in the parish, sir." 
" There were more a few years ago, were there 

"Yes, there were twenty-six people in the 
parish twenty-five years ago." 

"And how often do you have service here?" 
"Every other Sunday, in the afternoon." 
"What sort of a congregation is there?" 
" Well, the attendance has been increasing. 
There were only six or seven some time ago, but 
now we have large congregations, as many as 
sixteen or twenty. Of course they don't all 
belong to this parish ; but our minister is rector 
of Wilmington, and when he comes here he 
brings his choir with him." 

" What is the age of Lullington Church ?" 
" It is 500 years old, for it was built in i ^00 . 
The little stone wall near the door is what came 
frorn the tower when it was struck by lightning." 


This is not the view of the archaeologists, who 
hold that the church was once much larger. The 
reduction of its size is said to have been made in 
the time of Cromwell. 

'* And is this really the smallest church in 
England ?" 

" Yes, sir, this is now the very smallest, I 
believe. There was one in the Isle of Wight 
that was as little, or less, but it has been made 
bigger ; and so Lullington is now the least church 
in England." 

" You have a large churchyard, but there 
appear to be very few tombs. Are there ever 
any burials.^" 

" There has been one burial in my time, sir, 
but it was a man from another parish." 

" And how long have you been in Lullington?" 

*' Seventeen years, sir." 

Clearly it is not Death that is depopulating 

After some further talk we bid good-bye to the 
sacristan of Lullington, and, taking a field track 
to the right, we make our way over two bridges 
that cross the river Cuckmere, and are at once in 
another old-world village — Alfriston. Here, in 
1782, died Mr, Charles Pendrel, a surgeon, who 


was a descendant of that Richard Pendrel, who 
concealed the fugitive Charles Stuart in the 
spreading branches of the oak tree after the 
Battle of Worcester. The worthy surgeon had 
possession of the patent and pension granted 
by the royal adventurer whom the British 
nation recalled to a throne which he dis- 

Aluriceton — such is its ancient name — is full of 
interest for the archaeologist. The High Street 
has scarcely a modern attribute. What is left of 
an ancient market-cross is a conspicuous object, 
and near it is t he Star Inn , whose remarkable ex- 
terior attracts the notice of every traveller. At 
one end is a huge grotesque figure that once formed 
the figure-head of a ship. Along the front of the 
house are carved figures. Here is St. George 
waging terrific warfare against a most ferocious 
dragon ; there is a quaint head ; here are uncertain 
animals holding a staff, whilst a little lower at one 
side of the door-post is the figure of a priest, who 
has for companion on the other jamb the effigy of 
St. Julian, the friend and patron of travellers. 
This must be the oldest inn in England, and it is 
believe to have been a house of call for the 

pilgrims who were wending their way to the 



shrine of St. Richard of Chichester. Past the 
old-fashioned shops and houses of the village, 
and taking the road to the left of the cross, and 
then keeping to the right, we pass by pleasant 
country roads and lanes until we come to 
Berwick station. Berwick has its historic associa- 
tions also, for when the Battle of Lewes was 
fought, Philip Basset, Lord of Berwick, a stout 
champion of the King, was the last man to keep 
the field on that day of disaster to the Royal 
cause. He was captured, and sent as a prisoner 
to Dover Castle in the custody of young Simon, 
the son of the great Simon de Montfort, whose 
name is writ large in English history. But rail- 
ways have scant respect for the memories of the 
past, and by a few minutes' ride we are brought 
again to our starting point of Polegate, having 
had about nine miles of walking from first to last. 

^be Jlvixc flDaiD of tbe South. 

THE woman who disguises herself as a man, 
sometimes from military ardour, some- 
times under the influence of a gentler passion, is 
a familiar figure in literature. In the following 
ballad the nameless Lass of Rye makes but a 
poor figure by the side of Rosalind or Viola, but 
she has a certain rustic charm of her own. The 
adventures of the " True Maid of the South " and 
her lover, the " Pride of Leicestershire," were 
printed in ballad form about 1630, and are here 
reproduced, with the omission of two verses, 
unessential to the story, which, whilst not offend- 
ing the ears of the " liberal shepherds " of a 
bygone generation, might now be deemed 



A rare example of a Maide dwelling at Rie, in Sussex, who, 
for the love of a young ??ian of Lester-shire, went beyond 
the Sea in the habit of a Page, and after to their hearts 
content, were both marryed at Magrum, in Germany, and 
now dwelling at Rye aforesaid. 


To the Tune of " Come, come, my sweet and bonny one." 

Within the haven towne of Rye, 

That stands in Sussex faire, 
There dwelt a maide, whose constancie 
Transcendeth all compare : 

This turtle dove 

Did dearly love 
A youth, who did appeare 

In minde and face 

To be the grace 
And pride of Lester-shire. 

This young man, with a noble peere 

Who lik't his service well, 
Went from his native Lester-shire 
In Sussex for to dwell : 

Where living, nye 

The towne of Rye, 
This pretty mayde did heare 

Of his good parts. 

Who by deserts 
Was pride of Lester-shire 

For comming once into that towne. 

It was at first his chance 
To meet with her, whose brave renowne 
All Sussex did advance : 
And shee likewise 
In his faire eyes, 
When once she came him neere, 
Did plainely see 
That none but hee 
Was pride of Lester -shire. 


Then little Cupid, God of Love, 

Began to play his part ; 
And on the sudden from above 
He shot his golden dart ; 

Which did constraine 

These lovers twaine 
To prize each other deare : 

Sweet Margery 

Lov'd Anthony, 
The pride of Lester-shire. 

Thus with concordant sympathy 

These lovers were combin'd, 
One lov'd the other heartily. 
Yet neither told their mind : 

She long'd to speake, 

Her minde to breake 
Unto her lover deare, 

She durst not tell, 

Though she lov'd well 
The pride of Lester-shire. 

Within short time it came to passe 

To sea the young man went. 
And left this young and pretty lasse 
In woe and discontent : 

Who wept full sore. 

And griev'd therefore, 
When truly she did heare 

That her sweet-heart 

From her must part. 
The pride of Lester-shire. 


The Second Part. 

To same Tune. 

It was his hap that time to goe 

To travell with his lord, 
Which to his heart did breed much woe 
Yet could he not afford 

A remedy 

To's misery, 
But needs hee must leave here 

His Madge behinde, 

Who griev'd in minde 
For the pride of Lester-shire. 

She being then bereaved cleane 

Of hope, yet did invent, 
By her rare policy, a meane 

To work her heart's content : 
In garments strange 
She straight did change 

Her selfe, rejecting feare 
To go with him, 
Whom she did deeme 

The pride of Lester-shire. 

And in the habit of a page, 

She did intreat his lord 
That, being a boy of tender age 
He would this grace afford — 

That he might goe. 

Service to show 
To him both farre and neere 

Who little thought 

What love she ought 
To the pride of Lester-shire 


This lord did take her, as he seem'd 

To be a pretty lad, 
And for his page he her esteem'd. 
Which made her heart full glad : 
To sea went shee 
And so did hee 
Whom she esteem'd so deare ; 
Who, for her sake, 
Great moane did make, 
And shed full many a teare. 

For having travelled sixe weeks 

Unknowne unto her lover. 
With rosie blushes in her cheekes 
Her mind she did discover : 
" See here," quoth she, 
" One that for thee 
Hath left her parents dear — 
Poore Magery, 
The mayde of Rie, 
I am, behold me here ! ' 

When Anthony did heare this word. 
His heart with joy did leape ; 

He went unto his noble lord 
To whom he did report 
This wonderful thing. 
Which straight did bring 

Amazement to him there : 
" Of such a page, 
In any age," 

Quoth he, " I did not heare." 


At Magrum then in Germany 

Their lord did see them marryed, 
From whence unto the towne of Rye, 
In England, were they carry'd ; 
Where now they dwell, 
Beloved well 
Of neighbours farre and neere ; 
Sweet Magery 
Loves Anthony, 
The pride of Lester-shire. 

You mayds and young men warning take 

By these two lovers kinde, 
Whoever you your choyce doe make, 
To them be true in minde ; 

For, perfect love 

Comes from above, 
As may by this appeare. 

Which came to passe 

By Sussex lasse. 
And the lad of Lester-shire. 


Printed at London jor Francis Cules. 

The "True Mayde" has been re-printed in the 
Ballad Society's edition of the Roxburghe Ballads. 

**®ID Ibumpbrcp's" (Brave. 

MANY who have reached or passed the 
middle stage of life will remember with 
gratitude the healthy influence and good council 
of that prolific author, who, whilst writing 
under many names, was best known as "Old 
Humphrey." A couple of hundred books and a 
myriad of articles, verses and sketches flowed 
from the pen of George Mogridge, who more 
than forty years ago went to Hastings in search 
of health, but remained there to die. 

Literary reputation is often fleeting, but many 
visitors to that ancient Cinque Port desire to see 
the grave of Old Humphrey. 

Wending our way along the Marine Parade, 
thronged with holiday-makers, and surmounted 
by the hill on which stands the ruined walls of 
Hastings Castle, we thread the narrow High 
Street with its old world air and many quaint 
buildings, and then after looking at the pictur- 
esque, aloe-covered house that was so long the 
residence of Mr. Coventry Patmore, the poet, we 
turn into " Old Humphrey's Avenue," a shady 


walk leading from High Street to All Saints' 
Church. The church itself is a low-built but 
handsome Gothic edifice, standing on the slope of 
a hill and having one portion of the churchyard 
on a lower and another on a higher level than 
that of the sacred edifice. Close by the church 
wall is a tomb surmounted by a classical urn, and 
the inscription on two sides reads as follows : — 

The Mortal Remains of 


Lieut. Beazeley, R.N. 
are buried here, 


Departed this Life 30TH Oct., a.d. 1823. 

Aged 24 Years. 

their infant daughter 


Followed Her Mother Novr. 4TH, a.d. 1823. 

Aged 16 days. 

Led by the Truth which Swedenborg has taught, 
She gave her heart, her mind, her every thought 
To Jesus Christ, as God ; and none besides, 
If Whose Bright Form the Trinity resides, 
Th' Eternal Father in the Son proclaimed 
Whose Holy Influence is the Spirit nam'd. 
To This Great Saviour God her homage rose, 
Her Hfe He bless'd, and in this world of woes. 
He led her gently from His Throne on high. 
Through Love to serve Him, and in Peace to die, 


In Him confiding her blest soul resign'd 
Its fair frail tenement assur'd to find 
Increasing Beauty, Wisdom, Joy, and Love, 
In perfect human Form in worlds above. 

Among other curious Christian names that of 
Everetta may be seen on two grave-stones. One 
tomb recalls the memory of A. W. Ticehurst, 
who perished in the foundering of the steamship 
" London," 5th June, 1866. His fate is recorded 
on the gravestone of his elder brother, F. P. Tice- 
hurst, who died at the age of 20, " after many years 
of severe suffering." Thus misfortune sometimes 
visits and revisits the same family, as we see 
further exemplified in another epitaph which 
records a double fatality : — 


who was Maliciously shot 

April 23RD, 1806, 

Aged 41 Years, 

Also JAMES, the son of 

Edward and Martha Alldredge, 

died Feby. 6th, 1803. Aged 6 years. 

Likewise EDWARD her son 

who was accidently shot 

May 13th, 1 8 10. Aged 15 years. 

A pleasant feature of English life is the faithful 
service that is rendered by those whose fortunes 
are cast in a humble mould, and who, perhaps 


without shining ability, zealously perform the 
trivial round of daily duty, and make smoother 
the paths of masters and mistresses to whom they 
gave what money can never pay for. Equally 
pleasant is it to find such services gratefully 
recorded as in this epitaph : — 

In Memory of 


who died at Hastings 

on the 9th March, 1839, 

Aged 65, 

Humbly trusting in the merits of her Redeemer. 

She was the affectionate nurse 

of the children of John Thornton, Esq., 

of Clapham, in Surrey ; 

in whose family she lived 31 years 

esteemed and beloved by 

all who knew her.* 

Another epitaph preserves the name of 

(Chevalier de St. Louis of the ancient guard of King Louis i6th), 

* I may add here an epitaph copied in Etchingham church- 
yard : — 

To THE Memory of 


who died nth Sep., 1867, 

Aged 70 Years. 

A faithful friend and servant in the family of 

Mr. and Mrs. Wightwick, of Penenden, 

for upwards of half a century. 


who died at Hastings 

23rd July, 1855, 

Aged 89 Years. 

His goodness and benevolence 

gained him the esteem and friendship 

of his family and 

all those who knew him, 

and by all of whom his death 

is sincerely regretted. 

Thus in a strange land died one who had seen 
his own heroic nation undergo such great 
vicissitudes. He was a man when the *' Mar- 
seillaise" and the "Carmagnole" were first sung 
and danced in the streets of Paris. He saw the 
downfall of the ancien regime, with its splendour 
and its crimes ; the red rule of Terror ; the 
victorious march of the tricolor across the 
continent of Europe ; the pomp of the First 
Empire ; the restoration of the Bourbons ; the 
brief monarchy of July ; the briefer Republic of 
February, and he died when the Second Empire 
was at the height of its tinsel glory, and when the 
writing on the wall had not yet been seen. 

And this one from Rottingdean churchyard : — 
Sacred to the Memory of 
who departed this life 

June 13th, 1862, 

for thirty-three years 

the faithful and esteemed servant 

of Mr. David AUwork. 


After pausing over many of these memorials of 
mortality we come at last upon the object of our 
search. Old Humphrey's grave is almost against 
the wall on the upper slope above the church, and 
just below the road known as the Tackleway. 
Here, almost hidden behind the tomb of one of 
more aristocratic degree, is the memorial of the 
chatty writer, who delighted and instructed 
thousands with his homely wisdom and cheerful 
good-sense. Literary fame he did not seek, and 
notwithstanding his voluminous record as an 
author, perhaps never had. His desire was not 
to attract admiration to himself, but to exert a 
healthy influence on the lives of others. On his 
tomb we read : — 

To THE Memory 



of Kingsland, London, 

better known in numerous works as 

"Old Humphrey." 

In his writings 

he sought the honour of God 

and the highest happiness of mankind, 

in his Hfe 

he adorned the doctrines of the gospel, 

in his death 

he rejoiced in the hope of the glory of God 

through the merits of Jesus Christ his Saviour. 


Cheerful he passed his days below 

Though stormy paths his feet had trod, 

For he had found in every woe, 
The mingled mercies of his God ; 

And they sustained him in his fears 
In youth, in manhood, and in years. 

— Old Humphrey. 

He died at Hastings, November 2nd, 1854, 
Aged 67 years. 

The committee of the Religious Tract Society 
have caused this stone to be erected 
to mark their high estimate 
of his character and works. 

A fitting resting place for a good man. The 
everlasting hills are about him, close by is the 
murmuring sea, and above and below busy feet 
pass by the green slope of the hill-side where he 

a riDebia^val Xegenb ot TOincbelsea. 

A MONKISH scribe of the thirteenth 
century has left us a Latin version 
of a curious tradition of bygone Sussex.* 
According to this chronicler there was once an 
avaricious man living in the neighbourhood of 
Winchelsea, who hoarded in a chest money which 
was of no benefit either to himself or to others. 
One day, as he went to look at his beloved 
treasure, he saw sitting on the box a little black 
demon. If he was startled at the sight, he was 
still more startled to hear this apparition exclaim, 
" Begone, this money is not thine ; it belongs to 
Godwin, the Smith." Unable to make use of the 

* The story was communicated by the late Mr. W. J. Thorns to the 
*' Altdeutsche Blaetter " from a Latin MS. of the thirteenth century which 
is now in the British Museum. It reads : — Quidam in partibus de 
Winchelse, sibi aggregavit pecuniam in cista, de qua nee sibi nee aliis 
voluit subvenire. Veniens igitur una die ut eam videret, vidit super earn 
quendam diabolum sedere nigerrimum, dicentem sibi, " Recede, nee est 
pecunia tua, sed Godewini fabri." Quod ille audiens, et nolens eam in 
alicujus commodum pervenire, cavavit magnum truncum, ipsamque 
imposuil, reclusit, et in mare projecit. Quem quidem truncum niarinae 
undae ante ostium dicti Godewini, viri justi et innocentis, manentis in 
proxima villa, super litus in siccum projecerunl, circa vigilium Dominici 
Natalis. Exiens itaque idem Godwinus mane, invenit truncum projectum, 
multumque gavisus pro habendo foco in tento festo, eum in domum suam 
traxit, el ad locum foci gaudem apposuit. Intrante itaque festi praedicti 


treasure himself, he decided that no one else 
should have it. He therefore hollowed out the 
trunk of a great tree, put the box in it, closed up 
the ends, and threw it into the sea. The waters 
carried the trunk to the door of Godwin, who 
dwelt in the next town — evidently Rye. Godwin 
who was a riofhteous and innocent man was 
preparing to hold a Christmas festival, and the 
appearance of this log was a source of rejoicing, 
as it would evidently make a capital yule 
log. So the Smith carried home the tree 
trunk, and put it in his fireplace. On Christmas 
Eve the fire was lighted, and the heat 
caused the money within the box to melt and the 
metal ran out. Godwin's wife saw this, and 
taking the log from the fire, she hid it. The 
result was that Godwin the Smith became rich, 
whilst the Winchelsea man was forced to beg his 

vigilia, ignis trunco supponitur, metallum intro latens liquescit, et exterius 
defunditur. Quod videns uxor dicti Godwini, ignem subtrahit, truncum 
movet et abscondit. Sicque ut dominus praedictae pecuniae victum 
quaereret hostiatim, dictusque faber de paupere fieret inopinate dives, 
devulgatur quia in vicinio quod miser ille pecuniam suam demersisset, 
cogitavit ergo uxor dicti Godwini quod eidem misero in aliquo cautius 
subveniret, cogitans dictam pecuniam fuisse suam, fecit uno die panem 
unum, et in eo xl. solidos abscondens dedit ei. Quem infortunatus ille 
accipiens piscatoribus super litus obviavit, panem eis pro uno denario 
vendidit, et recessit. Venientes itaque piscatores ad domum dicti Godwini, 
prout fuerunt assueti, dictum panem extrahunt et suis equis elargiri 
proponunt. Quem agnoscens domina domus, avenam pro eis dedit et 
eum recepit. Idemque miser finetenus pauper undique remansit. 



bread from door to door. But the story of the 
manner in which the miser had lost his wealth 
became known, and when he begged at the 
Smith's house, the wife of Godwin thought she 
would give the poor caitiff some help. So one 
day she baked a loaf, and hid forty shillings in it, 
and gave it to the beggar. The miser went his 
way, and soon after met some fishermen on the 
beach, to whom he sold the loaf unbroken, for a 
penny. The fishermen came to Godwin's house, 
and were about to give the loaf to their horses 
when the mistress recognised it, and let them 
have some oats instead. So the miser remained 
poor to the end of his days. 

Such is the tale to which the local habitation 
and name of Winchelsea has been given, but it 
is a story that exists in various forms. A 
very similar version appears in Wright's " Latin 
Stories," from a fourteenth century M.S., and a like 
narrative forms a part of the " Liber de Donis " 
of Stephanus de Borbone (No. 414). In the 
Latin " Gesta Romanorum " — but not in the 
English — it appears as Tale cix. No names are 
mentioned, but we are told that a certain 
covetous and wicked carpenter residing near 
the sea, had a large sum of money in the 


trunk of a tree, which he kept by his fire-side. 
But the sea overflowed its boundaries and 
broke down that side of the building, and the log 
floated many miles, until it reached a city where 
there lived a man who kept open house. Early 
in the morning he saw the trunk, and brought it 
to land. One day he entertained some pilgrims 
in his house ; and as the weather was cold, he 
decided to cut up the log for firewood, and as he 
did so the gold pieces rolled out. He put the 
money in a safe place, until he could ascertain the 
owner. The carpenter, lamenting the loss of his 
money, travelled from place to place, and came, by 
accident, to the house of the man who had found 
the treasure. He told of his loss, and the host 
said to himself, " I will prove, if God will, that 
the money should be returned to him," With 
this intention he made three cakes, the first he 
filled with earth, and the second with dead men's 
bones, and in the third he put some of the gold. 
"Friend," said he, " we will eat three cakes, 
composed of the best we have in the house. 
Choose which you will. The carpenter took the 
cakes and weighed them in his hand, and finding 
that which held the earth was heaviest, he chose 
it. "And if I want more," said he, "I will have 


that," and so laid his hand upon the cake con- 
taining the bones. " You may keep the third 
cake yourself." " I see clearly," said the host to 
himself, " that God does not desire the money to 
be restored to this wretched man." He therefore 
called the poor and the infirm, the blind and the 
lame together. Then opening the cake of gold 
in the presence of the carpenter, he said, " Thou 
miserable wretch, this is thine own gold. But 
thou didst prefer the cakes of earth, and dead 
men's bones. I am persuaded, therefore, that God 
wills not that I return thee thy money." Then, 
without delay, he distributed the whole amongst 
the poor, and drove the carpenter away. 

The carpenter's choice will at once remind the 
reader of the incident of the " three caskets " in the 
" Merchant of Venice." The episode is one that 
can be traced in various forms to a somewhat 
remote antiquity. And, notwithstanding a certain 
amount of local colour the story of the miser's 
treasure predestined to pious uses is probably of 
oriental origin.* 

* The localisation of these stories is one of the many curious problems of 
folk-lore. There is the legend of the " trental of St. Gregory," which is 
practically identical with one in the " Gesta Romanorum " of a priest 
who, in a vision, sees his dead mother enduring torments for the sin and 
luxury of her life. This is told in the Ilarl. MS. 463, 40, of Godefridus, 
a Sussex chaplain. 

IPoenis of Su06ey places. 

IT was a happy thought that led the American 
poet, Longfellow, to devote so much time to 
the compilation of an anthology of the " Poems of 
Places " — the verses which celebrate the charm or 
record the traditions of localities all over the 
world that have been regarded with favour by the 
poets and rhymers. Every English county ought 
to have its own anthology of this nature, and such 
compilations would bring to light many things of 
interest that had escaped the notice of Longfellow. 
Few men, however, could have been better fitted 
for the task, for the author of " Evangeline " was 
not only a true poet but a man of wide reading, 
sound scholarship, and excellent judgment. 

It is perhaps remarkable that Sussex, with its 
lovely and diversified scenery, and its historical 
associations, has not more frequently excited the 
enthusiasm of the topographical muse. These 
memoranda as to poems of Sussex places, do not 
claim to be exhaustive, but will, it is hoped, be of 


interest to the reader, and perhaps lead to a 
completer investigation of the subject. 


Battle has associated with it the memory of the 
great straggle when the fate of England was 
decided by William's Norman knights. The story 
of the battle has been recounted many a time and 
oft. Charles Kingsley has told again the legend 
of "The Swanneck," the beautiful Edith, wife or 
mistress, who identified Harold's gashed and gory 
corpse which even his mother had failed to 
recognise. The story of the battle has been told 
in vigorous verse by Mr. Francis T. Palgrave, 
in his " Visions of England." 

Mr. Joseph Ellis has written a humorous sketch 
of " Ye Battel Daye," the annual meeting of 
Sussex Archaeological Society, which was held at 
Battle, 23rd July, 1852 (Caesar in Egypt, 1885, 
p. 336) Another comic piece is that in which 
Thomas Hood recounts " an explosion at Mr. 
Baker's gunpowder mills." After this " Blow 
up," the indignant neighbours waited upon the 
proprietor to ask for reparation for the loss of 
custom and the damages caused by this untoward 


Now many a person had been fairly puzzled, 
By such assailants and completely muzzled ; 
Baker, however, was not dashed with ease — 
But proved he acted after their own system. 
And with small ceremony soon dismissed 'em, 
Putting these words into their ears like fleas : 
" If I do have a blow, well, where's the oddity ? 
I merely do as other tradesmen do, 
You sir — and you — and you ! 
I'm only puffing off my own commodity." 

Lord Thurlow's sonnet, though entitled 
" Hastings," seems to be more appropriately 
placed with the verses relating to Battle. 

O moon, that shinest on this heathy wild. 
And light'st the hill of Hastings with thy ray. 
How am I with thy sad dehght beguiled, 
How hold with fond imagination play ! 

By thy broad taper I call up the time 
When Harold on the bleeding verdure lay, 
Though great in glory, over stained with crime. 
And fallen by his fate from kingly sway ! 

On bleeding knights, and on war-broken arms. 
Torn banners, and the dying steed you shone. 
When this fair England and her peerless charms. 
And all but honor, to the foe were gone ! 

Here died the king, whom his brave subjects choose. 
But dying, lay amid his Norman foes. 

Beachy Head. 
Charlotte Smith has described this bold head- 
land where the South Downs end in the sea. 


Haunts of my youth ! 
Scenes of fond day dreams, I behold ye yet ! 
Where 'twas /SO pleasant by the northern slopes, 
To climb the winding sheep-path, aided oft 
By scattered thorns whose spiny branches bore 
Small woolly tufts, spoils of the fragrant lamb. 
There seeking shelter from the noonday sun ; 
And pleasant, seated on the short soft turf. 
To look beneath upon the hollow way. 
While heavily upward moved the labouring wain, 
And stalking slowly by, the sturdy hind, 
To ease his panting team, stopped with a stone 
The grating wheel. 

Advancing higher still. 
The prospect widens, and the village church 
But little o'er the lowly roofs around 
Rears its grey belfry, and its simple vane ; 
Those lowly roofs of thatch are half concealed 
By the rude arms of trees, lovely, in spring ; 
When on each bough the rosy-tinctured bloom 
Sits thick, and promises autumnal plenty. 
For even those orchards round the Norman farms. 
Which, as their owners mark the promised fruit, 
Console them ; for the vineyards of the South 
Surpass not these. 

Where woods of ash and beech, 
And partial copses fringe the green hill foot, 
The upland shepherd rears his modest home ; 
There wanders by a little nameless stream, 
That from the hill wells forth, bright now and clear, 
Or after rain with chalky mixture grey, 
But still refreshing in its shallow course 
The cottage garden, most for use designed. 


