Remarks on forest scenery: and other woodland views, (relative chiefly to picturesque beauty) illustrated by the scenes of New-Forest in Hampshire. In three books. ... By William Gilpin, ... [pt.2]

SECT. IX.

An excursion along the eastern side of Beaulieu river—the coast opposite to the isle of Wight—the western side of Southampton bay—and thence by Dibden again to Beaulieu.

AT Beaulieu we crossed the bridge; and turning short to the right, had a better view of the first reach of the river from the land, than we had before in our voyage, from the water. The river itself had more the appearance of a lake, (for it was then high-water,) and made a magnificent sweep round a point of wooded land: while the woods, on the opposite side, following it's course, on an elevated bank, were as rich, as a picturesque imagination could conceive them. The fore∣ground indeed was not equal to a scene, which was in every other respect so compleat.

From hence we ascended a close lane cut through a corner of Beaulieu-manor; and inriched on both sides, but especially on the left, with forest-scenery. At Hill-top-gate the lane opens into that extensive heath, which occupies all the middle part of the peninsula, between the river of Beaulieu, and the bay of Southampton. As this peninsula shoots into length, rather than breadth, the heathy grounds follow it's form; and extend several miles in one direction; tho seldom above two, in the other. The banks of both rivers are woody; and these woods appeared, as we entered the heath, to skirt it's extremities. Through these extremities, containing the most beautiful parts of the country, we meant to travel. At Hill-top therefore, instead of crossing the heath, we turned short into a road on the right, which led us along the skirts of the woods, under the shade of which we travelled about a mile. Sometimes these woods shot like promontories into the heath, and we were obliged to ride round them; but oftner our road threading the clumps, and single trees, which stood forward, carried us among them. The richness, and closeness of the forest-scenery on one side, contrasted with the

plainness, and simplicity of the heath on the other, skirted with distant wood, and seen through the openings of the clumps, were pleasing.

From this heath we were received by lanes —but such lanes, as a forest only can produce; in which oak, and ash, full-grown, and plan∣ted irregularly by the hand of nature, stood out in various groups, and added a new fore∣ground, every step we took, to a variety of little openings into woods, copses, and pleasing recesses.

While we were admiring these close land∣scapes, the woods, on the right suddenly giving way, we were presented with a view of the river—Buckler's-hard beyond it—the men of war building in the dock there—and the woody grounds which rise in the offskip. This exhibition was rather formally introduced like a vista. The woods seemed to have been opened on purpose: but formality is a fault, which we seldom find in nature; and which in the scene before us, she will probably cor∣rect in a few years, by the growth of some intervening trees.

A mile farther brought us to the seat of colonel Mitford, among the woods of Exbury.

The house is no object: but the scenery con∣sists of a more beautiful profusion of wood, water, and varied grounds, than is commonly to be met with. Here we proposed to spend the evening; but not finding colonel Mitford at home, we took a ramble into his woods, till supper, where we expected to meet him.

The richness of the scenes had led us imper∣ceptibly from one to another. We had every where instances of the beauty of trees as indi∣viduals—as uniting in clumps—and as spreading into woods; for all here is pure nature: and as they were beginning now to put on their au∣tumnal attire, we were entertained with the beauties of colouring, as well as of form. Among these unknown woods our way at length became perplexed; and the sun was now set. Having no time therefore to lose, we inquired at a lonely cottage, which we found in a sheltered glade. Nothing could indicate peace and happiness more, than this little sequestered spot; and we expected to find a neat, peaceful, contented family within. But we found that a happy scene will not always make happy inhabitants. At the door stood two, or three squalid children with eager, famished countenances staring through

matted hair. On entering the hovel, it was so dark, that we could at first see nothing. By degrees a scene of misery opened. We saw other ragged children within; and were soon struck with a female figure, groveling at full length by the side of a few embers, upon the hearth. Her arms were naked to her shoul∣ders; and her rags scarce covered her body. On our speaking to her, she uttered in return a mixture of obscenity, and imprecations. We had never seen so deplorable a maniac.

