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creased by a miscellaneous assemblage of pigs, dogs, rabbits, goats, and squirrels; geese, ducks, turkeys, fowls, Guinea-fowls, pigeons, and a variety of other bipeds and quadrupeds-all dwelling socially and pleasantly together. On our last visit, the old man sat dozing on one side the fire, a matronly-looking hen with a brood of chickens about her was on the other. The wife was earnestly engaged in appeasing the clamours of a hungry grunter, and arbitrating between two noisy brats. The daughter was preparing dinner, and holding a friendly conversation with the ducks. Around the room were birds in cages, while others were flying or hopping about at large; and all appeared very well contented with their situation and occupation. The old man, however, grumbles about the times, and lets you know that he has numbered seventy-six winters, and is past work; but you perceive that the complaint is made with an eye to your purse, and a glance at the living store around somewhat fortifies you against the appeal. The old man no doubt does pretty well here; he has a good many visitors, who of course pay for peeping. His pigs and birds thrive abundantly, and he knows how to sell them to advantage; and he pays but a nominal rent for his cavern. The visitors have given him the name of Crusoe; and he has no objection to be called by it. From the narrow path he has cut to his cabin door, there are excellent and extensive prospects, which, as well as the cabin and its inmates, often find a place in the portfolios of the sketching visitors. Butler is very proud of this circumstance, and does not fail to tell that "The great London artist, Mr. Landseer," made drawings of himself as well as his family; and that other great artists have done the like. The birds and beasts roam as they please about the parlour and the cliff by day, and make the passages on one side of the house their dormitory at night; and apparently have as little desire as their master to descend from their lofty home. We asked him if they never strayed? "Oh no sure," was his answer, "they never stray-except when the blackguard boys kill or steal them."

Hastings once possessed a harbour; but it was lost during the changes that we have mentioned as having occurred all along this coast. In the early part of the reign of Elizabeth the pier, at which large vessels used to unlade their goods, was destroyed in a storm; attempts were made at different times to reconstruct it, but without success. At low-water some massive pieces of rock called the Pier Rocks, and rows of wooden piles, may be seen opposite the east end of the Parade: they are the vestiges of the last effort made, in 1595, to rebuild the pier. Surveys have been made by eminent engineers several times within the last thirty years, under the direction of the government, in order to ascertain the practicability of forming a harbour at Hastings. They all agree as to the practicability of it, and have mostly drawn up plans and made estimates; but nothing has been done towards carrying any of their projects into execution. It appears not unlikely, however, that a harbour of

refuge may be formed at Hastings as a part of the general defences of the coast, which have of late so much occupied the attention of the authorities. That a harbour would be of great benefit to the town there can be no question.

We have now noticed some of the objects that would be most likely to attract the attention of a stranger in Hastings, and endeavoured to answer the inquiries they would suggest to him: but we have scarcely alluded to the grand association connected with the name of Hastings. We have said nothing of the landing of the Conqueror, or the pregnant events that followed that landing; though almost every spot around recals their memory. It seemed better to defer doing so till we could notice the most important of the localities together; and now, if you please, we will visit them.

This is not the place wherein to speak of what led to these events, or indeed to enter into any lengthened narrative of them-it will be sufficient to mention them briefly, and point out the several places where they occurred. The mighty armament-more formidable than any that had hitherto descended upon the English coast-drew up in Pevensey Bay. The spot chosen for the landing is believed to have been Bulverhythe, a little westward of St. Leonards. The scene was a memorable one. There, on the 28th of September, 1066-after he had seen all his warriors, and the artificers who accompanied them, safely landed-William leapt ashore. To the murmur that arose as he fell prone on the sand,-" God keep us, this is an ill omen!" the answer of the keen adventurer, as he sprang on his feet, his hands filled with the soil of England, was wise as ready-"What now! does that astonish you? I have taken seisin of this land with my hands, and, by the Splendour of God! as far as it extends it is ours!" One feels that this was the man to inspire confidence and to lead such an army to victory.

