Part 1
# Rural Rides ### By Cobbett, William
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RURAL RIDES
BY WILLIAM COBBETT
T. Nelson & Sons
CONTENTS.
Rural Ride from London, through Newbury, to Burghclere, Hurstbourn Tarrant, Marlborough, and Cirencester, to Gloucester 5
Rural Ride from Gloucester, to Bollitree in Herefordshire, Ross, Hereford, Abingdon, Oxford, Cheltenham, Burghclere, Whitchurch, Uphurstbourn, and thence to Kensington 21
Rural Ride from Kensington to Dartford, Rochester, Chatham, and Faversham 40
Norfolk and Suffolk Journal 45
Rural Ride from Kensington to Battle, through Bromley, Sevenoaks, and Tunbridge 54
Rural Ride through Croydon, Godstone, East Grinstead, and Uckfield, to Lewes, and Brighton; returning by Cuckfield, Worth, and Red-hill 61
Rural Ride from London, through Ware and Royston, to Huntingdon 73
Rural Ride from Kensington to St. Albans, through Edgware, Stanmore, and Watford, returning by Redbourn, Hempstead, and Chesham 78
Rural Ride from Kensington to Uphusband; including a Rustic Harangue at Winchester, at a Dinner with the Farmers 85
Rural Ride through Hampshire, Berkshire, Surrey, and Sussex 107
Rural Ride from Kensington to Worth, in Sussex 148
Rural Ride from the (London) Wen across Surrey, across the West of Sussex, and into the South-East of Hampshire 150
Rural Ride through the South-East of Hampshire, back through the South-West of Surrey, along the Weald of Surrey, and then over the Surrey Hills down to the Wen 171
Rural Ride through the North-East part of Sussex, and all across Kent, from the Weald of Sussex, to Dover 200
Rural Ride from Dover, through the Isle of Thanet, by Canterbury and Faversham, across to Maidstone, up to Tonbridge, through the Weald of Kent and over the Hills by Westerham and Hays, to the Wen 221
Rural Ride from Kensington, across Surrey, and along that county 245
Rural Ride from Chilworth, in Surrey, to Winchester 256
Rural Ride from Winchester to Burghclere 269
Rural Ride from Burghclere to Petersfield 287
Rural Ride from Petersfield to Kensington 296
Rural Ride down the Valley of the Avon in Wiltshire 327
Rural Ride from Salisbury to Warminster, from Warminster to Frome, from Frome to Devizes, and from Devizes to Highworth 348
Rural Ride from Highworth to Cricklade, and thence to Malmsbury 368
Rural Ride from Malmsbury, in Wiltshire, through Gloucestershire, Herefordshire, and Worcestershire 386
Rural Ride from Ryall, in Worcestershire, to Burghclere, in Hampshire 405
Rural Ride from Burghclere, to Lyndhurst, in the New Forest 426
Rural Ride from Lyndhurst to Beaulieu Abbey; thence to Southampton, and Weston; thence to Botley, Allington, West End, near Hambledon; and thence to Petersfield, Thursley, and Godalming 449
Rural Ride from Weston, near Southampton, to Kensington 462
Rural Ride to Tring, in Hertfordshire 485
Northern Tour 494
Eastern Tour 498
Midland Tour 535
Tour in the West 550
Progress in the North 551
RURAL RIDES, ETC.
JOURNAL: FROM LONDON, THROUGH NEWBURY, TO BERGHCLERE, HURSTBOURN TARRANT, MARLBOROUGH, AND CIRENCESTER, TO GLOUCESTER.
