A road pleasantly fringed with trees leads to the Itchen Abbas station. By taking the train I might have saved four miles of my walk.
Near this point, a little to the left, on a hill, a Roman pavement was discovered some years ago. It was a fine specimen, adorned with the heads of Medusa, Venus, Neptune, Mercury, and Mars. A house was built over it for its protection, but was not kept in repair, the rain came in, the mice and the tourists arrived, and when I saw it there was little left; what there is has now been earthed up. Thus what had lasted nearly two thousand years was destroyed shortly after it was found.
From Itchen Abbas station I made my way to the Plough Inn—a little distance in front towards Easton—and passed over the river fringed with its “long purples.” Then I entered Avington Park, through a wood of lofty trees, and obtained, across a sheet of water, a view of the house.
This mansion stands on the site of one of old renown, which belonged to the princely Brydges, Dukes of Chandos; and where the “Merry Monarch,” when sojourning at Winchester, often came and held high carnival. It was graced or disgraced by a lady of note; for the first Brydges, being a man of courage, married that Countess of Shrewsbury, who, disguised as a page, held a horse for Buckingham while he killed her husband in a duel. The last Duke of Chandos built the present house, and also the brick church—to which we soon came—in memory of his wife. Their daughter, a descendant of Mary Tudor, Henry VIII.’s sister, became Duchess of Buckingham, and her son sold this property to Mr. Shelley, the present owner’s father.
Nearly opposite the church is a handsome sarcophagus to the late Mr. Shelley. The plantations around the domain are magnificent, the avenue being two miles in length. After leaving the church I came to a baker’s shop, and saw a pretty person standing in the doorway with “Goodchild” inscribed in large letters over her. This seemed promising, so I asked her if she could tell me where to find St. Augustine’s Oak.
“Oh, you mean the Gospel oak?”[109] she replied. “You must go through the wicket-gate a few yards above this, and keep along the line of the fence for about a mile. None of the children here know it. I doubt whether any of the villagers do. I am sorry I cannot accompany you, but I am engaged.”
I thanked her. Old Syrus says that a pleasant companion is as good as a carriage, but as I had no such conveyance on this occasion, I trudged on in solitary silence. Following the instructions given, I soon came to a line of lime-trees, between which and the fence I walked for half a mile. I began to fear that I might miss the tree, and go on for an indefinite distance. There was no one to inquire of, and nothing to break the stillness save when a wood-pigeon was heard cooing, or, startled by my approach, burst out of a tree with great commotion. Thus I tramped on, over turf sweet with thyme and starry with cinquefoil. I felt so lonely that I was glad to see a squirrel which ran along the top of the railing beside me, and would stop now and then as if looking back to see if I was following. Was it—
“Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseen genius of the wood.”