British Highways And Byways From A Motor Car - Being A Record Of A Five Thousand Mile Tour In England, - Wales And Scotland
by Thomas D. Murphy
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The English police, taken as a whole, is unquestionably the most efficient and best disciplined in the world. A policeman's authority is never questioned in England and his raised hand is a signal that never goes unheeded. He has neither club nor revolver and seldom has need for these weapons. He is an encyclopedia of information, and the cases where he lent us assistance both in directing us on our road and informing us as to places of interest, literally numbered hundreds. He is a believer in fair play and seldom starts out of his own accord to make anyone trouble. It is not the policeman, but the civil officials who are responsible for the police traps which in many places are conducted in a positively disreputable manner, the idea being simply to raise revenue regardless of justice and without discrimination among the offenders. Graft among British policemen is unknown and bribery altogether unheard of. Of course their task is easier than that of the average American policeman, on account of the greater prevalence of the law-abiding spirit among the people. One finds policemen everywhere. Even the country districts are carefully patrolled. The escape of a law-breaker is a difficult if not impossible thing. One seldom hears in England of a motorist running away and leaving the scene of an accident that he has caused. Another thing that greatly helps the English policeman in his work is that a captured criminal is not turned loose again as is often the case in this country. Justice is surer and swifter in England, and as a consequence crime averages less than in most parts of the States. The murders committed yearly in Chicago outnumber many times those of London, which is three times as large. The British system of administering justice is one that in many particulars we could imitate to advantage in this country.

After bidding farewell to my friend the police captain and assuring him I was glad that our acquaintance terminated so quickly and happily, we proceeded on our way towards Chichester. The road for a distance of twenty-five miles led through an almost constant succession of towns and was frightfully dusty. The weather was what the natives call "beastly hot," and really was as near an approach to summer as we had experienced so far.

The predominating feature of Chichester is its cathedral, which dates from about 1100. It suffered repeatedly from fires and finally underwent complete restoration, beginning in 1848. The detached bell-tower is peculiar to the cathedral. This, although the most recent part of the building, appeared to be crumbling away and was undergoing extensive repairs. The cathedral is one of lesser importance among the great English churches, though on the whole it is an imposing edifice.

At Chichester we stopped for lunch at the hotel, just opposite the cathedral, where we had an example of the increasing tendency of hotel managers to recoup their fortunes by special prices for the benefit of tourists. On entering the dining room we were confronted with large placards conveying the cheerful information that luncheon would cost five shillings, or about $1.25 each. Evidently the manageress desired the victims to be prepared for the worst. There was another party in the dining room, a woman with five or six small children, and a small riot began when she was presented with a bill of five shillings for each of them. The landlady, clad in a low-necked black dress with long sweeping train, was typical of many we saw in the old-country hotels. She received her guest's protest with the utmost hauteur, and when we left the altercation was still in progress. It was not an uncommon thing in many of the dingiest and most unpretentious hotels to find some of the women guests elaborately dressed for dinner in the regulation low neck and long train. In many cases the example was set by the manageress and her assistants, though their attire not infrequently was the worse for long and continuous use.

Directly north of Chichester lie the picturesque hills of Surrey, which have not inaptly been described as the play-ground of London. The country around Chichester is level bordering on the coast. A few miles to the north it becomes rough and broken. About twenty miles in this direction is Haselmere, with many associations of George Eliot and Tennyson. This, together with the picturesque character of the country, induced us to turn our course in that direction, although we found a number of steep hills that were as trying as any we had met with. On the way we passed through Midhurst, one of the quaintest of Surrey towns, situated on a hill so steep and broken as to be quite dangerous. Not far from this place is the home of Richard Cobden, the father of English free trade, and he is buried in the churchyard near the town. He was evidently held in high regard in his time, for his house, which is still standing, was presented him by the nation. Among the hills near the town are several stately English country houses, and about half a mile distant are the ruins of Cowdray mansion, which about a hundred years ago was one of the most pretentious of all. There was an old tradition which said that the house and family should perish by fire and water, and it was curiously enough fulfilled when the palace burned and the last lord of the family was drowned on the same day.



Twenty miles over a narrow road winding among the hills brought us to Shottermill, where George Eliot spent much of her time after 1871—a pleasant little hamlet clinging to a steep hillside. The main street of the village runs up the hill from a clear little unbridged stream, over whose pebbly bottom our car dashed unimpeded, throwing a spray of water to either side. At the hilltop, close to the church, is the old-fashioned, many-gabled cottage which George Eliot occupied as a tenant and where she composed her best known story, "Middlemarch." The cottage is still let from time to time, but the present tenant was away and the maid who answered us declined to show the cottage in her mistress' absence—a rather unusual exhibition of fidelity. The village, the surrounding country, and the charming exterior of the cottage, with its ivy and climbing roses, were quite enough to repay us for coming though we were denied a glimpse of the interior.

Haselmere is only a mile distant—a larger and unusually fine-looking town with a number of good hotels. It is a center for tourists who come from London to the Hindhead District—altogether one of the most frequented sections of England. The country is wild and broken, but in late summer and autumn it is ablaze with yellow gorse and purple heather and the hills are covered with the graceful Scotch firs. All about are places of more or less interest and a week could be spent in making excursions from Haselmere as a center. This country attracted Tennyson, and here he built his country seat, which he called Aldworth. George Eliot often visited him at this place. The house is surrounded by a park and the poet here enjoyed a seclusion that he could not obtain in his Isle of Wight home. Aldworth belongs to the present Lord Tennyson, son of the poet, who divides his time between it and Farringford in the Isle of Wight, and neither of the places are shown to visitors. However, a really interested party might see the house or even live in it, for we saw in the window of a real estate man in Haselmere a large photograph of Aldworth, with a placard announcing that it was to be "let furnished"—doubtless during the period of the year the owner passes at Farringford House.

Much as we wished to tarry in this vicinity, our time was so limited that we were compelled to hasten on. It was nearly dark when we reached Arundel, whose castle, the residence of the Duke of Norfolk, was the stateliest private mansion we saw in England. The old castle was almost dismantled by Cromwell's troops, but nearly a hundred years ago restoration was begun by the then Duke of Norfolk. It was carried out as nearly as possible along the lines of the old fortress, but much of the structure was rebuilt, so that it presents, as a whole, an air of newness. The great park, one of the finest in England, is open to visitors, who may walk or drive about at will. The road into the town leads through this park for many miles. Bordered on both sides by ancient trees and winding between them in graceful curves, it was one of the most beautiful that we had seen anywhere.

We had planned to stop at Arundel, but the promise in our guide-books of a "level and first-class" road to Brighton, and the fact that a full moon would light us, determined us to proceed. It proved a pleasant trip; the greater part of the way we ran along the ocean, which sparkled and shimmered as it presented a continual vista of golden-hued water stretching away toward the moon. It was now early in August; the English twilights were becoming shorter, and for the third time it was necessary to light the gas-lamps. We did not reach the hotel in Brighton until after ten o'clock.

