RIDE: FROM LYNDHURST (NEW FOREST) TO BEAULIEU ABBEY; THENCE TO SOUTHAMPTON AND WESTON; THENCE TO BOTLEY, ALLINGTON, WEST END, NEAR HAMBLEDON; AND THENCE TO PETERSFIELD, THURSLEY, GODALMING.
| But where is now the goodly audit ale? The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail? The farm which never yet was left on hand? The marsh reclaim’d to most improving land? The impatient hope of the expiring lease? The doubling rental? What an evil’s peace! In vain the prize excites the ploughman’s skill, In vain the Commons pass their patriot Bill; The Landed Interest—(you may understand The phrase much better leaving out the Land)— The land self-interest groans from shore to shore, For fear that plenty should attain the poor. Up, up again, ye rents! exalt your notes, Or else the Ministry will lose their votes, And patriotism, so delicately nice, Her loaves will lower to the market price. |
| Lord Byron, Age of Bronze. |
Weston Grove,
Wednesday, 18 Oct., 1826.
Yesterday, from Lyndhurst to this place, was a ride, including our round-abouts, of more than forty miles; but the roads the best in the world, one half of the way green turf; and the day as fine an one as ever came out of the heavens. We took in a breakfast, calculated for a long day’s work, and for no more eating till night. We had slept in a room, the access to which was only through another sleeping room, which was also occupied; and, as I had got up about two o’clock at Andover, we went to bed, at Lyndhurst, about half-past seven o’clock. I was, of course, awake by three or four; I had eaten little over night; so that here lay I, not liking (even after day-light began to glimmer) to go through a chamber, where, by possibility, there might be “a lady” actually in bed; here lay I, my bones aching with lying in bed, my stomach growling for victuals, imprisoned by my modesty. But, at last, I grew impatient; for, modesty here or modesty there, I was not to be penned up and starved: so, after having shaved and dressed and got ready to go down, I thrusted George out a little before me into the other room; and through we pushed, previously resolving, of course, not to look towards the bed that was there. But, as the devil would have it, just as I was about the middle of the room, I, like Lot’s wife, turned my head! All that I shall say is, first, that the consequences that befel her did not befal me, and, second, that I advise those, who are likely to be hungry in the morning, not to sleep in inner rooms; or, if they do, to take some bread and cheese in their pockets. Having got safe downstairs, I lost no time in inquiry after the means of obtaining a breakfast to make up for the bad fare of the previous day; and finding my landlady rather tardy in the work, and not, seemingly, having a proper notion of the affair, I went myself, and, having found a butcher’s shop, bought a loin of small, fat, wether mutton, which I saw cut out of the sheep and cut into chops. These were brought to the inn; George and I ate about 2lb. out of the 5lb., and, while I was writing a letter, and making up my packet, to be ready to send from Southampton, George went out and found a poor woman to come and take away the rest of the loin of mutton; for our fastings of the day before enabled us to do this; and, though we had about forty miles to go, to get to this place (through the route that we intended to take), I had resolved, that we would go without any more purchase of victuals and drink this day also. I beg leave to suggest to my well-fed readers; I mean, those who have at their command more victuals and drink than they can possibly swallow; I beg to suggest to such, whether this would not be a good way for them all to find the means of bestowing charity? Some poet has said, that that which is given in charity gives a blessing on both sides; to the giver as well as the receiver. But I really think that if, in general, the food and drink given, came out of food and drink deducted from the usual quantity swallowed by the giver, the blessing would be still greater, and much more certain. I can speak for myself, at any rate. I hardly ever eat more than twice a day; when at home, never; and I never, if I can well avoid it, eat any meat later than about one or two o’clock in the day. I drink a little tea, or milk and water at the usual tea-time (about 7 o’clock); I go to bed at eight, if I can; I write or read, from about four to about eight, and then hungry as a hunter, I go to breakfast, eating as small a parcel of cold meat and bread as I can prevail upon my teeth to be satisfied with. I do just the same at dinner time. I very rarely taste garden-stuff of any sort. If any man can show me, that he has done, or can do, more work, bodily and mentally united; I say nothing about good health, for of that the public can know nothing; but I refer to the work: the public know, they see, what I can do, and what I actually have done, and what I do; and when any one has shown the public, that he has done, or can do, more, then I will advise my readers attend to him, on the subject of diet, and not to me. As to drink, the less the better; and mine is milk and water, or not-sour small beer, if I can get the latter; for the former I always can. I like the milk and water best; but I do not like much water; and, if I drink much milk, it loads and stupefies and makes me fat.