Yet not of beauty destitute. The vine 
Mantles the little casement ; yet the briar 
Drops fragrant dew among the July flowers ; 
And pansies rayed, and freaked and motted pinks, 
Grow among balm, and rosemary, and rue. 
There honeysuckles flaunt and roses blow 
Almost uncultured ; some with dark green leaves 
Contrast their flowers of pure unsullied white ; 
Others, like velvet robes of regal state 
Of richest crimson ; while, in thorny n)oss. 
Enshrined and cradled, the most lovely wear 
The hues of youthful beauty's glowing cheek. 
With fond regret I recollect e'en now, 
In spring and summer, what delight I felt 
Among these gardens, and how much 
Such artless nosegays, knotted with a rush. 
By village housewife or her ruddy maid, 
Where welcome to me, soon and simply pleased. 
An early worshipper at Nature's shrine, 
I loved her rudest scenes, — warrens and heaths. 
And yellow commons, and birch-shaded hollows. 
And hedge-rows bordering unfrequented lanes. 
Powered with wild roses and clasping woodbine. 

It was on Beachy Head that the greatest of our 

living poets, Mr. Algernon Charles Swinburne, 

in September, 1886, wrote his address "To the 

Seamew," destined to a place of honour among 

the birds of the great singers. 

We are fallen, even we, whose passion 

On earth is nearest thine ; 
Who sing, and cease from flying ; 
Who live, and dream of dying ; 


Gray time, in time's gray fashion, 

Bids wingless creatures pine : 
We are fallen, even we, whose passion 

On earth is nearest thine. 

The lark knows no such rapture. 

Such joy no nightingale. 
As sways the songless measure 
Wherein thy wings take pleasure : 
Thy love may no man capture. 

Thy pride may no man quail ; 
The lark knows no such rapture, 

Such joy no nightingale. 

And we, whom dreams embolden, 

We can but creep and sing 
And watch through heaven's waste hollow 
The flight no sign may follow 
To the utter borne beholden 

Of none that lack thy wing : 
And we, whom dreams embolden, 

We can but creep and sing. 
***** ♦ 

Ah, well were I for ever, 

Wouldst thou change lives with me. 

And take my song's wild honey, 

And give me back thy sunny 

Wide eyes that weary never, 
And wings that search the sea ; 

Ah, well were I for ever, 

Wouldst thou change lives with me. 


There is a sonnet by Edward, Lord Thurlow, 


on beholding Bodiham Castle, on the bank of the 
Rother, in Sussex. 

O thou brave ruin of passed time, 
When glorious spirits shone in burning arms, 
And the brave trumpet, with its sweet alarms 
Called honor at the matin hour sublime. 

And the grey evening ; thou hast had thy prime, 
And thy full vigor, and the sating harms 
Of age have robbed thee of thy warlike charms, 
And placed thee here, an image in my rhyme ; 

The owl now haunts thee, and, oblivious plant. 
The creeping ivy, has o'er-veiled thy towers ; 
And Rother, looking up with eye askant. 
Recalling to his mind thy brighter hours. 
Laments the time, when fair and elegant, 
Beauty first laughed from out thy joyous bowers ! 

Although none of Cardinal Newman's verses 
deal with Sussex places, it may be noted that 
some of the earlier ones were written at Brighton, 
including the charming album verses and the 
powerful Paraphrase of Isaiah Ixiv. Several of 
Charlotte Smith's verses also refer to this place 
before it had attained to its present fame as one of 
the greatest watering-places of the world. One 
refers to the funeral of a nameless pauper, buried 
at the expense of the parish, in the church-yard at 
Brighthelmstone, in November, 1792; another of 


the same date pictures a female exile, looking 
with anxious fears towards the father-land she has 
left. Charlotte Smith also wrote some lines " for 
the benefit of a distressed player, detained at 
Brighthelmstone for debt, November, 1792." 


Gideon Algernon Mantell, although chiefly 
remembered as a geologist, was also an accom- 
plished litterateur. His stanzas on the cemetery 
at Ditchling were suggested by the circumstance 
that the graves in the Dissenters' burial-ground 
had no monumental stones, but were covered with 
evergreens and flowering shrubs. 

What though no marbles mark this hallowed spot, 
Where youth and age and worth and beauty sleep, 
Nor epitaphs declare the mortal lot 
Of those who here eternal silence keep, 
Yet o'er these mossy beds the willows weep. 
And yew and cypress shed a solemn gloom. 
And morning's mists with dew their tresses steep 
Diffusing freshness o'er the verdant tomb. 

Mute but expressive emblems ! well ye teach 
The fate of those whose relics here repose ; 
More forcibly than moralist can preach. 
Their present, past, and future state disclose. 
For who that views yon fragrant blushing rose. 
Shedding its sweetness through the balmy air, 
Nor deems that loveliness from all its woes 
And all its wrongs hath found a shelter there ! 


Yes, that fair flower blooms o'er a brother's boast, 

A mother's joy, a doating father's pride ; 

Brief is the tale : her fondest hopes were crossed, — 

She loved, — was slighted, — murmured not — but died ! 

And sweetly by that flower is typified 

Her loveliness and spotless purity ; 

And the green myrtle, waving by its side, 

Her certain hope of immortality ! 

The sable yew-tree throws its solemn shade 
O'er yon green mound in dreary loneliness, 
And tells that he who there in death is laid. 
While living was the victim of distress ; 
His youth was folly, and his age no less ; — 
But let that pass : his was the lot of all 
Who seek in vanity for happiness, 
And when too late their hours would fain recall. 

Beneath those cedars rest a gentle pair, 

Of lowly station and of humble name; 

Their peaceful course was free from pain and care ; — 

In life they were but one, in death the same ; 

And well their virtues may the tribute claim 

With which affection had adorned the spot. 

Ah ! who would covet wealth, or power, or fame, 

If happiness like theirs could be his lot ? 

Where yonder bay erects his graceful form, 
There sleeps the hapless gifted child of song : 
No more exposed to envy's bitter storm, 
No longer keenly feeling every wrong. 
And there is one who loves to linger long 
Where the green turf his hallowed dust enshrines ; 
And, hiding from the giddy, senseless throngs. 
Her hopeless misery, o'er his fate repines ! 


Yon holly marks the village lawyer's grave, 
Those oaks the patriot's ashes canopy, 
The laurels o'er the sleeping warrior wave. 
And yon spring flowers shelter infancy. 
Lady ! when in the dust this form shall lie, 
If then thy breast my memory would recall. 
Let the dark cypress tell my destiny. 
And the green ivy form my funeral poll. 

Fairlight Glen. 

The lovely glens of Ecclesbourne and Fairlight 
are famous for their picturesque beauty. The 
following descriptive verses are from Mr. William 
Wilson's "Gathered Together" (London i860, 
p. 217. 

Sweet Fairlight Glrn. 

There are spots when once seen that can ne'er be forgot ; 

Like mem'ries of childhood they haunt us for ever ; 
Like the dear, gentle face of a mother that's lost. 

Through life we can never forget them — oh, never ! 
And such, in thy mantle of beautiful green. 

Far, far from the busy assemblies of men ; 
Where the murm'ring ocean plays into thy lap. 

Art thou in thy solitude — sweet Fairlight Glen ! 

In dreams of my fancy — awake, or asleep, 

I behold thee — I picture thee still to my mind ; 

With thy soft mossy banks, and thy calm solemn shade. 
In summer-time sultry so welcome to find. 


And oh ! the wild flowers that around us are strown, 
In fragrance to gladden each step — when, oh when 

Again shall I really muse o'er thee, alone, 

So grand in thy solitude — sweet Fairlight Glen ! 


Leafy pride of the coast, where the southern winds breathe, 

Often joining their sigh to thy soul-moving song ; 
Which from rustling of trees, and from birds in the bush ; 

Which from ocean and sheep-bell floats mingl'd along. 
When clear the moon rideth high, high in deep heaven, 

Like a fairy abode thou doth seem to me then ; 
When her beams flit about like the shadows of fays, 

Thou art grand in thy solitude — sweet Fairhght Glen ! 


'Midst deep shade, in his might, Hke a giant 'mongst dwarfs. 

Stands a tree tow'ring high all his neighbours above ; 
Who spreads his green branches wide over a well. 

That from ledge to ledge drips until lost in the grove. 
Oh, that never old ocean may dare to encroach 

Should pray every lover of nature 'mongst men ; 
For when thou hast donn'd thy soft mantle of green, 

Thou art grand in thy solitude — sweet Farlight Glen ! 

Hid in thy white bosom, up up out of sight 

(Like a mother that shelters her babe at her breast), 
A lover's retreat doth invite to repose, 

Surrounded by green nooks where birds love to nest. 
With many a name the old seat is carv'd over, 

And to many a name there's some legend I ken ; 
There are spots when once seen that can ne'er be forgot 

Such art thou, in thy soUtude — sweet Fairlight Glen ! 


If e'er in life's wanderings I reach thee once more, 

It will be like re-meeting some long-cherished friend, 
Who with radiant smiles, and with frank tender looks, 

A kind heart-toned voice can most charmingly blend ; 
Amidst bare woodless cliffs is thy shelter and rest ; 

Thou dost soothe to reflection the best amongst men, 
Like a flower in a desert, a friend in the world, 
Art thou, in thy solitude — sweet Fairlight Glen ! 

Gardner Street. 

In the little village of Gardner Street, near 

Herstmonceux, there is a house across which 

a creeper has been trained to form the 

inscription, " Praise the Lord," in words which 

almost cover the upper portion of the front of the 


Down in Sussex, green and sweet, 
In village quaint of Gardner Street, 
Stands a dwelling, clean and neat. 
" Praise the Lord." 

Such the legend read of all. 
Tendrils trained against the wall, 
Say, in letters large and tall, 
" Praise the Lord." 

One who dwelt there in the past, 
Made the creepers safe and fast, 
Made them say in words that last, 
" Praise the Lord." 

Sure he had a poet's brain, 
Silent branches thus to train, 


Till they sang a glad refrain, 
" Praise the Lord." 

Breeze of Spring and April shower, 
Summer's bloom and Autumn's dower, 
Winter's snow and storms that lour, 
" Praise the Lord." 

Childhood bright with toy and game, 
Manhood with its lofty aim. 
Age with bent and tottering frame, 
" Praise the Lord." 

Gladness bids our hearts to praise. 
Sorrow, too, the song will raise. 
Death itself for ever says, 
" Praise the Lord." 


Several poems relating to the great struggle 
between the Saxon and the Normans have already 
been named under Battle. Thomas Campbell 
has written " Lines on the Camp Hill, near 

In the deep blue of eve. 

Ere the twinkling of stars had begun, 

Or the lark took his leave 

Of the skies and the sweet setting sun, 

I clambered to yon heights, 

Where the Norman encamped him of old, 
With his bowmen and knights, 

And his banner all burnished with gold. 



At the Conqueror's side, 

There his minstrelsy sat harp in hand, 
In pavilion wide ; 

And they chanted the deeds of Roland. 

Still the ramparted ground 

With a vision my fancy inspires, 
And I hear the trump sound, 

As it marshalled our chivalry's sires. 

On each turf of that mead, 

Stood the captors of England's domains, 
That ennobled her breed 

And high-mettled the blood of her veins. 

Over hauberk and helm. 

As the sun's setting splendor was thrown. 
Thence they looked over a realm, — 

And to-morrow beheld it their own. 

In a volume of verse entitled " The Ancoat's 
Skylark," by the writer of the present volume, will 
be found a sonnet on " A high tide at Hastings." 

A thousand wavelets and a thousand waves, 
That leap and strive with never-ceasing roar 
And sing incessant o'er the pebbly shore 
A song of wrecks and myriad ocean graves. 

The sea leaps forward like a soul that craves 
The full fruition that comes nevermore. 
The moon — as in the primal days of yore — 
Rains liquid music on the sombre waves. 

The rushing waters headlong onward dash 
Against the strong sea-wall, in endless fret, 
And hurled aloft in many a futile jet. 
Fall back repulsed from their endeavour rash. 


So beats the tide of life on Fate's sea-wall, — 
With Heaven's bright lamp of pity over all. 

The same volume contains " A legend of 
Hastings." The life of Rahere, the founder of 
St. Bartholomew's Church and Hospital (written 
circa 1 174-1 189) includes a story of a " worshipful 
matrone " of Hastings, Cecilia — " Ceale " she is 
called in the English version — the wife of a 
wealthy shipmaster named Helyas, who, having 
brought his cargo safe to London, was praying at 
the newly-opened church in Smithfield at the 
very time that his house at Hastings was in 
danger of being swept away in a fierce conflag- 
ration. Cecilia, bereft of man's " counsell and 
helpe," commends herself to St. Bartholomew, 
and throws a thread round her house. The fire 
leaps over it, burns the houses on the other side, 
but spares this one, only " touchying the 
pynnacles, leavyng them half brent." 

Cecilia, standing at her open door. 

Sees Hastings town wrapped in devouring flames 
That leap exultant round the crackling frames, 

And unappeased seek still one victim more. 

She thinks of Helyas wandering up and down 

At sea, and by the stormy tempest tossed. 

On ocean struggling or in ocean lost ? 
Or safe perchance in famous London town. 


What shall she do to save her husband's home ? 

The scene of homely smiles and homely tears ; 

His home and hers, which now, alas, she fears 
The rushing blaze will whelm in fiery foam. 
Alone she stands — no hand is there to aid ; 

Yet, though the earth be fire, the heavens are blue ; 

Though men are false and fail, the saints are true 
And love to help when earnest prayer is made. 

She prays unto Bartholomew the Saint, 

And girds the house with but a slender thread 
Her hands a-tremble and her soul in dread ; 

Then to her chamber, with her heart all faint. 

Again she calls unto the Saint for aid — 

The fire scarce touched the faith-protected cot, 
Though on it breathed the flames all red and hot, 

And e'en Cecilia's faithful heart dismayed, 

(That selfsame hour the sailor husband brave 
Knelt at the shrine of St. Bartholomew, 
With waxen taper, sign of worship true. 

And gratitude for safety from the wave.) 

Houses on either side in ruins lay — 

Cecilia's house untouched, save that the fire 
Had reached the pinnacles, and in its ire 

Balked of a victim burned them half away. 

Amazed men saw the house unburned stand, 

Guarded and saved but by Faith's slender thread ; 
Great was the marvel that the wonder bred 

When Helyas came back to his native strand. 

The age of miracles has long gone by ; 

We smile at marvels told in monkish books, 
Yet drag them forth from out their dusty nooks, 

For Love, and Faith, and Duty never die. 


No miracle is this for those whose creed 

Holds that the saints who dwell in heaven above 
Look down on human trial, woe, and love ; 

And help us in the darkest hour of need. 

Even those who doubt may love the legend quaint 
Of good Cecilia, now eight centuries dead, 
Who bound the flames with Faith's own slender thread 

And prayed to great Bartholomew the Saint. 

To Herstmonceux, or to Hellingley, with 
perhaps equal appropriateness may be referred Mr. 
M. A. Lower's " Lord Dacre, his mournful end." 


The picturesque beauty of " The little Church 
in the Wood " has suggested the following : — 

I see a little church with low-set spire, 
Encircled by a grove of ancient trees — 
With branches rythmic to the passing breeze ; 
And now I hear from out the village choir, 

The song of praise that to the heavens aspire. 
And mingled with these formal litanies 
The far-off murmur of the distant seas 
And the sweet scent of wild rose and of briar. 

I pause entranced this scene of peace to mark, 
When 'mid the blue I see a rising lark; 
He sings and soars and rises high and higher, 
A speck upon the sun 'tween day and dark, 

From lowly nest down in the grass and mire, 
He seeks the sun and basks him at its fire. 



" Middleton," says Charlotte Smith, "is a 
village on the margin of the sea, in Sussex, 
containing only two or three houses. There 
were formerly several acres of ground between 
its small church and the sea, which now, by its 
continual encroachment, approaches within a few 
feet of this half-ruined and humble edifice. The 
wall, which once surrounded the church-yard, is 
entirely swept away, many of the graves broken 
up, and the remains of bodies interred washed 
into the sea ; whence human bodies are found 
among the sand and shingles on the shore." 
This lonely church suggested to the Sussex 
poetess the following sonnet : — 

Press'd by the moon, mute arbitress of tides. 
While the loud equinox its power combines, 
The sea no more its swelling surge confines. 
But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides. 

The wild blast, rising from the western cave. 
Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed ; 
Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead, 
And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave ! 

With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore, 
Lo ! their bones whiten in the frequent wave ; 
But vain to them the winds and water rave ; 
They hear the warring elements no more : 


While I am doom'd by life's long storm opprest, 
To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest. 

An elegy by the same writer also refers to this 
ruined graveyard, which the sea has since washed 



The ruins of the great castle of Pevensey has 
inspired a sonnet by William Lisle Bowles. 

Fallen pile ! I ask not what has been thy fate, 
But when the weak winds, wafted from the main, 
Through each lone arch, like spirits that complain, 
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate 

On this world's passing pageant, and the lot 
Of those who once might proudly, in their prime. 
Have stood with giant port, till, bowed by time 
Or injury, their ancient boast forgot. 

They might have sunk like thee ; though thus forlorn 
They lift their heads with venerable hairs, 
Bespent, majestic yet, and as in scorn 
Of mortal vanities and short-lived cares ; 

Even so dost thou, lifting thy forehead grey, 
Smile at the tempest, and Time's sweeping sway. 

Mr. M. A. Lower has, in his " Little Geste of a 
of a great Eele," versified one of the stories of 
Andrew Borde as to the efforts of some Pevensey 
men to drown an eel. 


Lord Thurlow's sonnet on the approach to Rye 


and Winchelsea from the sea has already been 
quoted. The Ypres Tower at Rye has suggested 
the following : — 

Where are the men who built the Ypres tower ? 
Salt of the sea, who held the French at bay ; 
Who had rough lives, sharp swords, and spirits gay, 
Though storm might rage or threatening tempest lower. 

No place was this for a faint-hearted bower — 
No place for dalliance or for summer play ; 
Its skies of blue, or dark rain-laden gray, 
Saw nations struggle for the ocean dower. 

The fair bride held her life in daily dread 
Of cruel sea, and still more cruel foe ; 
The angry wave and shining cutlass blow 
Were in the dream around her cottage low. 

The glory and the danger both have fled. 
But still the Ypres rears its stalwart head. 

Saint Leonards-on-Sea. 

Thomas Campbell visited St. Leonards in its 

early days, and his meditations are recorded in 

the verses "On the view from St. Leonards, 

Hastings," which first appeared in 1831. 

Hail to thy face and odours, glorious Sea ! 
'Twere thanklessness in me to bless thee not. 
Great beauteous Being ! in whose breath and smile 
My heart beats calmer, and my very mind 
Inhales salubrious thoughts. How welcomer 
Thy murmurs than the murmurs of the world ! 
Though like the world thou fluctuatest, thy din 


To me is peace, thy restlessness repose. 

Ev'n gladly I exchange yon spring-green lanes, 

With all the darling field-flowers in their prime. 

And gardens haunted by the nightingale's 

Long trills and gushing ecstasies of song, 

For these wild headlands and the sea-mew's clang. 

With thee beneath m.y windows, pleasant Sea ! 

I long not to o'erlook Earth's fairest glades 

And green savannahs : Earth has not a plain 

So boundless or so beautiful as thine. 

The eagle's vision cannot take it in : 

The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space, 

Sinks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird. 

It is the mirror of the stars, where all 

Their hosts within the concave firmament. 

Gay marching to the music of the spheres. 

Can see themselves at once. 

Nor on the stage 
Of rural landscape are there lights and shades 
Of more harmonious dance and play than thine. 
How vividly this moment brightens forth, 
Between grey parallel and leaden breaths, 
A belt of hues that stripes thee many a league, 
Flush'd like the rainbow, or the ring-dove's neck, 
And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wing 
The semblance of a meteor ! 

Mighty Sea ! 
Camelon-like thou changest, but there's love 
In all thy change, and constant sympathy 
With yonder Sky — thy Mistress ; from her brow 
Thou takest thy moods, and wear'st her colours on 
Thy faithful bosom ; morning's milky white, 


Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve, 
And all thy balmier hours, fair Element ! 
Have such divine complexion — crisped smiles, 
Luxuriant heavings, and sweet whisperings, — 
That little is the wonder, Love's own Queen 
From thee of old was fabled to have sprung — 
Creation's common ! which no human power 
Can parcel or enclose ; the lordliest floods 
And cataracts, that the tiny hands of man 
Can tame, conduct, or bound, are drops of dew 
To thee, that couldst subdue the Earth itself. 
And brook'st commandment from the heavens alone 
For marshalling thy waves. 

Yet, potent Sea ! 
How placidly thy moist lips speak ev'n now 
Along yon sparkling shingles ! Who can be 
So fanciless, as to feel no gratitude 
That power and grandeur can be so serene, 
Soothing the home-bound navy's peaceful way. 
And rocking e'en the fisher's little bark 
As gently as a mother rocks her child ? 

The inhabitants of other worlds behold 

Our orb more lucid for thy spacious share 

On earth's rotundity ; and is he not 

A blind worm in the dust, great Deep ! — the man 

Who sees not, or who seeing, has no joy 

In thy magnificence ? What though thou art 

Unconscious and material, thou canst reach 

The inmost immaterial mind's recess, 

And with thy tints and motion stir its chords 

To music, like the light on Memnon's lyre ! 

The Spirit of the Universe in thee 


Is visible ; thou hast in thee the life — 
The eternal, graceful, and majestic life — 
Of Nature, and the natural human heart 
Is therefore bound to thee with holy love. 

Earth has her gorgeous towns ; the earth-circling Sea 
Has spires and mansion more amusive still — 
Men's volant homes, that measure liquid space 
On wheel or wing. The chariot of the land. 
With pain'd and panting steeds and clouds of dust, 
Has no sight-gladdening motion like these fair, 
Careerers with the foam beneath their bows. 
Whose streaming ensigns charm the waves by day. 
Whose carols and whose watch-bells cheer the night, 
Moor'd as they cast the shadows of their masts 
In long array, or hither flit and yond 
Like spirits on the darkness of the deep. 

Mysteriously with slow and crossing lights. 
There is a magnet-like attraction in 
These waters to the imaginative power. 
That links the viewless with the visible. 
And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond 
Yon highway of the world my fancy flies, 
When by her tall and triple mast we know 
Some noble voyager that has to woo 
The trade-winds, and to stem the ecliptic surge. 
The coral groves — the shores of conch and pearl, 
Where she will cast her anchor, and reflect 
Her cabin-window lights on warmer waves. 
And under planets brighter than our own : 
The nights of palmy isles, that she will see 
Lit boundless by the fire-fly — all the smells 
Of tropic fruits that will regale her — all 
The pomp of nature, and the inspiriting 


Varieties of life she has to greet, — 
Come swarming o'er the meditative mind. 

True, to the dream of Fancy, Ocean has 

His darker hints ; but where's the element 

That chequers not its usefulness to man 

With casual terror ? Scathes not Earth sometimes 

Her children with Tartarean fires, or shakes 

Their shrieking cities, and, with one last clang 

Of bells for their own ruin, strews them flat 

As riddled ashes — silent as the grave ? 

Walks not Contagion on the air itself? 

I should — old Ocean's Saturnalian days, 

And roaring nights of revelry and sport 

With wreck and human woe — be loth to sing ; 

For they are few, and all their ills weigh light 

Against his sacred usefulness, that bids 

Our pensile globe revolve in purer air. 

Here Morn and Eve with blushing thanks receive 

Their freshening dews ; gay fluttering breezes cool 

Their wings to fan the brow of fever'd climes ; 

And here the Spring dips down her emerald urn 

For showers to glad the earth. 

Old Ocean was, 
Infinity of ages ere we breathed 
Existence ; and he will be beautiful. 
When all the living world that sees him now. 
Shall roll unconscious dust around the sun. 
Quelling from age to age the vital throb 
In human hearts, Death shall not subjugate 
The pulse that swells in his stupendous breast. 
Or interdict his minstrelsy to sound 
In thundering concert with the quirling winds 
But long as man to parent Nature owns 


Instinctive homage, and in times beyond 

The power of thought to reach, bard after bard 

Shall sing thy glory, Beatific Sea ! 

South Downs. 

The breezy South Downs, which form so 
remarkable a feature in the Sussex landscape, 
have not passed unsung. Of several sonnets 
referring to their beauty, by Charlotte Smith, we 
take this : — 

Ah, hills beloved ! where once a happy child, 

Your beechen shades, "your turf, your flowers, aniong," 

I wove your bluebells into garlands wild. 

And woke your echoes with my artless song. 

Ah ! hills beloved ! your turf, your flowers, remain ; 

But can they peace to this sad breast restore, 

For one poor moment sooth the sense of pain. 

And teach a broken heart to throb no more ? 

And you, Aruna ! in the vale below, 
As to the sea your limpid waves you bear. 
Can you one kind Lethean cup bestow. 
To drink a long oblivion to my care ? 

Ah no ! — when all, e'en hope's last ray is gone, 
There's no oblivion but in death alone ! 

A later poet, Mr. Joseph Ellis, has also felt 
their exhilaration (Csesar in Egypt and other 
poems, 1885, p. 172). 

A song to thee, O Nature ! whilst the hills 
Render my senses fullest sympathy ; 


Above the world of men, dissolved in thee, 
A joy thy joy serene my bosom fills, 

And claim I son-ship, mindless of ' the ills 
The flesh is heir to,' nought is now to me 
Than the primeval sward, and sky and sea, 
Boundless — as thy companionship instils ; 

O Mother Nature ! melt my heart in thine, 
O Mother Nature ! I in thee am lost, 

Mother Nature ! own me as thy child ; 
Why know I this sublimity divine. 

If not from thee ? me take at any cost ! , 

1 had not loved so if thou hadst not smiled. 


Here, it would seem, poor Robert Bloomfield, 
the author of the " Farmer's Bay," had his first 
view of the sea. There is a pleasant natural 
enthusiasm about these verses. 

Are these the famed, the brave South Downs, 

That like a chain of pearls appear ; 

Their pale green sides and graceful crowns 

To freedom, thought, and peace, how dear ! 

To freedom, for no fence is seen ; 

To thought, for silence smooths the way ; 

To peace, for o'er the boundless green 

Unnumbered flocks and shepherds stray. 

Now, now we've gained the utmost height : 
Where shall we match the vale below ? 
The Weald of Sussex, glorious sight. 
Old Chankbury, from the tufted brow. 


And here old Sissa, so they tell> 
The Saxon monarch closed his day ; 
I judge they played their parts right well 
But cannot stop to sing their praise. 

For yonder, near the ocean's brim, 

I see, I taste, the coming joy ; 

There Mary binds the withered limb,— 

The mother tends the poor lame boy. 

My heart is there — Sleep, Romans, sleep ; 

And what are Saxon kings to me ? 

Let me, O thou majestic Deep, 

Let me descend to love, and thee. 