Tradition professes to be able to point out the very spot where this incident occurred. At a place not far from it, bearing the unpoetical designation of the 'Old Woman's Tap,' used to be shown a flat piece of rock, overhanging a small pool, which the same authority had named the Conqueror's Table;' affirming that on it he dined immediately after landing. This stone has been removed from its original situation, and now stands near the entrance of the St. Leonards' Subscription Gardens.

William remained a short while near his landingplace, to recruit his army; and then, having taken measures to secure the more important positions in the immediate vicinity, he directed his march to Hastings, where he caused the wooden castles or forts he had brought with him to be set up. There have been some differences of opinion as to the site on which he encamped; but the popular notion is, that it was on the East Hill, just above Hastings, where there are still traceable the vestiges of a large encampment. Campbell has embalmed the general opinion, in his 'Lines

on the Camp-Hill, near Hastings.' The visitor who, The field of battle is not easily traceable now. It like the poet, climbs the hill,

"In the deep blue of eve,

Ere the twinkling of stars has begun,
Or the lark took his leave

Of the stars and the sweet setting sun,"

may easily, with him, fancy these to be

"The heights,

Where the Norman encamp'd him of old,

With his bowmen and knights,

And his banner all burnish'd with gold."

But there is little doubt that the earthwork itself is of
an older date than the Conqueror.
There is no im-
probability, however, in the supposition that he did
encamp on this hill-availing himself of the works
already existing there. Campbell has presented a very
picturesque idea of the Norman warriors, which will
doubtless recur to his memory who may be fortunate
enough to witness a fine sunset from this spot:

"Over hauberk and helm,

As the sun's setting splendour was thrown;
Hence they look'd o'er a realm-

And to-morrow beheld it their own."

This last line must be understood poetically-though Campbell shows, by the note he has appended, that he did not himself so understand it. The victory of Hastings was very far indeed from giving England's crown to the Norman. The English fought many a sturdy contest after the death of their king; and the conquest was, in truth, of so slow achievement, as to warrant the belief that the final issue might have been very different, had there remained an English leader of sufficient ability and influence to command general obedience.

stretches for the most part along the Hastings road southwards of the town of Battle; but the Abbey of Battle, according to the chroniclers, occupies part of the site, and there is good reason to believe marks the spot where the English king fell.

William had in all his proceedings carried an ostentatious display of religious zeal, and now in fulfilment of a vow he had made, he announced his intention to erect and endow a magnificent monastery on the scene of his mighty triumph. Two years afterwards the foundations of the edifice were commenced; the Abbey being dedicated to St. Martin, and the name of the place changed from Senlac to Battle (or Bataille), in memory of the grand event it was designed to commemorate. In the first volume of Old England,' there is given a full account of the abbey, from which we quote the following remarks respecting the manner in which it is now secluded from the public inspection: "The politic Conqueror did wisely thus to change the associations, if it were possible, which belonged to this fatal spot. He could not obliterate the remembrance of the day of bitterness,' the day of death,' the day stained with the blood of the brave.' (Matthew of Westminster.) Even the red soil of Senlac was held, with patriotic superstition, to exude real and fresh blood after a small shower, as if intended for a testimony that the voice of so much Christian blood here shed does still cry from the earth to the Lord.' (Gulielmus Neubrigensis.) This Abbey of Bataille is unquestionably a place to be trodden with reverent contemplation by every Englishman who has heard of the great event that here took place, and has traced its greater consequences. of the mixed blood of the conquerors and the conquered. It has been written of him and his compatriots,

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'Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,

I see the lords of human kind pass by.'