We had not observed, when we entered, what now struck us, a man sitting in the cor∣ner of the hovel, with his arms folded, and a look of dejection, as if lost in despair. We asked him, Who that wretched person was? She is my wife, said he, with a composed melancholy; and the mother of these children. He seemed to be a man of great sensibility; and it struck us, what distress he must feel, every evening, after his labour, when, instead of finding a little domestic comfort, he met the misery, and horror of such a house—the total neglect of his little affairs—his family without any overseer, brought up in idleness, and dirt—and his wife, for whom he had no means of providing either assistance, or cure,

lying so wretched an object always before him. —We left him strongly impressed with his calamity; which appeared to be a more severe visitation, than the hand of heaven commonly inflicts.

We found afterwards, that we had been wholly mistaken; and that we had before us a strong instance of that strange fatality, by which mankind are so often themselves the ministers of those distresses, which they are so ready to ascribe to heaven. On relating our adventure at supper, we were informed, that the man, whose appearance of sensibility had affected us so much, was one of the most har∣dened, abandoned, mischievous fellows in the country—that he had been detected in sheep∣stealing—and that he had killed a neighbour's horse in an act of revenge—and that it was supposed, he had given his wife, who was infamous likewise, a blow in a quarrel, which had occasioned her malady.

The next morning we took a particular view of the beautiful scenery around us; of which, the evening before, we had only obtained a general idea.

The woods of Exbury, which are extensive, are chiefly oak—the spontaneous growth of the country: but Mr. Mitford found many of the bare, and barren spots about his house planted by his father, and grandfather, with fir-groves of various kinds; tho generally, according to the fashion of the times, in formal rows.

On a deliberate view of his grounds, he formed a general plan, resulting from the various scenes they exhibited.—The boun∣dary of his estate presents a series of views of three very different characters.—Towards the west, he has a variety of grand river-views; formed by the Ex, or, as it is commonly at this day called, Beaulieu-river, winding, as we had seen it in our voyage, through the woods of Beaulieu, and Exbury in it's approach to the sea.—The southern part of his boundary overlooks, what was anciently called, the Solent-sea; but now commonly the channel of the isle of Wight; which at it's two extre∣mities discovers the open sea, through the eastern passage by Spithead; and through the western, by the Needles.—On the east, and north, his boundary-views take a new form. We leave the shore, and wind into a woodland country; which within a hundred

yards assumes so new a character, that we might easily conceive it to be as many miles from the sea. In these woody scenes, inter∣mixed with open grounds, we continue about four miles; till winding round, we return to those rising grounds on the west, from whence we first had the views of the river.

This boundary-circuit carries us through the space of about eight miles. Mr. Mitford has done little, besides marking it out by cut∣ting through the woods, as he should wish to lead it. To compleat his plan would be very expensive; tho an expence equal to the natural advantages of the scene in good hands, would make this one of the most varied, and picturesque wood-land-rides perhaps in Eng∣land.

Within this boundary-circuit Mr. Mitford has marked out an interior one, circling about a mile round his house. As the object of the larger circuit, is to shew, as much as possible, the extent of his views; the object of this interior one is to break those distant views into parts—to form those parts into the most beautiful scenes; and to exhibit them with woody fore-grounds to the best advantage. From many parts of this interior scenery the

isle of Wight makes it's most picturesque appearance. In various views of it from the Hampshire coast, we have seen it spread in too lengthened a curtain, and it's hills too smooth, and tame. Both these inconveniences are here, in a degree, obviated. Seldom more than a small part of the island is seen at once; and this part is about the centre, which is the loftiest, and the roughest. Here rise two considerable hills, Gatescliff, and Wraxhill; and one of them affords a circumstance of great beauty. Carisbroke-castle, seated on an eminence, about four miles within the island, is seen very advantageously against Gatescliff, when the sun shines either on the castle, or on the mountain; while the other is in shadow.