Brighton is probably the most noted seaside resort in England—a counterpart of our American Atlantic City. It is fifty miles south of London, within easy reach of the metropolis, and many London business men live here, making the trip every day. The town has a modern appearance, having been built within the past hundred years, and is more regularly laid out than the average English city. For two or three miles fronting the beach there is a row of hotels, some of them most palatial. The Grand, where we stopped, was one of the handsomest we saw in England. It has an excellent garage in connection and the large number of cars showed how important this branch of hotel-keeping had become. There is no motor trip more generally favored by Londoners than the run to Brighton, as a level and nearly straight road connects the two cities. There is nothing here to detain a tourist who is chiefly interested in historic England. About a hundred years ago the fine sunny beach was "discovered" and the fishing village of Brightholme was rapidly transformed into one of the best built and most modern of the resort towns in England. Its present population of over one hundred thousand places it at the head of the exclusive watering places, so far as size is concerned.

A little to the north of Brighton is Lewes, the county town of Sussex, rich in relics of antiquity. Its early history is rather vague, but it is known to have been an important place under the Saxon kings. William the Conqueror generously presented it to one of his followers, who fortified it and built the castle the ruins of which crown the hill overlooking the town. The keep affords a vantage point for a magnificent view, extending in every direction. I had seen a good many English landscapes from similar points of vantage, notably the castles of Ludlow, Richmond, Raglan, Chepstow and others, and it seemed strange that in such a small country there should be so many varying and distinctly dissimilar prospects, yet all of them pleasing and picturesque.

The country around Lewes is hilly and rather devoid of trees. It is broken in many places by chalk bluffs, and the chalky nature of the soil was noticeable in the whiteness of the network of country roads. Many old houses are still standing in the town and one of these is pointed out as the residence of Anne of Cleves, one of the numerous wives of Henry VIII. Near the town and plainly visible from the tower is the battlefield where in 1624 the Battle of Lewes was fought between Henry VII and the barons, led by Simon de Montfort. Lewes appears to be an old, staid and unprogressive town. No doubt all the spirit of progress in the vicinity has been absorbed by the city of Brighton, less than a dozen miles away. If there has been any material improvement in Lewes for the past hundred years, it is hardly apparent to the casual observer.

We were now in a section of England rich in historic associations. We were nearing the spot where William the Conqueror landed and where the battle was fought which overthrew the Saxon dynasty—which an eminent authority declares to have done more to change the history of the Anglo-Saxon race than any other single event. From Lewes, over crooked, narrow and rather rough roads, we proceeded to Pevensey, where the Normans landed nearly a thousand years ago. It is one of the sleepy, unpretentious villages that dot the southern coast of England, but it has a history stretching far back of many of the more important cities of the Kingdom. It was a port of entry in early times and is known to have been in existence long before the Romans came to Britain. The Romans called it Anderida, and their city was situated on the site of the castle. Like other Sussex towns, Pevensey lost its position as a seaport owing to a remarkable natural movement of the coast line, which has been receding for centuries. When the Conqueror landed the sea came up to the castle walls, but now there is a stretch of four miles of meadowland between the coast and the town.

The castle, rude and ruinous, shows the work of many centuries, and was really a great fortress rather than a feudal residence. It has been in a state of decay for many hundreds of years, but its massive walls, though ivy-grown and crumbling, still show how strongly it was built. It is now the property of the Duke of Devonshire, who seeks to check further decay and opens it to the public without charge.

Battle, with its abbey, is a few miles from Pevensey. This abbey marks the site of the conflict between the Normans and the Saxons and was built by the Conqueror on the spot where Harold, the Saxon king, fell, slain by a Norman arrow. William had piously vowed that if he gained the victory he would commemorate it by building an abbey, and this was the origin of Battle Abbey. William took care, however, to see that it was filled with Norman monks, who were granted extraordinary privileges and treasure, mostly at the expense of the conquered Saxons. The abbey is one of the best preserved of the early monastic buildings in England, and is used as a private residence by the proprietor. The church is in ruins, but the great gateway, with its crenelated towers, and the main part of the monastic building are practically as they were when completed, shortly after the death of the Conqueror.

Battle Abbey, since the time of our visit, has passed into the possession of an American, who has taken up his residence there. This case is typical of not a few that came to our attention during our stay in England. Many of the historic places that have for generations been in the possession of members of the nobility have been sold to wealthy Americans or Englishmen who have made fortunes in business. These transactions are made possible by a law that permits entailed estates to be sold when the owner becomes embarrassed to such an extent that he can no longer maintain them. And some of these places are sold at astonishingly low figures—a fraction of their cost. It is another of the signs of the changing social conditions in the British Empire.

A quaint old village is Winchelsea, on the coast about fifteen miles from Battle. It is a small, straggling place, with nothing but its imposing though ruinous church and the massive gateways of its ancient walls remaining to indicate that at one time it was a seaport of some consequence. But here, as at Pevensey, the sea receded several miles, destroying Winchelsea's harbor. Its mosts interesting relic is the parish church, built about 1288. The greater portion of this is now in ruins, nothing remaining but the nave, which is still used for services. In the churchyard, under a great tree, still standing, John Wesley preached his last open-air sermon.

Two miles from Winchelsea is Rye, another of the decayed seaports of the southeast coast. A few small fishing vessels still frequent its harbor, but the merchant ships, which used to contribute to its prosperity, are no longer seen. It is larger than Winchelsea and is built on a hill, its steep, narrow streets being lined with quaint houses. These two queer towns seem indeed like an echo from the past. It does not appear that there have been any changes of consequence in them for the past several hundred years. People continue to live in such villages because the average Englishman has a great aversion to leaving his native land. One would think that there would be emigration from such places to the splendid lands of Western Canada, but these lands are not being taken by Englishmen, although the opportunity is being widely advertised by the Canadian Government and the various transportation companies. And yet one can hardly wonder at the reluctance of the native Englishman to leave the "tight little island," with its trim beauty and proud tradition, for the wild, unsubdued countries of the West. If loyal Americans, as we can rightly claim to be, are so greatly charmed with England, dear indeed it must be to those who can call it their native land.

Winchelsea and Rye are typical of hundreds of decayed towns throughout the Kingdom, though perhaps they are more interesting from an historic standpoint than the others. Being so near the French coast, they suffered terribly in the continual French and English wars and were burned several times by the French in their descents upon the English coast. It was nearly dark when we reached Rye; we had planned to stop there, but the uninviting appearance of the hotel was a strong factor in determining us to reach Tunbridge Wells, about thirty miles away.

We saw few more beautiful landscapes than those which stretched away under the soft glow of the English twilight from the upland road leading out of Rye. We did not have much leisure to contemplate the beauty of the scene, but such a constant succession of delightful vistas as we dashed along, together with the exhilaration of the fresh sea breeze, forms a pleasing recollection that will not be easily effaced. The twilight was beginning to fade away beneath the brilliancy of the full moon when we ran into the village of Bodiam, where stands one of the most perfect of the ancient castellated mansions to be found in the Kingdom. We paused a few minutes to view it from a distance and found ourselves directly in front of a neat-looking hotel—the Castle Inn. Its inviting appearance, our desire to see the castle more closely, and the fact that Tunbridge Wells was still a good many miles away over winding roads liberally sprinkled with steep hills, led us to make Bodiam our stopping place. There are few things that we have more reason for rejoicing over, for we saw the gray walls and towers of Bodiam Castle under the enchanting influence of a full, summer moon.