And may thy calm, fair-flowing tide 

Bring Peace and Hope, and bid them live 

And Night, whilst wandering by thy side, 

Teach wisdom, — teach me to forgive. 

Then, when my heart is whole again, 

And Fancy's renovated wing 

Sweeps o'er the terrors of thy reign. 

Strong on my soul those terrors bring. ' 

Oaks, British oaks, form all its shade, 
Dark as a forest's ample crown ; 
Yet by rich herds how cheerful made, 
And countless spots of harvest brown ! 
But what's yon southward dark blue line, 
Along the horizon's utmost bound, 
Oh which the weary clouds recline, 
Still varying half the circle round ? 

The sea ! the sea ! my God ! the sea ! 
Yon sunbeams on its bosom play ! 
With milk white sails expanded free 
There ploughs the bark her cheerful way ! 


I come, I come, my heart beat high ; 
The greensward stretches southward still. 
Soft in the breeze the heath bells sigh ; 
Up, up, we scale another hill ! 

A spot where once the eagle towered 
O'er Albion's green primeval charms, 
And where the harmless wild thyme flowered. 
Did Rome's proud legions pile their arms. 
In infant's haunts I've dreamed of thee. 
And where the crystal brook ran by. 
Marked sands and waves and open sea. 
And gazed, but with an infant's eye. 

'Twas joy to pass the stormy hour, 
In groves, when childhood knew no more ; 
Increase that joy, tremendous power, 
Loud let thy world of waters roar. 
And if the scene reflection drowns. 
Or draws too strongly raptured tear, 
I'll change it for these lovely Downs, 
This calm smooth turf, and worship here. 

It will be seen that Sussex has not been 

unsung, but it is noteworthy that most of these 

poems of places have been written by those " not 

to the manor born." 

'' Spirits " at Brigbtling in 1659. 

IN the year 1659 there occured one of those 
incidents which are sufficiently common in 
the annals of what is vaguely known as 
" spiritualism," In the age when it occurred the 
Brightling disturbance was regarded as "a 
stupendous and amazing piece of Providence." 
The narrative of the affair was written by the 
minister of Brightling, and is given in Clark's 
" Mirror of Saints, etc." According to this 
narrative the disturbances began in the evening 
of November 7th, 1659, when a man found that a 
fire had kindled in his milkhouse ; on the 9th 
dust was thrown upon the man and his wife as 
they lay in bed. Next morning various things 
were thrown about, and the fire was again kindled 
in the same place in the milkhouse, but was put 
out by the woman. Then it blazed out in the 
eaves of the house, but was extinguished by a 
neighbour. A pot standing on the table was 
broken with a piece of brick. As they were 
going to fill a tub with water, to set by them all 


night, the fire was kindled again in the milkhouse, 
and suddenly the whole house was on fire, but 
most of the goods were saved. The fire was 
very white, and did not singe their hands when 
they were pulling things out of it. The household 
stuff was carried next day to a neighbour's house, 
and put in one end, whilst the family were at the 
other end. Dust was thrown upon the man and 
his wife in bed. At last, unable to endure more, 
the man arose, and with another accompanying 
him, took a candle and lanthorn in his hand, and 
went to Mr. Bennet, the minister of Brightling, 
and entreated him to go back with them. 
Accordingly Mr. Bennet and his brother went to 
the house and prayed with the people. At first 
dust was thrown at them, but all was quiet during 
prayer. Afterwards as the minister was reading 
Psalm 91, and the man was standing by him 
holding the candle, the light was beaten out. 
Presently a knife was thrown at the minister, 
which fell behind him. Then a chopping knife 
was thrown. Hereupon the man said, " These 
things are thrown at others for my sake." At 
length he fell down upon his knees, and confessed 
that he had been a hypocrite and a pilfering 
fellow, and that he had robbed his master, etc., 


etc. He further declared that he was willing to 
separate the things which he had taken wrongfully, 
from his own goods. This he accordingly did, 
laying forth several things which he said were 
none of his, and naming the persons from whom 
he had wrongfully taken them. As a great chest 
was carried out " trenchers, platters, and other 
things were thrown about in so dreadful a manner, 
that one not much noted for religion, said, ' Pray 
you, let us go to prayer,' and indeed that was 
their only refuge, praying, preaching, and singing 
Psalms." A dish was thrown several times, and 
once crave Mr. Bennet a smart blow on the cheek. 
Then the man's boots, a chopping knife, crabs out 
of a tub standing in the midst of the room, a fire 
brand, a hammer, and a Bible, were flying about 
once or more, " yet at prayer all was quiet." In 
the morning, Mr. Bennet and his brother left, but 
before they got home they heard that the house 
was on fire. Mr. Bennet was thereupon sent for 

When the house took fire although they 
carried away their goods, pulled off the thatch, 
and quenched the fire ; yet it kindled again and 
again, until the house was burnt down to the 
ground. When the goods were removed into the 


field all was quiet in the second house ; but some 
thinc^s were thrown in the field, and some noise 
was heard among the household stuff. "Thus," 
we are told, ** these poor creatures were distressed, 
their house burnt down, that to which they 
removed several times fired ; and they with their 
goods forced to lie in the open fields for several 
days and nights together : being made a sad 
spectacle to all sorts of people, that came far and 
near to see and hear of the business. Afterwards 
a Fast day was kept by four of the neighbouring 
ministers, and sermons were preached on these 
texts. Job 17, 13; Amos 3, 6; Luke 13, 2, 
3; Isa. T,;^, 14, 15, 16. "The congregation was 
great, and the distressed persons diligently 
attentive ; after which, they were not at all 
troubled any more in that manner." 

We have given the narrative substantially in the 
words of the worthy minister by whom it was com 
municated to that well known divine, Mr. Samuel 
Clark. The real truth is now difficult to determine, 
but after due allowance has been made for the 
uncritical temper of the historian, and for uninten- 
tional exaggeration, there is not much more left 
than might be accomplished by some mischievous 
humourist unaided by the supernatural powers. 

IT be riDonstrous Cbilt) of Cbicbeeter. 

STRANGE births, and monsters of various 
kinds were favourite topics with the ballad 
writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 
Sometimes, it may be feared, they trusted to 
magination for their facts, but in the following 
case the good faith of the rhymer is vindicated by 
an entry in Machyn's " Diary," who testifies that 
the child was brought to court, 4th of June, 1562. 
The picture of the child is 6f inches in height. 
The ballad formed part of the possessions of 
George Daniel, and is here reprinted from "A 
Collection of seventy nine Black Letter Ballads 
of Broadsides," edited and published by Mr. 
Joseph Lilly. 

A discription of a monstrous Chylde, borne at Chychester in 
Sussex, the xxiiii day of May. This being the very length, 
and bygnes of the same. MCCCCCLXII. 

When God for synne to plage hath ment. 

Although he longe defarde, 
He tokens truly strange hath sent 

To make hys foes afearde ; 


That they thereby might take remorce, 

Of their yll lyfe mispent, 
And, more of loue then feare or force, 

Their formall faultes repent. 

Before the earth was overflowen 
With waters huge throughout, 

He sent them Noe, that holy one, 
Who dayly went about. 

To call them then to godly lyfe. 
At home they laughfe and fumde ; 

He was contemde of man and wyfe, 
Tyll they were all consumde. 

Loth did preache most earnestly. 

But it did not preuayle ; 
When fire and brymstone verely 

Upon them doune did hayle. 

Pharaoes heart had no remorce, 
Though wonders straunge he sawe, 

But rather was therfore the worce. 
Without all feare or awe ; 

Untyll bothe he and his therfore, 

By iustice sent of God, 
In raging seas were all forlore, 

And then he felt the rod. 

Ten tymes truely were the Jewes 
In captiue brought and led ; 

Before eche tyme, our God did vse 
Hys tokens strange, we red. 

The year before Vaspatian came. 
The Jewes a heyfer drest, — 

Which beynge slayne, did calue a lame,- 
This sygne they sone did wrest, 


As others doe, and styll have done, 

In making it as vayne ; 
Or els good lucke, they saye, shal come, 

As please their foolish brayne. 

The heathen could forese and saye 

That when such wounders were, 
It did foreshew to them alwaye 

That some yll hap drew nere. 

The Scripture sayth, before the ende 

Of all thinges shall appeare, 
God will wounders straunge thinges sende, 

As some is sene this yeare. 

The selye infantes, royde of shape. 

The calues and pygges so straunge, 
With other mo of suche mishape, 

Declareth this worldes chaunge. 

But here, lo ! see above the rest, 

A monster to beholde, 
Procedinge from a Christian brest, 

Too monstrous to be tolde ! 

No carver can, nor paynter maye, 

The same so ougly make, 
As doeth itself shewe at this daye, 

A sight to make the quake ! 

But here thou haste, by printing arte, 

A signe therof to se ; 
Let eche man saye within his harte. 

It preacheth now to me. 

That I should seke to lyve hencefoorth 

In godly lyfe alwaye, 
Eor these be tokens now sent foorth 

To preache the later daye. 


Also it doeth demonstrate plague 

The great abuse and vyce, 
That here in England now doesth raygne, 

That monstrous is the guyse. 

By readinge stories we shall fynde, 

In Scripture and elles-where, 
That when such things came up out of kynde 

Gods wrath it did declare. 

But if we lightely weye the same, 

And make but myne dayes wonder 
The Lord our strutness soon will tame 

And sharpely bringe vs vnder. 

Then ponder wel, be tymes long past, 

The sequel of suche signes. 
And call to God i)y prayer in hast 

From sinne to chaunge our myndes. 

Repent amende, both hygh and lowe, 

The woorde of God embrace^ 
To lyve therto as we should doe 

God give vs all the grace ! 

Quod Jhon D. 

The father hereof is one Vyncent, a boutcher ; bothe he and 
hys wyfe being of honest and quiet conversation, they having 
had chyldren before in natural proportion, and went with this 
her full tyme. 

Imprynted at London by Leonard Askel, for Frances 
Godlyf, in the yeare of oure Lorde, 1562. 

The " poet " remains unidentified, which is 
perhaps as well for his reputation. 



A FAVOURITE excursion of those who run 
down to the seaside to consult " one of 
the best of physicians " — he whom Thackeray 
has well described as "kind, cheerful, merry 
Doctor Brighton " — is to the Devil's Dyke. To 
that picturesque spot with an evil name there 
come pilgrims by coach, by train, and on foot to 
gaze upon the wide expanding landscape of the 
Weald, to have their fortunes told by the gipsy 
"queens" who ply their trade in flagrant defiance 
of the statute book, or to disport themselves in 
the somewhat cockney paradise that has arisen 
on this lovely part of the South Downs. The 
Dyke itself is the work of Mother Nature 
in one of her sportive moods, when she 
seems to imitate or to anticipate the labours of 
man. Here she has carved out a deep trench 
that looks as though it were the work of the 
Anakim. It has its legendary interest also, for 
the Sussex peasantry hold, or held, that it came 
into existence by the exertions of the " Poor 


Man," as the Father of Evil is here euphemis- 
tically called. Looking over the fertile Weald, 
his Satanic Majesty was grievously offended by 
the sight of the many churches dotted over the 
smiling plain, and he decided to cut a passage 
through the Downs so that the waters of the sea 
might rush through the opening and drown the 
whole of the valley. An old woman whose 
cottage was in the vicinity, hearing the noise 
made by the labouring devil in his work of 
excavation, came to her window, and holding her 
candle behind a sieve, looked out. The " Poor 
Man " caught sight of the glimmering light, and 
hastily concluded that the sun was rising. The 
mediaeval devil could only do his malicious deeds 
in the dark, and so he slunk away, leaving the 
Dyke incomplete, as we now see it. Lest anyone 
should doubt this story, the marks of the " Poor 
Man's " footprints are still pointed out on the turf. 
Here, too, are the evidences of an oval camp 
with massive rampart and broad fosse, occupied 
probably by the Romans, whose coins have been 
found, and by still earlier warlike inhabitants of 
the district. When the eye has satisfied itself 
with the fine prospect, landward and seaward, we 
may undertake a short pilgrimage to a little 


(Interior towards the East.) 


known Ruskin shrine. Below us northward are 
the villages of Poynings, Fulking, and Edburton. 
The last is known to archzeologists for its leaden 
font, which is said to date from the end of the 
twelfth century. Here Laud, the pious, am- 
bitious, unscrupulous, and unfortunate prelate, is 
said to have officiated. To him is attributed the 
gift of the pulpit and altar rails in the church. 

Descending the steep slope of the South 
Downs, and breathing the invigorating air which 
has won so many praises, we are soon in a rustic 
road that leads to the church of Poynings. The 
church is one of great interest and dignity. It is 
early Perpendicular, cruciform, and has a square 
central tower. The alms box is an ancient 
thurible of carved wood. " Puningas " — and 
Punnins is still a local pronunciation — was 
restored, with other lands, to the thane Wulfric 
by King Eadgar, who pardoned some of his 
vassal's slight offences in consideration of receiv- 
ing 1 20 marcs of the most approved gold. When 
Domesday Book was compiled the manor was held 
by a feudatory of the powerful William de Warren. 
Inside the church are some monuments of those 
stalwart soldiers, the Poynings, and outside there 
are still traces of their ancient home from the 


time of Stephen to that of Henry VII. Their 
name is enduringly written in our history in 
" Poyning's law." In 1294, Sir Michael, lord of 
this manor, was summoned to Parliament as the 
first Baron de Ponynges. His son Thomas was 
slain in the great sea-fight at Sluys. The son of 
this soldier was Sir Michael, the third baron, who 
was with Edward III. at Crecy, and at the 
surrender of Calais in 1347. When he returned 
to his castle, he was appointed one of the 
guardians of the Sussex coast, then in danger of 
a French invasion. When he died in 1368, he 
bequeathed "to him who may be my heir" a 
" ruby ring which is the charter of my heritage of 
Poynings." The barony passed by the distaff to 
the Earls and Dukes of Northumberland. Sir 
Edward Poynings, a grandson of the sixth baron, 
had his home at Ostenhanger in Kent. Whilst 
Lord Deputy of Ireland, he induced the Irish 
Parliament, in 1494-5. ^^ P^^s a measure by 
which all the laws of England were made to be of 
force in Ireland, and no bill could be introduced 
into the Irish Parliament without the previous 
sanction of the Council of England. He died in 
1 52 1 the Governor of Dover Castle. "Who 
more resolved than Poynings?" asks Lloyd, 



" whose vigilancy made him master of the Cinque 
Ports, as his valour advanced him general of the 
low-county forces, whom he led on to several 
services with such success, and brought off, with 
the loss of not above an hundred men, with 
honour from the Lady Margaret, and applause 
from the whole country." Poynings passed by 
sale to the Brownes, and by failure of heirs 
reverted to the crown in 1797. 

From Poynings there is a road leading to 
Fulking, and on the way many capital views of 
the round breasts of the South Downs can he 
had. Fulking is merely a hamlet of the parish 
of Edburton, and is a somewhat debateable land, 
for whilst it is situated in the Rape of Lewes, the 
parish to which it is a tything, is in the Rape of 
Bramber. It contains about 1,330 acres of 
arable, pasture, and down land. In Domesday 
Book it is mentioned under the name of Foch- 
inges, and was then held of William de Warren 
by one Tezelin, of whom nothing more is known. 
It was situated in Sepelei (Edburton.'*), which 
William de Braose held. Before the Normans 
came, Harold held it in the time of King 
Edward. It was assessed, both in the Saxon and 
Roman times, at three hides and a rood. 


It is a striking evidence of English persistence. 
This Httle hamlet has continued for more than 
eight centuries ; how many more no one can say. 
It has not even been important enough to have 
its own separate church, but, nevertheless, it has 
persisted manfully in the struggle for existence. 
A winding street of mingled villas and cottages is 
the Fulking of to-day, nestling in trees, beneath 
the sheltering wings of the South Downs, and 
apparently as unconscious of the gaieties of 
Brighton as if it were a thousand miles away. 

Fulking is the end of our Ruskin pilgrimage, 
for here on the right hand of the road is a 
fountain with a red marble tablet, on which is 
inscribed : — 


and in honour of 

John Ruskin. 

Psalm lxxviii. 

That they might set their hope 

IN God and not forget. 

But keep his commandments 

who brought streams also out of the Rock." 

John Ruskin, who besides being a teacher of 
art and ethics, is also a geologist, was appealed to 
by some friends of Fulking who were anxious as 
to its water supply. There is an abundant 


gathering ground, bat Nature appeared to be 
elusive, and the water courses ran other ways. 
Mr. Ruskin's aid was effectual, and the ancient 
hamlet has now its own abundant supply. Lower 
down the road, and past the hostelry of the 
"Shepherd Dog" — a true South Down sign — is 
the storage house of Fulking Waterworks. On 
the tablet of this we read : — 

" He sendeth Springs 
into the valleys 
which run among the hills. 


Praise the Lord 

for his goodness." 

The exact source of the first inscription will be 
seen in Psalm, cxxviii., 7 and 16 ; and of the 
second in Psalm civ., 10, and cvii., 8, 15, 21, 31. 

Those who honour Ruskin as a great teacher 
of truth and righteousness, will find something 
appropriate in this memorial of him in the solitary 
street of the little hamlet, whose feudal lord once 
upon a time was Harold, the last of the Saxon 

IR^e in the Siytecntb anb Seventeenth 

THE records of the Corporation of Rye 
contain some interesting items as to the 
social and municipal life of that "ancient town" of 
the Cinque Ports. These records have not been 
printed in full, but a good calendar has been 
made for the historical MSS. Commission 
(XI 1 1th Report, Appendix, part IV). 

In the sixteenth century it was a place of 
commercial importance, though it was then 
complaining of decay. The Huguenots had a 
church there, but the refugees were not always of 
a desirable kind, although the majority of them 
made excellent citizens of the land to which 
they had fled in search of liberty of conscience. 
In 1569, John Pilfort, a Frenchman, who had 
been forbidden the town, ventured to return, 
and was thereupon placed in the pillory, and 
had "one of his ears nailed thereto." What 
his offence was, is not stated, but in the same 
year, James Fryes, glazier of Harlingen, in West 

RYE. 145 

Friesland, James Johnson alias Huson, mariner, 
of Flushing, and another named Cowper, were 
ordered to leave the town, with their wives and 
children, "for theyr misbelieves contrarie to 
chrestian relegian." 

The jealousy of the native traders led in 1587, 
to an order that none of the French nation should 
be allowed to retail textiles, haberdashery, 
mercery ware, or grocery in the town. 

Witchcraft was still implicity believed in, and 
" Mother Margery," a poor old woman in the 
almshouse, was driven out of the town. Some raw 
beef was found, and it was held that as it decayed 
those on whom she had cast a spell would also 
decay. This was in 1571, and it is noted that 
" since her banishment the town had not been 
troubled with her like." In 1594 a cunning man 
at Hastings advised a woman to " draw blood " off 
" Mother Rogers," who he said had bewitched her 
child. In 1608, Mrs. Anne Taylor, a gentle- 
woman of the place, was imprisoned on the 
charge of having " councell" with spirits, and 
apparently she only escaped with her life by 
virtue of a " general pardon," which stayed further 
proceedings. Again in 16 10, Joan Bayley of Rye, 

who was more than four score years old, deposed 



that believing a child to be bewitched she had 
undertaken to break the spell. She took a piece 
of red cloth and stuck into it sixty needles and a 
halfpennyworth of pins. Then she put it on the 
fire upon the " emery es" and stuck a dagger in 
the midst. It was a long time before it was 
consumed, but she could not tell who had 
bewitched the child, as no one came in to be 
accused as she had expected. In 1645, the 
mayor and jurats ordered two old women accused 
of witchcraft "to be tried by putting them in the 

In 1574, the Mayor and jurats endeavoured to 
put down what was evidently the old custom of 
young and old going forth with drums and flags 
to cut boughs in the neighbouring woods. 

The iron industry flourished to an extent that 
alarmed the authorities of Hastings, Winchelsea, 
and Rye, who were afraid that the woods which 
supplied them with fuel would be exhausted by the 
demands of the iron works. Their remonstrances 
with Lord Buckhurst, and their endeavour to 
obtain protection from Parliament, make a curious 
chapter in the history of an industry that has long 
ceased to be a source either of profit or annoyance 
to the five ports. 

RYE. 147 

The parliamentary franchise of Rye was not 
much of a reality. There was, indeed, no 
pretence of popular selection. The corporation 
who nominally made the choice, really accepted 
the nominee of the Lord Warden, or some other 
powerful person. In one case all they knew 
about the candidate was that he was a son of Sir 
Edward Courcey, and they actually elected his 
eldest son instead of the second son for whom the 
position was intended, and to whom it was given 
by an amended return. 

There are sundry references to Mr. Richard 
Fletcher, the Vicar of Rye, and father of the 
dramatist. Having to reprove one of his 
parishioners who was in a tavern on Easter 
Monday, when he ought to have been at the 
preaching, the unrepentant sinner declared that 
he was as good, as honest, and as well born as 
the parson himself. Mr. Fletcher he declared, 
"did eat and drink him," to which the vicar 
made reply that he had never cost the man a cup 
of cold water. To this John Bennet, angrily but 
illogically replied, " Nor never shall, dwelt he 
never so long there." And, still in a rage, he 
declared "at the bench upon the market place 
that he was as good a man and as well born as 


Mr. Fletcher, for his father was a butcher, and 
Mr. Fletcher's father a wever." Bennet's brother 
Robert was also a despiser of dignities, for 
" debating within the church said openly he 
would call that he would the churchwarden knave 
of yt." 

The distinctions of rank were carried out 
beyond death in an order made in 1579 that no 
one under the degree of the Mayor, Jurats, and 
Common Council, or their wives " shall be chested 
or coffenid for their buriall." Many projects for 
the improvement of the decayed haven of Rye 
were under consideration from time to time. 

The Puritans, who called the Archbishop of 
Canterbury "the Pope of Inglande," and the 
Roman Catholics who smuggled " Jesus psalters " 
were equally obnoxious to the authorities. In 
1603, " John Arkinstal, of Ringy, in the parish 
of Bowden, in the county of Chester," a 
trumpeter, deposed that the schoolmaster of Rye, 
had, at an inn in Hastings, stated that the King 
of Scotland had been proclaimed King of 
England at London, and that afterwards Lord 
Beauchamp was proclaimed by the Earl of 
Southampton. The bellicose "dominie" further 
asserted that he had a great horse, and would 


RYE. 149 

have a saddle and spend his blood In Lord 
Beauchamp's behalf. Nothing more appears in 
the record as to this very small attempt at treason. 
But in 1 6 10 one Wale was whipped for "bad and 
lewde speeches," in which he declared that "there 
was never an Irishman but was as good as the 

Sir Giles Mompesson, one of the obnoxious 
monopolists licensed by James I., is described, 
after his flight in 1620, as "a litle man of a black 
swart complection with a litle black beard, and of 
the age of about fortie years." 

Besides the free-booters and sea-rovers who 
harrassed honest commerce on the English coast, 
there were the Mohammedan pirates. Thomas 
Greenaway, of Rye, it is reported, unable to 
endure the cruel treatment of his Turkish captors, 
"has turned to their religion." 

In 1626 the Mayor and Jurats complain, and 
although a person receives a salary from the 
exchequer as "Gunner of Rye," he neither does 
service, nor even resides in the place. Thomas 
Harrison, the gunner in question, tartly replied, 
that his allowance was only for attendance upon a 
brass cannon, placed at Rye by Henry VIII., but 
afterwards removed to the Tower of London, and 


that he is ready there to receive the commands of 
the Master Gunner of England. 

Perhaps nothing in these records that deal with 
social topics marks a greater change than the 
papers as to an ecclesiastical quarrel in 1637. An 
aggrieved churchwarden complained to the 
Bishop of Chichester that in one part of the 
church of Rye, artillery was stored ; that another 
part was used as a place for whipping offenders ; 
and that the curate, whilst omitting to read part of 
the church service, sometimes preached for two 
hours. The authorities admit, practically, that 
the two first charges were true, but that brought 
against the curate they declared to be " altogether 
false ; for mostlie he keepeth himself to his 
howre, and sometymes preacheth less than an 
howre." Those church-goers of the present day 
to whom a sermon of even half-an-hour is an 
infliction, may be thankful that their lot has not 
been cast in Rye, when Christopher Blackwood 
"mostly" kept to his hour in preaching. 

^be flDercbant of Cbicbcster. 

THE legends relating to a choice between the 
halter and the altar, the " wife or the 
woodie," as the Northern phrase goes, are 
sufficiently varied. " Muckle-mou'd Meg" is not 
the only heroine of song who has taken her 
husband from the gallows. A Sussex man is the 
chief actor in a ballad as old as the seventeenth 
century, and perhaps even older. This is 
"A Most Sweet Song of an English Merchant, 
borne at Chichester," who, travelling abroad 
in the pursuit of trade, had the misfortune, 
although he " was both grave and wise," to kill a 
man in a quarrel at Emden. For this he was 
condemned to die, and came on to the scaffold, 
where he was to be decapitated, very handsomely 
dressed, and in a very penitent frame of mind. 
He orders " a hundred pounds a piece " to be 
given to the widow and her two children. But 
at Emden they have a law that a woman who 
will wed a condemned criminal may thus safe his 
life. Ten merciful maidens contend for the 


privilege of rescuing the handsome Englishman 
from the headsman, but he declines their offer. 
Then another damsel steps forward, and protests 
that she acts from love and not from mercy, and 
as love begets love, he consents to live. 

" ' I goe my, my love,' shee said, 

M run, I fly for thee ! 
And gentle Headsman spare a while 

My Lover's life for mee !' 
Unto the Duke shee went. 

Who did her griefe remove ; 
And with an hundred Maidens more, 

Shee went to fetch her love. 

With musicke sounding sweet, 

The foremost of the traine, 
This gallant Maiden like a Bride, 

Did fetch him back againe : 
Yea hand in hand they went 

Unto the Church that day, 
And they were married presently 

In sumptuous rich array. 

A sweet thing is love, 

It rules both heart and mind ; 

There is no comfort in the world 
To women that are kind." 

The belief that a woman might beg a con- 
demned man as a husband is widespread, and 
may not impossibly have had some foundation in 
fact in ages when death was the penalty of even 



comparatively slight misdemeanours. There is 
an old instance cited in the " Reliquiae Antiquae " 
(I., 288). 

