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removed some very fine stained glass from the hall windows to the church of Clandon, near which village they have a splendid old country seat.

The apartment at Baynards which made the most impression upon me was the great room over the hall. There was a savage obscurity and vastness about it, that was extremely striking. Besides a deep oriel window, there was an archway in the thickness of the wall leading to a kind of oratory. The old oak floor was in a most picturesque state of disrepair, and as uneven as the waves of the sea. The dim light, admitted through the only window which had not been blocked up, served to swell the proportions of the room to an indefinite extent, and three gigantic iron-studded doors, mocking at the puny entrances of modern times, conducted the imagination beyond the bounds of vision. "Aye, Sir," said the woman, seeing me pause, and look curiously around me, "this be a big room sure enough, and very convenient for the purpose to which a tenant put it some years ago." "What purpose?" I hastily asked, half-expecting, half-hoping, to hear some tale of terror. "Why, Sir, he dried his malt here to defraud the government-and ever since there have been such a power of rats."-"Oh what a fall was there, my countrymen," muttered I. "Yes, Sir," said the woman, supposing me much interested in the intelligence, "it was indeed a very shocking thing, for he was found out, and obliged to fly, and died soon after, some say of a broken heart-but that may, or may not be, you know.” “Well, well, after all” thought I, "something of a story of rustic horror might be made out of this. Give but the man a high-minded wife, and a beautiful daughter, after the fashion of modern 'tale-concocters.'"- -"And when did these events take place?" I enquired. "Thirty years gone last Lammas," replied my informant; "I was but a girl then, but I remember the time by the token that yonder great meadow down there, which we call the forty acres, was then first drained. Before that, it had always been as fine a piece of water as ever you could see, with plenty of fish, and with boats and swans. You may yet see the old

pond-head-that high bank with the trees upon it." "Shade of Evelyn!”—thought I" here has been spoliation with a vengeance! Not a vestige left of that beautiful natural mirror, which must have reflected the landscape so happily in that peculiar spot. Why, now that I know there was once water there, the whole park looks like an eyeless face! Doubtless on that ample pool many a lord and lady gay has launched forth in gilded barge, startling the echoes with music and light laughter. How changed!"-But I will spare my reader any more of my lamentations on the subject. Few may feel as I do with regard to even useful changes, and what are called improvements. Neither shall I say whether, disgusted by these alterations, and by the neglected state of the house, I gave up thoughts of dwelling in it, or whether I made a fool of myself, and laid out a power of money in restoring it to its ancient splendor. I will however finish the day with my reader, and conduct him safe out of the dreary house.

all

The sun was very low when I got into
my gig, yet his beams still lingered upon
the old gray edifice, as I turned to give it
a parting look of the warmest admiration,
for distance veiled all the ravages of time
and neglect, and gave it an appearance of
even lordly grandeur. I mounted the
hill on the summit of which stands the
beautiful village of Rudgwick with its
ancient church, and scattered embosomed
farms, and just before the descent on the
opposite side I checked the rein to gaze
upon the glorious scene below. The sun,
which had once set to me in the vale, was
just resting his orange-colored orb upon
the blue ridge of Black Down-the name
given to the southern extremity of Hind-
head. Long shadows, and golden lines
of light, were falling over the richest
landscape, diversified in the distance by
the dark fir-woods of Petworth, and the
bold forms of the Sussex downs. I waited
till the last glimpse of the sun's rim had
sparkled from behind the hill, and then,
proceeding, sunk down into a sort of
quiet patriarchal country, the recollec-
tion of which, and of my sensations on
beholding it, inspired me at a future time
with the following poesy :-

Though not from crowded streets I hither came,
Methought 'twas long since I had round me seen
Such true repose; though not oppress'd with grief
More than time brings to all, I deeply felt

"Twas a heart-healing land. The country there
Seemed God's own country, for the use of man
Intended, and by man's abuse unstained :-
Woods for his hearth and pastures for his board.
And yet the landscape in its simple wealth
Had something of a lordly aspect too,
A fine old English look.

From the Two Mansions, a Poem.