In laying out this inner circle, Mr. Mitford had his greatest difficulties to contend with: for here he had all his grandfather's formal groves to incounter: and it was no easy matter to break their formalities; to make judicious inroads through them; and unite them in one plan. He often lamented—what other improvers have lamented before him—the injudicious sufferance of the growth of trees. Next to the cutting down of trees improperly,

the greatest mischief is to let them grow together too long. They soon ruin each other. He had suffered his woodward only to use his discretion in the distant woods. In the groves, about his house, he allowed no marking-hammer, but his own. The consequence was, he was so little on the spot, that many of his best trees were injured. The fir espe∣cially, if it's natural branches are once lost, as they always are by straitened quarters, never recovers them.—These two circuits round his house, Mr. Mitford has joined by three cross walks

In taking these circuits we could not help remarking the comparative virtue of taste, and expence. The former, with very little of the latter, will always produce something pleasing: while the utmost efforts of the latter, unaided by the former, are ineffectual. The larger the proportion of misguided ex∣pence; the wider will the deformity spread: whereas every touch in the hand of taste, has so far it's effect.

It is the same precisely in working the scenes of nature, as in forming an artificial scene. Set two artists at work. Give one of them a bit of black-lead, and a scrap of paper.

Every touch he makes, perhaps deserves to be treasured in a cabinet. Give the other the costliest materials. All is a waste of time, of labour, and expence. Add colours—they only make his deformities more glaring.

True taste, in the first place, whether in nature, or on canvas, makes not a single stroke, till the general design is laid out, with which, in some part or other, every effort coincides. The artist may work at his picture in this part or the other; but if his design, and composition are fixed, every effort is gradually growing into a whole. Whereas he who works without taste, seldom has any idea of a whole. He tacks one part to another, as his misguided fancy suggests: or, if he has any plan, it is something as unnatural, as the parts which compose it, are absurd. The deeper his pocket therefore, and the wider his scale, his errors are more ap∣parent.

To an injudicious person, or one who delights in temples, and Chinese bridges, very little would appear executed in the scenes I have described at Exbury. There is scarce a gravel-walk made: no pavilion raised; nor even a white-seat fixed. And yet in fact,

more is done, than if all these decorations, and a hundred others, had been added, un∣accompanied with what has been done. The greatest difficulty of all is surmounted—that of laying out a judicious plan. The rest, tho the most ostensible, because the most expensive, is only a little mechanical fi∣nishing.

From these pleasing scenes we pursued our journey through part of the beautiful ride we have just described to Leap, along lanes close on the left, but opening to the right in various places, to the river, which assumes a mag∣nificent form. Needsore-point makes here an appearance very different from what it made when we navigated the mouth of Beau∣lieu-river* 1.1. It appears now from the higher grounds, when the tide is low, to run at least a league into the sea; flat, unadorned, and skirted with drifted sand; making a singular feature in all these views; and the more so, as every part of the ground in it's

neighbourhood is woody, bold, and promi∣nent. This peninsula, of which Needsore∣point is the termination, belongs to the manor of Beaulieu. It contains some good land; consisting chiefly of pasturage; and the whole of it is let out in a single farm.

In this remote part, it is supposed, some∣where near Exbury, the Dauphin, after his fruitless expedition to England, embarked privately on the death of king John, for France; burning the country behind him as he fled. His embarkation, from so obscure a place, shews, in a strong light, how much his hopes were humbled.

At Leap we met the sea, where the coast of the isle of Wight, as far as to Spithead on the left, makes nearly the same unpic∣turesque appearance, which it does from the other shores of the forest. It extends into length, and exhibits neither grandeur, nor variety. When it is seen, as we saw it from Mr. Mitford's, broken into parts, as it should

always be, when seen to picturesque advan∣tage* 1.2, it afforded several beautiful distances. But here, when the whole coast was displayed at once, it lost it's picturesque form.— Near Leap however we had one very beautiful coast-view. A rising copse on the left, adorned with a road winding through it, makes a good fore-ground. From thence a promontory, in the second distance, with an easy, sweeping shore, shoots into the sea; and is opposed, on the opposite side, by a point of the island, leaving a proper proportion of water to occupy the middle space.

Leap is one of the port-towns of the forest: and as it lies opposite to Cowes, it is the common place of embarkation, in these parts, to the island. It consists of about half a dozen houses: and shelters perhaps as many fishing-boats. All the coast indeed from St. Helen's to the Needles, and around the island is in peaceable times, a scene of fishing. In the whiting-season especially, fleets of twenty or thirty boats are often seen lying at anchor on the banks; or a little out at sea.