" ' Of life and dath now chuse the, 

There is the woman, here the galowe tree !' 
' Of boothe choyce harde is the parte — 
The woman is the warse, driue forthe the carte.' " 

But our merchant of Chichester was more 
fortunate. " Pity is akin to love," and the 
Englishman and his pretty Dutch wife appear to 
have " lived happy ever after." We may imagine 
them, prosperous and happy, passing beneath the 
Gothic arches of that most wonderful of all such 
structures, the Market Cross of Chichester. 

Drayton's Sono of Susscy. 

THE Topographical Muse has had no more 
enthusiastic votary than Michael Drayton, 
who, in his " Poly-albion," had no precursor and 
has had no imitator. The task of putting in 
verse " a chorographical description of all the 
tracts, rivers, mountains, forests, and other parts 
of this renowned isle of Great Britain, with 
intermixture of the most remarkable stories, 
antiquities, wonders, rarities, pleasures, and com- 
modities of the same," might easily have daunted 
a less strenuous and less patriotic bard than 
Drayton. The success of the book did not 
answer the magnitude of its scope, or even the 
excellence of its execution. The work was 
undertaken by 1598, and the first instalment 
appeared in 161 2, and was dedicated to Henry, 
Prince of Wales, who encouraged the scheme. 
After his death, the grant of ^10 yearly appears 
to have been continued by Charles. The public 


were less generous than the princes, and the first 
part fell flat. The poet complains that "the 
Stationers " vexed because it did not sell so 
quickly "as some of their beastly and abominable 
trash " had left out the epistles to the readers 
from some of the copies sold. For those who 
despised their Fatherland, Drayton has a mag- 
nificent burst of scorn. The notes to the 
" Poly-albion " were written by John Selden, 
the most learned of all the South Saxons. 
This gives additional interest to the portion here 
reprinted, in which we have bygone Sussex of 
the sixteenth and earlier part of the seventeenth 
century pictured by the mighty pens of Drayton 
and of Selden. 

" And soon the pliant Muse doth her brave wing advance, 
Tow'rds those Sea-bord'ring shores of ours, that point at 

France ; 
The harder Surrian Heath, and the Sussexian Downe. 
Which with so great increase though Nature do not crowne, 
As many other Shires, of this inviron'd He : 
Yet on the Weathers * head, when as the sunne doth smile, 
Nurst by the Southern Winds, that soft and gently blowe. 
Here doth the lusty sap as soon begin to flowe ; 
The Earth as soon puts on her gaudy Summer's sute ; 
The woods as soon in green, and orchards great with fruit 
To Sea-ward, from the seat where first our song begun, 
Exhalted to the South by the ascending sunne, 
* The sun in Aries. 


Power stately wood Nymphs stand on the Sussexian ground, 
Great Andredsweld's * sometime who, when she did abound. 
In circuit and in growth, all others quite supprest : 
But in her wane of pride, as she in strength decreast, 
Her Nymphs assum'd them names each one to her delight. 
As, Water-downe, so call'd of her depressed site : 
And Ash Downe, of those Trees that most in her do growe, 
Set higher to the Downes, as th'other standeth lowe. 
Saint Leonards, of the seat by which she next is plac't. 
And Whord that with the like delighteth to be grac't. 
These Forrests as I say, the daughters of the Weald 
(That in their heavie breasts, had long their greefs conceal'd) 
Foreseeing their decay each howre so fast came on, 
Under the axes stroak, fetcht many a grievous grone. 
When as the anviles weight, and hammers dreadfull sound, 
Even rent the hollow Woods and shook the queachy ground. 

* All that Maritime Tract comprehending Sussex, and part of Kent (so 
much as was not Mountains, now call'd the Downs, (a) which in British, 
old Gaulish, Low Dutch, and our English signifies but Hills), being all 
woody, was call'd Andredsweald. (li) i. Andredswood, often mentioned 
in our stories, and Newenden in Kent by it Andredcester (as most learned 
Camden upon good reason guesses), whence perhaps the Wood had his 
name. To this day we call those woody Lands, by North the Downes, the 
Weald : and, the Channell of the Riuer that comes out of those p^rls, and 
discontinues the Downs about Bramber, is yet known in Shorham Ferry, 
by the name of Weald-dich ; and in another Saxon word equiualent to it, 
are many of the Parishes Terminations on this side the Downs, that is, 
Herst, or Hurst, i. A wood. It is call'd by Ethelwerd(c) expresly(d) 
Inimanis sylua, que vulgos Andredsuuda nuncupatur, and was(e) CXX. 
miles long, and XXX. broad. The Authors conceit of these Forrests 
being Nymphs of this Great Andredsuuda, and their complaint for loss of 
Woods, in Sussex, so decai'd, is plain enough to euery Reader. 

(a) Dunum vti ex Clitophonte apud Plut. habet Cad. and Duyiien Belgij dicuntur. 
Tumuli Aenarij Oceano obiecti. Gorop. Gallic. I. .-Mij. 

(b) We yet call a Desert, a wildernesse from this roote. 

(c) Lib. 4, Cap. 3. 

(d) Wood, call'd Andredswood. 

(e) Henric. Huntingdon, hist. 5, in Alfredo. 


So that the trembling Nymphs, opprest through gastly feare, 

Ran madding to the Downes, with loose dishev'ld hayre. 

The Syluans that about the neighbouring woods did dwell, 

Both in the tufty Frith and in the mossy Fell, 

Forsook their gloomy Bowres, and wandred farre abroad, 

Expeld their quiet seats, and place of their abode, 

When labouring carts they saw to hold their daily trade. 

Where they in summer want to sport them in the shade. 

Could we, say they, suppose that any would us cherish, 

Which suffer (every day) the holiest things to perish ? 

Or to our daily want to minister supply ? 

These yron times breed none, that minde posteritie. 

'Tis but in vaine to tell, what we before have been. 

Or change of the world, that we in time have seen ; 

When, not devising how to spend our wealth with waste, 

We to the savage swine let fall our larding mast. 

But now, alas, our selves we have not to sustaine, 

Nor can our tops suffice to shield our Roots from raine. 

loves Oke, the warlike Ash, veyn'd Elme, the softer Beech, 

Short Hazell, Maple-plaine, light Aspe, the bending Wych, 

Tough Holly, and smooth Birch, must altogether burne : 

What should the Builder serve, supplies the Forgers turn ; 

When under publike good, base private gaine takes holde, 

And we poor woefull Woods, to ruine lastly solde. 

This uttered they with griefe : and more they would have 

But that the envious Downes, int' open laughter broke ; 
As ioying in those wants, which Nature then hath given, 
Sith to as great distresse the Forrests should be driven. 
Like him that long time hath another state envy'd. 
And fees a following Ebbe, unto his former Tide ; 
The more he is deprest, and bruiz'd with fortunes might, 
The larger Reane his foe doth give to his despight : 
So did the envious Downes ; but that againe the Floods 


(Their fountains that derive, from those unpittied Woods, 
And so much grace thy Downes, as through their Dales 

they creep, 
Their glories to convey unto the Celtick deep) 
It very hardly tooke, much murmuring at their pride. 
Cleere Lauant, that doth keep the Southamptonian side 
(Dividing it well-neere from the Sussexian lands 
That Selsey doth survay, and Solents troubled sands) 
To Chichester their wrongs impatiently doth tell : 
And Arun * (which doth name the beautious Arundell) 
As on her course she came, it to her Forrest tolde. 
Which, nettled with the newes, had not the power to hold : 
But breaking into rage, wisht Tempests them might rive ; 
And on their barren scalps, still flint and chauke might 

The brave and noble Woods which basely thus upbraid. 
And Adur t comming on, to Shoreham softly said, 

* So it is coniectured, and is without controuersie iustifiable if that be 
the name of the Riuer. Some, fable it from Arundel, the name of Beuis 
horse : It were so as tolerable as (a) Bucephalon, from Alexanders horse, (b) 
Tymenna in Lycia from a Goate of that name, and such like, if time 
would endure it : But Beuis was about the Conquest, and this Towne, is 
by name of Erundele, knowne in time of King Alfred (c) who gaue it with 
others to his Nephew Athelm. Of all men, (d) Goropius had somewhat a 
violent coniecture, when he deriued Harondeil, from a people call'd 
Charudes (in Ptolemy, towards the utmost of the now Juitland) part of 
whome hee imagines (about the Saxon and Danish irruptions) planted 
themselues here, and by difference of dialect, left this as a branch sprung 
of their Country title. 

(a) Plutarch in Alex. R. Curt. lib. 9. 

(b) Steph. (aepL TToX. 

(c) Testament. Alfred, vbi etiam, Ritheramfeild, Diccalingum, Angmeringum. 
Feltha, alias in hoc agro Villae legatur Oppertho eiuadem Cognato. 

(d) Gothodanic. lib. 7. 

t This Riuer that here falls into the Ocean might well bee vnderstood in 
that (a) Port of Adur, alx)ul this coast, the reliques whereof, learned 
Camden takes to be Edrington, or Adrington, a little from Shoreham. 
And the Author here so calls it Adur. 

(a) Portus Adurni in Notil. Prouins. 


The Downes did very ill, poor Woods so to debase. 
But now, the Ouse, a Nymph of very scornful! grace. 
So touchy waxt therewith, and was so squeamish growne. 
That her old name she scorn'd should publiquely be 

Whose haven out of mind when as it almost grew, 
The lately passed times denominate, the New * 
So Cucmer with the rest put to her utmost might : 
As Ashbourne undertakes to doe the Forrests right 
(At Pemsey, where she powres her soft and gentler Flood) 
And Asten once distain'd with native English blood : 
(Whose Soyle, when yet but wet with any little raine. 
Doth blush ;t as put in mind of those there sadly slaine, 
Whose name and honors now are denizend for ours) 
That boding ominous Brook, it through the Forrest rung : 
Which echoing it againe the mighty Weald along. 
Great stirre was like to grow ; but that the Muse did charme 
Their furies, and her selfe for nobler things did arme." 

So ends the seventeenth song of the " Poly- 

albion." A part of the eighteenth may also be 

claimed for Sussex, as may appear by the 

" argument ": — 

" The Rother through the Weald doth rove 
Till he with Oxney fall in love : 
Rumney would with her wealth beguile. 
And win the River from the Isle," 

* New-Haven. 

+ In the Flaine neere Hastings, where the Norman William after his 
victorie found King Harold slaine, he built Battel! Abbey, which at last 
(as diuers other Monasteries) grew to a Towne enough populous. There- 
about is a place which after raine alwaies looks red, which som (a) haue 
(by that authoritie, the Muse also) attributed to a very bloudy sweat of the 
earth, as crying to heauen for Reuenge of so great a slaughter. 

(a) Guil. Panjus hist. I., Cap. i. 


The poet held that the mouth of the Rother, 
where the river falls into Rye Harbour, was the 
ancient Limen, on which theory Selden comments 
adversely in the notes. 

" Ovr Argas scarcely yet deliuered of her sonne, 
When as the Riuer downe, through Andredsweald dooth run, 
Nor can the aged Hill haue comfort of her childe. 
For, liuing in the Woods, her Rother waxed wilde ; 
His Banks with aged Okes, and Rushes ouer-growne, 
That from the Syluans kinde, he hardly could be knowne :* 
Yea, many a time the Nymphes, which hapt this Flood to 

Fled from him, whom they sure a Satyre thought to be ; 
As Satyre-like he held all pleasures in disdaine. 
And would not once vouchsafe, to look upon a Plaine ; 
Till chancing in his course he to view a goodly plot, 
Which Albion in his youth, upon a Sea Nymph got. 
For Oxney's loue he pines : who being wildly chaste, 
And neuer woo'd before, was coy to be imbrac't. 
But. what obdurate heart, was euer so peruerse, 
Whom yet a louers plaints, with patience could not pearce? 
For, in this conflict she being lastly ouerthrowne, 
In-Iled in his Armes, he clips her for his owne. 
Who being grosse and black, she lik't the Riuer well. 
Of Rothers happy match, when Rumney Marsh heard tell, 

* Out of Sussex, into its Eastern neighbour, Kent, this Canto leads you. 
It liegins with Rother, whose running through the woods, inisling Oxney, 
and such like, poetically here described, is plain enough to any apprehend- 
ing conceit ; and upon Medway's Song of our Martial and Heroic spirits, 
because a large volume might be written to explain their glory in particular 
action, and in less comprehension without wrong to many worthies it's not 
performable, I have omitted all Illustration of that kind, and left you to 
the Muse herself. 


Whil'st in his youthful! course himselfe he doth apply, 
And falleth in her sight into the Sea at Rye, 
She thinketh with her selfe, how she a way might finde 
To put the homely He quite out of her Rothers minde. 
Appearing to the Flood, most brauely like a Queene, 
Clad (all) from head to foot in gaudy Summers green ; 
Her mantle richly wrought, with sundry flowers and weeds ; 
Her moystfuU temples bound, with wreaths of quiuering 

reeds : 
Which loosely flowing downe, vpon her lusty thighes, 
Most strongly seeme to tempt the Riuers amorous eyes. 
And on her loynes a frock, with many a swelling pleate, 
Embost with well-spread Horse, large Sheepe, and full-fed 

Some wallowing in the grasse, there lie a while to batten ; 
Some sent away to kill ; some thither brought to fatten ; 
With Villages amongst, oft powthred heere and there ; 
And (that the same more like to Landskip should appeare) 
With Lakes and lesser Foards, to mitigate the heate 
(In Summer when the Fly doth prick the gadding Neate, 
Forc'd from the Brakes, where late they brouz'd the veluet 

In which, they lick their Hides, and chew their sauoury Cuds. 
Of these her amourous toyes, when Oxney came to knowe. 
Suspecting least in time her riuall she might growe, 
Th'aller'rments of the Marsh, the iealous He do moue, 
That to a constant course, she thus perswades her Loue : 
With Rumney, though for dower I stand in no degree ; 
In this, to be belou'd yet liker farre then she : 
Though I be browne, in me there doth no fauour lack. 
The soule is said deform'd : and she, extreamely black. 
And though her rich attire, so curious be and rare, 
From her there yet proceeds unwholsome putrid aire : 



Where my complexion more sutes with the higher ground, 

Upon the lusty Weald, where strength doth still abound. 

The Wood-gods I refus'd, that su'd to me for grace, 

Me in thy watry Armes, thee suffring to imbrace ; 

Where, to great Neptune she may one day be a pray : 

The Sea-gods in her lap lie wallowing euery day. 

And what, though of her strength she seem to make no 

doubt ? 
Yet put vnto the proofe shee'U hardly hold him out. 
With this perswasful speech which Oxney lately vs'd. 
With strange and sundry doubts, whilst Rother stood 

Old Andredsweald at length doth take her time to tell 
The changes of the world, that since her youth befell, 
When yet upon her soyle, scarce humane foote had trode ; 
A place where only then, the Syluans made abode. 
Where, feareless of the Hunt, the Hart securely stood. 
And euery where walkt free, a Burgesse of the Wood. 
Untill those Danish routs, whom hunger-staru'd at home, 
(Like Wolues pursuing prey) about the world did roame. 
And stemming the rude streame diuiding vs from France, 
Into the spacious mouth of Rother fell (by chance) 
That Lymen * then was nam'd, when (with most irksome 


* So the Author conjectures ; that Rother's mouth was the place called 
Limen, at which the Danes in time of King Alfred made irruption ; which 
he must (I think) maintain by adding likelyhood that Rother then fell into 
the Ocean about Hith ; where (as the relics of the name in Lime, and the 
distance from Canterbury in Antoninus, making Portus Lemanis, (a) which is 
misprinted in Surita's edition, Pontem Lemanis, sixteen miles off) it seems 
Limen was ; and if Rother were Limen, then also, there was it discharged 
out of the land. But for the Author's words read this : Equestris 
paganorum exereitus cum suis equis CCL. navibtis Cantiam iransuectiis in 
ostio Amnis Limen qui de sylva magna Andred nominata decurrit, 
applicuit^ h cujius ostio I III. milliariis in eandem sylvam naves sitas sursum 
(raxit, ubi quandam arcem semsilructam, quavt pauci inhabitabant villani, 


The heauy Danish yoke, the feruile EngUsh bare. 

And when at last she found, there was no way to leaue 

Those, whom she had at first been forced to receiue ; 

And by her great resort, she was through very need, 

Constrained to prouide her peopled Townes to feed. 

She learn'd the churlish axe and twybill to prepare. 

To Steele the coulters edge, and sharpe the furrowing share : 

And more industrious still, and only hating sloth, 

A huswife she became, most skild in making cloth. 

That now the Draper comes from London euery yeare, 

And of the Kentish forts, make his prouision there. 

diruerunt, aliamque sibi firmiorem in loco qui dicitur Aptiltrea construxe- 
runt, (b) which are the syllables of Florence of Worcester ; and with him 
in substance fully agrees Matthew of Westminster ; nor can I think but 
that they imagined Rye (where now Rother hath its mouth) to be this Port 
of Limen, as the Muse here ; if you respect her direct terms. Henry of 
Huntingdon names no River at all, but lands them ad Portum Limene cum 
2^0 navibus, qui partus est in orientali parte Cent juxta magnum nemus 
Andredslaige. (c) How Rother's mouth can be properly said in the East 
(but rather in the South part) of Kent, I conceive not, and am of the 
adverse part, thinking clearly that Hith must be Portus Lemanis, which is 
that coast, as also learned Camden teaches, whose authority cited out of 
Huntingdon, being near the same time with Florence might be perhaps 
thought but as of equal credit ; therefore I call another witness (d) (that lived 
not much past fifty years after the arrival) in these words : In Limneo 
portti constituunt puppes Apoldre (so I read, for the print is corrupted) 
loco condicto orientali Cantics parte, destruiintque ibi prisco opere castrum 
propter quod rustica manus exigua quippe intrinsecus erat, Illicque hiberna 
castra conjirtnant. (e) Out of which you note both that no River, but a 
Port only, is spoken of, and that the ships were left in the shore at the 
haven, and thence the Danes conveyed their companies to Apledowre. 
The words of this Ethel werd I respect much more than these later Stories, 
and I would advise my reader to incline so with me. 

{a.) Lemannis in Notit. Utr. Provinc. 

(b) The Danes with 250 sail, came into the mouth of the River Limen, which runs out 
of Andredswald : from whence four miles into the wood they got in their ships, and 
built them a fort at Apledore, 893. 

(c) At Port Limen by Andredswald in the East of Kent. 

(d) Ethelwerd lib. 4, cap. 4. 

(e) They leave their ships in Port-Limen, making their rendezvous at Appledoure in 
the East of Kent (for this may better endure that name) and there destroyed one Castle 
and built another, 


Whose skirts ('tis said) at first that fiftie furlongs went, 
Haue lost their ancient bounds, now limited in Kent." 

These learned notes are not the only evidence 
of the friendship between the poet and the scholar. 
Selden also was a votary of the Muse, and the 
following sonnet from his pen, prefixed to the 
"Baron's Wars, Epistles and Sonnets," is addressed 
" To his worthy Friend Michael Drayton :" — 

" I must admire thee (but to praise were vaine, 
What eu'ry tasting palat so approues) 
Thy Martiall Pyrrhique, and thy Epique straine 
Digesting Warres with heart-uniting Loues ; 
The two first Authors of what is compos'd 
In this round Systeme All ; it's ancient lore 
(All Arts in Discords and Concents are clos'd. 
And when vnwinged soules the Fates restore 
To th' earth for reparation of their flights, 
The first Musicians, SchoUers, I^ouers make ; 
The next ranke destinate to Mars his Knights ; 
The following rabble meaner titles take) 
I see thy Temples crown'd with Phoebus rites : 
Thy Bay's to th' eye, with Lilly mixt and Rose, 
As to the eare a Diapason close."* 

It may perhaps be thought that the notes show 
the scholar with far more certainty than the 
verses show the poet. 

* According to that in Plato's Phaedrus, where, under the names of 
Louers of beauty (which comprehends all kind ot faire obiects, either 
in the mind or body), and of Souldiers, all such as are eminent for true 
worth, are comprehended ; the rest of men being of a farre lower ranke. 

B Suesey BooJi. 

\ MONGST the books to which Sussex has 
-^^^ given birth, one of the most curious is 
Turner's " Remarkable Providences." This im- 
pressive folio is perhaps best described by its 
very full title page: — "A Compleat History 
of the Most Remarkable Providences, Both of 
Judgment and Mercy, Which have Hapned in 
this Present Age. Extracted from the Best 
Writers, the Author's own Observations, and the 
Numerous Relations sent him from divers Parts 
of the Three Kingdoms. To which is Added, 
Whatever is Curious in the Works of Nature 
and Art. The Whole Digested into One 
Volume, under Proper Heads ; being a Work 
set on Foot Thirty Years ago, by the Reverend 
Mr. Poole, Author of the Synopsis Criticorum : 
and since Undertaken and Finished, By William 
Turner, M.A., Vicar of Walberton, in Sussex. 
Recommended as useful to Ministers in Furnish- 
ing Topicks of Reproof and Exhortation, and to 
Private Christians for their Closets and Families. 


One Generation shall praise thy Works to 
another, and shall declare thy mighty Acts. 
Psal. 145. 4. London : Printed for John 
Dunton, at the Raven, in Jewen-Street, 


Before Mr. Turner, who was born at Marbury, 
Cheshire, in 1653, went to the University, he 
was resident in the house of the saintly Philip 
Henry at the Broad Oak, and to him was com- 
mitted the early education of Matthew Henry. 
In this, as in many other cases, the pupil sur- 
passed his master. Turner also "entered Katy 
in reading English, and Sarah in Hebrew." The 
period at Broad Oak was only from August, 1 670, to 
February, 1671. He matriculated at St. Edward 
Hall, Oxford 26th March, 1669, took his B.A. in 
1672, and became M.A. in 1675. The early piety 
of Matthew Henry was not more remarkable than 
his precocious intellectual development, and though 
Mr. Turner did not share the Nonconformist 
scruples of the Henrys, his theological views were 
much the same. Thus, in 1691, he wrote to 
Philip Henry, " Your son's book is orthodox in 
my opinion ; and agreeable to my rule of faith and 
charity ; and his vindicator is a man of brisk brains 
and sharp witted pen." The "vindicator" was 


the Rev. William Tong, at whose instance 
Matthew Henry had written. 

William Turner, we have John Dunton's 
testimony, was " a man of wonderful moderation, 
and of great piety." In the opinion of that 
honest bookseller Mr. Turner's style was "very 
easy and free." And one other peculiarity would 
endear him to the bibliopole, "he was very 
generous, and would not receive a farthing for his 
copy till the success was known." In 1698, Dunton 
mentions that nearly a thousand copies of the 
" Remarkable Providences " had been disposed of 
in London, and complains that only twenty had 
been sold in Ireland. Amongst the Dunton 
MSS. in the Bodleian is a letter from Turner 
to the bookseller about his " Book of Religions." 

There is much promise in the lengthy title of 
" Remarkable Providences," and it cannot be said 
to be falsified by the contents of the book, which 
are of the most varied and miscellaneous nature. 
Mr. Turner appears to have emptied his common- 
place book, and even his note book, into this folio. 
Some of the articles are but a line in length, and 
are mere references to authorities, whilst a life of 
Queen Mary— then recently deceased — occupies 
many of its folio pages. It is a mingle-mangle of 


"wise saws and modern instances," set down 
without any critical effort to sort the wheat from 
the chaff, or the true from the false. Mr. Turner 
appears to have had the faculty of belief strongly 
developed, and to have been innocent of any 
principles of criticism, whether higher or lower. 

A Remarkable Escape from Execution. 

There are several references in the book to the 
author and his relations and friends. " I will here 
set down," he says, " a remarkable story of my own 
father, William Turner, a private man, and dis- 
engaged from parties ; who yet in the time of our 
late Civil Wars, being requested by a neighbour 
to assist him in the securing of a gelding, which he 
had in a pasture, not far from my father's house, 
upon the expectation of an army, that was coming 
in that road : My father readily, without any 
excuse, went along with him, took the horse out 
of the pasture, went along the road, so long, till 
the neighbour, fearing danger, diverted into the 
fields : My father being not far from his own 
house, and trusting partly to the innocence of his 
cause, kept the road, and bid farewell to his 
companion ; but by and by meeting with some 
soldiers, he passed by them, and after them. 


others ; till at last, finding the lane narrow, and 
the soldiers come in greater multitudes, to 
avoid the trouble of giving way to so many, 
having a confidence in the swiftness of his horse, 
and the knowledge of by-paths, he turned back 
again, but had not gone far, till he was shot at 
once and again, and at last shot through his body " 
between the bowels and bastard-ribs, and at 
last seized. His horse, boots, sword, and clothes 
all taken from him ; and a tattered suit of apparel 
from a common soldier put upon him : And at 
last brought to the General, who passed this 
sentence upon him, that he should be hang'd the 
next rendezvous. Accordingly he was driven 
before them to the next market-town (Drayton, 
in Shropshire), put under the table, whilst the 
General and his officers went to breakfast, in order 
to be hanged by and by. But upon a false 
report, the General caused the trumpeter to sound 
a march, and so left my father bleeding inwardly 
in the inn. Three chirurgeons, that were sent for, 
successively, one after the other, gave him over 
for desperate ; but at last a gentlewoman, related 
to the Earl of Shrewsbury, looking upon his 
wound, did believe it curable, and accordingly 
undertook the cure, and in six months at least 


effected it ; but so that my father upon the least 
surcharge of new ale or beer, or any windy liquor, 
was obnoxious to fainting-fits ; till it pleased God, 
after 20 years, or thereabouts, to order it so, 
that the escharre broke out in way of an issue, 
which continued with him (I think) to almost the 
time of his death, which was in the 77th year of 
his age, a.d. 1689-90. This I thought myself 
bound in point of gratitude to the Divine Pro- 
vidence to record." (Chap, xxiii., Some Personal 
deliverances No. 5). 

Forebodings of Death. 

There was apparently a spice of the uncanny 
in the family. " I had a maternal uncle," he says, 
"that died the third of March last, 1678, which 
was the anniversary day of his birth ; and (which 
is a truth exceeding strange) many years ago he 
foretold the day of his death to be that of his 
birth ; and he also averr'd the same but about the 
week before his departure." (Chap, xv., 13). 

It is therefore not surprising that he is ready to 
lend an ear to ghost stories and other wonderful 

A Ghost Story. 