Will the reader pardon me, if I also give him a description in verse of the singing
of the nightingales in that part of the world? Such things will not do in prose.
Ne'er heard I such a band of nightingales
As hailed the rising of the vernal Moon;
Not one poor pensive solitary bird,

With interrupted strain, but thousands sang-
Yea, tens of thousands-an unceasing song.
All notes were heard at once, of every kind,

At every distance, from the nearest oak

To the horizon's verge, till heaven's whole cope
Was but a dome to one resounding choir.

All notes were heard at once-the quick sharp beat,
The double thrill, the liquid gurgling shake,
And that one lowest richest tone of all,
Its under murmur of delicious sound
Perpetual kept, to harmonize the whole.

I will now take my leave of my reader, --whom I fear I have detained too long with an extract from Manning's folio History of Surrey, containing the most authentic historical account of Baynards: "Baynards is an estate in Cranley parish and Ewhurst, about a mile distant on the south-east from Vacherie, in Cranley. In the 25th of Henry VIth. William Sydney Esquire had leave to impark 800 acres of land in Ewhurst, Cranele, and Ruggewick, within his Maner of Baynards. He was living here in 12 Henry VI., and dying 8th Octr., 28 Hen. VI., Ao. 1449, was buried at Cranley. It was afterwards the estate of Sir Reginald Bray, who gave it to his Nephew Edmund, by whom it was sold to his brother Sir Edward. Sir Ed: the younger, resided here during the life time of his father, and even as late as the year 1577, about which time it was purchased by Sir George More of Loseby, who built a mansion and dwelt here. The next possessor was Richard Evelyn Esquire of Woodcote, in Epsom, younger brother of John author of the Sylva who, speak ing of the okes planted here by his brother, says that he lived to see them so finely thriven, though in a barren soil and cold clay, as to contain, one with another, 3 qrs. of a load of timber in a tree. He adds that after his brother's

The Two Man ions.

death they were all cut down and destroyed by the persons who continued to detain the just possession of this estate from those to whom in honour and conscience it belonged. Since which, however, he speaks of it as at length disposed of, and expresses himself glad that it had fallen into the hands of its then possessor. The aforesaid Richard Evelyn died at Epsom, March 1669 (see inscription in Epsom church) leaving one only daughter and heir, Ann, wife of Wm. Montague Esquire, son of the Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer of that name, of whose heirs it was purchased by Richard, first Lord of Onslow, from whom it descended, with the other family estates, to George, Earl Onslow."

I have only to add that since it was in the possession of the Onslow family, it has thrice changed its owners. May 27, 1831.

HYDON HILL.

This conical hill, in Surrey, to the south of Godalming, and in the vicinage of Baynards, overlooks the wolds of Surrey and Sussex. It is the subject of a poem containing these passages descriptive of the country———

Now on the summit rapt I stand,
The centre of the circling land.

See, around, above, below,

What beauties blaze, what colors glow!
Blending, intersecting, meeting,
Or in lengthen'd file retreating;
Slop'd, or, with abrupt abyss,
Scoop'd into chalky precipice;
Smooth, or variously emboss'd,
Bare, or with many a hedge-row cross'd,
Innumerous rise the hills around,
And shut the landscape's farthest bound.
Swells, o'er all, the coping sky,
How grand, how vast a canopy!
Above of deep cerulean hue,
Low it bends to palest blue,
And, on the horizon bright,
Melts away in liquid white,

Where clouds, of downy texture, spread,
Pillows meet for angel's head.

Now the restless eye may rove From mead to mead, from grove to grove; Now the village church it views Nested in its ancient yews; Fields with corn, or pasture, green, And stripes of barren heath between; Villas, farms; and, glimmering cool, The glassy pond, or rushy pool. Softly blue the distance fades In aërial lights and shades. All, that a painter's eye can charm, All, that a poet's heart can warm, The soul, at one excursive glance, Seizes amid the wide expanse.—