Having made all preparations for a day’s ride, we set off, as our first point, for a station, in the Forest, called New Park, there to see something about plantations and other matters connected with the affairs of our prime cocks, the Surveyors of Woods and Forests and Crown Lands and Estates. But, before I go forward any further, I must just step back again to Rumsey, which we passed rather too hastily through on the 16th, as noticed in the Ride that was published last week. This town was, in ancient times, a very grand place, though it is now nothing more than a decent market-town, without anything to entitle it to particular notice, except its church, which was the church of an Abbey Nunnery (founded more, I think, than a thousand years ago), and which church was the burial place of several of the Saxon Kings, and of “Lady Palmerstone,” who, a few years ago, “died in child-birth”! What a mixture! But there was another personage buried here, and who was, it would seem, a native of the place; namely, Sir William Petty, the ancestor of the present Marquis of Lansdown. He was the son of a cloth-weaver, and was, doubtless, himself a weaver when young. He became a surgeon, was first in the service of Charles I.; then went into that of Cromwell, whom he served as physician-general to his army in Ireland (alas! poor Ireland), and, in this capacity, he resided at Dublin till Charles II. came, when he came over to London (having become very rich), was knighted by that profligate and ungrateful King, and he died in 1687, leaving a fortune of 15,000l. a year! This is what his biographers say. He must have made pretty good use of his time while physician-general to Cromwell’s army, in poor Ireland! Petty by nature as well as by name, he got, from Cromwell, a “patent for double-writing, invented by him;” and he invented a “double-bottomed ship to sail against wind and tide, a model of which is still preserved in the library of the Royal Society,” of which he was a most worthy member. His great art was, however, the amassing of money, and the getting of grants of lands in poor Ireland, in which he was one of the most successful of the English adventurers. I had, the other day, occasion to observe that the word Petty manifestly is the French word Petit, which means little; and that it is, in these days of degeneracy, pleasing to reflect that there is one family, at any rate, that “Old England” still boasts one family, which retains the character designated by its pristine name; a reflection that rushed with great force into my mind, when, in the year 1822, I heard the present noble head of the family say, in the House of Lords, that he thought that a currency of paper, convertible into gold, was the best and most solid and safe, especially since Platina had been discovered! “Oh, God!” exclaimed I to myself, as I stood listening and admiring “below the bar;” “Oh, great God! there it is, there it is, still running in the blood, that genius which discovered the art of double writing, and of making ships with double-bottoms to sail against wind and tide!” This noble and profound descendant of Cromwell’s army-physician has now seen that “paper, convertible into gold,” is not quite so “solid and safe” as he thought it was! He has now seen what a “late panic” is! And he might, if he were not so very well worthy of his family name, openly confess that he was deceived, when, in 1819, he, as one of the Committee, who reported in favour of Peel’s Bill, said that the country could pay the interest of the debt in gold! Talk of a change of Ministry, indeed! What is to be gained by putting this man in the place of any of those who are in power now?
To come back now to Lyndhurst, we had to go about three miles to New Park, which is a farm in the New Forest, and nearly in the centre of it. We got to this place about nine o’clock. There is a good and large mansion-house here, in which the “Commissioners” of Woods and Forests reside, when they come into the Forest. There is a garden, a farm-yard, a farm, and a nursery. The place looks like a considerable gentleman’s seat; the house stands in a sort of park, and you can see that a great deal of expense has been incurred in levelling the ground, and making it pleasing to the eye of my lords “the Commissioners.” My business here was to see, whether anything had been done towards the making of Locust plantations. I went first to Lyndhurst to make inquiries; but I was there told that New Park was the place, and the only place, at which to get information on the subject; and I was told, further, that the Commissioners were now at New Park; that is to say those experienced tree planters, Messrs. Arbuthnot, Dawkins, and Company. Gad! thought I, I am here coming in close contact with a branch, or at least a twig, of the great Thing itself! When I heard this, I was at breakfast, and, of course, dressed for the day. I could not, out of my extremely limited wardrobe, afford a clean shirt for the occasion; and so, off we set, just as we were, hoping that their worships, the nation’s tree planters, would, if they met with us, excuse our dress, when they considered the nature of our circumstances. When we came to the house, we were stopped by a little fence and fastened gate. I got off my horse, gave him to George to hold, went up to the door, and rang the bell. Having told my business to a person, who appeared to be a foreman, or bailiff, he, with great civility, took me into a nursery which is at the back of the house; and I soon drew from him the disappointing fact that my lords, the tree-planters, had departed the day before! I found, as to Locusts, that a patch were sowed last spring, which I saw, which are from one foot to four feet high, and very fine and strong, and are, in number, about enough to plant two acres of ground, the plants at four feet apart each way. I found that, last fall, some few Locusts had been put out into plantations of other trees already made; but that they had not thriven, and had been barked by the hares! But a little bunch of these trees (same age), which were planted in the nursery, ought to convince my lords, the tree-planters, that, if they were to do what they ought to do, the public would very soon be owners of fine plantations of Locusts, for the use of the navy. And, what are the hares kept for here? Who eats them? What right have these Commissioners to keep hares here, to eat up the trees? Lord Folkestone killed his hares before he made his plantation of Locusts; and, why not kill the hares in the people’s forest; for the people’s it is, and that these Commissioners ought always to remember. And then, again, why this farm? What is it for? Why, the pretence for it is this: that it is necessary to give the deer hay, in winter, because the lopping down of limbs of trees for them to browse (as used to be the practice) is injurious to the growth of timber. That will be a very good reason for having a hay-farm, when my lords shall have proved two things; first, that hay, in quantity equal to what is raised here, could not be bought for a twentieth part of the money that this farm and all its trappings cost; and, second, that there ought to be any deer kept! What are these deer for? Who are to eat them? Are they for the Royal Family? Why, there are more deer bred in Richmond Park alone, to say nothing of Bushy Park, Hyde Park, and Windsor Park; there are more deer bred in Richmond Park alone, than would feed all the branches of the Royal Family and all their households all the year round, if every soul of them ate as hearty as ploughmen, and if they never touched a morsel of any kind of meat but venison! For what, and for whom, then, are deer kept, in the New Forest; and why an expense of hay-farm, of sheds, of racks, of keepers, of lodges, and other things attending the deer and the game; an expense, amounting to more money annually than would have given relief to all the starving manufacturers in the North! And again I say, who is all this venison and game for? There is more game even in Kew Gardens than the Royal Family can want! And, in short, do they ever taste, or even hear of, any game, or any venison, from the New Forest?