" Being lately at Sir John Brisco's house, a 


baronet, now living at Amley Castle, in Sussex. 
His sister, then a guest at his house, and married 
to an East-India merchant, a gentleman of good 
parts, told me, that living at New-Salisbury, and 
designing to make some provision for her 
husband's return, and speaking of it in the house, 
she was often discouraged by a nurse, that she 
kept in the house with her, who advised her still, 
to stay till she saw him return : At last, tidings 
came, that he was dead in the Indies. Upon 
which the nurse told her, that she being in bed 
one night with her mistress, and sitting up to 
give the child suck by moon-shine, a person in the 
form of her husband (whom she had never seen, 
but only guessed at, by the representation given 
of him by others,) appeared to her, standing at 
the bed-side, and looking stedfastly upon her, 
and after some short space departed : And 
for this reason, she suspected his death, and 
consequently gave the advice afore-said. And 
upon computation and comparing the story 
of the nurse, and the contents of the letter 
together, it was found that the apparition 
was made at the very same time of his death. 
This the lady assured me with great con- 
fidence, with some other particular circum- 


stances, which have slipt my memory." (Chap, 
xvi., 20). 

A Doubtful Bequest. 

He was not, however, without a sense of 
humour. " Going one time to Major Trevers', 
his house in Cheshire, I met with the Major at 
Tarvin, near his house, where there had been a 
lecture that day, permitted by Bishop Wilkins, 
and kept up by the neighbouring clergy : The 
Major told me, that the preacher for that day had 
this pleasant (shall I say ? or odd) passage in his 
sermon ; A Scotch laird, or gentleman, having 
sent for a clerk to make his will, began to him 
thus (after the common preface), ' Imprimis, I 
bequeath my soul to God' — to which his clerk 
made answer very seriously, ' But what if he 
wonnot take it, mon !' With what temper of 
spirit it was then spoken, I know not ; but sure I 
am, 'tis a point that deserves a serious thought- 
fulness and gravity of mind." (Chap. cxlv. 12). 

A Warning to Cantankerous Parishioners. 

" One of my parishioners where I was minister 
formerly, having given occasion of scandal, by his 
drunkenness, and reproachful tongue, and execra- 


tions, was by me dissuaded from coming to the 
Sacrament till such time as he had oriven some 
proof of his reformation. He took this so disdain- 
fully, that he left our communion, went first to a 
meeting of dissenting Protestants in the town, 
then to the Papists ; and at last falling ill of a 
strange disease in his bowels, from which he could 
find no ease or relief, but by taking a daily dose 
of laudanum ; his only child died, his wife became 
lame in her arm, and he continued pining away 
some years, and at last died in extream poverty, 
and was carried like a sack of corn, with only 
one man attending, on horseback to his grave." 
(Chap, cxix., 7). 

Supernatural Lights. 

"When I was minister of Shipley, in Sussex, a 
certain man of another parish on a Lord's Day 
after evening service, came to me, and desired to 
speak with me about some particular case of con- 
science (I think it was concerning the sin against 
the Holy Ghost) ; after some discourse upon the 
point, he told me that he had for many years been 
haunted with doubts, and great fears about his 
salvation, and could enjoy no comfort ; hut at last 
unexpectedly as he was in his loom (for he was a 


weaver by trade) a certain text of Scripture was 
suggested to his mind, by he knew not what 
secret impulse, and thereupon all the thick fog, 
which he had so long laboured under was 
scattered, and the room was filled with great 
light, and he enjoyed a great serenity, and peace, 
and comfort afterwards." (Chap, xxiv., 5). 

Still more remarkable is the second narrative 
of this kind. 

" One Mr. Burgess, late minister of Grafifam, 
in Sussex, being put to some trouble at his first 
coming to that place, through the unkindness (not 
to say dishonesty) of some neighbours, made a 
journey to London, for the better securing himself 
in the possession, and returning home, came late 
to the outward skirts of the parish, where being 
apprehensive of danger, partly by reason of the 
great darkness of the night, and partly by reason 
of the waters and ditches, which are thereabouts 
somewhat formidable to a stranger, he did by 
some secret ejaculations earnestly beg of God, so 
to direct and preserve him in the way, that he 
might not miscarry before he got to his own (then 
a new) home : and presently a light shone about 
him, to his great surprizal and comfort, and did 
accompany him closely (as the Pillar of Fire did 


the Israelites), either going before him, or sur- 
rounding him (for I dare not be positive, through 
the defect of my memory), till he got safe to his own 
house. This hath been attested to me by his own 
son, an honest, sober man, now living at Graffam ; 
and one Mr. Cockrill, a near neighbour, who faith 
he heard Mr. Graffam, the Elder, often speak of it 
with wonder." (Chap. Ixxx., 8), 

Turner had doubts as to the lawfulness of 
astrology, and mentions a conversation with a 
preacher of that art in Shropshire, who defended 
its lawfulness, but admitted its uncertainty, whilst 
claiming to have "hit upon the truth," by means 
of " casting a figure," which led to the arrest of a 
horse thief. (Chap, xi., 12). 

A Girl in a Trance. 

Whilst at Shipley he was much impressed by 
the death of his servant girl, " Mary Holland, 
aged about 16 or 17 years, jolly and corpulent, 
honest, humble, and innocent, free from all pride 
and guile naturally, so far as I could judge," he 
says, *'but of no sharp intellectuals." This girl 
fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till the third 
night, when she awoke. Turner and his wife 
joined the women who were nursing her, and 


began to pray, when the girl appeared to be 
going through a spiritual conflict, "and broke 
out into such passionate and strange expressions 
as seemed to have proceeded from a sense of some 
extraordinary assault from devils." After a while 
she made a disposition of her little possessions, 
and then began to talk with herself. These 
meditations, apparently of delirium, Mr. Turner 
noted down pen in hand, and it covers a good 
page of this great folio, but is not worth repro- 
ducing. She died on the following day. 
(Chap, i., lo). 

Touching for the King's Evil. 

The belief that the British monarchs had the 
power to cure scrofula by touch is one of great 
antiquity, and long survived. "Concerning 
which," says our author, "take only this story; 
discoursing upon a time with Mr. Philip Caryll, of 
Shipley, in Sussex, a Roman Catholick, concerning 
miracles done in this last age, in this nation ; he 
produced this for an instance : That his son being 
affected with that distemper (he having no faith 
in the case), was earnestly pers waded to address 
himself to King Charles the Second for a touch of 
his hand ; which having procured, his son was 


restored to perfect health ; which he declared to 
me, calling his son into company, and shewing 
him perfectly healed." (Chap, Ixxxii., 7). 

Crowborough Hill. 

" Crowborough-Hill," says Mr. Turner, "about 
eight miles from Tunbridge- Wells, is so very high, 
that in a clear sky ships may be seen under sail : 
There is also an unlimited prospect on this hill, 
which renders it the more delightful." (Pt. 2, 
chap, xlviii., 7). 

This is the only evidence the book affords of 
any delight in natural scenery. 

Dwarfs and other Monstrosities. 

Mr. Turner felt that the proper study of man- 
kind is man, and notes various dwarfs and 
monsters, native and imported, that he had seen 
in Sussex. Thus there was a maid, born in 
Ireland, who was exposed to view at Arundel, 
who besides strange moles upon her body, had a 
great excrescence hard as stone, very bulky and 
weighty, so that she was not able to carry it 
about without a truss. (Pt. 2, chap, xxii., 6). 
He mentions also a monstrous birth at Burdham, 

near Chichester. The body was nailed up in the 



church porch "as a Monument of Divine Judg- 
ment." (Pt. 2, chap, xxvii., 4). Another 
monstrous birth, the child of "one Annis Fig, 
an adultress of Chichester," is also recorded as 
having occurred i Feb., 1581. (Pt. 2, chap, 
xxvii., 20). Then there was a little woman at 
Chichester not above two cubits in height, "but 
her legs were not very perfect." (Pt. 2, chap. 
xii., 14). 

Mr. William Garraway of Ford. 

Pleasanter reading is Mr. Turner's account of 
his "honoured friend and neighbour," Mr. William 
Garraway, the son of Alderman Garraway, of 
London, who was a prominent figure in the 
Commonwealth period. " He was then in the 
eighty-first year of his age, very healthful and 
stout in his body, of perfect sence, and good 
memory, to a wonder : but the wonder is abated, 
when we consider his caution used in dieting of 
himself ; for he keeps a fast, and abstains from all 
food, at least, one day every week ; and at other 
times ordinarily abstains from wine and strong 
liquors, unless now and then a glass, by way of 
cordial." (Chap. Ixxi., 8). Mr. Garraway was 
resident at Ford, and must have been a fine 


example of bodily and mental vigour in old age. 
" Tho' of excellent natural endowments, and great 
reading, yet is still," Mr. Turner, testifies, " very 
inquisitive after more knowledge, careful to pur- 
chase all books of worth as they come from the 
press, and very curious and attentive in reading 
and marking them. In all my coversation I have 
not met with such a walking-library, except the 
late Bishop of Lincoln, Dr. Barlow." (Chap, 
xlix., 32). 
A Special and Remarkable Providence at 

From Mr. Garraway our author heard of " a 
special and remarkable providence " at Hastings 
about the year 1694. " When the people were in 
great poverty, and suffer'd much by scarcity of 
money and provisions, it pleased God, that an 
unusual and great shoal of herrings came up the 
river, by which the inhabitants were plentifully 
supplied for the present ; and the next week after, 
a multitude of cod succeeded them, which were 
supposed to have driven the former into the river 
before them ; by which means the necessity of the 
poor inhabitants was supplied unexpectedly, to 
admiration." (Chap, xxi., 5). 

Some of these passages place the Reverend 


William Turner in a light which will not com- 
mend him to modern ideas, and it would be a 
vain effort to attempt to show that he was wiser 
than his own generation. Let our last quotation be 
one then that is creditable to his heart, and to the 
Sussex folk amongst whom his lot was cast : — 
" I think my candid reader will easily pardon me, 
if for gratitude's sake I take an occasion here for 
the glory of God, and the commendation of the 
people, to make mention of the respects, love, and 
kindness (much beyond my desert) which I re- 
ceived as from the inhabitants of Arundel and 
Shipley, in Sussex ; so especially from the 
parishioners of Preston, Gubbals, and Broughton, 
in Shropshire ; together with the adjacent neigh- 
bourhood, which were so freely and plentifully 
shewed me whilst I was their minister, that I may 
testify of them, they were kind to me even beyond 
their power (some of them) ; and I hope God 
would return it into their bosoms, and remember 
them in the day of their distress : for I speak this 
to their praise, I never met with more loving 
people in my life." (Chap. Ixi., 14). 

In addition to the " Remarkable Providences," 
he was the author of a " History of all Religions 
in the world," which was published by Dunton, in 


1695. ^ letter referring to this undertaking is 
preserved among the papers of the bookseller in the 
Bodleian Library. Chalmers was unable to find 
the date of Turner's death. In 1697, he became 
Rector of Binsted, Sussex, but the registers of 
that parish, which adjoins his former cure of 
Walburton, contain no mention of him. The 
Rev. Henry C. Lewis, the present rector, has 
kindly examined them, and reports that some 
leaves appear to have been cut out, so that there 
are no burials registered between 1672 and 1702. 

ITbe flDercer'9 Son of niMDburst. 

SUCH a broadside as might well have been 
in the pack of Autolycus is that which, in 
the seventeenth century, was " printed by and for 
A. M., and sold by the booksellers of London," 
and is devoted to " An excellent Ballad of the 
Mercer's Son of Midhurst and the Cloathier's 
Daughter of Guildford." It is printed in the 
Ballad Society's edition of the " Roxburghe 
Ballads," ii., 189. The guileless poet tells how 
a Sussex youth went wooing to a maid, who 
frankly vows that she will marry only for money, 
and is indifferent as to who her husband may be if 
he is wealthy. On this the swain induces his 
father to convey to him assurance " of all his 
house and land. " The married pair treat him 
badly, and as a punishment they have no child. 
The wife at length strangles herself, and the 

" E're thirteen years was past 
Dy'd he without a will. 
And by this means at last, 
The old man living still, 


Enjoy'd his land at last,. 

After much misery : 
Many years after that 

Liv'd he most happily. 

Far richer than before— 

By this means was he known — 
He helpt the sick and sore, 

The poor man overthrown. 
But this was all his song, 

Let all men understand. 
Those parents are accursed 

Who live on their children's land." 

•' The moral of the story," says Mr. William 
Chappell, " is that parents should not during life 
relinquish the power over their property and 
transfer it to their children ; or else they may 
expect an ungrateful return, . . . If an old 
house at Midhurst or at Guildford has not yet been 
consecrated by tradition to the Mercer of Mid- 
hurst, or to the Clothier of Guildford, it is easy 
still to remedy the defect. ' Nothing so easy as 
to make a tradition,' says Sir Walter Scott." 

The moral of the story is the moral of " Lear," 
and it is one that was often enforced by the 
mediaeval moralists. 

ZTbe Brumnier of Iberstmonceuy. 

IT GRACE WALPOLE visited Herstmon- 
ceux Castle in 1752. "They showed us," 
he says, " a dismal chamber, which they call 
Drummer's Hall, and suppose that Mr. Addison's 
comedy is descended from it." Herstmonceux is 
now more ruinous than it was in Walpole's day, but 
a fragment of this room still remains for the 
inspection of the curious. How far the claim 
that The Drummer had a Sussex origin can be 
made good will appear from the following inquiry 
into its literary history. 

The Dru77i7ner was first produced at Drury 
Lane, March loth, 17 16, and although the players 
were actors of consummate ability, it was received 
"with cold disapprobation." The name of the 
author was not stated. The piece ran only three 
nights. Its subsequent stage history has not been 
much more fortunate. It was produced at 
Lincoln's Inn Fields, February 2nd, 1722, with 
Hippisley as Vellum. When again brought out 
at Drury Lane, October 3rd, 1738, it ran for three 


nights. The playbill intimated that " the audience 
having been much disgusted at the performance 
being interrupted by persons crowding on the 
stage, it is humbly hoped none will take it ill that 
they cannot be admitted behind the scenes in 
future." The Drummer appeared for one night 
at Covent Garden, January 23rd, 1745, with the 
younger Gibber as Tinsel, Hippisley as Vellum, 
Ryan as Sir George Truman, Mrs. Horton as the 
heroine, and Mrs. Mullart as Abigail. It was 
played about nine times at Drury Lane, beginning 
January 25th, 1754, with Mrs. Clive as Abigail 
and, Mrs. Pritchard as Lady Truman. On 
January 28th, 1762, it was produced at Covent 
Garden, with Shuter as Vellum, Mrs. Pitt as 
Abigail, and Mrs. Ward as the heroine. It was 
twice acted. On January 29th, 1762, The 
Drummer was produced at Drury Lane, and ran 
for about three nights. This revival at the two 
houses was due not to any conviction of the 
merits of the comedy, but to the fact that the 
" town " was going silly over the imposture of the 
Cock Lane ghost. After an interval of eight 
years the play was placed again on the stage of 
Drury Lane, with Parsons as Vellum, Miss Pope 
as Abigail, and Mrs. Hopkins as Lady Truman. 


Reduced to two acts, and now denominated a 
farce, Tfte Dru7nmer, appeared at Covent Garden, 
January 24th, 1786. It was produced at Bath, 
March, 1790. The last time it appeared on the 
English stage was at Drury Lane, December 
13th, 1794, when it was arranged in three acts 
with Dodd as Vellum, Miss Pope as Abigail, and 
Mrs. Goodall as Lady Truman. These details 
are derived entirely from Geneste, and sufficiently 
'show that The Drummer never succeeded in 
gaining any firm hold upon an English audience. 
In Dibdin's " Annals of the Edinburgh Theatre " 
there is one entry relating to this play : " On the 
following evening (March i6th, 1756), for the 
benefit of Mr. Thomson, late manager of the 
theatre. The Drummer, by the late ingenious Mr. 
Addison. Tickets at Mr. Thomson's house at 
the Abbey." 

Sir Richard Steele sold the copyright of The 
Drummer to Jacob Tonson, March 12th, 17 15-16, 
for fifty guineas, and it was printed in quarto in 
the same year — 17 16 — with a preface by Steele, 
in which the piece is very highly praised. "The 
scenes were written very much after Moliere's 
manner," and "an easie and natural vein of 
humour ran through the whole." Even its want 


of success is not acknowledged: "As it is not in 
the common way of writing, the approbation was 
at first doubtful, but has risen every time it has 
been acted, and has given an opportunity in 
several of its parts for as just and good action as 
ever I saw on the stage." This is not precisely 
the manner in which it might be expected to hear 
a Patentee speaking of a play that, according to 
Geneste, had only a three nights' run. Steele 
regarded the play as the work of his friend 
Addison, and imparted this impression to Tonson 
when selling the copyright. Whether he con- 
veyed the same impression elsewhere is not 
known, but after Addison's death on the 17th 
June, 1 7 19, he explicitly informed the publisher 
that The Drummer was the work of Addison. 

The first collection of Addison's writings was 
made by Thomas Tickell, and published by 
Tonson in 172 1. In this edition The Drummer 
is omitted. Sir Richard Steele re-issued it in its 
pamphlet form with a second preface in the shape 
of a letter to Congreve. In this he complains 
severely of the ungenerous manner in which he held 
that he had been treated by Tickell. As to The 
Drummer, he says that he would not have written 
the first preface had he thought that with it any other 


than Addison "had much more to do than as an 
Amanuensis." Further, he adds, — " I will put all 
my credit among men of art for the truth of my 
averment, when I presume to say that no one but 
Mr. Addison was in any other way [than as 
amanuensis] the writer of The Drummer : at the 
same time I will allow that he sent for me, which 
he could always do from his natural power over 
me, as much as he could send for any of his clerks 
when he was Secretary of State, and told me that 
a gentleman then in the room had written a play 
that he was sure I would like, but it was to be a 
secret, and he knew I would take as much pains, 
since he recommended it, as I would for him." 

The language here attributed to Addison does 
not amount to a claim to the authorship, but may 
perhaps be interpreted as intended to give that 
impression, and Steele's account receives an 
incidental corroboration in the statement of 
Theobald, who, in a note to Beaumont and 
Fletcher's Scornful Lady, says, — " The ingenious 
Mr. Addison, I remember, told me that he 
sketched out the character of Vellum in the 
comedy called The Drummer purely from this 
model " — that is, the character of Saint in the 
Scornful Lady. 


Tonson apparently carried out a threat to 
Steele to sell the copyright, for what was the 
third edition of the play appeared with the 
following title page : — " The Drwnmer or the 
Haunted House ; a comedy. With a preface 
by Sir Richard Steele, and his letter to Mr. 
Congreve concerning the Author of this play, etc. 
London ; Printed for the Company of Book- 
sellers." This forms part of Vol. XIV., of a 
collection of the Best English Plays, which must 
have been published about 1723, as the plays 
volume range in date from 172 1 to 1723. At page 
23 there is the following important statement : 
'* Advertisement concerning the author of this 
Play. Mr. Harrison, an ingenious Gentlemen 
who had written several Tatlers after Mr. Steele 
had dropt them, undertook afterwards to write a 
play called The Drummer, or the Haunted House, 
under the direction and tutorship of Mr. Addison, 
as he told a friend of his at the Hague where he 
was Secretary to the Earl of Strafford in 17 10. 
That friend, to whom Mr. Harrison read some 
scenes of his Play, thinks they were much the 
same as here in this Play ; but he cannot be 
positive, that Mr. Harrison had quite finished his 
Play, or tell what alterations Mr. Addison may 


have made in it after Mr. Harrison's death, which 
was in 17 12. Mr. Tickell may be best able to 
give an account of that ; and this hint may serve 
to justify him for not joining this play with Mr. 
Addison's works." 

The Drummer has been several times reprinted 
since then, and generally without the letter to 
Congreve, and always without the important 
"Advertisement." It now may be useful to turn 
to the Mr. Harrison who is there named. 

William Harrison was the son of Dr. Harrison, 
Master of St. Cross, Winchester, and was entered 
in the register of Winchester School, in 1698, 
when he was thirteen years old. He was famous 
as a youth for his power of extempore versification, 
which was then much in use at the school. Whilst 
there he wrote a satire on the Winchester ladies, 
and his poem on Woodstock Park was written soon 
after going to New College, Oxford, of which he 
became a Fellow. This poem drew from Addison 
the flattering remark that "This young man in 
his very first attempt has exceeded most of the 
best writers of his age." On the recommendation 
of Addison he became tutor to a son of the Duke 
of Queensberry, and whilst in the receipt of £\o 
a year for his care of the young gentleman, he 


received from Addison the sensible advice to " read 
a good History of England, that you may know 
the affairs of your own country." Harrison, who 
had the sense to follow this advice, attracted the 
notice of Dean Swift, by whose influence with St. 
John, possibly aided by that of Addison with 
Lord Raby, he became secretary to Lord Raby 
(afterwards Earl of Strafford), when he was 
ambassador at the Hague. There is a painful 
letter, written by Harrison from Utrecht, Dec. 16, 
1 71 2, for it shows that notwithstanding the high 
appointment he had received, the Government 
refrained from paying his salary, which was 
nominally ^1,000 a year, so that he was in great 
straits. He speaks frankly of his difficulties, and 
with ardent gratitude to Swift for exertions on 
his behalf. This appears in Scott's " Dryden," 
Vol. XV L, p. 39 ; but, with many other references 
to William Harrison, is wrongly indexed. The 
entries in Swift's " Journal to Stella " are 
numerous, and give a vivid picture of this, the 
most important period of Harrison's life. They 
show, too, what a hold the clever young man had 
upon Swift's heart, and the efforts the Dean made 
to promote his fortunes, whilst styling his Tatlers 


Dr. Young told Joseph Spence that when 
Harrison came over with the Barrier Treaty he 
•'went to court very richly dressed, on a birth- 
night within a month after his return, caught a 
violent cold there, which brought on a fever and 
carried him off He was a little brisk man, quick 
and passionate, rather foppish in his appearance, 
a pretty look, and a quick eye. His family were 
all handsome." Swift, who had obtained some 
money for him, has this entry under date 
Feb. 14, 17 1 2-13 : — " I took Parnell this morning, 
and we walked to see poor Harrison. I had the 
hundred pounds in my pocket. I told Parnell I 
was afraid to knock at the door ; my mind 
misgave me ; I knocked, and his man, in tears, 
told me his master was dead an hour before. 
Think what grief this is to me ! I went to his 
mother, and have been ordering things for his 
funeral, with as little cost as possible, to-morrow, 
at ten at night. Lord Treasurer was much 
concerned when I told him I could not dine with 
Lord Treasurer or anybody else ; but got a bit of 
meal toward evening. No loss ever grieved me so 
much ; poor creature ! " Tickell and Young have 
also left on record their admiration for this " much- 
loved youth," and their sorrow at his untimely fate. 


Such is the record of this young man's brief, 
brilHant, and pathetic career. There is but little 
left to justify for him a place in English literature, 
and it is the more difficult to make any claim on 
his behalf that his writings have never been 
collected. There exist from his pen various 
essays in collections. Thus, there are verses 
mentioned by Swift in Tonson's sixth "Miscellany." 
In the second number of the Tatler he wrote the 
verses entitled "The Medicine" — a humorous 
story based upon a passage in Burton's " Anatomy 
of Melancholy." When Steele discontinued the 
Tatler Harrison started it afresh, and edited fifty- 
two numbers — -13th January, 171 1, to 19th May, 
171 1. These form what is sometimes called the 
" Fifth Volume " of the Tatler, but although 
Swift and Congreve were among the contributors, 
the new periodical did not maintain the reputation 
of its predecessor. He wrote an "Ode to the 
Duke of Marlborough," which is printed in 
Buncombe's translation of Horace. In Nichols 
" Select Collection of Poems " there are the 
following: — "To Mrs. M. M., with a bough of 
an orange tree" (Vol. IV., p. 180); "In Praise 
of Laudanum" (p. 181); "To a very Young 

Lady" (p. 182); "On the Death of a Lady's 



Cat" (p. 182); "The Passion of Sappho" (p. 
183); "The Medicine" (Vol. VII., p. 234). In 
Dodsley's " Collection of Poems " there is "Wood- 
stock Park, 1706" (Vol. V., p. 227). This is his 
longest attempt in verse, but the fashion of such 
descriptive writing is now entirely obsolete. 
Marlborough, Addison, Garth, and Congreve are 
named. His lines "In praise of Laudanum " 
may be quoted as possibly the expression of an 
English opium-eater before De Quincey : — 

" I feel, O Laudanum, thy power divine, 
And fall with pleasure at thy slumbering shrine ; 
LuU'd by thy charms, I 'scape each anxious thought. 
And everything but Mira is forgot." 

A word may be said as to the influence of T/ie 
Drummer upon foreign literature. Phillippe 
Nericault Destouches, the French dramatist, was 
in England from 1717 to 1743, and here may 
have become familiar with The Drummer of 
which he wrote an adaptation, " Le Tambour 
Nocturne," in 1733. It was not one of his most 
successful pieces, from a literary point of view, 
but was favourably received when placed on the 
stage after his death. The editor of the works 
of Destouches repeats a curious statement that 
an Italian translation was condemned by the 


Inquisition to be burnt. Destouches' version is 
in prose, but there was another adaptation issued 
in 1737, in verse par M[onsieu]r D* D* [Des- 
caseaux Desgranges]. It also attracted the 
notice of J. C. Gottsched, and " Das Gespenste 
mit der Trummel " is included in the second 
volume of his " Deutsche Schaubuhne," Leipzig, 
1742. Gottsched translated, amongst many other 
things, Addison's "Cato." 

It frequently happens that the origin of a play 
can be definitely traced, and plots have often 
been freely appropriated. The Drummer is, how- 
ever, an original drama, and no real analogue has 
yet been indicated. Addison's latest biographer, 
Mr. Leslie Stephen, calls The Drummer "a prose 
comedy founded on the story of the drummer of 
Tedworth, told in Glanvil's ' Saducismus Tri- 
umphatus.' " This assertion, which appears to 
have no solid foundation, I have not been able to 
find any trace of before the appearance of a 
paragraph in the Gentleman s Magazine for 1796 
(p. 6). The statement, not made very positively, 
was included in " Addisoniana," in 1803. This 
book is an amusing, but not very authoritative, 
publication, issued by Sir Richard Phillips. 
" Upon this story, related to him in early life, it 


is said Mr. Addison imbibed the first idea of 
writing his play of The Drummer or the Haunted 
Housed This was repeated and amplified by 
John Timbs, who had been the amanuensis of 
Phillips, when he published, under the pseudonym 
of Horace Welby, in 1825, a book since several 
times reprinted, entitled " Signs after Death." 
Timbs observes : " Every one has heard of the 
comedy of The Drummer, or the Haunted House, 
celebrated enough in its day, but the popularity 
of which ceased when the affair was no longer a 
topic of conversation." 