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Fowling too is practised, on this coast, as much as fishing. Numerous flocks of wild-fowl frequent it, in the winter; widgeons, geese, and ducks: and in the beginning of the season especially, as they bear a price in the country, they of course attract the notice of the fowler. As the coast between Hampshire and the isle of Wight is a peculiar species of coast, consisting, when the tide ebbs, of vast muddy flats, covered with green sea-weed, it gives the fowler an opportunity of practising arts perhaps practised no where else.

Fowling and fishing, indeed on this coast, are commonly the employments of the same person. He who in summer, with his line, or his net, plies the shores, when they are overflowed by the tide; in winter, with his gun, as evening draws on, runs up, in his boat, among the little creeks, and crannies, which the tide leaves in the mud-lands; and there lies in patient expectation of his prey.

Sea-fowl commonly feed by night, when in all their multitudes they come down to graze on the savannahs of the shore. As the sono∣rous cloud advances, (for their noise in the air resembles a pack of hounds in full cry) the attentive fowler listens, which way they bend

their course. Perhaps he has the mortification to hear them alight at too great a distance for his gun (tho of the longest barrel) to reach them. And if he cannot edge his boat a little round some winding creek, which it is not always in his power to do, he despairs of success that night.—Perhaps however he is more fortunate, and has the satisfaction to hear the airy noise approach nearer; till at length, the host settles on some plain, on the edge of which his little boat lies moored. He now, as silently as possible, primes both his pieces anew, (for he is generally double-armed) and listens with all his attention. It is so dark that he can take no aim: for if he could see the birds, they also could see him; and being shy, and timorous in a great degree, would seek some other pasture. Though they march with music, they feed in silence. Some indistinct noises however, if the night be still, issue from so large a host. He directs his piece therefore, as well as he can, towards the sound; gives his fire at a venture; and instantly catching up his other gun, gives a second discharge, where he supposes the flock to rise on the wing.—His gains for the night are now decided; and he has only to gather his harvest.

He immediately puts on his mud-pattens* 1.3, ignorant yet of his success, and goes groping about in the dark, happy if he have a little star-light, in quest of his booty, picking up perhaps a dozen, and perhaps not one.—So hardly does the poor fowler earn a few shil∣lings; exposed, in an open boat, during a solitary winter-night, to the weather as it comes, rain, hail, or snow, on a bleak coast, a league perhaps from the beach, and often in danger, without great care, of being fixed in the mud; where he would become an inevi∣table prey to the returning tide. I have heard one of these poor fellows say, he never takes a dog with him on these expeditions, because no dog could bear the cold, which he is obliged to suffer.—After all, perhaps others enjoy more from his labours, than he himself does; for it often happens, that the tide, next day, throws, on different parts of the shore, many of the birds, which he had killed, but could not find in the night.

I have heard of an unhappy fowler, whom this hazardous occupation led into a case of

still greater distress. In the day time too it happened, which shews the double danger of such expeditions in the night.—Mounted on his mud-pattens, he was traversing one of these mudland-plains in quest of ducks; and being intent only on his game, he suddenly found the waters, which had been brought forward with uncommon rapidity by some peculiar cir∣cumstance of tide, and current, had made an alarming progress around him. Incumbered as his feet were, he could not exert much expedition; but to whatever part he ran, he found himself compleatly invested by the tide. In this uncomfortable situation, a thought struck him, as the only hope of safety. He retired to that part of the plain, which seemed the highest from it's being yet uncovered by water; and striking the barrel of his gun, (which for the purpose of shooting wild-fowl was very long) deep into the mud, he resolved to hold fast by it, as a support, as well as a security against the waves; and to wait the ebbing of the tide. A common tide, he had reason to believe, would not, in that place, ••ave reached above his middle: but as this was a spring-tide, and brought in with so strong a current, he durst hardly expect so