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There remains but one other spot to which we have to follow the Conqueror. On hearing of the landing of the Norman host, Harold at once collected together all the troops he could, and hastened towards the Sussex coast. On his march he met the spies he had despatched His national character is founded upon the union of to reconnoitre the camp of the enemy, and warned by the Saxon determination and the Norman energy. As them of the vastness of the army he had to encounter, he treads the red soil of Senlac, if his reformed faith he halted at Senlac, about seven miles short of had not taught him otherwise, he would breathe a Hastings; and having chosen a favourable position, he petition for all the souls, Saxon and Norman, that strengthened it by entrenchments and palisades, and there slain were.' The Frenchman whose imaginawaited the approach of his foe. After a day spent in tion has been stirred by Thierry's picturesque and useless negotiations, William advanced his army and philosophical history of the Norman Conquest, will took up a position on the heights opposite to those tread this ground with no national prejudices; for the occupied by the English king. On the morrow, the roll of Battle Abbey will show him that those in14th of October, the two armies met in the valley scribed as the followers of the Conqueror had Saxon above which they had encamped. It falls not within as well as Norman names, and that some of the most our province to describe the terrible encounter. The illustrious of the names have long been the common result is well known. The English soldiers, though property of England and of France. But the inthey had to struggle against so many discouraging telligent curiosity of the visitor to the little town of circumstances,—as the weight of vastly superior num- Battle will be somewhat checked when he finds that bers, ruled too by superior discipline, and guided by the gates of the Abbey are rigidly closed against him, high military genius, the vague terrors of religious except for a few hours on one day in the week. denunciations, and finally the death of their king and The Abbey and grounds can only be seen on other chief commanders,-yet fought so as to draw Monday,' truly says the Hastings Guide. Be it so. even from their vaunting foes, little likely to overrate❘ There is not much lost by the traveller who comes Saxon bravery, exclamations of admiration. A few here on one of the other five days of the week. The such victories and the Conqueror had been undone. sight of this place is a mortifying one. The remains

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of the fine cloisters have been turned into a diningroom, and to use the words of the 'Guide Book,' 'Part of the site of the church is now a parterre which in summer exhibits a fine collection of Flora's greatest beauties.' This was the very church whose high altar was described by the old writers to have stood on the spot where the body of Harold was found, covered with honourable wounds in the defence of his tattered standard. 'Flora's greatest beauties!' 'Few persons,' adds the 'Guide Book,' have the pleasure of admission.' We do not envy the few. If they can look upon this desecration of a spot so singularly venerable without a burning blush for some foregone barbarism, they must be made of different stuff from the brave who here fought to the death because they had a country which not only afforded them food and shelter, but the memory of great men and heroic deeds, which was to them an inheritance to be prized and defended.

"The desecration of Battle Abbey of course began at the general pillage under Henry VIII. The Lord Cromwell's Commissioners write to him that they have cast their book' for the despatch of the monks and household. They think that very small money can be made of the vestry, but they reckon the plunder of the church plate to amount to four hundred marks. Within three months after the surrender of the Abbey it was granted to Sir Anthony Browne; and he at once set about pulling down the church, the bell-tower, the sacristy, and the chapter-house. The spoiler became Viscount Montacute; and in this family Battle Abbey continued, till it was sold, in 1719, to Sir Thomas Webster. It has been held, and no doubt truly, that many of the great names that figure on the roll of Battle Abbey were those of very subordinate people in the army of the conqueror and it is possible that the descendants of some of those who roasted for the great duke the newly-slaughtered sheep on the strand at Pevensey, may now look with contempt upon a patent of nobility not older than the days of the Stuarts. But with all this, it is somewhat remarkable that Battle Abbey, with its aristocratic associations, should have fallen into the hands of a lineal descendant of the master cook to Queen Elizabeth

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A general view of Battle Abbey in its present state may be best obtained by passing the old wall, and continuing on the Hastings road for about half a mile. A little valley will then have been crossed, and from the eminence on the south-east the modern building, with its feeble imitations of antiquity, and its few antiquarian realities, is offered pretty distinctly to the pedestrian's eye. What is perhaps better than such a view, he may, from this spot, survey this remarkable battle field, and understand its general character. The rights of property cannot shut him out from this satisfaction."

The present Abbey of Battle is not the building which William commenced. No portion of that remains. The ruins that still exist are all of some centuries later date. We shall not attempt further to de

scribe what is so grudgingly exhibited, and which when seen rather excites disgust than admiration, from the paltry ornaments which are stuck about it. The finest part of it is that which may be seen without any infringement upon the exclusive regulations of its proprietor,-we mean the gate-house by the Londonroad. This is of the perpendicular style of the fifteenth or early part of the sixteenth century, and is a very excellent specimen of that style. It is generally considered to be one of the finest gate-houses belonging to a religious establishment that remain in England. The town of Battle contains several old houses, and the church will reward the antiquarian student.