This is sufificient in itself to show the baseless- 
ness of the theory, for the affair at Tedworth 
happened in 1661 — 1663, and The Drummer was 
not put upon the stage until 17 15. Nor is there 
the slightest resemblance between the story told 
by Glanvil and the drama upon which it is said to 
be based. Glanvil's narrative is that a mendicant 
drummer, travelling with a forged pass, was 
detected by Mr. Mompesson of Tedworth in 
Wiltshire, who had the drum taken from him and 
ordered the constable to take him before a 
magistrate. The constable let the vagrant ofif, 
but sent the drum to Mompesson's house, which 
soon after had the reputation of being haunted. 


The chief annoyance was a frequent noise of 
thumping and drumming. This was chiefly in 
the children's room, but other parts of the house 
were affected. Beds were lifted, a Bible thrown 
in the ashes, and various articles moved about 
without any apparent cause. The drummer was 
tried at Gloucester Assizes for felony and 
sentenced to transportation, but evaded the 
sentence. Glanvil says " but by some means — it 
is said by raising storms and affrighting the 
seamen — he made shift to come back again, " and 
the disturbances recommenced. Mompesson then 
indicted him at Salisbury Assizes in 1663 " for a 
witch," and upon evidence that he said " I have 
plagued him, and he shall never be quiet until he 
hath made me satisfaction for taking away my 
drum," the grand jury found a bill, but the petty 
jury with greater sense acquitted him. Gradually 
the disturbances died away apparently without any 
discovery of their real origin. Glanvil's narrative 
is quoted in Ennemoser's " History of Magic," 
and other works. It will be seen from a brief 
analysis that the incidents have not the slightest 
resemblance to the plot of The Drummer. This 
has no supernatural machinery. Lady Truman, 
whose husband is supposed to have been slain in 


battle, has several suitors for her handsome 
person and extensive possessions. The noise of 
a drum is heard nightly, and the servants are 
alarmed at this ghastly visitant. It is, in fact, one 
of the lady's rejected suiters, who, in connivance 
with the obliging Abigail has taken this method 
of frightening away his rivals, the chief of whom 
is a London fop who makes a shallow profession 
of unbelief in everything except that the world 
was made by chance. Sir George Truman, the 
report of whose death was false, returns home as a 
magician, and tells the fortunes of his ''widow" 
and her suitors. Thus when Fantome, disguised 
as Sir George, and armed with a drum, has 
frightened away two of the suitors, he is himself 
driven off by the apparition of the real Sir 
George. The comedy closes with the marriage 
of Abigail and the Steward, and the re-union of 
Sir George and Lady Truman. 

Mr. W. J. Courthope declares, " There appears 
to be no good reason for doubting that The 
Drummer was the work of Addison. . . . The 
plot is poor and trivial, nor does the dialogue, 
though it shows in many passages traces of its 
author's peculiar vein of humour, make amends by 
its brilliancy for the tameness of the dramatic 


situation." Dr. Joseph Warton calls it "that 
excellent and neglected comedy, that just picture 
of life and real manners, where the poet never 
speaks in his own person, or totally drops or 
forgets a character for the sake of introducing a 
brilliant simile or acute remark : where no train is 
laid for wit ; no Jeremys or Bens are allowed to 

The data now brought together, even if not 
sufficient for a definitive judgment, make it 
probable that the story of the house at Tedworth, 
haunted by a drummer, which Addison would hear 
in his boyhood, as his father's residence was in 
the same county and at no great distance, may 
have recurred to him in manhood as a fitting 
subject for treatment in a comedy. That he 
would suggest it to young William Harrison is 
not unlikely, seeing the interest that he took in 
him. The exact share of Harrison as author or 
amanuensis cannot now be determined, but 
whether great or little, it need not be doubted 
that to Addison the play owes the excellent 
qualities of its style. 

It is to be regretted that Walpole did not 
give a more detailed account of the drummer of 
Herstmonceux. The local story appears to have 


been that the martial spirit guarded a treasure 
placed in a chest and concealed in a recess of the 
wall. This hoard having been discovered by a 
steward of the estate the drummer felt relieved of 
his duty. But from another account it seems 
probable that the smugglers with whom Sussex 
abounded in the " good old times " made 
occasional use of portions of the castle as a hiding 
place for goods which had not paid duty. The 
beating of the drum was a signal used by these 
gentry to give information to each other and to 
frighten their superstitions neighbours from too 
close inquiry into these transactions. This is 
certainly a very rationalistic explanation. 
Herstmonceux is no longer haunted. The 
Drummer has fled and his drum has been silenced 
for ever. 

A SUN-DIAL is always a pleasant and often 
picturesque addition to a building, whether 
that building be a stately church or an antique 
cottage. Since clocks and watches have become 
so common, it is perhaps too much to expect that 
there will be any general revival of the older 
fashion of marking time. The civilized man, as 
Emerson points out, has a watch in his pocket, 
but has lost the power of telling the time of day 
by the sun — a faculty possessed in a rare degree 
by primitive man, and one that should never be 
lost by those whose happy fortune it is to have 
plenty of out-door avocations. It is a point in 
favour of the sun-dial that, although an artifical 
method of measuring time, it is one likely to 
strengthen the power of accurate observation, 
since even to the least observant the changing 
shadow on its face would be associated in the 
mind with the progress in the sky of the great 
light of the earth. That there is still considerable 
interest in the subject of sun-dials is evident from 


the fact that three editions have appeared of Mrs. 
Gatty's " Book of Sun-dials." * 

Sun-dials are not so common in Sussex as 
might have been expected, but there is an undated 
one at St. Leonard's-on-Sea, and another at Sun- 
dial House, Hove, which are not mentioned by 
Mrs. Gatty and her contributors. 


In the wall of the south aisle of Arundel 
Church, there is a dial dated 1744. On it is the 
following motto : — " Dixe dies numerare" (Learn 
to number the days). 


This place, the residence of that amiable 
man James Hurdis, the author of the " Favourite 
Village," can boast of one of the most remark- 
able sun-dials in the country. It is placed 
over the church porch, and is inscribed "^ 
Eadric." The stone is rounded at the top, and 
has for ornament a Greek fret. The hour lines 
are thirteen in number. The five principal lines 

• The latest, a handsome quarto volume of nearly 600 pages, was pub- 
lished in 1890 by Messrs. George Bell & Son. It is a book to be welcomed to 
the working library of the antiquary, and yet possessing so much of 
popular and pictorial interest (for it is illustrated by charming drawings) 
as to deserve a place on the table of what our elders called the parlour — 
a name now almost as obsolete as the sun-dial. 


cross at the end, and divide the day into four 
parts. Each of these parts is divided again into 
three. In this way the twelve hours in the day 
are marked, etc., according to Roman usage, in 
combination, with the four tydes of the octaval 
system. History records that Eadric, a prince 
of the South Saxons, who was the son of Egbert, 
King of Kent, was Hving in a.d. 685, the year 
when Wilfrid departed from Sussex. If the name 
on the dial may be identified with that of this 
Saxon prince, the Bishopstone dial is more than 
twelve centuries old. 


On the West Pier at Brighton there are 
six mottoes: "Umbra docet " {The Shadow 
teaches); " Hinc disce " (Hence learn)', "Sine 
umbra nihil (Nothing is without shadow) ; 
" Tis always morning somewhere in the world" 
(a line from R. H. Home's "farthing epic" of 
Orion) \ and " Horas non numero nisi serenas " 
(/ count only the bright hours). In Helps's 
" Friends in Council " Ellesmere's criticism on the 
last phrase is "that for men the dial was either 
totally useless or utterly false." This same motto 
inspired Mr. Joseph Ellis to write his poem of 


(IToras non numero nisi serenas !) 
Only the sunny hours ! 
The home of gloom 
Is in Oblivion's tomb : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
Hold — for they haste ; 
Let care as shadows waste : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
The clouds between — 
As if they had not been : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
Truth can but shine, 
Error to shade incline : 

Only the sunny hours ! 

Honour is clear, 

And baseness shrouds in fear : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
Count gain — not loss, 
The ore, and not the dross : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
If love hath fiown, 
Rejoice how once it shone : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
Thy friend decays ? 
Think of the joyous days : 

Only the sunny hours ! 
Some hopes have failed. 
Cherish what hath prevailed : 


Only the sunny hours ! 
Dark — is distress, 
And Hght is happiness : 

Only the sunny hours ! 

Our life is light, 

Our Death is as the Night 

Only the sunny hours ! 

So — when 'tis done, 
Mark, with the Dial's powers 
As do the fruits or flowers. 

The record of the Sun.* 


"We shall — 1693," may be read in Buxted 
Churchyard, above an old and rather elaborately 
engraved dial. It is an effort of rural philo- 
sophy to combine instruction and amusement, 
and is to be read "We must die all." This pun 
was a somewhat favourite joke with the dial- 


The remarkable market cross at Chichester, 
erected in the fifteenth century by Bishop 
Edward Story, and repaired in the reign 
of Charles II., had formerly four dials facing 
the principal streets of the city, but these have 
been superseded by a clock. 

* Ellis. Csesar in Egypt (1885), p. 267. 


East Grinstead. 

Sackville College, East Grinstead, is a 
building datino- from a.d, i6i6. The dial 
was formerly inscriped " Tempus fugit," but the 
face of the dial was renewed during the 
wardenship of the Rev. Dr. Neale, and was then 
inscribed " Horas non numero nisi serenas " (/ 
count only the bright hours). 


At Elleslie, near Chichester, there is a cross 
dial with ten separate mottoes, namely : — " Bulla 
est vita humana " ( The life of man is a bubble). 
" Fugio, fuge " {^I fly — -fly thou). "Nosce teipsum " 
(Know thyself). " Nulla dies sine linea " (A^^ 
day without its mark). " Pereunt et imputantur" 
{They perish, and are reckoned). "Quid celerius 
tempore?" {What is swifter than time?). "Sic 
transit gloria mundi " {So passes the glory of the 
world). "Umbra Dei" {The shadow of God). 
" Ut vita sic umbra" {As life so is a shadow). 
"Via vitae" {The Way of life). 


" Cito pede sabitur aetas, 1724" {With 
swift foot doth tim,e glide by)^ is engraved 
on a stone pedestal in Frant Churchyard. The 


metal face is engraved with elaborate ornamental 



Friston, or Bechyngton Place, which is now 
a farmhouse in a deep dell, relieved with 
ancient elms, has features of antiquity, including a 
hall, the roof of which belongs to the fourteenth 
century. In the great window is a sun-dial, with 
this motto from Cicero : " Sensim sine sensu " 
{Softly and no man knows). 


"Via crucis via lucis " {The way of the 
Cross is the way of light), is inscribed at 
Hurstpierpoint School on a dial which is shaped 
as a recumbent cross. The hours are indicated 
by the position of the shadow on the different 
points of the cross, 

" Nihil volentibus arduum " {Nothing is 
difficult to the willing), is the inscription 
on a dial at Fyning House, which was erected in 
the reign of George II. 


On a dial in Ovingdean Churchyard may be 
read : — 


" Shadows cast upon the dial show 
The presence of the sun above ; 
Shadows cast upon our life below 
True tokens are that God is love. 

April 6th, 1882." 


On the town hall at Rye is a dial in- 
scribed, "That solar shadow, as it measures 
life, it life resembles too." " Tempus edax 
rerum " ( Time the devourer of [a//] things). 
This dial used to be on the front of Rye Grammar 
School, which was erected in 1636. The dial 
was presented to the school by Colonel de Lacy 
Evans when he was M.P. for the ancient town, 
and it remained upon the school until 1887, when 
the building was repointed, and new windows 
were put in, to commemorate the Queen's Jubilee ; 
and as it was found that the dial obscured one of 
the windows, it was removed to its present 
position. The first motto is from Youngs 
" Night Thoughts," Night II. 

TuNBRiDGE Wells. 

"You may waste, but cannot stop me." This 
motto is painted on a board over the door of a 
chapel of ease in Chapel Place, near the Pantiles, 


Tunbridge Wells. There is no date, but the 
maker's name is recorded, '* Alexr. Raefecit." 

The dial moralists harp very much on one 
string, for the lessons they enforce can only be 
that time is fleeting, and that, in Shakespeare's 
phrase, "life is but a walking shadow." 


ITunbribge Mclls Earlp in the 
jeigbtecntb Century?. 

MACAU LAY has drawn a vivid picture of 
Tunbridge Wells at the time of the 
Restoration, in a famous passage wherein he says : 
" When the Court, soon after the Restoration, 
visited Tunbridge Wells, there was no town ; but 
within a mile of the spring, rustic cottages, some- 
what cleaner and neater than the ordinary cottages 
of that time, were scattered over the heath. 
Some of these cabins were movable, and were 
carried on sledges from one part of the common 
to another. To these huts men of fashion, 
wearied with the din and smoke of London, 
sometimes came in the summer to breathe fresh 
air and to catch a glimpse of rural life. During 
the season a kind of fair was daily held near the 
fountain. The wives and daughters of the 
Kentish farmers came from the neighbouring 
villages with cream, cherries, wheat-ears, and 
quails. To chaffer with them, to flirt with them, 
to praise their straw hats and high heels, was a 


refreshing pastime to voluptuaries sick of the airs 
of actresses and maids of honour. Milliners, 
toymen, and jewellers, came down from London, 
and opened a bazaar under the trees. In one 
booth the politician might find his coffee and the 
' London Gazette ' ; in another were gamblers 
playing deep at basset ; and on fine evenings the 
fiddles were in attendance, and there were morris- 
dances on the elastic turf of the bowling green. 
In 1685 a subscription had just been raised 
among those who frequented the wells for building 
a church, which the Tories, who then domineered 
everywhere, insisted on dedicating to St. Charles 
the Martyr." 

Tunbridge Wells, one of the most charming of 
inland towns, has never lost its attractions, and 
if it is no longer in a special resort of the court 
and the citizens, as in the days of Queen Anne, it 
has remained solidly prosperous. There is a 
glimpse of the manners and customs of the gay 
watering-place in a broadside printed in 1 706, and 
entitled — 


Protect our state, and let our Marlbro' thrive, 
Keep our crowned heads this wondrous year alive ; 
Preserve our palaces from wind and flame, 


Safe be our fleets, and be our Scotchmen tame. 
Avert kind fate ! whatere th' event may prove, 
For here's a prodigy, a man in love. 
Wasted and pale he languishes in sight, 
And spends in am'rous verse the sleepless night. 
Whilst happier youths to careless spirits born. 
View the distress with pity or with scorn ; 
And maids so long unus'd to be ador'd 
Think it portends the pestilence or sword. 

How chang'd is Britain to the blooming fair ! 

Whom now the men no longer make their care. 

But of indifference arrogantly boast, 

And scarce the wine gets down a Buckworth for a toast. 

Not so (as still their works declare) it proved 

When Spencer, Sydney, and when Waller lov'd, 

And with soft numbers wing'd resistless darts, 

Nor thought their passion less'ning to their parts. 

Then let such patterns countenance his fire. 
Whom love and verse do now afresh inspire 
'Gainst all who blame, or at his state admire. 

And learn ye nymphs how to regain your sway ; 
And make this stubborn sex once more obey. 
Call back the fugitive by modest pride. 
And let them dye with fear to be deny'd. 
Stay till their courtship may deserve the name. 
And take not every look for love and flame. 
To mercenary ends no charms imploy. 
Nor stake your smiles against some raffled toy. 

For every fop lay not th' insnaring train. 
Nor lose the worthy to allure the vain. 
Keep at due distance all attempts of bliss. 
Nor let a whisper seem to steal a kiss. 


Dance not upon the green but with son:ie swain, 
Whose long endeavours may your favour gain. 
Nor be transported when some trifler's view 
Directs his giddy choice to light on you. 
Amend whatever may your charms disgrace, 
And trust not wholly to a conquering face. 
Nor be your motions rude, coquet, or wild, 
Shuffling or lame as if in nursing spoil'd. 
Slight not the advantage of a graceful mien, 
Tho' Paris judged the prize to beauty's queen, 
When Juno mov'd, Venus could scarce be seen. 

Assert your power in paradise begun, 
Born to undo, be not yourselves undone. 
Contented and cheap, as easy to be won. 

But if like sov'reigns you maintain your ground. 
The rebels at your feet will soon be found. 
And when with such authority you move, 
No new surprise, no prodigy 'twill prove 
* To see one man, or the whole sex in love. ' 

Every age regards itself as the most moral and 
the most immoral, and in every age there is an 
outcry as to the decay of matrimony. 

An elaborate account of the place was 
written by John Byrom, who visited it in 1723, 
although his verses were not printed until three 
years later. It is in the form of an invitation to 
a friend to join him at the Wells. 



In a Letter to P.M., Esq. 

Dear Peter whose friendship I value much more 
Than bards their own verses, or misers their store, 
Your books, and your bus'ness, and ev'ry thing else 
Lay aside for a while, and come to the Wells : 
The country so pleasant ! the weather so fine ! 
A world of fair ladies, and delicate wine ! 
The proposal, I fancy, you'll hardly reject, 
Then hear, if you come, what you first may expect. 

Some eight or nine miles off we send to you greeting 
Barbers, dippers, and so forth to give you the meeting. 
As soon as they spy you each pulls off his hat, 
" Does your honour want this ? Does your honour want that ? " 
Thus being a stranger, by this apparatus 
You may see our good manners before you come at us. 
Now this in your custom's to get the first footing, 
A trick, please your honour, which here we call Tooting."* 

Conducted by these civil gem'men to town, 
You put up your horse at — for rhyme's sake, the Crown : 
My landland bids welcome, and gives you his word 
For the best entertainment his house can afford. 
You taste which is better, his white or his red, 
Bespeak a good supper, good room, and good bed ; 
In short, just as travellers do when they light. 
So fill up the stanza, I wish you " Good-Night ! " 

But when ruddy Phoebus next morning appears. 
And with his bright beams our glad hemisphere cheers. 
You rise, dress, get shav'd, — then away to the Walks, 
The pride of the place, of which ev'ry one talks ! 

* A Provincial word, which signifies prying, searching narrowly. 


I'd imagine you there to be drinking the waters, 
Knew I not that you come not for such Httle matters, 
But to see the fine ladies in their dishabille, 
Which dress is sometimes the most studied to kill. 

The ladies you see ; they are ladies as fair. 
As charming and bright as are seen anywhere : 
You eye and examine the beautiful throng, 
As o'er the clean walks they pass lovely along ; , 

Should any one look a little demurer. 
You fancy, like ev'ry young fop, you could cure her ; 
Till from some pretty nymph a deep wound you receive. 
And yourself want the cure which you thought you could give. 

Not so wounded howe'er as to make you forget 
That your honour this morn has not breakfasted yet ; 
So to Morley's you go, look about and sit down ; 
Then comes the young lass for your honour's half-crown ; 
She brings out the book, you look wisely upon her, 
"What's the meaning of this?" "To subscribe please your 

honour ; " 
So you write as your betters have all done before ye, 
'Tis a custom, and here is an end of the story. 

And now all this while, it is forty to one 
But some friend or other you've stumbled upon ; 
You all go to church upon hearing the bell. 
Whether out of devotion yourselves best can tell : 
From thence to the tavern, to toast pretty Nancy, 
Th' aforesaid bright nymph that had smitten your fancy, 
Where wine and good victuals attend your commands, 
And wheatears, far better than French ortolans.* 

* And, amongst the rest, that delicious bird, the wheat-ear, is brought in 
great plenty from the South-Downs. This little bird, commonly called the 
" English Ortolan," is not bigger than a lark, but is infinitely preferable in the 
fktness and delicacy of its flesh. The manner of catching them is something 


Then after you've din'd, take a view of our ground, 
Observe the grand mountains that compass us round ; 
And if you could walk a mile after eating, 
Some comical rocks are worth contemplating ; 
You may if you please for their oddness and make, 
Compare them — let's see — to the Derbyshire Peak. 
They're one like the other, except that the wonder 
Is seen here above ground, and there is seen under.* 

To the walks about seven you trace back your way. 
Where the Sun marches off, and the ladies make day ; 
What crowding of charms ! what Gods ! rather Goddesses ! 
What beauties are there ! what bright looks, airs, and dresses ! 
In the room of waters had Helicon sprung. 
Had the nymphs of the place by old poets been sung. 
To invite the Gods hither they would have had reason. 
And Jove had descended each night in the season. 

peculiar : — The shepherds make small holes in the Downs, covered with a 
turf about a foot long, and half a foot broad, in which they place snares of 
horse-hair, and the birds, being very fearful of rain, run into these holes for 
shelter at the approach of every cloud, and thus are caught in prodigious 
numbers. They are brought to the Wells in their utmost perfection ; but, 
as they are in season only in the midst of summer, the heat of the weather, 
and their own fatness, make them so apt to corrupt, that the London 
poulterers dare not meddle with them ; for which reason it is necessary for 
the epicure to go into the country, if he would indulge his appetite with one 
of the greatest dainties in its kind. (Clifford's Tunbridge Wells Guide, 
1817, p. gs )• There is a characteristic passage to the same purport in 
Fuller's Worthies. 

* What visitor to Tunbridge Wells fails tc see these ? The Toad Rock 
is on Rusthall Common, and has received its name from a supposed 
resemblance to that amphibian. Other stones in its vicinity also had 
appellations bestowed on them, which are at least creditable to the 
imaginative powers of the sponsers. The " High Rocks" are further from 
the town. Evelyn, in 1661, styles them "solitudes," and was especially 
impressed by "the extravagant turnings, insinuations, and growth of 
certain birch-trees amongst the rocks." Mrs. Elizabeth Carter was "not 
without a kind of terror" on beholding these " Sal va tor- like scenes." 
Time has brought its changes, and the solitudes are now enclosed, 
decorated with swings, and made into a picnic resort. They are, 


If with things here below we compare things on high, 
The walks are like yonder bright path in the sky, 
AVhere heavenly bodies in such clusters mingle 
As makes it invidious their graces to single. 
See the charms of her sex unite in Miss K-U-y ; 
If ever you've seen her, permit me to tell ye, 
Descriptions are needless ; for, after to you 
No beauty, no graces can ever be new. 

But when to their gaming the ladies withdraw, 
Those beauties are fled which when walking you saw ; 
Most ungrateful the scene which there is display'd, 
Chance murd'ring the features which heaven had made. 
If the Fair Ones their charms did sufficiently prize, 
Their elbows they'd spare for the sake of their eyes ; 
And the men too — what work ! 'tis enough, in good faith is't, 
Of the nonsense of chance to convince any Ath'ist. 

But now it is proper to bid my friend " vale," ' 

Lest we tire you too long with our Tunbridgiale : 

notwithstanding, picturesque and interesting. The High Rocks are about 
sixty feet in height. On one known as the Bell Rock is inscribed the 
following quatrain : — 

" This scratch I made that you may know 
On this rock lyes ye beauteous Bow ; 
Reader, this lock is the Bow's bell, 
Strike't with thy stick, and ring his knell." 

And the visitors rarely fail to elicit a metallic sound from the rock, and 
thus perpetuate the memory of tbe unfortunate lap-dog lost in the fissure of 
the rock in 1702. One other rock furnishes this brief sermon in stone : — 

" Infidel ! who with thy finite wisdom, 
Would'st grasp things infinite, and dost 
A scoffer of God's holiest mysteries ; become, ' 

Behold this rock, then tremble and rejoice ; 
Tremble ! for He who formed the mighty mass, 
Could, in His Justice, crush thee where thou art. 
Rejoice ! that still His mercy spares thee." 
March 21st, 1831. J. Phippkn. 

Here the orthodoxy of the scribe is more evident than his poetic genius. 


Which should the sour critics pretend to unravel, 

Or at these lame verses should stupidly cavil, — 

If this be our lot, tell those critics, I pray, 

That I care not one farthing for all they can say. 

And now I conclude with my service, good Peter, 

To yourself and all friends ; — farewell muse ! farewell metre ! 

It may be noted Byrom makes no reference to 
the somewhat easy manners of Tunbridge as 
described in the " Spectator" (Nos. 492 and 496).* 
All agree that there was much gambling. Of this 
aspect of fashionable life at Tunbridge there is a 
striking illustration in Goldsmith's " Life of Beau 

"At Tunbridge, in the year 171 5," he says, 
"Mr. J. Hedges made a very brilliant appearance ; 
he had been married about two years to a young 
lady of great beauty and large fortune ; they had 
one child, a boy, on whom they bestowed all that 
affection which they could spare from each other. 
He knew nothing of gaming, nor seemed to have 
the least passion for play ; but he was unacquainted 
with his own heart ! He began by degrees to bet 
at the table for trifling sums, and his soul took fire 
at the prospect of immediate gain. He was soon 

* Byrom^s Journals, printed from his own shorthand MSS., and giving 
a vivid picture of certain portions of the literary and general society of 
England in the earlier part of last century, have been printed by the 
Chetham Society, which has also issued an edition of his poems carefully 
annotated and appreciated by Dr. A. W. Ward. 


surrounded with sharpers, who with calmness lay 
in ambush for his fortune, and coolly took 
advantage of the precipitancy of his passions. 

" His lady perceived the ruin of her family 
approaching, but at first, without being able to 
form any scheme to prevent it. She advised with 
his brother, who at that time was possessed of a 
small fellowship at Cambridge. It was easily 
seen that whatever passion took the lead in her 
husband's mind, seemed to be there fixed unalter- 
ably. It was determined therefore to let him 
pursue fortune, but previously take measures to 
prevent the pursuit being fatal. 