_Berghclere, near Newbury, Hants, October 30, 1821, Tuesday (Evening)._
Fog that you might cut with a knife all the way from London to Newbury. This fog does not _wet_ things. It is rather a _smoke_ than a fog. There are no two things in _this world_; and, were it not for fear of _Six-Acts_ (the "wholesome restraint" of which I continually feel) I might be tempted to carry my comparison further; but, certainly, there are no two things in _this world_ so dissimilar as an English and a Long Island autumn.--These fogs are certainly the _white clouds_ that we sometimes see aloft. I was once upon the Hampshire Hills, going from Soberton Down to Petersfield, where the hills are high and steep, not very wide at their base, very irregular in their form and direction, and have, of course, deep and narrow valleys winding about between them. In one place that I had to pass, two of these valleys were cut asunder by a piece of hill that went across them and formed a sort of bridge from one long hill to another. A little before I came to this sort of bridge I saw a smoke flying across it; and, not knowing the way by experience, I said to the person who was with me, "there is the turnpike road (which we were expecting to come to); for, don't you see the dust?" The day was very fine, the sun clear, and the weather dry. When we came to the pass, however, we found ourselves, not in dust, but in a fog. After getting over the pass, we looked down into the valleys, and there we saw the fog going along the valleys to the North, in detached parcels, that is to say, in clouds, and, as they came to the pass, they rose, went over it, then descended again, keeping constantly along just above the ground. And, to-day, the fog came by _spells_. It was sometimes thinner than at other times; and these changes were very sudden too. So that I am convinced that these fogs are _dry clouds_, such as those that I saw on the Hampshire Downs. Those did not _wet_ me at all; nor do these fogs wet any thing; and I do not think that they are by any means injurious to health.--It is the fogs that rise out of swamps, and other places, full of putrid vegetable matter, that kill people. These are the fogs that sweep off the new settlers in the American Woods. I remember a valley in Pennsylvania, in a part called _Wysihicken_. In looking from a hill, over this valley, early in the morning, in November, it presented one of the most beautiful sights that my eyes ever beheld. It was a sea bordered with beautifully formed trees of endless variety of colours. As the hills formed the outsides of the sea, some of the trees showed only their tops; and, every now-and-then, a lofty tree growing in the sea itself raised its head above the apparent waters. Except the setting-sun sending his horizontal beams through all the variety of reds and yellows of the branches of the trees in Long Island, and giving, at the same time, a sort of silver cast to the verdure beneath them, I have never seen anything so beautiful as the foggy valley of the Wysihicken. But I was told that it was very fatal to the people; and that whole families were frequently swept off by the "_fall-fever_."--Thus the _smell_ has a great deal to do with health. There can be no doubt that Butchers and their wives fatten upon the smell of meat. And this accounts for the precept of my grandmother, who used to tell me to _bite my bread and smell to my cheese_; talk, much more wise than that of certain _old grannies_, who go about England crying up "the _blessings_" of paper-money, taxes, and national debts.
The fog prevented me from seeing much of the fields as I came along yesterday; but the fields of Swedish Turnips that I did see were good; pretty good; though not clean and neat like those in Norfolk. The farmers here, as every where else, complain most bitterly; but they hang on, like sailors to the masts or hull of a wreck. They read, you will observe, nothing but the country newspapers; they, of course, know nothing of the _cause_ of their "bad times." They hope "the times will mend." If they quit business, they must sell their stock; and, having thought this worth so much money, they cannot endure the thought of selling for a third of the sum. Thus they hang on; thus the landlords will first turn the farmers' pockets inside out; and then their turn comes. To finish the present farmers will not take long. There has been stout fight going on all this morning (it is now 9 o'clock) between the _sun_ and the _fog_. I have backed the former, and he appears to have gained the day; for he is now shining most delightfully.