Charles Lamb we have seen complained of "doing dreary penance at Hastings." Possibly he was shut up in the town with a fit of gout or tic-doloureux, else there is a good resource against ennui if even the sea becomes wearisome, in the beautiful walks around the old town. Folks call the country along the southern coast dry and adust. Johnson, when abusing Brighton, used to declare there was not a tree there on which a man could hang himself when driven to desperation at being obliged to live in such a place. This was fair enough as regarded Brighton; but Charles Lamb, without looking round, applied the remark to Hastings, where there are trees enough within a few miles to suspend half the population upon if necessary; and instead of bare and desolate downs, there is a rich and smiling succession of flourishing and well-cultivated hills and valleys.

Let us now ramble together to two or three of the places within a short distance of Hastings, which we spoke of as deserving a visit. One of the most popular is Fairlight Glen and the Lover's Seat. We will stroll thither. The tide is out, and we may go by the East Beach. This is by far the better way to go: we can return by the fields. What a lively spot this beach always is! Stay for a moment, and watch those bluff fellows get out their boat. (Cut, No. 4.) What a bustle there is, and yet how readily each does his part! There are plenty besides the crew ready to lend a hand in getting the boat out. See how they put their shoulders altogether to it, and fairly walk the black creature afloat! It does one good to witness the cool promptness with which every thing is done-no idle vapouring, or useless outcry, but steadily, and as British seamen only can do it, do they, both crew and helpers, do their duty. But we must on. Yes, that is Crusoe's cabin; but we won't go up to it now. We must keep to the shingles. We cannot stay, either, to look after the crabs and star-fish, nor even the more beautiful sea-anemones; nor need scramble you cliffs after fossils; they do not abound in the 'Hastings sand,' and there is little chance of your meeting with a choice" specimen found in situ” for your cabinet. We are not naturalizing to day. We may stay, however, for a moment, before we turn the point, to look back again upon the busy spot we have just left. (Cut, No. 2.) And now once more forwards. This is Ecclesbourne Glen; and it is a pretty walk up it to

up

the

the Fish-ponds; but the Fish-ponds, once a favourite true love not run smooth, appointed this for their place resort of Hastings folk, are not now open to the public. of meeting. The gentleman had the command of a The Fish-ponds are very well in their way; but we revenue-cutter stationed off the coast, and the fair one need not fret about our exclusion from them. Some used to come hither (where, having some skill in carpeople prefer to mount the cliffs here, and continue pentry, she had fixed this seat-" What will not love along the summit to Fairlight. That way is very the tenderest prompt to do?") and give notice of her pleasant, and there are good sea-views: the house, by presence by waving her handkerchief. When her the way, on the left, is one to which Canning used occa- lover saw the happy signal, he launched his boat, sionally to escape from the strife of St. Stephen's. We rowed ashore, and soon mounted the steep cliff:— will keep to the beach: the mouth of the Glen is but that was the romance. These meetings led in time, about a mile further. Here it is; and yonder is the says our guide, to a union in Hollington church :station of the Preventive Service; a capital point for that, we suppose, was the catastrophe. “The original a 'look-out.' But our way lies up Fairlight Glen. Lover's Seat," says one of our authorities, "the bench There is not much water coming down this little chan- placed there by the lady herself, has been long since nel now; but it forms a pretty brook where it is demolished by the hackings and cuttings of enthusivisible, and we may make our way along the path astic visitants: the present one is well notched by beside it for half a mile through a pleasant coppice- eager aspirants after immortality, and garnished with for these parts a very fine wood. The brook is overhung initials"*-we suppose of tearful sympathizers. We with hazel and alder; and, as it rings merrily along, are bound to add that the 'Guide' assures us this forces you, as you listen to its murmurings, involun- "romantic and melancholy" story, however strange, tarily to quote the lines of Coleridge, that so beauti-"is not a fiction," but, on the contrary, vows that the fully echo the gentle music of such a delicious little daughter of the loving pair is still living in the neighscene as this is: bourhood, and has a large family.