The castle was built in 1385 and appears to have been intended more as a palatial residence than a feudal fortress. Its position is not a strong one for defense, being situated on a level plain rather than upon a commanding eminence, as is usually the case with fortified castles. It was built after artillery had come into use, and the futility of erecting a structure that would stand against this new engine of destruction must have been obvious. The most remarkable feature is the wide moat which surrounds the castle. In fact, this gives it the appearance of standing on an island in the middle of a small lake. The water of the moat was nearly covered by water-lilies.

The walls of the castle are wonderfully complete, every tower and turret retaining its old-time battlements. It is supposed never to have sustained an attack by armed forces and its present condition is due to neglect and decay. From our point of view, it must have been an insanitary place, standing in the low-lying fens in the midst of a pool of stagnant water, but such reflection does not detract from its beauty. I have never seen a more romantic sight than this huge, quadrangular pile, with its array of battlements and towers rising abruptly out of the dark waters of the moat. And its whole aspect, as we beheld it—softened in outline by the mellow moonlight—made a picture that savored more of enchantment than reality.

Although the hour was late, the custodian admitted us to the ruins and we passed over a narrow bridge which crossed the moat. The pathway led through a door in the great gateway, over which still hangs suspended the iron port-cullis. Inside there was a grassy court, surrounded by the walls and ruined apartments of the castle. I ascended one of the main towers by a dilapidated stone stairway and was well repaid for the effort by the glorious moonlit prospect that stretched out before me.

When we returned to the Castle Inn, we found the landlady all attention and she spared no effort to contribute to our comfort. The little inn was cleanlier and better kept than many of the more pretentious ones. Bodiam is several miles from the railroad and but few tourists visit the castle. The principal business of the hotel is to cater to parties of English trippers who make the neighborhood a resort for fishing and hunting.

An early start from Bodiam brought us to Tunbridge Wells before ten o'clock in the morning. This city, although of considerable size, is comparatively modern and has little to detain tourists. Like Harrogate and Bath, its popularity is largely due to its mineral springs. In its immediate neighborhood, however, there are many places of interest, and we determined to make a circular tour among some of these, returning to Tunbridge Wells for the night.

A few miles from Tunbridge Wells is Offham, a little, out-of-the-way village which boasts of a queer mediaeval relic, the only one of the kind remaining in the Kingdom. This is called a quintain post and stands in the center of the village green. It consists of a revolving crossbar on the top of a tall, white post. One end of the bar is flattened and pierced with small holes, while at the other a billet of wood is suspended from a chain. The pastime consisted of riding on horseback and aiming a lance at one of the holes in the broad end of the crossbar. If the aim were true, the impact would swing the club around with violence, and unless the rider were agile he was liable to be unhorsed—rough and dangerous sport, but no doubt calculated to secure dexterity with the lance on horseback. This odd relic is religiously preserved by the village and looks suspiciously new, considering the long period since such a pastime must have been practiced. However, this may be due to the fact that the tenant of an adjoining cottage is required by the terms of his lease to keep the post in good repair, a stipulation, no doubt, to which we owe its existence.

In Westerham, a few miles farther on, we saw the vicarage where Gen. Wolfe, the hero of Quebec, was born. His parents were tenants of this house for a short time only, and soon after his birth they moved to the imposing residence now known as Quebec House, and here Wolfe spent the first twelve years of his life. It is a fine Tudor mansion and has been little altered since the boyhood of the great warrior. Visitors are not now admitted. There are many relics of Wolfe in Westerham, and the spot where he received his first military commission is marked by a stone with an appropriate inscription. Wolfe's memory is greatly revered in England and he is looked upon as the man who saved not only Canada, but the United States as well, to the Anglo-Saxon race.

Quite as closely connected with American history as Quebec House is the home of William Pitt, near at hand. Holwood House, as it is called, is a stately, classic building, situated in a great forest-clad park. It passed out of the hands of Pitt more than a hundred years ago, and being in possession of a private owner, is no longer open to visitors.

Passing again into the hedge-bordered byways, we came to Downe, a retired village four miles from the railway station and known to fame as having been the home of Charles Darwin. Downe House, where he lived, is still standing, a beautiful old Eighteenth Century place which was considerably altered by Darwin himself. The house at present is evidently in the hands of a prosperous owner, for it was apparent that watchful care is expended upon it. But it is in no sense a show-place and the few pilgrims who come to the town must content themselves with a glimpse from the outside.

To get a view of the place, I surreptitiously stepped through the open gateway, the house itself being some distance from the road and partially concealed by the hedges and trees in front of it. It is a rather irregular, three-story building, with lattice windows surrounded by ivy and climbing roses. It stands against a background of fir trees, with a stretch of green lawn and flowers in front, and the whole place had an air of quiet beauty and repose. On the front of the house was an ancient sun-dial, and across it, in antique letters, the legend "Time will show." I do not know whether this was placed there by Darwin or not, but it is the most appropriate answer which the great scientist might have made to his hosts of critics. Time has indeed shown, and the quiet philosopher who lived in this retired village has revolutionized the thought of the civilized world.



One of the greatest show-places of England is Knole House, the seat of the Sackville-Wests, near Seven-Oaks. The owner at the time of our visit was the Lord Sackville-West who was British ambassador at Washington, where he achieved notoriety by answering a decoy letter advising a supposed British-American to vote for Grover Cleveland as being especially friendly to England. The letter created a tremendous furor in the United States, and the result was the abrupt recall of the distinguished writer from his post.

No difficulty is experienced in obtaining admission to Knole House, providing one pays the price. The thousands of tourists who come annually are handled in a most businesslike manner. An admission fee of two shillings, or about fifty cents, is charged, and at numerous stands near the gateway photographs, post cards, souvenirs and guide-books galore are sold. Motor cars are allowed to drive right up to the great gateway, where they are assigned a position and supervised by an attendant, all for the sum of one shilling. However, the show is well worth the price, and the owner of the palace is entitled to no small credit for making it so readily accessible.

The house is a fine example of the baronial residences erected just after the period of fortified castles, when artillery had rendered these fortress-mansions useless as a means of defense. It surrounds three square courts and covers about five acres; it contains three hundred and sixty-five rooms and has seven great staircases, some of them very elaborate. The collection of paintings and mediaeval furniture is one of the best in England. The pictures are of untold value, one room being filled with originals by Gainsborough and Reynolds alone. Some idea of the value of these pictures may be gained from the fact that an offer of twenty thousand pounds for one of the Gainsboroughs was refused; and there are other pictures quite as valuable, not only by English masters, but by great continental artists as well.

King James I visited Knole House and preparations were made to receive him as befitted his rank. The immense stateroom was especially furnished for the occasion at a cost, it is said, of about one hundred thousand pounds. This room has never been used since and it stands today just as it did when it served its royal occupant, though the gorgeous hangings and tapestries are somewhat dingy and worn from the dust and decay of three hundred years.

