CORRESPONDENCE.

HAUNTS OF ANCIENT PEACE.—IV.

"And one, an English home. Gray twilight poured On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep; all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient peace."

TENNYSON-" The Palace of Art."

THE same diversity of aspect one notices between Kent and Sussex, one observes again between Sussex and Hampshire, and a contrast equally striking between Hampshire and Berkshire. To the undifferentiating eye, perhaps, the Sussex Downs seem pretty much the same as the Downs of Hemp- 'shire, and the copses of Kent are indistinguishable from those of Berks. But the birds know better, and so do the wild- flowers, and make fine distinctions of their own between one 'county and another. Here shall you see on the hedge-banks the yellow agrimony, but not the lavender-coloured scabious ; and between East Meon and Winchester—and indeed on to Whitelanrch and Hurstbourne Park—I saw miniature forests .a the verbaseum, or mullein, which I have carefully to culti- vate at home, not finding it in the neighbouring lanes. If one missed the sound of the yaffel, or Kentish woodpecker, in 'scenes that were new, compensation was forthcoming in the apparition of the woodchat and the yellow wagtail. But the very commons, nay, even the artificially and carefully de- signed parks, have specific characteristics of their own in each county, Eastwell having little in common with Arundel or Parham, Parham not reminding you in the least of Hurst- bourne, and Hurstbourne being quite other than Alder- maston. It was a fortunate accident that, three years ago, burned Hurstbourne House to the ground ; for it was an unlovely edifice in a lovely position, and its owner has thus had the chance, of which he is availing himself, to bring about closer harmony between the two. I dare say one may be too much of a purist in art ; but I cannot help regretting that even the new Flurstbourne, stately addition as it will be to the Homes of England, was not conceived, in some of its details, with a more complete recognition of the absolute per- fection English rural domestic architecture attained three -centuries ago, when the rural magnates of that day strove to establish their claim to nobility of mind, by building edifices in which prodigality of expenditure was controlled and tempered by severe and supreme taste.

In one respect, it must be allowed, you may travel from comity to county without getting away from a certain mono- tonous similarity. The gardens of large country places resemble each other overmuch, and betray the absence of individual conception and supervision. More than once, in the course of my excursion, it was said to me, from a generously overweening estimate of my capacity to proffer useful counsel, "I wish you would help me to lay out the garden." I know no more difficult, if indeed it be not an impossible task, save within the limits of strict formality ; and, as regards the latter, very little help or counsel is needed, any one of the hundred of forms already existing sufficing for the pur- pose. But the request, I suspect, springs from the feeling of discontent with gardens as they for the most part are, and from a wholesome rebellion against the system that relegates the sweetest and most pleasing flowers either to the kitchen-garden inolosure or to a remote pleasa,unce. So far am I from imagining that I have any solution of the difficulty to offer, that I always reply I could not "lay out" a garden unless I abided in it for some years ; which is only another way of saying that the garden must help one to lay itself out. It must have a mind of its own, as well as bear the impress of yours. But, indeed, I note that the larger the place, and the greater the amount of ground dedicated to garden, the more perplexing becomes the endeavour to produce one that shall be beautiful. There are impediments to the mar- riage of grandeur and beauty. I am asked to invest mag- nificence with charm, and I know not how to do it. I fear splendid houses must be satisfied with having splendid gardens ; and if you are in search of winsome simplicity, you will scarcely mend matters by tacking on a cotton skirt to a velvet bodice. The humbler graces of life evade the com- mands of the opulent; and that long-expressed ideal, "love in a cottage," seems to suggest that cottage-gardens best satisfy the eye, and get nearest to the heart. That at least, is the only explanation I can offer why gardens in which it is impossible to discern a fault, or indicate a mistake, excite a certain conventional admiration, but leave one unmoved. Is it that they are too perfect, and that, as in other domains of effort and feeling, we quickly wax dissatisfied with the absolute attainment of our aim, the absolute fulfilment of our own desire ? As a rule, however, it is scarcely from perfection that the larger gardens suffer. Their defect springs rather from the inertness of mind or the incuriousness of disposition of those who alone could imbue them with the spell of sur- prise and originality. Their owners accept the dispensation of costly tradition with a too placid conservatism, and omit to borrow instruction from the simpler but more telling ex- pedients of their humbler neighbours. It is not always so ; and at the end of the last stage but one on my way back to Kent, I had the agreeable opportunity of noting how, at beautiful Loseley, new ideas can make themselves at home in an old-world garden. Not less pleasing was it to be able there to philosophise to oneself on the disposition of our own flesh and blood from across the Atlantic, like Goldsmith's hunted hare, to "pant to the place from which at first she drew," and- " Here to return and die at home at last."

Blood is stronger than many leagues of water ; and it is in England alone that cultivated Americans can hope to satisfy the inherited longing in their veins for haunts of ancient peace.