"A noise as of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune."

The "quiet tune," by the way, must be well worth listening to on a fine night in that same leafy month. We have never been here at night; but the lad who lives just above tells us that nightingales abound here; and if so, one could hardly wish for a pleasanter walk than along this glen on a June evening, or a sweeter melody to "fill each pause the nightingale hath made," than that of this little runnel.

But we

must not grow poetical-which, happily, the gods have never meant us to be. At the end of the glen is

the object for which most visitors ascend it-the Dropping Well-where the little streamlet trickles over a rock into a black hollow, overshadowed by the rich foliage that depends from every side--a cool, quiet spot as you would wish to find on a summer's noon. Just by the Dropping Well is a magnificent beech tree that must put to shame every one who affects to scorn the Hastings trees.

The cliffs by the station are worth visiting; so, for other reasons, is the church of Fairlight, erected a year or two since. But we shall leave them unvisited now. The best way home is round by Fairlight Down, the top of which, by the windmill, affords the richest and most extensive view in all these parts. The summit of the Down is about 600 feet above the sea, and the prospect embraces a circle of some fifteen miles in every direction, over a country of the most varied and interesting character.

The view from East Hill is a splendid one; but this very far surpasses it, both in extent and beauty. The walk back to Hastings from Fairlight Down, by the fields and road, is short and

pleasant.

Another short and equally celebrated walk from Hastings is to Old Roar and Hollington. Old Roar is across fields and through hop-gardens. It lies in a two or three miles from the town by a pleasant path sort of dell, a short distance from Roar Farm, close by which is a blasted oak of bolder and more picturesque form than Rosa ever painted. Old Roar gained its name from the "tremendous noise made by a large

A short distance above the Dropping Well is the body of water tumbling over a perpendicular rock forty Lover's Seat, where, as a native bard has it,

"Where youth, from sympathy, a visit pay,
And age to pass the tedious hour away."

Here is a little lass who wishes to guide us to the
spot. She has a basket of fruit, with lemonade and
the like, wherewith you may refresh yourself if the
walk has made you thirsty. Well, here is the seat-
an oaken bench placed in a nook near the summit of
a high cliff, and yielding a noble view over the ocean;
on a fine day you may see, it is said, the French coast
from it; but our ken does not reach so far. But why
Lover's Seat? There is what the Guide Book calls
"a melancholy and romantic tale," appended to it.
It is, in brief, that a pair who found the course of

feet high, which might be heard half a mile off." It makes no such roar now. There is not, indeed, a murmur loud enough to drown the softest whisper of your gentle companion. It has, in fact, so degenerated, that now there is very seldom any water at all falls over; but there remains the rock-though forty feet seems good reckoning for it—and the place is a very sequestered and pretty one, and quite worth seeing. A hundred yards higher is Glen Roar, a smaller edition of Old Roar. The books talk about the difficulty of ascending the Glen to these places, which is nonsense; there is no difficulty about it, and the only danger is of * This sentence is taken from 'Diplock's Hand-book for Hastings,' by far the best of the Hastings Guides.

getting scratched by the brambles. You may cross over from Old Roar to Hollington by some field paths. The distance is about a couple of miles. The lion of Hollington is the church, a humble rustic pile, chiefly remarkable as being placed in the midst of a wood, far away from any human habitation. Why it was built there it is not easy to tell. The tradition is, that when a church was begun in the neighbouring village, the evil one, jealous of the encroachment on a spot he had marked as his own, every night undid what the workmen had accomplished in the course of the day. Priests were summoned to lay the fiend, and they had prepared to commence their potent conjurements, when a voice was heard offering to desist from opposition if the building were erected on the spot he should indicate. The offer was accepted. The church was raised, and then sprung up all around it a thick wood, concealing it from the general gaze. The church was a very pretty, rural, weather-beaten little edifice, quite a pleasure to look at in its verdant enclosure; but it has lately suffered whitewashing, and new tiling, and other churchwarden's beautifyings. The views from the heights about Hollington are very beautiful-charming reaches of down alternating with masses of rich foliage, with here and there a fine old farm-house or oldfashioned Sussex cottage, and everywhere the ocean filling up the breaks in the distance. The pleasantest way back is by Filsham to St. Leonards. Hollington divides popularity with Lover's Seat among Hastings' pic-nic parties; but Lover's Seat is the chosen retreat of Hastings' novel readers.