What a pretty thing here is, then! Here is another deep bite into us by the long and sharp-fanged Aristocracy, who so love Old Sarum! Is there a man who will say that this is right? And that the game should be kept, too, to eat up trees, to destroy plantations, to destroy what is first paid for the planting of! And that the public should pay keepers to preserve this game! And that the people should be transported if they go out by night to catch the game that they pay for feeding! Blessed state of an Aristocracy! It is pity that it has got a nasty, ugly, obstinate DEBT to deal with! It might possibly go on for ages, deer and all, were it not for this DEBT. This New Forest is a piece of property, as much belonging to the public as the Custom-House at London is. There is no man, however poor, who has not a right in it. Every man is owner of a part of the deer, the game, and of the money that goes to the keepers; and yet, any man may be transported, if he go out by night to catch any part of this game! We are compelled to pay keepers for preserving game to eat up the trees that we are compelled to pay people to plant! Still however there is comfort; we might be worse off; for the Turks made the Tartars pay a tax called tooth-money; that is to say, they eat up the victuals of the Tartars, and then made them pay for the use of their teeth. No man can say that we are come quite to that yet: and, besides, the poor Tartars had no DEBT, no blessed Debt to hold out hope to them.
The same person (a very civil and intelligent man) that showed me the nursery, took me, in my way, back, through some plantations of oaks, which have been made amongst fir-trees. It was, indeed, a plantation of Scotch firs, about twelve years old, in rows, at six feet apart. Every third row of firs was left, and oaks were (about six years ago) planted instead of the firs that were grubbed up; and the winter shelter, that the oaks have received from the remaining firs, has made them grow very finely, though the land is poor. Other oaks planted in the open, twenty years ago, and in land deemed better, are not nearly so good. However, these oaks, between the firs, will take fifty or sixty good years to make them timber, and, until they be timber, they are of very little use; whereas the same ground, planted with Locusts (and the hares of “my lords” kept down), would, at this moment, have been worth fifty pounds an acre. What do “my lords” care about this? For them, for “my lords,” the New Forest would be no better than it is now; no, nor so good as it is now; for there would be no hares for them.
From New Park, I was bound to Beaulieu Abbey, and I ought to have gone in a south-easterly direction, instead of going back to Lyndhurst, which lay in precisely the opposite direction. My guide through the plantations was not apprised of my intended route, and, therefore, did not instruct me. Just before we parted, he asked me my name: I thought it lucky that he had not asked it before! When we got nearly back to Lyndhurst, we found that we had come three miles out of our way; indeed, it made six miles altogether; for we were, when we got to Lyndhurst, three miles further from Beaulieu Abbey than we were when we were at New Park. We wanted, very much, to go to the site of this ancient and famous Abbey, of which the people of the New Forest seemed to know very little. They call the place Bewley, and even in the maps it is called Bauley. Ley, in the Saxon language, means place, or rather open place; so that they put ley in place of lieu, thus beating the Normans out of some part of the name at any rate. I wished, besides, to see a good deal of this New Forest. I had been, before, from Southampton to Lyndhurst, from Lyndhurst to Lymington, from Lymington to Sway. I had now come in on the north of Minstead from Romsey, so that I had seen the north of the Forest and all the west side of it, down to the sea. I had now been to New Park and had got back to Lyndhurst; so that, if I rode across the Forest down to Beaulieu, I went right across the middle of it, from north-west to south-east. Then, if I turned towards Southampton, and went to Dipten and on to Ealing, I should see, in fact, the whole of this Forest, or nearly the whole of it.