It took nearly two hours to go through the parts of the house that are shown, although the parties were accompanied by guides who kept them moving along. On the afternoon of our arrival there were quite a number of visitors, five motor cars and several carriages bringing them. Knole House stands in a large park, which has the finest beeches in England, and it is really more of a show-place than a family residence. The Sackville-Wests are among the richest of the nobility and have other homes which are probably more comfortable than this impressive but unhomelike palace.

Something similar to Knole House is Penshurst Place, about ten miles away, but with an atmosphere and traditions quite different from the Sackville-West mansion. This great palace, just adjacent to the village of Penshurst, was built in the Thirteenth Century, passing shortly after into the hands of the Sidney family, with whom it has remained ever since. Of the Sidneys, one only is known wherever the English language is spoken—the gallant young knight, Sir Philip, who, when still below the age of thirty, lost his life while fighting for a forlorn cause in the Netherlands. Of all the brilliant array of statesmen, soldiers and writers who graced the reign of Queen Elizabeth, none gave greater promise than did young Sidney. Nothing is more characteristic of him than the oft-told story of how, when suffering from his death-wound on the field of Zutphen, he gave to a wounded soldier by his side the cup of water brought to him with the greatest difficulty. There are few who have received a higher or a more deserved tribute than that of the poet Watson, when he mused upon

"the perfect knight, The soldier, courtier, bard in one, Sidney, that pensive Hesper-light O'er Chivalry's departed Sun."

Naturally, we were interested in the ancestral home of such a man and the many historical associations which have gathered round it. It was at the close of a busy day for us when we reached Penshurst and learned that half an hour remained before the house would be closed for the day. Admission was easily gained and ample time given to inspect such parts of the house as were shown. We entered the great park through a gateway near the church where several members of the Sidney family are buried.

The palace stands in a large open space with a level lawn in front, and the five hundred years which have passed over it have dealt kindly with it. Few of the ancient places which we had seen in England were in better state of preservation. Nor was this due so much to restoration as in many cases. It had never been intended as a fortified castle and had escaped the ravages of war which destroyed so many of the strongholds. Its most striking feature is the baronial hall with its high, open-raftered roof, maintained in general appearance and furnishing much as it was five hundred years ago. It is of great size, and in early days the tables probably furnished cheer to hundreds of revelers at a time. At one end of the room is a gallery which the musicians occupied, and at the other, our attention was called to a small opening through which the lord of the establishment could secretly witness the doings in the hall. A remarkable feature is the fireplace, situated in the center of the room and without chimney of any kind, the smoke being left to find its way out through the windows or apertures in the roof, as the case might be—a striking example of the discomforts of the good old days when knighthood was in flower.

Queen Elizabeth, who was one of the greatest royal travelers of her time, made a visit to the home of her favorite, Sidney, and the drawing room which she honored as a guest is still shown, with much of the handsome furniture which was especially made for the occasion of Her Majesty's visit. On the walls are some examples of beautifully wrought needlework and satin tapestry which tradition says is the work of the queen herself and her maidens. In the picture gallery the majority of the paintings are portraits of the Sidney family.

From Penshurst we returned to Tunbridge Wells, having covered in all about one hundred miles since leaving that town—not a very long distance for a day's motoring, but we had seen more things of interest, perhaps, than on any other day of our tour. It was a fitting close to our tour, since we had determined that we would at once return to London and bid farewell to the English highways and byways. The next morning we spent a short time looking about Tunbridge Wells. This town has been known as a watering place since 1606 and has maintained great popularity ever since. Its unique feature is the promenade, known as "The Pantiles," with its row of stately lime trees in the center and its colonade in front of the shops. It is referred to in Thackeray's "Virginians," and readers of that story will recall his description of the scenes on the Pantiles in the time of the powdered wigs, silver buckles and the fearful and wonderful "hoop." Tunbridge Wells makes a splendid center for several excursions and one might well spend considerable time there. Our trip of the previous day had taken us at no time more than thirty miles from the town and had covered only a few of the most interesting places within that distance.

We were ready to leave Tunbridge Wells before noon, and it was with feelings of mingled satisfaction and regret that we turned toward London, about thirty miles away. Our long summer's pilgrimage through Britain was over. Despite our anxiety to return home, there was, after all, a sense of regret that we had left undone much that would have been well worth while. Our last day on the English country roads was a lovely one. A light rain had fallen the night before, just enough to beat down the dust and freshen the landscape. We passed through a country thickly interspersed with suburban towns. The fields had much the appearance of a well kept park, and everything conspired to make the day a pleasant recollection.

When we came into the immediate suburbs of London, I found that the knowledge I had gained on our frequent trips gave me a great advantage in getting into the city. I was able to avoid the crowded streets and to select those where traffic was lighter, thus reducing the time of reaching our hotel fully an hour. There is much difference in the traffic on the eight bridges which cross the Thames. London Bridge, which crosses near the Bank of England, is the most congested of all. There is hardly an hour when it is not a compact mass of slowly moving vehicles. The bridge by Parliament House is less crowded, but I should say that Waterloo Bridge furnishes the best route for motorists in getting across the river. It leads directly into the new boulevard known as Kingsway, which has just been completed at an expense of many millions of pounds. This is the broadest street in London and was opened by wholesale condemnation of private property. It is little used for heavy traffic and has a fine asphalted surface. It extends from the Strand to Holborn, the two principal business arteries of London. The street now presents a rather ragged appearance on account of the buildings that were torn down to make way for it. However, new structures of fine architecture are rapidly being built and Kingsway is destined to become one of the handsomest boulevards in the world.

A little after noon we reached our London hotel, having spent ten weeks in touring England, Wales and Scotland. We had not confined ourselves to the highways, but had journeyed a great part of the distance through less frequented country roads. In fact, many of the most charming places we had visited could be reached only from the byways and were not immediately accessible from railway stations. With the exception of the first two weeks, when we had rain more or less every day, we had been favored with exceptionally fine weather. During the last seven or eight weeks of our trip, only light showers had fallen and we were assured that the season had been an unusual one for England.

The matter of weather is not of great moment to the motorist in Great Britain. The roads are not affected in the least, so far as traveling is concerned, and dashing through the open air in a rain is not an unpleasant experience. A closed top for the car is rarely necessary. Plenty of waterproof coats and coverings answer the purpose very well and the open air is much pleasanter than being cooped up in a closed vehicle. Rubber tires do not slip on good macadam roads and during our tour it was necessary to use chains on the wheels only a few times.

Altogether, the experience was worth while; nor was it so expensive as many have imagined it to be. A party of three or four people with their own car, if one of them drives, can tour Britain for less than it would cost to cover the same ground, traveling first-class, by railway train. As to the comparative satisfaction derived from the two methods of touring, no comment whatever is needed. Making the trip by motor affords so many advantages and so many opportunities of seeing the country and of coming in touch with the people that there is really no other method that can in any way compare with it.