But let the terraces and parterres of the opulent be what they may, the cottage-gardens of England invest a driving tour through its villages and hamlets with a continually recurring charm. In their diminutive domain are all the loveliest and most sweet-smelling flowers ; roses, pinks, carna- tions, sweet7peas, honeysuckle, lavender, jessamine, holly- hocks, sweet-briar, and modest mignonette, surmised only by the virtue of its scent. And they are all so well cared for, so lovingly tended ; and, one notes with satisfaction, their plants for the most part evidently come from the bigger gardens that are so much less beautiful than themselves. This particular relationship between mansion and cottage is a peculiarly grateful evidence of the minor charities of life. But I hope the cottager will retain his simple tastes in this respect, and not give hospitality in his little garden to the glaring, flaring, tuberous begonias which his betters are beginning so universally to affect. One would have to be a very ignorant optimist not to be aware that si Amiss, and scant or precarious wage, sometimes make life painful and pathetic in the most picturesque and smiling villages. But the general impression left on the mind by a drive through England, is that of a well-to-do, home-loving, self-respecting, contented people, who consider the questions propounded for their supposed advantage by theorists on society and.

Government, with a somewhat incredulous mind ; nor do I think the most seductive orators will quickly convert into impatient malcontents the comfortable folk one sees, through the open door at the home end of the garden, sitting at a table covered with a spotless cloth, drinking their tea at is. 4d., sweetened by sugar at 2d. a pound, and slicing the quartern-loaves from the neighbouring mill, four of which can now be had for 8c1. If rents and profits go down, wages happily go up ; and if Parliament would but hold its hand, and let well alone, a natural law is, I believe, now at work, which will leave our English hamlets as peaceful in temper as they are ancient in aspect.

With what affection, too, Englishmen, no matter how far an active and eminent career may have carried them from their home, cling to the country-side where they were born, to the rustic church where they were christened. Halting at West Meon, in Hampshire, an hour after mid- day, I found the village inn, whose larder is, I suspect, at ordinary times of a very elementary character, had con- centrated all its energies on providing a funeral luncheon for a number of strangers, sadly attired, who had come to pay the last tribute of respect to a distinguished and useful citizen, who was for years responsible for the peace and order of the largest and most populous city in the world. Yet his bones were to lie in this remote and quiet hamlet. To him less than to most men, for he was a "good and faithful servant," but to all of us, more or less, I think, are applicable the reflections that shaped themselves in that sequestered churchyard when all the mourners had quitted it :—

"THE DIRUIREGED DEBTOR.

Why should we, from this long and losing strife When summoned to depart, halt half-afraid?

Death is full quittance for the debts of life, Discharging the account though still unpaid. Who is it that can say he still hath met Friendship's just claim and Duty's punctual call ? How little do we give for what we get, And but for Death we should be bankrupts all ! For loan of life the richest but compound, Love's priceless gift we but repay in part ; Beggared and bare our balance would be found, H all we owe were honoured by the heart.

Die, and the lenders our default forget,

Nay, though defrauded, then seems theirs the debt."

The furthest point I had in view in my excursion was in the vicinity of Newbury, which perhaps more than any other dis- trict in the island makes one remember that England was not always a land of ancient peace. Exactly two hundred and fifty years ago was fought the second Battle of Newbury, the first having taken place in the preceding year, 1643. Donnington. Castle, within a quarter-of-an-hour's walk of which I was given kindly hospitality for four days—the longest halt

made—was besieged in 1641 by the Earl of Manchester, and Charles, whose headquarters were at Shaw House, then known as Dolman's, just outside the town of Newbury, had come in force to relieve it. Though the fortune of the day was hardly favourable to the Royalists, Donnington Castle, which, by commanding the roadslboth to Oxford and London, was of first-rate importance, was still held by Colonel Boys, who, though over and over again vigorously assailed, did not surrender till 1646, and then only in obedience to an order from the King. I approached it, one sunny August evening, along a path on one side of which was ripening a field of wheat, and on the other was swelling a broad expanse of mangolds, Anything more peaceful than the ruins of Donnington Castle now are, one would seek for in vain. It still commands a vast sweep of country, and eight splendid elms, towering where its banks slope away, stand like sleepless warders before it. But a family party of the humbler sort had come out from Newbury to enjoy their tea on the greensward hard by its ivy-clasped gateway; and while the water was boiling, the little daughter sat arranging the folds of her doll's frock, while her brother, even younger than she, amused himself by masterfully cracking his whip. We are all Cavaliers or Roundheads still, I suppose, all for this side or that ; and I thought of one of the controversies of to-day on which, it seemed to me, the contrasted natural instincts of those two children shed some suggestive instruction. Half- an-hour later, I observed fresh confirmation of the inference I then and there silently drew. For, on my return to the fair English home where I was staying, I found my hostess just starting for her own little private hospital on the neighbouring common, and her daughters intent on the part they would shortly have to take in an entertainment whose final object was healing charity; while their young brother, though as yet only at a preparatory school, had marshalled the footmen, the stable-helps, and any other male retainers within call, for a primitive cricket-match ; and the master of the house was. waiting to take me to Shaw House to show me the inscription: "Haim juxta fenestram, rex Carolns primns, instants obsidioner schoppopetrae ictn tantum non trajeetus eat, die Octolar XXVII., MDCXLIV." The King was dressing at the bow. window, near to which, in the wainscot, is a hole made by the bullet that missed its mark, leaving its intended victim for a still darker tragedy. Now, Shaw House looks as though it had been a haunt of ancient peace from all time.

ALPRED AUSTIN.