Where the vale appears to rise,
And mingle with the meeting skies,
Back'd by the chalk-pit's snowy hue,
Guildford's turrets meet the view.
Above impends the castle hoar,
Where Tradition's babbling lore
Tells, that a Saxon king did keep
The rightful heir in dungeon deep.
On a rock, above the plain,
Rises Catherine's ruin'd fane;
And, where yonder bold hill swells,
From out its deep-entangled dells,
Martha boasts her house of prayer;
Sister-saints the maidens were,
Who, a time-worn legend says,
Themselves the hallow'd walls did raise,
And a wondrous hammer, still,
Tost, as they toil'd, from hill to hill.
Far away, pale Hindhead frowns,
With level ridge of sun-burnt downs;
With pointed summit, steep and high,
Towers fir-cinctur'd Crooksbury.
Gazing there, the mind recals
Waverley's old abbey-walls,

Or sees the oak's rude branches wave
O'er Lud's wild stream, and wizard cave.
Below, like one vast wavy mead,
The wooded plains of Sussex spread.
Is't Fancy's cheat, or can the eye,
Beyond, a gleam of sea descry?
Now I turn, where Hascombe vaunts
Its beechen bowers, and Dryad haunts,
Now, where, on Ewhurst's breezy mound,

Turn the tall windmill's broad vans round,
And the distant tower of Leith
Looks o'er the subject land beneath.
Nearer as the eye returns,
Fresh beauties, raptur'd, it discerns.
Like the green, and sunny ocean,
Waving with a gentle motion,
The billowing barley, o'er the vale,
Varies with the varying gale,
While, in never-ending race,
Light and shade each other chase,
O'er its undulating face.
See, where two hills embracing meet,
And form a dingle at their feet,
Screen'd by elms and poplars tall,
A cottage rears its humble wall-

Now the steep my steps descend,
Now to the grassy dell I wend.
How chang'd the prospect! Naught is seen
Save azure sky, and hill-side green,
Where spreads the flock whose tinkling be
Suits the lonely echoes well;
And the valley jocund rings,
While the blithe turf-cutter sings-

Oh, ye delicious solitudes,
Of peace the only true abodes,
Still charm my fancy, for to me
Nature is true luxury!

More fair to me yon bells of heath,
Than glowing India's gaudiest wreath;
More sweet the breeze,that sweeps the broom,
Than all Arabia's soft perfume;
More bright the dew-drop on its stems,
Than rich Golconda's radiant gems.
Then, since Nature, without cost,
Gives all, that wealth herself can boast,
Let me true to Nature prove,
Talk with her, in glade and grove;
By the babbling brook; and still
Woo her charms on Hydon Hill.*

A RURAL DESCRIPTION.

"At the doore of the house you meet with a walke with fine avenues, in figure like a starre; the oakes that compose It make one, with extasie, admire the height of their tops, raising one's eyes from the root to the column; then, precipitating them down againe, one doubts whether the earth beares them, and whether or no they carry not the earth at their roots: you would think that their proud heads are forced to bend under the weight of the heavenly globes, which burden they, with groaning, support; their armes stretch towards heaven, embracing it, seem to beg of the stars their influences altogether pure, and to receive them before

The Weaver's Boy, and other Poems, by Chauncy H. Townshend, 1825, p. 42, &c.

they have at all lost of their innocence in the bed of the elements. There, on every side, the flowers, having had no other gardener but nature, sent a sharp breath, that quickens and satisfies the smell. The sweet innocence of a rose on the eglantine, and the glorious azure of a violet under the sweet briars, leaving us not the libertie of choice, make us judge that they are both one fairer than the other. The spring there composes all the seasons; there no venomous plant buds, but her breath soon betrays her safety; there the brookes relate their travels to the pebbles; there a thousand feather'd voyces make the forrest ring with the sweet music of their songs; and the sprightful assembling of these melodious throats is so general, that every leaf in the wood seems to have taken the shape and the tongue of a nightingale; sometimes you shall hear them tickle a consort; another while they le drag, and make their music languish; by and by they passionate an elegie, by interrupted sobbs; and then, again, soft en the violence of their voyces, more tenderly to execute pitty; and, at last, raise their harmony; and, what with their crotelets and warbling, send forth their lives and their voyces together! Echo is se delighted with it, that she seems to repeat their aires only that she may learne hem; and the rivolets, jealous of their muique, as they fly away, grumble, much toubled that they cannot equall them. On the side of the castle two walks discover themselves, whose continued gren frames an emerald too big for the sigt; the confused mixture of colours tha the spring fastens to a million of flowers, scatters the changes of one another; and their tincture is so pure, that one my well judge that they get so close one t another, onely to escape the amorous ksses of the wind that courts them. Or would now take this meadow for a very alme sea; but when the least Zephyrus omes to wanton there, 'tis then a proud oean, full of waves, whose face, furrowed ith frownes, threatens to swallow up thee little fools; but, because this sea has noshoare, the eye, as afrighted to have run so long without finding any coast, quikly dispatches the thought, to the end f the world, and the thought being doutful too, doth almost persuade himself tht this place is so full of charms, that it hah forced the heavens to unite themselve to the earth. In the midst of this, so vst, and yet so perfect, carpet,