In closing this desultory record of a summer's motoring in Britain, I can easily see that a great deal was missed, much of which might have been included with little or no loss of time had we been well enough informed in advance. There were cases where we actually passed through places of real interest only to learn later that we had overlooked something that might well have engaged our attention. There were other points, readily accessible from our route, which we omitted because previously visited by rail; and though many of these places we should have been glad to see again, our limited time forbade. In order to get all that should be gotten out of a five-thousand-mile tour by motor car, one would have to be familiar indeed with England's history and traditions, as well as conversant with her literature. There is little opportunity for studying hand-books as one goes along. A few weeks of preparation, of well selected reading and the study of road-books and maps would make such a tour doubly valuable in saving time and in an intelligent understanding of the country and the places worth seeing. What one should have done he will know far better after the trip is over, and the main excuse for this modest record is that it may supply in popular form some data from the experience of one who has been over part of the ground, while the superb illustrations of the volume will give a far better idea of what awaits the tourist than the mere written words.

Among the places in which our time was too short is Canterbury. Another day would have given us a chance to see more of that ancient town, and a side trip of thirty miles would have taken us to Sandwich, Margate and Reculvers. We had expected to come a second time to Canterbury and to visit these three points then, but were unable to carry out our plan. Sandwich was at one time an important seaport, but lost its position from the same cause that affected so many of the south coast towns—the receding of the sea. It contains many of the richest bits of mediaeval architecture in England, and a few hours in its quaint streets would have been well repaid. Reculvers, or ancient Regulbium, was a Roman city that was destroyed by the encroachments of the sea. Here is one of the oldest and strangest of the ruined churches in England, now standing on the verge of the ocean, which still continues to advance with a prospect of ultimately wiping out the little village.

On our trip to Manchester we passed within two or three miles of Knutsford, the delightful old town selected by Mrs. Gaskell as the scene of her story, "Granford." Had we known of this at the time, a short detour would have taken us through its quaint streets.

The Isle of Wight is immediately across the strait from Southampton, and while a motor car could be transported by steamer to traverse its fifty or sixty miles of main road, this is not very often done. It would require one or two days to visit the interesting points in the island, among which are Carisbrooke Castle, where King Charles I was confined as a prisoner; Osborne House, formerly a royal residence but presented to the nation by King Edward; and Freshwater, the home where the poet Tennyson lived for many years.

Sherborne and Tewkesbury were both only a few miles off our route, and had we planned rightly we could have visited with very little loss of time these two interesting towns with their great abbey churches, which rank in size and importance with many of the cathedrals.

Ten miles from Penzance would have brought us to Lands End—the extreme southwestern point of England, abounding in wild and beautiful ocean-shore scenery, but the story of dangerous hills deterred us, though we afterwards regretted our decision. Nor could we pass again as we did at Camelford in Cornwall within five miles of King Arthur's Tintagel without seeing this solitary and wonderfully romantic ruin, with the majestic—even awe-inspiring—scenery around it.

Perhaps the most interesting trip which we missed, but which would have required more time than we could give, was a two or three days' run through the extreme south of Wales. It is only thirty miles from Monmouth to Cardiff, a coal-mining metropolis, itself of little interest, but with many places worth visiting in its immediate vicinity. Cardiff Castle, too, is one of the best known of the Welsh ruins, and here Henry I confined his elder brother Robert for twenty years while he himself, in reality a usurper, held the English throne. Ten miles north of Cardiff is the rude and inaccessible castle of Caerphilly, which is reckoned the most extensive ruin in the Kingdom.

Following the coast road for one hundred miles, one comes to the ancient town of St. Davids, at the extreme southwestern point of Wales. Here in the Middle Ages was a city of considerable size, a great resort of pilgrims to St. David's shrine, William the Conqueror being one of these. The modern St. Davids is a mere village, and its chief attraction is its grand cathedral and the ruins of the once gorgeous episcopal palace. The cathedral, built in the Tenth Century, is curiously situated in a deep dell, and only the great tower is visible from the village.

The return trip from St. Davids would best be made over the same road to Carmarthen, then taking the road northward to Llandovery, where is located one of the ruins of what was once the greatest abbey in Southern Wales. From this point the road direct to Abergavenny is a good one and passes through much of the picturesque hill country of Wales.

From Bangor in North Wales it is about twenty miles to Holyhead, from which point the car could easily be transferred to Ireland in two or three hours. This would mean an additional two weeks to the tour, and no doubt more time could pleasantly be spent in the Emerald Isle. The roads in Ireland are far from equal to those of England or Scotland, but the scenery, especially on the coast, is even lovelier, and the points of interest quite as numerous.

The Isle of Man, in the Irish Channel, is a famous resort of motorists, and many of the speed and reliability contests have been held there. It is about the only spot in the world where no speed limit is imposed, the inhabitants of the island recognizing the financial advantage which they reap from the numerous motorists. There are about fifty or sixty miles of road in the island said to be as fine as any in the world. The island is charming and interesting, with ruins and relics dating from the time it was an independent kingdom. The two days which would have to be given it would be well spent.

No one who had not visited it before would miss the Lake District in the north of England. A former trip through this section by coach caused us to omit it from our tour, though we would gladly have seen this delightful country a second time. One could depart from the main highway from Lancaster to Carlisle at Kendall and in a single day visit most of the haunts of Ruskin, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Southey, whose names are always associated with the English lakes. Many steep hills would be encountered, but none that would present great difficulty to a moderate-powered motor. It would be much better, however, if two or three days could be given to the Lakes, and this time might also include Furness Abbey and Lanercost Priory. Volumes have been written of the English lakes, but with all the vivid pen-pictures that have been drawn one will hardly be prepared for the beauty of the reality.

The Peak District in Derbyshire we omitted for the same reason—a previous visit. At Nottingham we were within ten or fifteen miles of this section, and by following a splendid road could have reached Rowsley Station, with its quaint inn, near Chatsworth House and Haddon Hall. No one who makes any pretense of seeing England will miss either of these places. Haddon Hall is said to be the most perfect of the baronial mansion houses now to be found in England. It is situated in a wonderfully picturesque position, on a rocky bluff overlooking the River Wye. The manor was originally given by the Conqueror to Peveril of the Peak, the hero of Scott's novel. The mansion is chiefly famous for its connection with Dorothy Vernon, who married the son of the Earl of Rutland in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the property thus passing to the Rutland family, who are still the owners. The mansion is approached by a small bridge crossing the river, whence one enters under a lofty archway the main courtyard. In this beautiful quadrangle, one of the most interesting features is the chapel at the southwest corner. This is one of the oldest portions of the structure. Almost opposite is the magnificent porch and bay-window leading into the great hall. This is exactly as it was in the days of the Vernons, and its table, at which the lord of the feast sat, its huge fireplace, timber roof and minstrel gallery are quite unaltered. It has recently been announced that the Duke of Rutland will make repairs to this old place and occupy it as one of his residences, closing Belvoir Castle, his present home, on account of the great expense of maintaining it.