Among the short walks inland from Hastings, none is pleasanter than that to the pretty village of Ore. Your way to it lies along shady green lanes, and the church tower rises as a land-mark before you for nearly the whole distance. The village itself consists of merely a few humble cottages and a farm-house or two, but they have a rustic picturesqueness about them that is very pleasing; and, with the church, form a good object to ramble after. The old church stands on an eminence by a broad breezy common, and from both the church-yard and the common, there is a wide and excellent prospect. Ore place, the residence of Lady Elphinstone, is a modern mansion, but it stands on the site of one built by John of Gaunt. Ore is about two miles from Hastings.

Crowhurst, about five miles from Hastings, is a more striking locality. It lies about two miles north-west of Hollington, and may be visited from that place. The scenery all round is very beautiful, and the village has much in it to reward attention. There are wild green lanes a lovely little stream, with here and there a humble homestead beside it-gentle, sheltered, and well cultivated valleys-woody uplands, affording occasional peeps over the adjacent country-and then the sequestered village, though itself but a collection of picturesque cottages, has a goodly church standing on an eminence above it, and a graceful little ruined house of prayer, which seems to shed over all an air of sober dignity. Only part of the church is ancient,

the nave having been taken down and rebuilt near the close of the last century. The older part has some interesting architectural details. The ruins just below the church are part of an ancient chapel, once the private chapel of the lord of Crowhurst manor. They stand in a farm-yard, and are of course seen to little advantage close at hand. They are in a bad state, but there are portions yet remaining in tolerable preservation and of considerable elegance; especially graceful is the tracery of the principal window. In the churchyard stands a venerable yew, whose trunk is twenty. seven feet in circumference at four feet from the ground.

Our rambles hitherto have been along the beach eastward, or else inland. We must look what lies along the western coast. A stroll to Bexhill will be enough to give us a specimen of what may be seen in that direction. Beyond St. Leonards we lose the cliffs, and the low shelving shore presents a perfect contrast to the wilder looking scenery of the East Beach. But this has its beauties. The bold sweep of Pevensey Bay to Beachey Head would alone have a striking effect, but the banks are further varied by the long line of Martello towers with which this part of the coast is defended, and the glimpses caught of the country inland help to add yet more of diversity to the scene. It is not so fine as on the other side of Hastings; but it only needs to be seen when heavy clouds are traversing the sky, and casting their broad shadows over one and another portion of it, to be considered eminently picturesque. It is quite worth spending a few minutes to examine one of these Martello towers, with its cunning contrivances for securing the safety of those within as well as for annoying the enemy-the entrance so high up the wall, with the threatening machicolations that impend over it, the bomb-proof roofs, and the ingenious arrangement of the space inside, all show proof of engineering ability at least equal to that displayed in the offensive appliances. They are now mostly in the keeping of the preventiveservice men, who readily allow you to look over them. At Bulverhythe there is a ruin of an old chapel to be seen; at Glynde there is nothing to tempt you to turn aside from the onward path. The village of Bexhill stands on rising ground at a little distance from the It is a quiet retired place, very happily situated; having wide and various prospects in every direction, the sea within easy reach, and a very beautiful country inland. There are some good houses about the village and immediately contiguous to it, and the village is in some favour as a watering-place. Many persons prefer the seclusion of Bexhill, with its bracing air, to the heat and bustle of Hastings, or the stiffness and parade of St. Leonards. It has the fame of being a very healthy place, of which the many examples of longevity in its inhabitants are a tolerable proof. An instance of this longevity is recorded of so remarkable a nature as to deserve repetition. On the 4th of June, 1819, it is said, a dinner was given to commemorate the 81st anniversary of the birth of George III., at

sea.

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