Came through a place called "a park" belonging to a Mr. MONTAGUE, who is now _abroad_; for the purpose, I suppose, of generously assisting to compensate the French people for what they lost by the entrance of the Holy Alliance Armies into their country. Of all the ridiculous things I ever saw in my life this place is the most ridiculous. The house looks like a sort of church, in somewhat of a gothic style of building, with _crosses_ on the tops of different parts of the pile. There is a sort of swamp, at the foot of a wood, at no great distance from the front of the house. This swamp has been dug out in the middle to show the water to the eye; so that there is a sort of river, or chain of diminutive lakes, going down a little valley, about 500 yards long, the water proceeding from the _soak_ of the higher ground on both sides. By the sides of these lakes there are little flower gardens, laid out in the Dutch manner; that is to say, cut out into all manner of superficial geometrical figures. Here is the _grand en petit_, or mock magnificence, more complete than I ever beheld it before. Here is a _fountain_, the basin of which is not four feet over, and the water spout not exceeding the pour from a tea-pot. Here is a _bridge_ over a _river_ of which a child four years old would clear the banks at a jump. I could not have trusted myself on the bridge for fear of the consequences to Mr. MONTAGUE; but I very conveniently stepped over the river, in imitation of the _Colossus_. In another part there was a _lion's mouth_ spouting out water into the lake, which was so much like the vomiting of a dog, that I could almost have pitied the poor Lion. In short, such fooleries I never before beheld; but what I disliked most was the apparent impiety of a part of these works of refined taste. I did not like the crosses on the dwelling house; but, in one of the gravel walks, we had to pass under a gothic arch, with a cross on the top of it, and in the point of the arch a niche for a saint or a virgin, the figure being gone through the lapse of centuries, and the pedestal only remaining as we so frequently see on the outsides of Cathedrals and of old Churches and Chapels. But, the good of it was, this gothic arch, disfigured by the hand of old Father Time, was composed of Scotch fir wood, as rotten as a pear; nailed together in such a way as to make the thing appear, from a distance, like the remnant of a ruin! I wonder how long this sickly, this childish, taste is to remain. I do not know who this gentleman is. I suppose he is some honest person from the 'Change or its neighbourhood; and that these _gothic arches_ are to denote the _antiquity of his origin_! Not a bad plan; and, indeed, it is one that I once took the liberty to recommend to those Fundlords who retire to be country-'squires. But I never recommended the _Crucifixes_! To be sure, the Roman Catholic religion may, in England, be considered as a _gentleman's religion_, it being the most _ancient_ in the country; and therefore it is fortunate for a Fundlord when he happens (if he ever do happen) to be of that faith.
This gentleman may, for anything that I know, be a _Catholic_; in which case I applaud his piety and pity his taste. At the end of this scene of mock grandeur and mock antiquity I found something more rational; namely, some hare hounds, and, in half an hour after, we found, and I had the first hare-hunt that I had had since I wore a smock-frock! We killed our hare after good sport, and got to Berghclere in the evening to a nice farm-house in a dell, sheltered from every wind, and with plenty of good living; though with no gothic arches made of Scotch fir!
_October 31. Wednesday._
A fine day. Too many hares here; but our hunting was not bad; or, at least, it was a great treat to me, who used, when a boy, to have my legs and thighs so often filled with thorns in running after the hounds, anticipating, with pretty great certainty, a "_waling_" of the back at night. We had greyhounds a part of the day; but the ground on the hills is so _flinty_, that I do not like the country for coursing. The dogs' legs are presently cut to pieces.
_Nov. 1. Thursday._
Mr. BUDD has Swedish Turnips, Mangel-Wurzel, and Cabbages of various kinds, transplanted. All are very fine indeed. It is impossible to make more satisfactory experiments in _transplanting_ than have been made here. But this is not a proper place to give a particular account of them. I went to see the best cultivated parts round Newbury; but I saw no spot with half the "feed" that I see here, upon a spot of similar extent.