runs in with silver bubbles and streams, a rustick fountain, who sees the pillows of her head enameled with jessemines, orange trees, and mirtles, and the little flowers that throng round about would make one believe they dispute who shall view himself in the stream first; seeing her face so young and smooth as 'tis, which discovers not the least wrinckle, 'tis easie to judge she is yet in her mother's breast, and those great circles which she binds and twines herselfe, by reverting so often upon herselfe, witnesse that 'tis to her griefe, and against her will, that she finds herselfe obliged to go from her native home but, above all things, I admire her modesty, when I see her (as ashamed to be courted so neere her mother) murmur and thrust back the bold hand that touches her. The traveller that comes hither to refreshe himselfe, hanging his head over the water, wonders 'tis broad day in his horizon when he sees the sunne in the antipodes, and never hangs over the bank but he's afraid to fall into the firmament."-Bergerac.

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Having had occasion to go to Mickleham and Wotton churches, Surrey, I made the following observations:Mickleham church, which stands by the road side, midway between Letherhead and Dorking, presents good specimens of the Saxon, Norman, and Gothic styles of architecture. In a small chapel, seemingly used as a vestry, is a richly sculptured tomb of one of the Wyddowson or, as Aubrey saith, the Wyddolkson, family: it was erected in the early part of the reign of Henry VIII., whose "livelie povrtraitvre" fairly wrought in brass, together with that of the person who rests below, are in most excellent preservation. The font is probably Norman; it is cut out of a black hard stone, and highly polished; there is a fine one somewhat of earlier date at Hendon, Middlesex, and another still more remarkable, at Brighton old church, Sussex. Among other interesting objects I noticed a curious Saxon window, and two crowned heads on either side of the western door, smirking pleasantly.

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The little village of Mickleham was formerly a place of some consequence; it is mentioned in Domesday-"Nigell holds Michelham of the bishop of Baieux. Ansfrig held it of king Edward. It has always been assessed at five hides. The arable is four ploughlands. There are two ploughs in the demesne, four villains, four bondsmen, and two ministers. Here is a church, two acres of meadow, and a wood of three hogs. In the time of the Confessor it was valued at three pounds, subsequently at fifty shillings, and it is now estimated at four pounds," &c.

Wotton church is chiefly remarkable from its containing the cemetery of the Evelyn family, which is situated in the north aisle of the chancel, and inclosed by a wooden railing. The tomb of the illustrious John Evelyn stands on the right hand side of the entrance. He lies above ground, in a stone coffin which is cased by a larger one of fair marble, on the slab of which the following epitaph is graven:

Here lies the Body
of JOHN EVELYN, E2.
of this placc, second on

of Richard Evelyn, Eq. who, having served the Pblick in several employments, of which that of Commissioner of the Privy cal in the Reign of king James the 2d.vas most honourable, and perpetuated is fame by far more lasting monumets than those of Stone or Brass, his learned and useful Works, fell asleep or the 27 day of February 1705-6, being th 36 year

of his age, in full hope of a lorious
Resurrection, thro' faith in Jess Christ.
Living in an age of extraorinary
Events and Revolutions, heearnt
(as himself asserted) this ruth,
which pursuant to his intetion
is here declared,
That all is vanity which is nohonest,
and that there is no solid wdom

but in real Piety.

Of five Sons and three Dathters born to him from his mo

virtuous and excellent we Mary, sole daughter and heess

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