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. 66 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, mccking 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 all 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. 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 Hindhead. 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 recollection 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, "Twas a heart-healing land. The country there A fine old English look. From the Two Mansions, a Pucm. 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 With interrupted strain, but thousands sang- 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, 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-cast 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, speaking 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 Twe Monsions. 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, See, around, above, below, What beauties blaze, what colors glow' Bare, or with many a hedge-row cross'd, Where clouds, of downy texture, spread, Now the restless eye may rove All, that a painter's eye can charm, Where the vale appears to rise Or sees the oak's rude branches wave Turn the tall windmill's broad vans round, Now the steep my steps descend, Oh, ye delicious solitudes, More fair to me yon bells of heath, Gives all, that wealth herself can boast, 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 stretcht 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 elerie, by interrupted sobbs; and then, again, soften the violence of their voyces, more tenderly to execute pitty; and, at last, raise their harmony; and, what with their crotchets and warbling, send forth their lives and their voyces together! Echo is so delighted with it, that she seems to repeat their aires only that she may learne them; and the rivolets, jealous of their musique, as they fly away, grumble, much troubled that they cannot equall them. On the side of the castle two walks discover themselves, whose continued green frames an emerald too big for the sight; the confused mixture of colours that the spring fastens to a million of flowers, scatters the changes of one another; and their tincture is so pure, that one may well judge that they get so close oue to another, onely to escape the amorous kisses of the wind that courts them. One would now take this meadow for a very calme sea; but when the least Zephyrus comes to wanton there, 'tis then a proud ocean, full of waves, whose face, furrowed with frownes, threatens to swallow up those little fools; but, because this sea has no shoare, the eye, as afrighted to have run so long without finding any coast, quickly dispatches the thought, to the end of the world, and the thought being doubtful too, doth almost persuade himself that this place is so full of charms, that it hath forced the heavens to unite themselves to the earth. In the midst of this, so vast, 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 ho.ne: 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 Mr. Hone, WOTTON, SURREY [For the Year Book.] 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. |