" Accordingly, every night this gentleman was 
a constant attender at the hazard tables. He 
understood neither threats of sharpers, nor even 
the allowed strokes of a connoisseur, yet still he 
played. The consequence is obvious. He lost 
his estate, his equipage, his wife's jewels, and 
every other moveable that could be parted with 
except a repeating watch. His agony upon this 
occasion was inexpressible ; he was even mean 
enough to ask a gentleman who sat near to lend 
him a few pieces in order to turn his fortune ; but 
this prudent gamester, who plainly saw there were 
no expectations of being repaid, refused to lend a 


farthing, alleging a former resolution against 
lending:. Hedges was at last furious with the 
continuance of ill success, and pulling out his 
watch, asked if any person in company would set 
him sixty guineas upon it. The company were 
silent ; he then demanded fifty, still no answer ; 
he sank to forty, thirty, twenty ; finding the 
company still without answering, he cried out, 
* By God, it shall never go for less ! ' and dashed 
it against the floor, at the same time attempting to 
dash out his brains against the marble chimney- 
piece. This last act of desperation immediately 
excited the attention of the whole company, they 
instantly gathered round, and prevented the 
effects of his passion ; and after he again became 
cool, he was permitted to return home with 
sullen discontent to his wife. Upon his entering 
her apartment, she received him with her usual 
tenderness and satisfaction ; while he answered 
her caresses with contempt and severity, his dis- 
position being quite altered with his misfortunes. 
'But, my dear Jemmy,' says his wife, 'perhaps 
you don't know the news I have to tell, my 
mamma's old uncle is dead, the messenger is now 
in the house, and you know his estate is settled 
upon you.' This account seemed only to increase 


his agony, and looking angrily at her, he cried, 
' There you lie, my dear ; his estate is not settled 
upon me.' ' I beg your pardon,' said she, ' I really 
thought it was, at least you have always told me so.' 
' No,' returned he, ' as sure as you and I are to be 
miserable here, and our children beggars here- 
after, I have sold the reversion of it this day, and 
have lost every farthing I got for it at the hazard 
table.' 'What all?' replied the lady. 'Yes, 
every farthing,' returned he, ' and I owe a 
thousand pounds more than I have got to pay.' 
Thus speaking, he took a few frantic steps across 
the room. When the lady had a little enjoyed 
his perplexity, 'No, my dear,' cried she, 'you 
have lost but a trifle, and you owe nothing, your 
brother and I have taken care to prevent the 
effects of your rashness, and are actually the 
"persons who have won your fortune ; we 
employed proper persons for this purpose, who 
brought their winnings to me. Your money, your 
equipage, are in my possession, and here I return 
them to you, from whom they were unjustly taken, 
I only ask permission to keep my jewels, and to 
keep you, my greatest jewel, from such dangers 
for the future.' Her prudence had the proper 
effect. He ever retained a sense of his former 


follies, and never played for the smallest sums, 
even for amusement." 

Truly a lucky gambler. Few possessed by the 
the demon of chance have been so fortunate. 

As we stroll along the Pantiles, we can, in 
imagination, recall those who frequented the 
" walks " in the past. Not only Dudley North, 
who discovered the chalybeate waters, that have 
made its fortunes, but Henrietta Maria, and 
Queen Anne, with her poor sickly child, the Duke 
of Gloucester ; John Evelyn ; the Chevalier de 
Grammont ; Dr. Johnson ; Samuel Richardson ; 
and Elizabeth Carter, whose knowledge of Greek 
made her an object of awe, as well as admiration 
to the fashionable butterflies, were amongst 
the visitort to Tunbridge. And mingling with 
the throng of the mortals are Thackeray's 
immortals, Harry Warrington and Colonel Wolfe. 

The visitor to Tunbridge may say with Mr. J. 
Ashby-Sterry, in his charming "Lazy Minstrel": — 

" Beneath the Limes, 'tis good you know, 

To lounge here for an hour or so, 
And sit and listen if you please 
To sweet leaf-lyrics of the trees — 

As balmy August breezes blow. 

You'll dream of courtly belle and beau. 
Who promenaded long ago, 


Who flirted, danced, and took their ease 
Beneath the Limes. 

No doubt they made a pretty show 

In hoop, and sack, and furbelow ; 
These slaves to Fashion's stern decrees, 
These patched and powdered Pantilese 

With all their grand punctilo — 
Beneath the Limes ! 

Beneath the limes perchance you'll fret 

For bygone times, and may regret 
The manner of the time of Anne, 
The graceful conduct of a fan. 

And stately old-world etiquette ! 

The good old days are gone, and yet 
You never saw, I'll freely bet. 
More beauty since the Wells began — 
Beneath the Limes ! 

For Linda, Bell, and Margaret, 

With Nita, Madge, and Violet, 
Alicia, Phyllis, Mona, Nan, 
And others you'll not fail to scan. 

Will make you bygone times forget — 
Beneath the Limes ! 

Zbc nDiller'6 ZTomb. 

THE " Miller's Tomb" is within easy access 
by rail and road from Worthing and 
Brighton, and the visitor may easily include 
Tarring and Salvington in the course of his 

West Tarring , known also as Tarring Peveral, 
whilst practically a suburb of Worthing possesses 
many old world features. There is a pleasant air 
of repose about the village, that has been a 
market town since 1444. This privilege was 
granted by Henry VI., to his beloved lieges of 
the village of Tarring near the sea, because they 
suffered great injuries and damages in their bodies 
and effects from their enemies of France, and 
were apprehensive of the loss of their goods, and 
of the village itself, by these foes from over the 
sea, whilst they were attending to business in the 
nearest market. That they might be at hand to 
defend their homes, the King granted them the 
1 right to hold a market every Saturday. Since 
I the days of Athelstane, Tarring has been a 


*' peculiar" of the Archbishops of Canterbury, and 
a portion of what was once the palace of the 
Primate, now forms part of the village school- 
house. The hum of childish voices is heard 
where Becket may have meditated on the 
methods of his long struggle with Henry III. as 
to the respective share of church and state in the 
government of the English nation. In the Fig 
Garden close by, is a venerable tree which 
tradition asserts was planted by the hands of the 
prelate known to after ages as St. Thomas of 
Canterbury. But tradition has a bow of two 
strings, and as an alternative suggests the name 
of St. Richard of Chichester, whose biographer 
tells that he grafted fruit trees at Tarring with 
his own hand. It has been noted that in this 
locality, the lily of the valley, the favourite flower 
of the ascetic but stormy saint, is very plentiful. 
The fig trees of Tarring are also responsible for a 
summer bird of passage which appears when the 
harvest is ripe, and is believed to be identical 
with the beccafico of the Campagna. 

Tarring Church has also some modern asso- 
ciations of interest. One of its former vicars was 
the Rev. John Wood Warter, a man of scholarly 

accomplishments, and refined literary taste, whose 



writings are prized by students, though they 
cannot be said to have attracted the general 
public to any large extent. Warter married the 
daughter of Robert Southey, and a window in the 
church is dedicated by her piety and the memory 
of her father. Another famous name connected 
with Tarring is that of John Strype, who was 
some time its rector. Passing through the quiet 
town of Tarring, a field path brings us to the 
quieter village of Salvington, and at its entrance is 
the cottage where John Selden is said to have been 
born in 1584. The date on the doorway is 1601, 
but the building may be older than the inscription. 
The father of the great jurist was a " minstrel," 
and is said to have won his wife by his skill in 
music. The cottage was then known as the 
Lacies, and was the house attached to a farm of 
about eighty acres. On the lintel of the door 
inside is an inscription said to have been composed 
and carved by Selden at the age of ten ! 

GRATVS Honeste mih' No clavDAR initio sedeb' 


This has been interpreted as : 

Gratus, honeste, mihi, non claudar, initio sedebis [or sedequej 
Fur abeas : non sum facta soluta tibi. 


Honesty ! thou art welcome unto me, 
Enter, be seated ; I would not closed be ; 
Thief! be gone ; I open not to thee.* 

From this little cottage Selden went to 
Chichester Grammar School, and from thence to 
Oxford, and became the wonder of his age for learn- 
ing. In the Inner Temple he had a choice library 
of books, of which in the beginning of all or most 
he wrote either in the title or leaf before it, 
TTcpl TTavTos Tr)v eXevdepiav, " Above all things, Liberty." 
This is a noble motto for a scholar. Selden's 
" History of Tithes" was suppressed in 1619, by 
the High Commission Court, and he was 
forbidden by the King to reply to those who had 
endeavoured, with very poor success, to con- 
trovert the positions he had defended. Selden's 
is an impressive if not an heroic figure. He was 
on the side of liberty but made no sacrifices. 
There was a humorous side to his character. He 
sat as a lay member of the Assembly of Divines, 
and took part in their debates. " And sometimes," 
we are told " when they had cited a text of 
scripture to prove their assertion, he would tell 

* There is a less literal rendering, — 

Dear to my heart, the honest., here shall find 
The gate wide open, and the welcome kind : 
Hence, thieves away, on you my door shall close 
Within these walls, the wicked ne'er repose ! 


them, ' Perhaps in your little Pocket Bibles with 
gilt leaves {which they would often pull out and 
read), the translation may be thus, but the Greek 
or the Hebrew, signifies thus and thus, and so 
would totally silence them." There is nothingr to 
shew that Selden, when he became rich and 
famous ever revisited the rural scenes where his 
childhood was passed. 

From Salvington by pleasant ways the visitor 
reaches Highdown Hill, and the Miller's Tomb. 

J ohn Oliver , t he Miller of Salvington , appears 
to have had a passion for inscriptions. On a 
shed near the tomb he placed the lines — 

Stranger enjoy this sweet enchanting scene, 
The pleasing landscapes and the velvet green ; 
Yet though the eye delighted rove 
Think of better scenes above ! 

The interior was decorated with sacred texts 
and secular verses of equal orthodoxy, though of 
unequal beauty. 

Psalm 107, 8, 9, and 43. O that men would praise the 
Lord for his goodness and for his wonderful works to the 
children of men. f'or He satisfieth the longing soul and filleth 
the hungry soul with goodness. Whoso is wise and will 
observe those things, even they shall understand the loving 
kindness of the Lord. 

Prov. 27, 9. Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart, so 
doth the sweetness of man's friends by hearty counsel. 


As in Isaiah, 55, 6, 7, 8. Seek ye the Lord while He may 
be found — call ye upon Him while He is near. Let the 
wicked forsake His way, and the unrighteous man His 
thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have 
mercy upon him, and to our God, for He will abundantly 
pardon. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are 
your ways my ways, saith the Lord. 

Also I John 2, I. These things I write unto you that ye 
sin not— and if any man sin we have an advocate with the 
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. 

My Friend. 

Let us secure an interest in the other world, 
Let this be as it list, toss'd and hurl'd, 
He's great and rich enough who wills to die. 
And can with joy expect — Eternity ! 
Friend — this is the best counsel I can tell, 
Think on't and practise, and so farewell ! 

When Time and Death their work fulfill, 
Then adieu to Greendown Hill ! 
When my remains lie here at rest 
I hope my Soul will live among the blest ! 

So far the muse-inspired Miller, but he was not 
only a versifier, but the cause of verse in others, 
and he placed on the door also the following 

Sent by the owner of Limbrick near this spot), 1778. 
Busied no more with worldly hopes and fears, 
But safely landed in the vale of years ; 
Fain would my mind calm and contented dwell 
With health and letter'd ease in Limbrick cell, 


Whence, tho' contracted, still the view commands 
Fair rising woods beyond the falling lands ; 
And slightly glances at the velvet green, 
Which justly boasts its sweet enchanting scene ; 
More famous for the living Miller's tomb, 
Who thinks upon the better scenes to come : 
Long may his portion in good works increase. 
E'er he exchange it for — Eternal peace I 

Whatever may have been the motive of the 
Miller of Salvington in the selection of his tomb, 
it has certainly secured him fame, both before and 
after his death. The tomb was built in 1766, and 
the jolly miller did not take his departure until 
1793. Doubtless in the more than score of years 
that elapsed between the preparation of the house 
and the beginning of its tenancy, many visited it 
with curious eyes, and since his death it has 
become a favourite excursion from the neigh- 
bouring resorts on the coast. The Miller in 
addition to his objection to consecrated ground, 
was noted for some mechanical talent. Thus he 
had fixed to the top of his house two curious 
pieces of imagery which were set in motion by 
the same winds that turned the sails of his mill. 
One represented a mill and a miller. As the 
shafts were moved by the breeze, a sack opened 
and a miniature Miller's shovel was set in motion 


to fill it with flour. The other piece of mech- 
anicism was even more characteristic of the odd 
humour of John Oliver. A custom house officer 
was represented as chasing, sword in hand, one of 
the smugglers with which Sussex then abounded ; 
behind the officer of the law is seen an old woman 
who belabours the coastguard man with her 
broom so that the ' ' free trader " may have a 
chance of escape. This representation has a 
certain significance as showing the not un- 
friendly attitude of the general public to those 
who gained their living by smuggling. It is 
said, too, that for many years before his 
death the Miller had his coffin under the 
bed, and it was only necessary to touch a 
spring, and it ran out on castors ready for its 
final use. 

The Miller showed good taste for the selection 
of his burial place, for the view from Highdown 
Hill is picturesque and extensive, and the eye 
can pass from Portsmouth to Beachy Head. 
The mill, where he plied his avocation, has been 
removed, and a cottage occupies the site of his 
house. The tomb remains. It is enclosed by 
iron railings, and is covered with inscriptions. 
On the top we read : — 


For the reception of the body of John Oliver, when 
deceased, to the will of God ; granted by William Westbrook 
Richardson, Esq., 1766. 

As in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive, i 
Cor. XV. 22. 

The Law came by Moses ; but grace and truth by Jesus 
Christ. John i. 17. 

God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, 
that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have 
everlasting life. John iii. 15. 

Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better than a man 
should rejoice in his own works, for that is his portion ; for 
who shall bring him to see what shall be after him. Eccles. iii. 

Knowing that shortly I must put of this my earthly 
tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath shewed me. 
2 Peter i. 14. 

On the west end of the tomb the rustic artist 
has sculptured the image of Time and Death. 

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom ; but to 
keep His commandments is holiness to the Lord. 

" Death, why so fast — pray, stop your hand, 
And let my glass run out its sand ; 
As neither Death nor Time will stay. 
Let us implore the present day. 
Why start you at the skeleton ? — 
'Tis your own picture which you shun ; 
Alive, it did resemble thee. 
And thou, when dead, like that shall be. 
But tho' Death must have his will. 
Yet old time prolongs the date 
Till the measure we shall fill 


That's allotted us by Fate, 
Both agree to take our breath ! 

The eastern end of the tomb is covered with a 
rhyming apology put forward by the poetical 
miller to excuse his unusual place of sepulchre. 

" Why should my fancy any one offend, 
Whose good or ill does not on it depend ; 
'Tis at my own expense, except the land, 
A generous grant on which my tomb doth stand ; 
This is the only spot that I have chose 
Wherein to take my lasting long repose ; 
Here in the dust my body lieth down, 
You'll say it is not consecrated ground — 
I grant the same, but where shall we e'er find 
The spot that e'er can purify the mind ; 
Nor to the body any lustre give, 
This more depends on what a life we live ; 
For when the trumpet shall begin to sound 
T'will not avail e'en where the body's found !" 

On the side of the tomb which faces the visitor 
as he ascends the hill may he read : — 

" In Memory 

Of John Oliver, Miller, 

Who departed this life, 

the 22d of April, 1793, 

aged 84 years." 

The Miller's funeral attracted all the country 
side, and thousands of spectators are said to have 
witnessed the singular spectacle. The coffin was 


brought from the house by mourners dressed in 
white, and was preceded and followed by maidens 
in white muslin, one of whom read a sermon at 
the grave. The Rev. John Evans, having a 
professional interest in the matter, interviewed 
this feminine preacher in 1804, ^^^ ascertained 
from her that the discourse was not, as was 
generally supposed, the composition of the Miller, 
but was contained in a printed volume entitled, 
One hundred and sixteen Sermons preached out of 
the first lessons at Morning and Evening Prayer 
for all Sundays in the year, by William Reading, 
A.M., Keeper of the Library at Sion College. 
The text was Gen., 45, 5. Now therefore be not 
grieved nor angry with yourselves that ye sold me 
hither, for God did send me before you to preserve 
life. This is part of the lesson for Jan. 23, so 
that the date was inappropriate, and Mr. Evans 
remarks, " The discourse seemed by no means 
suited to the occasion ; but what can be expected 
from the choice of a man who all his life long 
studied singularity, and took a pride in deviating 
from the rest of mankind."* 

* Reading's book appeared in sections between 1728 and 1736, and was 
reprinted in four volumes in 1755, after his death, which occurred in 1744. 
It is rather rare. He was a scholarly man, who greatly improved the 
library under his care, was attentive to students using it, as we learn from 


The Miller was not even original, for excava- 
tions made in 1892 showed that the hill was a 
place of sepulture in Roman days. Skeletons of 
men, teeth of animals, antlers of deer, pottery, 
weapons, and coins of the Constantines have all 
been found. Thus there is nothing new under 
the sun. 

Psalmanaazar, and, whilst his texts of the ecclesiastical historians were 
highly esteemed, he was remarkable for his plain and honest manner of life 
and preaching — circumstances which may have endeared him to the 
Miller of Salvington. 

^be Sussey flDuee. 

A SINGER of our own day, who possesses a 
delicate and genuine poetic gift, has 
narrated in flowing verse the vision which came 
to him as he lay beneath the trees reading 
Marston's book of " Garden Secrets," and watched 
the sun sink by Highden hill."^ 

" For where the damask roses, mignonette, 

Stocks, tiger-lilies, musk, and mint deffuse. 
Their night-fresh fragrance, and the moonlight makes 

The colours mystical, the Sussex Muse, 
Wrapt in a veil of mist, alights and takes 

Her Pan-pipes, jewel set. 
Out from between her breasts, and, for myself 

Alone, against the sundial leans and plays 
The very tunes she played in bygone days 

To Fletcher, Otway, Collins, Shelley, Realf." f 

Misfortune has dogged the footsteps of the 
Sussex poets. Only one of the five passed the 
half century. Realf died by his own hand ; 

* " Garden Secrets " was the title of one of the posthumous collections of 
the verses of the unfortunate blind poet, Philip Bourke Marsfon, the record 
of whose tragic life is one of the most pathetic pages in the literary history 
of this age. 

t This fine poem of "The Sussex Muse" will be found in "Song 
Favours," by Charles William Dalmon (London, 1895, P- 53)- 


Shelley was drowned ; Otway died destitute, even 
if not of starvation ; Fletcher perished by the 
plague ; and Collins passed away under a cloud 
of mental darkness.* 

Of the five poets whom Mr. Dalmon has 
chosen as the representatives of the Sussex Muse, 
Realf, the latest is the war singer, Fletcher the 
earliest is the poet of pastoral, Otway has great 
dramatic power, and Collins has beauty and 
sublimity, but all these " pale their ineffectual 
fires " before the mighty shade of Shelley. 

The name of Richard Realf is riot very familiar, 
but the record of his life is one of tragic interest. 
He was born at Framfield, near Lewes, 14 June, 
1834, and at the age of fifteen began to write 
verses, and was employed as an amaneunsis by a 
Brighton lady. Specimens of his poetry fell into 
the hands of a travelling phrenologist, who 

* Equally unfortunate was another son of the Sussex Muse, William 
Pattison. He was born at Peasemarsh near Rye in 1706, and by the 
patronage of Lord Thanet, who was the landlord of his father's farm, he 
was educated at Appleby School, and became a Sizar of Sidney, Sussex 
College, Cambridge, in 1724, but two years later removed his name off the 
book, in order, it is said, to prevent the authorities from taking the same 
course. He went up to London with sanguine hopes of fame and fortune, 
and associated with the wits at Button's coffee-house, but his money was 
soon gone, and he passed his nights on a bench in St. James' Park, 
until he was taken into the house of Curll, the publisher. Here he did not 
long endure the miseries of a booksellei's hack, but died of small pox, nth 
July, 1727, — before he had completed his twenty-first year. 


recited some of them at a lecture. In this way 
the attention of literary friends was attracted, 
and under their patronage a volume of verse, 
"Guesses at the Beautiful," was printed in 1852. 
After a year spent in the study of agriculture, 
Realf emigrated to the United States. He 
became familiar with the slums of New York, and 
as a missionary at Five Points, established cheap 
lectures and "a self-improvement association." 
When the struggle between slavery and liberty 
was going on in "bleeding Kansas," Realf joined 
the free-soilers, started a newspaper, and thus 
came into contact with John Brown, who was 
already dreaming the dreams that resulted first 
in the tragedy of Harper's Ferry, and lastly in 
the Proclamation of Emancipation. In the Pro- 
visional Government, that Brown projected in 1 856, 
Realf was named as Secretary of State. The 
execution of the scheme was postponed, and Realf 
revisited England, and also made a tour through 
the Southern States. When Brown's attempt at 
Harper's Ferry failed, Realf was arrested in 
Texas, and sent to Washington but released.* 

* Mr. Dalmon is wrong thinking that the Sussex poet was at Harper's 
Ferry, — 

" Realf I loved too, and fondly hoped that he 
Would sing for me alone, and in my name, 


When the war of the Secession broke out, his 
fiery, freedom-loving spirit found vent in the 
Federal Army. He served through the war 
with the 88th Illinois regiment. His war songs, 
written in the field, and sung by the camp fires of 
the Federal Army, had a wide popularity. He 
became the commandant of a coloured regiment, 
and in 1864, left the army with the rank of 
captain and brevet lieutenant-colonel. After- 
wards he established a school for freedmen, and 
resumed his old life as a journalist and lecturer. 
The last scene of all came at Oakland, California, 
28th October, 1878, when bowed down by the 
domestic trouble consequent upon "an unfortunate 
man and an imperfect divorce," he committed 
suicide by poison. 

John Fletcher was born at Rye, where his 
father was minister, on December 1579. No 
more interesting or remarkable example of literary 
partnership, has been recorded than that of 

" Please all the world, but very soon he left 
My arms to go and seek another fame ; 
Leaving me of my latest bard bereft. 

Still he is dear to me. 
And I was proud, when, in America, 
He struck for liberty with old John Brown, 
Fighting beside him when he took the town 
Of Harper's Ferry, in Virginia." 

It is to be regretted that no notice of Realf appears in the " Dictionary 
of National Biography." 


Fletcher and Francis Beaumont. Not only was 
there a "wonderful consimility of phansy" 
between them, but they lived together on the 
Bankside in Southwark, and had all things in 
common. Critics still exercise their ingenuity 
in discriminating the respective shares of the 
twin-authors in the plays that bear their joint 
names. Massinger, Rowley, Shirley, had also, 
it is believed, some part in these remark- 
able dramas. " The Two Noble Kinsmen," 
when printed in 1634, bore on its title page the 
names of Fletcher and Shakespeare, and " Henry 
VIII." is believed to have many evidences of the 
handiwork of Fletcher and of Massinger. But 
where we are certain that Fletcher stands alone, 
his genius does not suffer. The lovely lyrics that 
are scattered through the plays, give him high 
rank, and the ** Faithful Shepherdess " is not only 
interesting as the source and spring of much of 
Milton's inspiration in ** Comus," but is also, 
surely the brightest, sweetest and best pastoral 
play in the English language. "* In the great 
plague of 1625, Fletcher was invited by "a 
Knight of Norfolk or Suffolk," to pay a visit to 

* On the extent to which the later poet was indebted to the earlier, I 
might refer to my essay "Fletcher's ' Faithful Shepherdess,' and Milton's 
' Comus ' compared " (Manchester Quarterly, 1882^. 


the country, but staying whilst his tailor made him 
a suit of clothes, he sickened of the plague, and 
was buried 29th August, 1625, in the same grave 
at St. Saviour's, Southwark, which already held 
his friend and partner, Beaumont. 

Thomas Otway was born 3rd March, 165 1-2, 
at Trotton, where his father, who left him "no 
inheritance but loyalty," was curate. The future 
dramatist was educated at Winchester School, 
and Christ Church, Oxford, but left the university 
without a degree. He made one appearance on 
the stage, and failing as an actor, became a 
dramatist. " Don Carlos " was successful, but 
Dryden's harsh criticism of it caused temporary 
estrangement between the two poets. Otway now 
produced comedies and farces as well as tragedies, 
and might probably have been a successful man, 
but for his intemperance. He had a hopeless 
passion for Mrs. Barry the actress, who was then 
the mistress of Lord Rochester, and treated the 
poet with scorn. He enlisted as a private soldier 
in the army that went to the Low Countries in 
1678, but he returned a year later, thus abandon- 
ing the rank of lieutenant. The production in 
1680 of "The Orphan" shewed a great advance 

in his powers. After the appearance of " The 



Soldier's Fortune," which was coarse beyond 
even the indecency of the age, there came in 
February 1 68 1-2, Otway's crowning triumph of 
" Venice Preserved," one of the great tragedies of 
our language. Otway's last piece was " The 
Atheist," a comedy. The dramatist, notwith- 
standing the success of his pieces, was in constant 
embarassment. The circumstances of his death 
have been variously stated ; one account is that 
he died from a fever following a chill, received 
whilst pursuing the murderer of a friend ; another 
says that he died in a sponging house ; the most 
sensational is, that in the pangs of starvation he 
begged a shilling from a gentleman, who gave 
him a guinea, and that purchasing a roll, the 
unhappy poet was choked by the first mouthful. 
It was said of him that he "languished in 
adversity, unpitied, and died in an alehouse, 
unlamented." This "hope and sorrow" of the 
age perished at the age of thirty three. Otway's 
poetry is of very trivial value, and his comedies 
are hopelessly disfigured by licentiousness, but in 
tragedy he reached the level of the Elizabethans. 
Rightly does Hazlitt admire in " Venice Pre- 
served," the "awful suspense of the situations; 
the conflict of duties and passions ; the intimate 


bond that unite the characters together, and that 
are violently rent asunder, like the parting of soul 
and body;" and "the solemn march of the 
tragical events to the fatal catastrophe that winds 
up and closes over all." Much that he wrote has 
passed into a merciful oblivion, but " Venice 
Preserved" remains as a lasting monument for 
unhappy Otway. 