_Hurstbourn Tarrant, Hants, Nov. 2. Friday._
This place is commonly called _Uphusband_, which is, I think, as decent a corruption of names as one would wish to meet with. However, Uphusband the people will have it, and Uphusband it shall be for me. I came from Berghclere this morning, and through the park of LORD CAERNARVON, at Highclere. It is a fine season to look at woods. The oaks are still covered, the beeches in their best dress, the elms yet pretty green, and the beautiful ashes only beginning to turn off. This is, according to my fancy, the prettiest park that I have ever seen. A great variety of hill and dell. A good deal of water, and this, in one part, only wants the _colours_ of American trees to make it look like a "creek;" for the water runs along at the foot of a steepish hill, thickly covered with trees, and the branches of the lowermost trees hang down into the water and hide the bank completely. I like this place better than _Fonthill_, _Blenheim_, _Stowe_, or any other gentleman's grounds that I have seen. The _house_ I did not care about, though it appears to be large enough to hold half a village. The trees are very good, and the woods would be handsomer if the larches and firs were _burnt_, for which only they are fit. The great beauty of the place is the _lofty downs_, as steep, in some places, as the roof of a house, which form a sort of boundary, in the form of a part of a crescent, to about a third part of the park, and then slope off and get more distant, for about half another third part. A part of these downs is covered with trees, chiefly beech, the colour of which, at this season, forms a most beautiful contrast with that of the down itself, which is so green and so smooth! From the vale in the park, along which we rode, we looked apparently almost perpendicularly up at the downs, where the trees have extended themselves by seed more in some places than others, and thereby formed numerous salient parts of various forms, and, of course, as many and as variously formed glades. These, which are always so beautiful in forests and parks, are peculiarly beautiful in this lofty situation and with verdure so smooth as that of these chalky downs. Our horses beat up a score or two of hares as we crossed the park; and, though we met with no _gothic arches_ made of Scotch fir, we saw something a great deal better; namely, about forty cows, the most beautiful that I ever saw, as to colour at least. They appear to be of the Galway-breed. They are called, in this country, _Lord Caernarvon's breed_. They have no horns, and their colour is a ground of white with black or red spots, these spots being from the size of a plate to that of a crown piece; and some of them have no small spots. These cattle were lying down together in the space of about an acre of ground: they were in excellent condition, and so fine a sight of the kind I never saw. Upon leaving the park, and coming over the hills to this pretty vale of Uphusband, I could not help calculating how long it might be before some Jew would begin to fix his eye upon Highclere, and talk of putting out the present owner, who, though a _Whig_, is one of the best of that set of politicians, and who acted a manly part in the case of our deeply injured and deeply lamented Queen. Perhaps his Lordship thinks that there is no fear of the Jews as to _him_. But does he think that his tenants can sell fat hogs at 7_s._ 6_d._ a score, and pay him more than a third of the rent that they have paid him while the debt was contracting? I know that such a man does not lose his estate at once; but, without rents, what is the estate? And that the Jews will receive the far greater part of his rents is certain, unless the interest of the Debt be reduced. LORD CAERNARVON told a man, in 1820, that _he did not like my politics_. But what did he mean by my _politics_? I have no politics but such as he _ought_ to like. I want to do away with that infernal _system_, which, after having beggared and pauperized the Labouring Classes, has now, according to the Report, made by the Ministers themselves to the House of Commons, plunged the owners of the land themselves into a state of distress, for which those Ministers themselves can hold out no remedy! To be sure, I labour most assiduously to destroy a system of distress and misery; but is that any reason why a _Lord_ should dislike my politics? However, dislike or like them, to them, to those very politics, the Lords themselves _must come at last_. And that I should exult in this thought, and take little pains to disguise my exultation, can surprise nobody who reflects on what has passed within these last twelve years. If the Landlords be well; if things be going right with them; if they have fair prospects of happy days; then what need they care about me and _my politics_; but, if they find themselves in "_distress_," and do not know how to get out of it; and, if they have been plunged into this distress by those who "dislike my politics;" is there not _some reason_ for men of sense to hesitate a little before they _condemn_ those politics? If no great change be wanted; if things could remain even; then men may, with some show of reason, say that I am disturbing that which ought to be let alone. But if things cannot remain as they are; if there must be a _great change_; is it not folly, and, indeed, is it not a species of idiotic perverseness, for men to set their faces, without rhyme or reason, against what is said as to this change by _me_, who have, for nearly twenty years, been warning the country of its danger, and foretelling that which has now come to pass and is coming to pass? However, I make no complaint on this score. People disliking my politics "neither picks my pocket, nor breaks my leg," as JEFFERSON said by the writings of the Atheists. If they be pleased in disliking my politics, I am pleased in liking them; and so we are both enjoying ourselves. If the country wants no assistance from me, I am quite sure that I want none from it.
_Nov. 3. Saturday._