favourable a conclusion.—In the mean time, the water making a rapid advance, had now reached him. It covered the ground, on which he stood—it rippled over his feet—it gained his knees—his waist—button after but∣ton was swallowed up—till at length it advanced over his very shoulders. With a palpitating heart, he gave himself up for lost. Still however he held fast by his anchor. His eye was eagerly in search of some boat, which might accidentally take it's course that way: but none appeared. A solitary head, floating on the water, and that sometimes covered by a wave, was no object to be descried from the shore, at the distance of half a league: nor could he exert any sounds of distress, that could be heard so far.—While he was thus making up his mind, as the exigence would allow, to the terrors of sudden destruction, his attention was called to a new object. He thought he saw the uppermost button of his coat begin to appear. No mariner, floating on a wreck, could behold a cape at sea, with greater trans∣port, than he did the uppermost button of his coat. But the fluctuation of the water was such, and the turn of the tide so slow, that it was yet some time before he durst venture to

assure himself, that the button was fairly above the level of the flood. At length however a second button appearing at intervals, his sensations may rather be conceived, than described; and his joy gave him spirits and resolution, to support his uneasy situation four or five hours longer, till the waters had fully retired.

A little beyond Leap we were interrupted by a creek, which, when the tide flows high, runs considerably into the land, and forms a large piece of water. At all times it is an extensive marsh. It's borders are edged with rushes, and sedges, which grow profusely also on various, little rough islands on it's sur∣face. Here the wild-duck, and the widgeon find many a delightful cover; amidst which they breed, and rear their young, in great abundance.

Near this part of the coast stands Lutterel's tower; built as the station of a view: but as it is intended for a habitable house like∣wise, the offices, which it could not contain,

are constructed of canvas around it. It is finished in the highest stile of expence; and if it were not for the oddness, and singu∣larity of the conception, and contrivance, it is not intirely destitute of some kind of taste. But the building is so whimsical, and the end so inadequate to the expence, that we considered it, on the whole, as a glaring contrast to those pleasing scenes, we had just examined at Exbury; in which true taste had furnished us with a delightful en∣tertainment at a trifling expence* 1.4.

The view, which this tower commands over the circumjacent country, is very exten∣sive; but it's sea-view is most admired, stretching from the bay of Southampton to Portsmouth—form thence to St. Helen's— and on the other side, all along the range of the isle of Wight, and beyond the Needles to the ocean. The whole together forms the appearance of a magnificent bay; of which Spithead, and St. Helen's, (where there is commonly a fleet at anchor) make the central part.

But this view, like the other extensive views we have seen, is by no means picturesque. It might have been supposed, that the isle of Wight (on surveying it's appearance in a map) would have made such an angle at Cowes-point, which is nearly opposite to this tower, as would have thrown the eastern part of the island into better perspective, than the western assumes from any part of the Hampshire coast. And so indeed in some degree it does. But the eye is at too great a distance to get much advantage from this circumstance. If the spectator were carried nearer Cowes, the coast towards St. Helen's might then fall away in good perspective. But at this distance all is sea; the coast is a mere thread; and the whole view together is without proportion.

And yet it is not merely the disproportion between land and water, which disqualifies a view of this kind in a picturesque light. A picturesque view may consist intirely of water.—Nor is it distance, which disqua∣lifies it. The most remote distances are happily introduced on canvas. But what chiefly disqualifies it, is the want of fore-ground to balance this vast expanse of distance.

Unless distances and fore-grounds are in some degree, balanced, no composition can be good. Fore-grounds are essential to landscape: distances are not.

A picturesque view, as was observed, may consist chiefly, indeed intirely, of water: but then, it is supposed, that, as there cannot be a natural fore-ground, an artificial one must be obtained—a group of ships—a few boats with figures—a light-house—or some∣thing, that will make a balance between near and distant objects. Such were the sea-pieces of Vandervelt; in which vessels of some kind were always introduced to make an artificial fore-ground. We sometimes indeed meet with amusing views, such as that celebrated one at Hack-fall in Yorkshire* 1.5, where there is a gradual proportion among the different parts of the retiring landscape: we can scarce dis∣tinguish where the fore-grounds end, and where the distance begins: yet still there are objects nearer the eye, which, in a degree set off the retiring parts, tho they may not be fully proportioned to them. But the most

advanced parts of water cannot form a fore-ground, if I may so speak. It wants, on it's nearest parts, that variety of objects, which receiving strong impressions of light, and shade, are necessary to give it consequence, and strength. It turns all into distance. Such is the view before us over the channel, and along the shores of the isle of Wight. To the imagination it is the simple idea of gran∣deur: to the eye, a mere exhibition of dis∣tance.