Four or five miles from Haddon Hall is Chatsworth House, the splendid country seat of the Duke of Devonshire. This was built over a hundred years ago and is as fine an example of the modern English mansion as Haddon Hall is of the more ancient. It is a great building in the Georgian style, rather plain from the outside, but the interior is furnished in great splendor. It is filled with objects of art presented to the family at various times, some of them representing gifts from nearly every crowned head in Europe during the last hundred years. Its galleries contain representative works of the greatest ancient and modern artists. Even more charming than the mansion itself are its gardens and grounds. Nowhere in England are these surpassed. The mansion, with its grounds, is open daily to the public without charge, and we were told that in some instances the number of visitors reaches one thousand in a single day. As I noted elsewhere, the Duke of Devonshire owns numerous other palaces and ruins, all of which are open to the public without charge—a fine example of the spirit of many of the English nobility who decline to make commercial enterprises of their historic possessions.

In this immediate vicinity is Buxton, another of the English watering places famous for mineral springs. The neighborhood is most romantic, with towering cliffs, strange caverns, leaping cataracts and wooded valleys. However, the section abounds in very steep hills, dangerous to the most powerful motor.

In Yorkshire we missed much, chiefly on account of lack of time. A single day's journey would have taken us over a fine road to Scarborough, an ancient town which has become a modern seacoast resort, and to Whitby, with one of the finest abbey ruins in the shire, as well as to numerous other interesting places between. Barnard Castle, lying just across the western boundary of Yorkshire, was only a few miles off the road from Darlington, and would have been well worth a visit. These are only a few of the many places which might be seen to advantage if one could give at least a week to Yorkshire.

From Norwich an hour or two would have taken us to Yarmouth through the series of beautiful lakes known as the Norfolk Broads. Yarmouth is an ancient town with many points of interest and at present noted principally for its fisheries.

On the road to Colchester we might easily have visited Bury St. Edmunds, and coming out of Colchester, only seven miles away is the imposing ruin of the unfinished mansion of the Marneys, which its builder hoped to make the most magnificent private residence in the Kingdom. The death of Lord Marney and his son brought the project to an end and for several hundred years this vast ruin has stood as a monument to their unfulfilled hopes.

It may seem that as Americans we were rather unpatriotic to pass within a few miles of the ancestral country of the Washingtons without visiting it, but such was the case. It is not given much space in the guide-books and it came to us only as an afterthought. It was but five or six miles from Northampton, through which we passed. In the old church at Brington is the tomb of George Washington's great-great-great-grandfather and also one of the houses which was occupied by his relatives. In the same section is Sulgrave Manor, the home of the Washingtons for several generations, which still has over its front doorway the Washington coat-of-arms. In the same vicinity and near the farmhouse where George Eliot was born is Nuneaton, a place where she spent much of her life and to which numerous references are made in her novels.

In Scotland we also missed much, but very little that we could have reached without consuming considerably more time. A day's trip north of Edinburgh, across the Firth of Forth into Fife, would have enabled us to visit Loch Leven and its castle, where Queen Mary was held prisoner and was rescued by young Douglas, whom she afterward unfortunately married. Had we started two or three hours earlier on our trip to Abbottsford and Melrose, we could easily have reached Jedburgh and Kelso, at each of which there are interesting abbey ruins. Of course it would have been a fine thing to go to the extreme northern point of Scotland, known as John O' Groats, but this, at the rate we traveled, would have consumed two or three days. The country is not specially interesting and has few historical associations. Tourists make this trip chiefly to be able to say they have covered the Kingdom from Lands End to John O' Groats.

I have said little of the larger cities—we did not stop long in any of these. The chief delight of motoring in Britain is seeing the country and the out-of-the-way places. In the cities, where one may spend days and where the train service and other methods of transportation in the place and its suburbs are practically unlimited, one can ill afford to linger with his car in the garage much of the time. Of London I have already spoken. Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds, Bristol, Birmingham, Edinburgh and Glasgow are examples to my point. We had visited nearly all of these by rail, but in again planning a tour by car I should not stop at such places for any length of time and should avoid passing through them whenever practicable.

Of course I do not pretend in the few suggestions I have made in this chapter to have named a fraction of the points of interest that we did not visit—only the ones which appealed to me most when I had become more familiar with Britain. I only offer these few comments to show how much more might have been compassed in the space of a week or two, leaving out Ireland, John O' Groats, and the Isles of Wight and Man. One week would have given ample time for us to include the places I have enumerated. In planning a tour, individual taste must be a large element. What will please one may not appeal so strongly to another. Still, I am sure that the greater part of the route which we covered and which I have tried to outline will interest anyone who cares enough to give the time and money necessary to tour Britain.



Abbottsford, 174-175, 177.

Aberdeen, 161-164.

Abergavenny, 303.

Aberyswith, 125-126.

Addison, Jos., 88.

Aldworth, 276.

Alfred the Great, 21, 84-85, 259, 263.

Alloway, 148-140.

Alnwick, 186-187.

Altrincham, 56.

Amesbury, 88.

Anderida, 280.

Andre, Major, 48.

Anne of Cleves, 279.

Anne, Queen, 261.

Arbroath, 168.

Arthur, King, 109, 302.

Arthur, Prince, 76.

Arundel, 276-277.

Ashow Church, 78.

Austen, Jane, 84.

Awe, Loch, 151, 157.

Ayr, 148-149.


Bamborough, 183-185.

Banbury, 78.

Bangor, 134.

Bannockburn, 171.

Barden Tower, 51.

"Barnaby Rudge," 18-20.

Barnard Castle, 307.

Barnsley, 55.

Bath, 110-111.

Battle, 281.

Bawtry, 206.

Bedford, 233.

Belvoir Castle, 227-228.

Berwick-on-Tweed, 182-183.

Bettws-y-Coed, 132.

Blandford, 89.

Blenheim, 260-262.

Bodiam Castle, 284-286.

Bodleian Library, 259.

Boleyn, Anne, 267.

Bolton Abbey, 51.

Boston, 214-216.

Bottisford, 228-229.

Bradley, A.G., 68-69.

Braemar, 163.

Brightholme, 278.

Brighton, 277-278.

"Brig O' Doon," 148.

Brington, 308.

Brixham, 93-94.

Bruce, 165, 170.

Buildwas Abbey, 64.

Bull Hotel, Dartford, 27-28.

Bunyan, John, 233.

Burnham Thorpe, 217.

Burns, Robt., 143-149.

Burslem, 49.

Bury St. Edmunds, 238, 307.

Butler, Dr., 265.

Buxton, 306.

Bylands Abbey, 201.

Byron, Lord, 230, 247-248.


Caerlaverock Castle, 144-145.

Caerphilly, 302.

Caledonian Canal, 157.

Cambridge, 233-234, 237, 240-241.

Cambuskenneth Abbey, 171.

Camelford, 104.

Canterbury, 26-27, 33-39, 300.

Canute, 84.

Cardiff, 302.

Carisbrooke Castle, 301.

Carlisle, 141-143.

Carlyle, Thos., 145.

Carmarthen, 303.

Carnarvon, 132-134.

Castle Hotel, New Castle-Under-Lyme, 49.

Catherine of Aragon, 224.

Cawdor Castle, 161.

Cerne Abbas, 89-90.

Cerrig-y-Druidion, 130-132.

Chalfont St. Giles, 249-251.