In William Collins, we have a gentler but 
equally melancholy spirit. He was born 25th 
December, 1721, at Chichester, of which ancient 
U^ city his father, a hatter, was mayor. At Win- 
chester school he had the friendship of Joseph 
Warton, which continued to the end of his life. 
At Oxford, where he was successively at New, 
Queen's, and Magdalene Colleges, he was in- 
timate with Gilbert White. His university 
course was marred by dissipation, but the 
" Persian Eclogues," which were published before 
he had taken his B.A. degree, show that he had 
begun to work a new vein of poetic gold. After 
the death of his father and mother, his uncle 
thought him " too indolent even for the army," 
and therefore it was designed to place him in the 
church. But though a title to a curacy was 
obtained, the charms of literature were too strong, 


and he went to London to try his fortune as an 
author. He had many projects, but few of them 
were executed, and whilst intimate with Arm- 
strong, Garrick, Thomson, Johnson, and other 
celebrities, he was also intimate with the bailiffs. 
The death of his uncle retrieved his fortunes, but 
a more grievous blow was impending, "Collins, 
who while he studied to live," says Johnson, 
*'felt no evil but poverty, no sooner lived to 
study than his life was assailed by more dreadful 
calamities, disease, and insanity." He tried to 
dissipate the gathering gloom by an excursion to 
France, but without benefit. At Islington, when 
Johnson saw him, his only literature was the New 
Testament. " I have but one book," he said, 
" but that is the best."* For a time he was 
under restraint in a madhouse, but his latter 
years were passed under the care of his sister in 
his native city. In March, 1759, Goldsmith 
wrote to him as " still alive — happy if insensible 
of our neglect ; not raging at our ingratitude." 
He died on June 12th of that year. Collins is 
not "a poet of bulk," but the small volume he 
has left behind is packed close with glittering 

* This incident gave Flaxman the motive of his noble memorial oi 
Collins in Chichester Cathedral. 


treasure, and some of his happy phrases have 
obtained universal currency. Collins, like 
Spenser, is a poet's poet, and he lacks some of 
the essentials of the widest popularity. But he 
will always attract those who can follow his lofty 
flights into realms of wonder and imagination, 
where his spirit loved to dwell. The story of 
his hapless life is one of the saddest in English 

The greatest of these names is that of Percy 
Bysste Shelley, the one Sussex man who has 
climbed to the highest peak of Parnassus. . Well 
may the Sussex Muse exclaim — 

" When Shelley's soul was carried through the air, 
Toward the manor-house where he was born, 
I danced along the avenue at Denne, 
And praised the grace of heaven and the morn. 
Which numbered with the sons of Sussex men, 

A genius so rare ! 
So high a honour, so dear a birth. 
That, though the Horsham folk may little care 
To laud the favour of his birthplace there. 
My name is bless'd for it throughout the earth. 

I taught a child to love and dream and sing 
Of witch, hobgoblin, folk, and flower lore ; 
And often led him by the hand away 
Into St. Leonard's forest, where of yore 
The hermit fought the dragon — to this day. 


The children, ev'ry spring, 
Find lilies of the valley blowing where 
The fight took place. Alas ! they quickly drove 
My darling from my bosom and my love. 
And snatched my crown of laurel from his hair." 

Sussex can claim only the early years of the 
poet's short and much troubled career. Between 
the baby that lay cradled in the wealthy home 
of the Shelleys at Field Place, Sussex, and the 
drowned corpse lying on the funeral pile at Lerici 
there is but an interval of thirty years. Within 
that brief space of time Shelley, born in an atmos- 
phere of privilege and wealthy conventionality, had 
shown himself to be a daring thinker, prepared to 
demand from everything a reason for its existence. 
Shelley wrote a plea for the " Necessity of Athe- 
ism," yet his attack was on the "erroneous and 
degrading " ideas of deity, and not on " the 
Supreme Being itself ; " in fact, as Mr. Salt has 
well said, "it was not the presence but the 
absence of spirituality " in the conventional creed of 
his day that made Shelley its opponent. In his 
references to social and political reforms it will be 
seen that he was far in advance of his day. Yet 
many things that he held to be desirable he also 
saw to be impracticable until mankind had received 
further education and ethical training. Hence he 


advocates no mere mechanical fashion of reform. 
Neither wise laws nor benificent environment will 
suffice without the quick response of the intellect 
and the heart of mankind. When the British 
code of law was written in blood Shelley protested 
against capital punishment. When political power 
was in the hands of the few Shelley advocated the 
claims of the disfranchised many ; when the coarse 
tyranny of the privileged classes found a brutal 
expression in the Manchester massacre, he wrote 
that slavery 

is to feel revenge, 
Fiercely thirsting to exchange 
Blood for blood, and wrong for wrong : 
Do not thus when you are strong. 

The warfare of freedom is not to be like the 
warfare of tyranny. The freeman is cast in more 
heroic mould. Shelley, even when most indignant 
with wrongdoing, recognises that its evil effect is 
as great upon the tyrant as upon his victim, 
and for both he has the tenderest sympathy. 
Love is with him "the sole law which should 
govern the moral world." Nor did he denounce 
the vulgar ruffian and let the wealthy black- 
guard go without reproof. It needed courage 
and strength to draw this terrific picture of 


"England in 1819," but Shelley was equal to 
the duty : — 

" An old, tnad, blind, despised, and dying king, 

Princes the dregs of their dull race, who flow 
Through public scorn, mud from a muddy spring, — 

Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know. 
But leech-like to their fainting country cling, 

Till they drop blind in blood, without a blow, — 
A people starved, and stabbed, in the untilled field, — 

An army which liberticide and prey 
Make as a two-edged sword to all who wield, — 
* Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay, — 
Religion Christless, Godless, a book sealed, — 
A Senate — time's worst statute unrepealed, — 
Are graves from which a glorious phantom may 
Burst to illumine our tempestuous day." 

This poem illustrates, too, another of Shelley's 
characteristics. He never loses hope, but has an 
unfailing faith in the ultimate triumph and of jus- 
tice and righteousness — nay, so firm in his faith 
that he will not consent to Right adopting the 
methods of Wrong, and doing evil that good may 
come. Righteousness shall triumph by the in- 
herent strength of sympathy and love and rule 
untainted either by force or fraud. Shelley was 
the friend of liberty alike in Greece and in Ireland ; 
he wanted to see it at home no less than "as far 
away as Paris is." Shelley's writings may still for 


years, perhaps even for generations, be referred to 
for their prophetic utterances. Instead of being a 
rash revolutionist, he was himself quite conscious, 
sadly conscious, of the slowness with which the 
destiny of our race is accomplished, and was quite 
ready to accept such instalments as could be 
obtained towards the realisation of his social 

These are mere indications of the spirit and 
method of Shelley the reformer. But side 
by side with these documents of revolutionary 
propaganda we have his contributions to litera- 
ture. There is, perhaps, no more remarkable 
literary phenomenon than the rapid maturing 
of his powers from the weak style of " Zastrozzi " 
to the tender pathos of "Adonais," the gloomy 
grandeur of " The Cenci," — the most remark- 
able drama written since the days of the great 
Elizabethans, — the lofty ideality of " Prometheus 
Unbound," the lyric glory of " The Skylark," 
the stern power of the sonnet on " Ozymandias," 
— to name but a few of many. He is intensely 
spiritual, and penetrates to the very heart of 
nature, as when he sings — 

" I love all that thou lovest. 
Spirit of delight ! 


The fresh earth in new leaves drest, 

And the starry night ; 
Autumn evening, and the morn 
When the golden mists are born 

I love snow, and all the forms 

Of the radiant frost ; 
I love waves, and winds, and storms, 

Everything almost 
Which is Nature's, and may be 
• Untainted by man's misery." 

It is this delight in natural and intellectual 
beauty, and the desire to remove the taint of 
misery, that animates Shelley's vegetarianism. 
His interest in this subject was profound and con- 
tinuous. He translated Plutarch's essays against 
flesh eating ; he refers to the subject again and 
again — in '* Queen Mab," in " Laon and Cythna," 
in "Alastor,"in the "Refutation of Deism," and 
in the " Vindication of Natural Diet." He was a 
water drinker and a bread eater by choice, but he 
saw that the slaughter of sentient creatures to 
supply the food of mankind has social and moral 
as well as physiological consequences. He saw 
that the fruit and grain destroyed in the 
manufacture of intoxicants is so much material 
subtracted from the food supply, and that the 
conversion of plant food into flesh food is the most 


costly form of dietary. "No sane mind in a sane 
body," he declares, "resolves upon a real crime." 
To remove poverty, to cure disease, to substitute 
sympathy for force, to abolish war, to knit together 
the whole creation in a golden chain of love — 
such was Shelley's aim. Peace, simplicity of life, 
natural delights, are linked to the common effort for 
the common good in order to bring about " a state 
of society where all the energies of man shall be 
directed to the production of his solid happiness." 
It is more than a century since Shelley was 
born, and we are still far from the realisation of 
his vision. Yet whoever pities and tries to save 
a dumb creature from torment ; whoever pities 
and tries to help a poor brother or an oppressed 
sister ; whoever tries to bring a gleam of gladness 
into the face of an overwrought child ; whoever 
offers passive resistance to a wrong ; whoever 
tries to secure rights for those to whom they are 
denied ; whoever recognises the sacredness of 
life ; whoever helps to spread knowledge and to 
make wisdom and culture, not the privilege of the 
few, but the common heritage of all ; whoever 
recognises the brotherhood of man in any form, 
is helping to bring us nearer to Shelley's vision 
of the future, the time when — 



" The dwellers of the earth and air 
Shall throng around our steps in gladness, 
Seeking their food or refuge there, 
Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull 
To make this earth, our home, more beautiful ; 

• And Science and her sister Poesy 
Shall clothe in light the fields and cities of the free." 

This is the noblest gift of the Sussex Muse to 

the thought of the ages. 


Addison, Joseph, and the author- 
ship of " The Drummer," 184 

Adeliza, Queen-Dowager, 2 

Albain, John, 15 

Alfriston, 7, 80; Star Inn, 81 

Allard, Reginald, Brass of, 10 

Alldredge family epitaphs, 91 

Amberley, 7 

Andredswood, 156 

Anne, Queen, 222 

Arkinstal, John, witness as to 
treasonable talk, 148 

Arundel, 2, 7, 177 ; sun-dial, 202 ; 
name, 157 

Arun 157 

Arma Crucifixi, 18 

Arsenic poisoning, 29-31 

Arundell, Archbishop Thomas, 4 

Ashby-Sterry, J., poem on Tun- 
bridge, 222 

Ashdown, 3 

Ashburnhams, 4 

Axon, W. E. A., 112, 114, 115, 
117, 120 

Ballads, 83, 133, 151, 182 
Bannockburn, Sussex horseshoes 

at, 3 
Bardleby, Robert de, 13 
Barlow, Bishop William, epitaph 

on his wife, 6 
Barnardiston, Sir Thomas, 15 
Barons of the Cinque Ports, 4 
Barry, Mrs., 241 
Bartholomew, St., legend, 115 
Basset, Philip, Lord of Berwick, 82 
Basynge, William de, 15 
Battle, 5, 7 ; Poems about, 102 
Beachy Head, poems, 103 
Beakesbourne, 4 

Beazeley, Mrs. Eliza, epitaph, 191 
Beccafico, 225 

Becket, Archbishop Thomas a, 225 
Bennett, Minister of Brightling, 130 
Bequest, Doubtful, 172 

Berkeley, William, Marquis of, 14 

Berwick, 82 

Binsted, 181 

Bishopstone sun-dial, 202 

Black Act, 66 

Bloomfield, Robert, 126 

Bodiam, Bodiham, 7 ; sonnet, 107 

Borde, Dr. Andrew, 5 

Bosham, 2, 7 

Boughs, Cutting, 146 

Bowles, W. L., Sonnet on Pevensey, 

Boxgrove, 7 

Bradwardine, Thomas, 4 

Bramber, 7 

Brasses, Pardon, lo 

Brightling, Spirits at, 129 

Brighton, Brighthelmstone, 2, 9 ; 
Poems about, 107 ; sun-dial, 

Brown, John, of Harper's Ferry, 
and Richard Realf, 237 

Bulverhithe, 4 

Bumbo, 48-49 

Burdham, 177 

Burials, distinctions of rank, 148 ; 
on Highdown Hill, 235 

Burwarsh, Bishop Henry, apparition 
as a green forester, 6 

Buxted sun-dial, 205 

Buss, Benjamin, Crime and execu- 
tion of, 47-50 

Byrom, John, Description of Tun- 
bridge in 1723, 214 

Cade, Jack, 5 

Caffyn, Matthew, the battle-axe of 
Sussex, 6 

Camber, 7 

Campbell, Thomas, poems on Hast- 
ings, 114 ; on St. Leonards-on- 
Sea, 120 

Canterbury, Archbishops, 4, 225 

Carter, Elizabeth, 216, 222 

Cartwright, Dr. Edward, 5 



Cat, Wild, 3 

Cecilia of Hastings, 115 

Cerne Abbas giant. 77 

Challoner, Bishop Richard, 6 

Chanctonbury, 9 

Charles II., 2 

Charles VI. of Spain, 8 

Chichester, 5, 9, 157 ; Ballad of the 
Merchant of, 151 ; Ballad of 
Monstrous Child, 133; mon- 
strous births, 177; sun-dial, 205; 
St. Richard, 5. 225 ; Collins 
Monument, 244 

Child, Monstrous, 133 

Christmas festival, 97 

Churches, why are they shut ? 73 

Cinque Ports, 4 

Clarke, Dr. E. D., 5 

Cobham, Dame Joan de, 14 

Cobden, Richard, 5 

Collins, William, 5; as a Sussex poet, 

Cowdray, 2 
Crow, Crissy, 92 
Crowborough Hill, 177 
Cuthman, St., 5 

Dacre of the south. Lords, 11 
Dalmon, Charles William, a Sussex 

poet, 236 
Devil's encounter with Dunstan, 8 
Devil's Dyke, 9, 137 
Death foreboding, 170 
Davison T. Raffles, v. 
*' Denis Duval," Thackeray's novel, 

Denis, Sir Peter, Career of, 41 
Ditchling Dissenters' burial-ground, 

Drayton, Michael, his Song of 

Sussex, 154 
Drummer of Flerstmonceux, 184 ; 

of Tedworth, 196 
Dryden, John, 241 
Dunstan, St., and the devil, 8 
Dwarfs, 177-178 

Eadric's sun-dial, 202 

Eastbourne, 7 

East Grinstead sun-dial, 206 

Ebba, Queen, i 

'• Ecce Homo" indulgence, 19 

Edilwach, King, I 

Edward I., 12 

Edward VI., 2 

Eleanor, Queen, 12 

Elleslie sun-dial, 206 

Elizabeth, Queen, 2 

Ellis, Joseph, 102, 125 ; poem on 
the sun-dial, 204 

Epitaphs, 6, 10, li, 14, 15, 16, 90- 
95, 232 ; on a lapdog, 217 

Etchingham, 7 

Evans, Col. de Lacy, 54 

Evans, Rev. John, 234 

Evelyn, John, 222 

Everetta, a christian name, 91 

Execution, 46, 47, 50, 67 ; Remark- 
able escape from, 168 

Fairies, 8 

Fairlight Glen, poem, no 

Farrant, Ann, 93 

Fiennes, 4 ; tombs, 7 ; Sir William, 

Field Place, 246 
Fig Garden, 225 
Fishery, 3 
Fitzalan tombs, 7 
Flaxman, John, 244 
Fletcher, John, 5 ; as a Sussex poet, 

Fletcher, Richard, the father of the 

dramatist, 147 
Folk-lore, 6, 33, 96, 129, 138, 145, 

146, 159, 171, 173, 175, 176 
Ford, 178 
Frant sun-dial, 206 
French churches at Winchelsea and 

Rye, 45-46 
Friston sun-dial, 207 
Fulking water supply and Ruskin 

inscription, 142 
Fyning sun-dial, 207 
Funeral of the Miller of Salvington, 


Gambling at Tunbridge, 218 
Gardner Street : " Praise the Lord " 

Cottage, 113 
Garraway, William, 178 
Gatty, Mrs., 202 
George I., 2 

George, Prince, of Denmark, 8 
Giant figures, 76-77 
Gibbon, Edward, 5 
Ghost story, 170 
Glass manufacture, 3 
Godefridus, Legend of, ICX) 



Godwin, Earl, 2 

Godwin, the smith, 96 

Goodwood, 9 

Grammont, Chevalier de, 222 

Grange, 4 

Great Coates, 15 

Gregory the Great, 16 

Gregory, St., trental, 100 

Greenway, Thomas, becomes a 

Mohammedan, 149 
Gunner of Rye, 149 

Ilalnaker, 7 

Hanging or marriage, 151 

Hard ham, 7 

Hares of Herstmonceux, 5, 11 

Harold, King, 2 

Harrison, William, his career and 
share in " The Drummer," 189 

Hastings, 4, 7 ; Old Humphrey's 
grave, 89 ; poems about, 103, 
113; "cunning woman," 145; 
"special and remarkable pro- 
vidence," 179 

Hedges, J., a gambler reclaimed, 

Hellesdon or Heylesdon, 14 

Hellingby, 117 

Helyas of Hastings, 115 

Henrietta Maria, Queen, 222 

Henry HI., 2, 3 

Henry VI. , 224 

Henry VIII., 2 

Herstmonceux, 7, 11, 117; Drummer 
of, 184 

Heylesdon, 13 

Hidney, 4 

Highdown Hill, 231 

Highwaymen, 59 

High Rocks, Tunbridge, 216; in- 
scriptions, 217 

Hollington "little church in the 
wood," 117 

Hood, Thomas, 102 

Horsham, 2415 

Hove sun-dial, 202 

Howards, 4 

Huguenot Churches, 45 

Hurdis, James, 5, 202 

Hurstpierpoint sun-dial, 207 

Image of Pity, 18-23 
Indulgences, 12-26 

Inn, An ancient, 81 
Iron industry, 3, 146 

Johnson, Dr., 222 
Juxon, William, 4 

Kingsley, Charles, 102 

Laudanum, 194 
Legend of Winchelsea, 96 
Legh Roger and Elizabeth, 17 
Lewes, 2, 7, 11 ; a coach drawn by 
oxen, 8 ; burning of Protest- 
ants, 6 
Lewinna, 5 

Lewis, Rev. H. C, 181 
Lights, Supernatural, 173 
Long Man of Wilmington, 72 
Lott, Murder of, 47-48 
Louis, Phillippe, 2 
Lower, M. A., 5, 117, 119 
LuIIington, the little church, 78 

Macclesfield pardon brass, 13 

Manchester, 16-18 

Magpies shoed, 8 

Mantell, G. A., 31 ; poem on 
Ditchling, 108 

Marriage or hanging, 152 

IVJarsham, John, 15 

Marston, Philip Bourke, 236 

Martin, Gregory, 6 

Mass of St. Gregory, 16-18 

Massinger, Philip, 240 

Maud, Empress, 2 

Mayfield, 7, 8 ; St. Dunstan's 
tongs, 8 

Mercer's Son of Midhurst, 182 

" Merry Andrew," 5 

Michelborne, Col. John, 6 

Michelgrove, 2 

Midhurst, Ballad of the Mercer's 
Son, 182 

Middleton churchyard washed away, 

Miller's Tomb, 224 

Mogridge, George, buried at Hast- 
ings, 89 

Mohammedan pirates, 149 

Monsters, 177 

Mompesson, Sir George, 149 

Mompesson, Mr., and the drummer 
of Tedworth, 196 



Montagues, 4 
Morley, Henry, 5 
Murders, 28, 46, 48 

Newhaven, 2 

Newman, John Henry, 107 

Norman Conquest, 9 

Normanhurst, 9 

North, Dudley, 222 

Norwich, 15 

Old Humphrey's grave, 89 

Oliver, John, the Miller, tomb, 224 

Otway , Thomas, 5 ; as a Sussex poet, 

" Owling," 4 
Ovingdean, sun-dial, 207 
Oxen drawing a coach, 8 
Oxney, 160 

Palgrave, F. T., 102 

Palmer brothers, 5 

Pardon Brasses, 10 

Parliamentary franchise, I47 

Patlison, William, career, 237 

Peacock, Thomas, 54 

Peckham, Archbishop John, 4 

Pelhams, 4 

Pell, the mathematician, 5 

Pendrel, Charles, 81 

Percys, 4 

Petit Shaw, 4 

Petworlh, 2, 8, 9 

Pevensey, 2, 4, 5, 7 ; sonnet by W. 

L. Bowles, 119; drowning an 

eel, 119 
Pharisees or fairies, 8 
Piddinghoe, 7 ; shoeing magpies, 8 
Pillory, 144 
Pirates, T49 
Poems of Places, v., loi, 155, 211, 

214, 222 
Poison, effect on iron, 33 
Poisoning cases, 49 
'* Poor Man," a name for the devil, 

Poynings, 7; Church, family, etc., 

Protestant martyrs, 6 

Quantford, 20 

Ratsbane, 29 

Reading, Rev. William, 234 

Realf, Richard, career of a Sussex 

poet, 237 
Richard, St., of Chichester, 5, 225 
Richardson, Samuel, 222 
Richardson, W. W., 232 
Roads, bad condition in past, 8 
Robertsbridge, 8 

Robson, Henry, trial for murder, 28 
Rochester, Lord, 241 
Roman Burials on Highdown Hill, 


Romney, 161 

Rowley, William, 240 

Rottingdean, 93 

Ruskin pilgrimage, 137 

Rye, 4, 7, 97, 160-163 ; Ballad of 
the True Maid of the .South, 
84 ; Church in 1637, 150 ; 
Gunner, of, 149 ; in i6th and 
17th centuries, 144-150; murder 
trial in 1598, 28 ; scenes of 
Thackeray's " Denis Duval," 
38-71 ; sun-dial, 208 

.Sacrificial arena, 77 
Sackvilles, 4 
Saint-Leonards-on-Sea, 9 : poem by 

Campbell, 120; sun-dial, 202 
Scotway, 7 
Salvington, 226 
Seaford, 4 
Selden, John. 4; Notes to Drayton's 

.Song of Sussex, 154; Birth- 
place, 226 
Selsey, i 

Servants, Faithful, 92 
Shakespeare, 240 
Shelley, P. B., 4 ; as a Sussex poet, 

Shepherds of the downs, 3 
.Shipley, 7 ; supernatural lights, 

173 > girl in a trance, 175 
Shirley, James, 240 
.Shoreham, 7 ; Swinburne's poem, v. 
Shoreham, William de, religious 

poems, 21 ; indulgence, 22 
Shulbrede, 7 
Sidney, Sir Philip, 79 
Skinner, Mary, epitaph, 92 
.Smith, Charlotte, 103, 108, ir8, 125 
Smith, Horace, *' Why are they 

shut?" 73 



Smiths, Three, of Chichester, 5 

Smuggling and smugglers,- 4, ^7, 
_^5. 57, 200, 231 

Sompling, 7 

South Downs, 9, 125, 157 ; sheep, 3 

Southease, 7 

South Saxons land, i 

Southey, Robert, 226 

Spirits at Brightling in 1659, 129 

Stanstead, 2 

Steele, Sir Richard, and the comedy 
of " The Drummer," 186 

Steyning, 7 

Sun-dials, 201 

Sussex, characteristics, i ; as des- 
cribed in Drayton's Poly-olbion. 
154 ; The Sussex Muse, 

Swedenborg, 90 

Swift, Dean, friendship for William 
Harrison, 191 

Swinburne, A. C, v., 105 

Tarring Peverel, or West Tarring, 

Taylor, Mrs. Anne, charged with 

witchcraft, 145 
Thackeray, W. M., 2; on "Dr. 

Brighton," 137 ; the localities 

of his "Denis Duval," 36; 

Tunbridge Wells, 222 
Thomas of Canterbury, St., 225 
Thurlow, Edward, Lord, sonnet on 

Bodiham, 107 ; on Hastings, 

103 ; on Rye, 37 
Ticehurst, A. W. and F. P., 

epitaphs, 91 
Toad rock, 216 
Tortington, 7 

Touching for King's evil, 176 
Trance, 175 

Trenlal of St. Gregory. 100 
Tunbridge Wells early in the i8th 

century, 210 ; sundial, 208 ; 

Ballad of the "Tunbridge 

Prodigy," 211 ; visited by John 

Byron, 214 

Turner, Rev. William, his "History 
of Remarkable Providences," 

Vegetarianism, Shelley's, 250 
Vendes, Alexandre, Comte de, 
epitaph, 93 

Walpole, Horace, 184 

Ward, Dr. A. W., 219 

Warning to cantankerous parish- 
ioners, 172 

Warren, John, seventh Earl, 1 1 

Warter, Rev. John Wood, 225 

Warton, Joseph, 243 

Weald of Sussex, 9 

Wesley, John, his visits to Rye and 
Winchelsea, 54-57 

Westons the highwaymen, their 
career, 59 

Wheatears, 215 

Whipping, 149 

White, Gilbert, 243 

Wild cat, 3 

Wilfrid, St., 5 

William the Conqueror, 2, 9 

William Rufus, 2 

Wilmington, 8 ; Long Man of, 72 

Wilson, William, verses on Fair- 
light, III 

Winchelsea, 4, 7, 8, 15 ; grave of 
Allard, lo ; mediseval legend, 
96 ; scenes of '■ Denis Diival," 
38-71 ; sonnet, 120 

Witchcraft, 145 

Woman burned for murder, 50 ; 
disguised as man, 83 

Worth, 7 

Worthing, Bloomfield's poem, 126 

Wych, St. Richard de la, 5 

York Cathedral, 15 
Ypres Tower, 7 





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stepping Stones to Socialism. 


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Friendly Societies — Trades' Unions — The People's Church — On some 
Social Questions — The Greatest Help to the true Social Life — The Great I 
Am — God as a present force — Signs of the Times. 

"The volume is deserving of all praise." — Glasgow Herald. 

" An admirable contribution to the solution of difficult problems. Mr. 
Abraham has much that is valuable to say, and says it well." — Spectator. 

" The book is as a whole sensitive and suggestive. The timely words on 
'Decency in Journalism and Conversation' deserve to be widely read."^ 
London Quarterly Review, 

The Press on 

William Andrews & Co/s 

Printing and Binding. 
-««« ^^.^ ma^^ 

" The book is very handsomely got up." — Dundee Advertiser. 

" A remarkably handsome volume, typographically equal to the 
best production of any European capital." — North British Daily 

" The book is entitled to unstinted praise on the ground of its 
admirable printing and binding." — Shields Daily Gazette. 

"Will bear comparison with the best work of the first pub- 
lishing firms in London or Edinburgh, the printing and paper 
being everything the most fastidious could desire." — Boston 

" The book is handsomely brought out." — Scotsman. 

" Beautiful work in typography and binding." — Yorkshire Post. 

"Very pretty binding." — Publishers^ Circular. 

" Most elegantly bound and tastefully printed." — Hull Daily 

" Beautifully bound and printed." — Daily Chronicle. 

" The letterpress is beautifully clear." — Birmingham Daily 

" The printer's part is perfectly done." — India. 

" The book is handsomely got up." — Manchester Guardian. 

"The book is excellently printed and bound." — Library 

" Handsomely printed." — Newcastle Chronicle. 

A notice of " Bygone Scotland " concludes as follows : — "The 
book forms a splendid addition to the works of the same series all 
printed at the ' Hull Press,' and, like all its predecessors, is 
printed in the exceptionally beautiful style which marks the 
productions of Mr. Andrews' establishment. Mr. Andrews is a 
bookmaker par excellence." — Printing World. 

The Hull Press, 

I, Dock Street, Hull. 


Los Angeles 
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