Charlecote, 77.

Charles I, 61, 63, 82, 117, 120-121, 227, 301.

Charles II, 165.

Charles the Pretender, 161, 171-172.

Chatham, 33.

Chatsworth House, 305-306.

Chaucer, 27, 262.

Chawton, 82.

Chelmsford, 243.

Cheltenham, 112.

Chepstow, 119-120.

Chester, 8, 58-61, 137.

Chichester, 272-273.

Chigwell, 18-20.

Chippenham, 111.

Chipping-Ongar, 17-18, 243-244.

Christchurch, 89.

Cirencester, 112.

Claverhouse, 165.

Clifford Castle, 124.

Clyde Shipyards, 149-150.

Cobbett, Wm., 81.

Cobden, Richard, 274.

Colchester, 241-244.

Coleridge, 304.

Conway Castle, 134-136.

Conway River, 132.

Coventry, 45-46.

Cowdray Mansion, 274.

Cowper, Wm., 221, 232.

Coxwold, 198, 200, 202.

Crayon, Geoffrey, 1.

Crianlarich, 151.

Cromwell, Oliver, 139, 235-240, 244, 263, 265.

Crowland, 222-223.

Culloden Moor, 161.


Dalmally, 157.

Darling, Grace, 185.

Darnley, 180.

Dartford, 27-29.

Dartmoor, 106.

Dartmouth, 94.

Dart, River, 94.

Darwin, Charles, 63, 288-289.

Dereham, 221.

Devonport, 96.

Dickens, 18-20, 29-32, 140.

Dinas Mowddwy, 126.

Dochart, River, 158.

Doncaster, 206.

Dorchester, 89.

Downe, 288-289.

Drumlanrigh Castle, 147.

Dryburgh Abbey, 174-176.

Dukeries, 206-207.

Dumbarton, 150.

Dumfries, 144-146.

Dunbar, 180.

Dunblane, 170.

Duncan, 161.

Dundee, 168-169.

Dunnottar Castle, 164-167.

Dunollie Castle, 152.

Dunstafnage Castle, 154-155.

Durham, 187-189.


Earl's Colne, 242.

Easby Abbey, 193-194.

Eaton Hall, 60.

Eboracum, 191.

Ecclefechan, 145.

Edgeware, 23.

Edgeworth, Maria, 48.

Edinburgh, 174, 178-179.

Edward the Confessor, 113.

Edward I, 21, 133, 134.

Edward II, 133.

Edward III, 231.

Elgin, 161-162.

Eliot, George, 78, 274-276, 308.

Elizabeth, Queen, 219, 226, 262, 292, 294, 305.

Ellisland Farm, 146.

Elstow, 233.

Ely, 221, 237-239.

Epping Forest, 16-17.

Ethelwulf, King, 84.

Eton College, 254-255.

Eversley, 266.

Exeter, 91-92, 107.


Fairfax, Gen., 121, 198.

Falkirk, 172.

Falstaff, Sir John, 30.

Farnham, 81.

Farringford, 276.

Fast Castle, 181-182.

Feathers Hotel, Ludlow, 69-70.

Fife, 308.

Forres, 161.

Fotheringhay, 225-227.

Fountains Abbey, 54, 196.

Fox, George, 243.

Franklin, Benjamin, 85-86.

Freshwater, 301.

Frogmore Park, 255.

Furness Abbey, 304.


Gad's Hill, 29-32.

Galashiels, 178.

Gaskell, Mrs., 301.

Gaveston, Piers, 53.

George III, 256.

Glasgow, 149.

Glastonbury, 108-109.

Gloucester, 112-113.

Grandtully Castle, 158.

Grantham, 227.

Gray, Thos., 254.

Great North Road, 191, 206.

Greenstead Church, 243.

Greenwich, 27.

Grey Friars Church, 193.

Guildford, 81.

Guinevere, Queen, 109.


Haddon Hall, 304-305.

Hadley Church, Monken Hadley, 21-22.

Hampton Court Palace, 12-13.

Handel, 23-24.

Hanley, 49.

Haredale Hall, 54.

Harold, King, 20, 281.

Harrogate, 52, 54.

Harrow-on-the-Hill, 247, 248.

Haselmere, 274-276.

Hastings, Battle of, 20.

Hatfield House, 15.

Hathaway, Anne, 76.

Haverhill, 241.

Hay, 124.

Heddingham, 242.

Helmsley, 198-199.

Henley-on-Thames, 256.

Henry I, 267, 302.

Henry II, 53, 263.

Henry V, 117-118.

Henry VII, 107, 279.

Henry VIII, 43, 76, 109, 194, 197, 217-218, 224, 267, 279.

Hereford, 122-124.

Hindhead District, 276.

Holwood House, 288.

Holyhead, 303.

Holyhead Road, 43-44.

Huntingdon, 237, 239-240.

Huntly, 161.


Ilkley Station, 51.

Inverness, 159-161.

Inverurie, 162.

Iona, 153-154.

Ireland, 303.

Irish Sea, 141.

Isle of Man, 141, 303.

Isle of Wight, 276, 301.


James I, 171, 182, 224, 291.

James II, 63.

James IV, 165.

Jedburgh, 177, 308.

Jeffreys, Judge, 63.

John, King, 76, 229, 267.

John O' Groats, 161, 308.

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 48.

Jordans, 243, 250-253.


Keith, 161.

Kelso, 177, 308.

Kenilworth, 77.

Kilchurn Castle, 151, 157.

Killiekrankie, Pass of, 160.

Kilmarnock, 149.

Kingsley, Chas. 266.

King's Lynn, 216.

Kingston-on-Thames, 80.

Kingsway, London, 296-297.

Kinneff, 166.

Kinniard House, 158.

Knaresborough, 52-54.

Knole House, 290-292.

Knutsford, 301.


Lake District, 304.

Lammermoor, 180-181.

Lancaster, 140-141.

Land's End, 301.

Lanercost Priory, 304.

Launceston, 104-106.

Lea, River, 21.

Leamington, 77-78.

Leeds, 50-52.

Leeds Castle, 39.

Leicester, 231.

Leven, Loch, 308.

Lewes, 278-279.

Lichfield, 48.

Lincluden Abbey, 146.

Lincoln, 209-210.

Linlithgow, 171, 172.

Livingstone, David, 245.

Llanberis, Pass of, 132.

Llandovery, 303.

Llangollen, 127-129.

Lockyer, Sir Norman, 88.

Lomond, Loch, 150.

London, 11-25, 39-40, 80, 245-246, 296-297.

London Tower, 72.

Ludlow, 66-74.

Lutterworth, 231-232.

Lyndhurst, 88-89.


McCaig's Tower, 152-153.

Macbeth, 160, 161.

Magdalen College, Oxford, 257-258.

Maidstone, 32, 39.

Malmesbury, 111-112.

Manchester, 50, 54, 236.

Marazion, 103.

Margate, 300.

Martin, Henry, 120.

Mary, Queen, 262.

Mary Queen of Scots, 170-173, 180, 224, 225-227, 308.

Mauchline, 148.

Maxstoke Castle, 78.

Mayflower, The, 96, 206.

Melrose Abbey, 174-175, 177.

Micklegate Bar, York, 203.

Midhurst, 274.

Millston, 88.

Milton, John, 72, 249-250.

Monken Hadley, 21-23.

Monmouth, 114-118.

Monnow River, 117.

Montfort, Simon de, 279.

Montrose, 167.

Much Wenlock, 64-65.

Mull, Sound of, 154.


Nairn, 161.

Nelson, Admiral, 216-217.

Netley, 267-269.

Newark, 229.

Newcastle-on-Tyne, 187.

New Castle-Under-Lyme, 49.

New College, Oxford, 258.

New Forest, 88-89.

Newlyn, 100-101.

Newstead Abbey, 207-208.

Newton, Sir Isaac, 227.

Nidd, River, 53.

Nith, Valley, 146.

Norfolk Broads, 307.

Northampton, 232.

Norwich, 215-220.

Nottingham, 230-231.

Nuneaton, 46-47, 78, 308.


Oban, 151-155.

Offham, 286-287.

Old Kent Road, 26-27.

Olney, 232-233.

Osborne House, 301.

Oswestry, 127.

Ouse, River, 239.

Oxford, 234, 256-259.


Parliamentary Army, 61, 82, 121-122, 143, 204, 228, 230, 243, 259.

Peak District, 304.

Peele, 248.

Penistone, 55.

Penn, Wm., 20, 251, 253.

Penrith, 141.

Penshurst Place, 67, 292-294.

Penzance, 98-100.

Perth, 169-170.

Peterborough, 223-225.

Petergate, The, York, 205.

Pevensey, 280-281.

Pilgrim Fathers, 96, 206, 214-215, 241.

Pitlochry, 159.

Pitt, Wm., 288.

Plymouth, 96-97.

Preston, 137, 139.


Quebec House, 287-288.


Raglan, 120-121.

Raikes, Robt., 113.

Reading, 265.

Reculvers, 300.

Regulbium, 300.

Retford, 206.

Rhodes, Cecil, 258.

Richard III, 72, 107.

Richmond, 192-194.

Rievaulx Abbey, 199-200.

Ripon, 54, 195-197.

Rochester, 29, 32-33.

Ross, 113-114.

Roundheads, 48, 84, 92.

Rowsley, 304.

Rowton Moor, 61.

Royal Porcelain Works, Worcester, 74-75.

Rugby, 78.

Runnymede, 15.

Ruskin, 304.

Rye, 282-283.

Rye House, Broxborne, 15.


St. Albans, 42-43.

St. Augustine's Abbey, Canterbury, 38.

St. Botolph's Church, 213-214.

St. Columba, 153-154.

St. Cuthbert, 188.

St. Davids, 302.

St. Edmund the Martyr, 244.

St. Ives, 101-103, 236-239.

St. John's Hospital, 39.

St. Joseph of Arimathea, 108.

St. Martin's, Canterbury, 38.

St. Mary's Abbey, York, 204.

St. Mary's Church, Lancaster, 140-141.

St. Mary's Church, Shrewsbury, 63.

St. Michael's Church, Dumfries, 144.

St. Michael's Mount, 103.

St. Steven's Church, Launceston, 105-106.

St. William of Perth, 33.

Salisbury, 86-87.

Sandquhar, 148.

Sandringham Palace, 216.

Sandwich, 300.

Saracen's Head, Cerrig-y-Druidion, 130-132.

Scarborough, 307.

Scott, Gilbert, 219.

Scott, Sir Walter, 47, 142, 144, 151, 155, 158, 167, 173-177, 181, 199, 262, 305.

Selborne, 82.

Severn, River, 61, 64-65, 119-120.

Shakespeare, 76-77, 107.

Shambles, The, York, 205.

Sherborne, 301.

Sheridan, 248.

Shipley, Dr., 86.

Shipton, Mother, 53-54.

Shottermill, 275.

Shrewsbury, 61-63, 65.

Sidney, Henry, 72.

Sidney, Sir Philip, 63, 72, 292-294.

Smith, Prof. Goldwin, 3, 235.

Snowdon, Mt., 132.

Solway Tide, 143.

Somersby, 211-213.

Southampton, 267.

Southey, 168, 304.

Southwell, 230.

Staffa, 153.

Stalybridge, 56.

Stanley, Dean, 38.

Sterne, Laurence, 198-200.

Stevenson, Robert Louis, 158.

Stirling, 170-171.

Strid, The, 51.

Stockport, 56.

Stoke-on-Trent, 49.

Stoke Poges, 254.

Stokesay, 66-67.

Stonehaven, 167.

Stonehenge, 87-88.

Stonehouse, 96.

Stoneleigh Abbey, 78.

Story, 232.

Stratford-on-Avon, 1-3, 76-77.

Sulgrave Manor, 308.

Swale River, 193, 194.


Tamworth, 47.

Tay, Loch, 158.

Tay, River, 158, 169.

Taymouth Castle, 158.

Temple Bar, 21.

Tennyson, 46, 124, 209, 211-213, 274, 276, 301.

Tewkesbury, 301.

Thackeray, 21-23, 295.

Thames River, 256.

Tintagel Castle, 104, 302.

Tintern, 118-119.

Toplady, Rev. Augustus, 81.

Torquay, 92-93.

Trinity Church, Stratford, 2.

Trollope, Anthony, 23.

Trosachs, 151.

Truro, 97-98, 104.

Tunbridge Wells, 284, 286, 295.

Tweed River, 175-176.

Twyford, 85.


Uriconium, 63.


Vale Crucis Abbey, 128.

Vernon House, Farnham, 82.

Verulamium, 42.

Victoria, Queen, 255.


Waddesdon, 78.

Wakefield, 55.

Wallace, 170, 171.

Walsingham, 217.

Waltham Abbey, 20-21.

Walton, Ike, 84.

Wantage, 259, 263-264.

Warrington, 138-139, 236.

Warwick, 77.

Washington, George, 308.

Wedgewood, Josiah, 49.

Wells, 109.

Welshpool, 127.

Wesley, John, 282.

Westerham, 287-288.

Westminster Abbey, 21, 24, 154, 224.

Wharfdale, 51.

Wharfe River, 51.

Whitby, 307.

Whitchurch, 23.

White, Gilbert, 82.

Whittington, 265.

Wigan, 139.

William the Conqueror, 20, 63, 278-281, 302, 305.

William the Lion, 168.

William of Orange, 93.

William Rufus, 32, 84.

Winchelsea, 282-283.

Winchester, 83-85, 266.

Windsor, 254-255.

Wishing Wells, 217-218.

Wolfe, Gen., 287-288.

Wolvesley Palace, 85.

Woodstock, 262-263.

Woolsthorpe, 227.

Woolwich, 27.

Worcester, 74-76.

Wordsworth, 304.

Wroxeter, 64.

Wyatt, James, 86-87, 122-123.

Wyclif, John, 231-232.

Wye, River, 122, 125.

Wyndcliffe, 119.


Yarmouth, 307.

Yeovil, 90.

York, 8, 191, 197-198, 203-205.


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