Besides, there is not only a want of natural proportion and balance between the fore-ground, and the offskip; but a fore-ground here could not even artificially be obtained, because of the loftiness of the point. Take the same view from a lower stand; from the level of the sea for instance, or a little higher, where you may station a group of ships, the masts and sails of which rise above the horizon; and by thus giving the view a proper, and proportioned fore-ground, you may turn it into one of Vandervelt's com∣positions, and give it picturesque beauty.

But tho the view before us is not pic∣turesque; it is certainly, as we observed of

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those other views over the island* 1.6, in a great degree, amusing. The whole area, constantly overspread with vessels of various kinds, is a perpetual moving scene: while the naked eye discovers, in the distance, a thousand objects; and through a telescope a thousand more. Tho the telescopic pleasures of the eye are very little allied to the pleasures of the painter, they still assist the amusement.— The cliff, on which this tower stands, is about forty or fifty feet high; and is formed into a terrace, which runs a considerable way along the beach.

About a mile from this whimsical building stands Calshot-castle; situated like the castle of Hurst† 1.7, on a tongue of land shooting into the sea. Calshot is another of those ancient coast-castles, which Henry VIII built, out of the spoils of the abbeys. It was origi∣nally intended as a safeguard to the bay of Southampton.—The views here are of the same nature as those at Lutterel's tower.

They have a less extensive range to the west; but this is compensated by a full view up Southampton-bay. And they are the more picturesque, as the point of view is lower.

Near the village of Fawley, which is among the largest villages of the coast, stands Cadland, the seat of Mr. Drummond; an edifice of a very different kind from that we had just been surveying. Tho quite plain, it is one of the most elegant, and seems to be one of the most comfortable houses, in the country.

It stands on a gentle eminence on the banks of Southampton-bay, with a great variety of ground playing beautifully around it; which is every where adorned, and in some places profusely covered, with ancient wood. The whole country indeed was so well wooded, that no addition of wood was any where ne∣cessary; in many parts it was redundant. This abundance of old timber gives the house, tho lately built, so much the air and dignity of an ancient mansion, that Mr. Brown, the ingenious improver of it, used to say, "It

was the oldest new place he knew in England." The clumps particularly he has managed with great judgment. We observed some combi∣nations of ash, and other trees, which were equal to any clumps we had ever seen. They adorned the natural scene, and were just such as the picturesque eye would wish to introduce in artificial landscape. We regretted, that the great storm in february 1781 had blown down nineteen of these ornamental trees. There seemed however no deficiency; tho I doubt not, if we had known the situation of those which had fallen, we should have found they filled their station with great propriety. The park includes a circuit of about five miles.

Besides the beauty of the grounds themselves around the house; they command all the pleasing distances in their neighbourhoood— Southampton-bay—Netly-abbey—Calshot-cas∣tle—Spithead—the channel—the isle of Wight —St. Helen's—Cowes, and all the other con∣spicuous parts of the island: and as many of these views are seen with the advantage of grand, woody fore-grounds, they have often an admirable effect.

The only thing that appeared affected about this elegant mansion, is the parade, which accompanies some of the appendant buildings. At the small distance of halt a quarter of a mile from the house, stands a most splendid farm. The stables, the cow-sheds, the pi∣geon-house, the graneries, the barns, are all superb. In another direction the same honour, tho in an inferior degree, is paid to poultry. This is too much, and tends only to lessen the dignity of the principal mansion.

As the horse is so nearly connected with his master, and contributes so much to his state, and convenience, we allow so noble an associate to lodge under a roof proportioned to his master's magnificence. As he is expec∣ted also to be ready at a call, and may properly be the object of attention to persons of any rank, we allow his magnificent lodging to stand near the mansion, to which it appertains. At the same time, if the stables be expensive, they should contribute to the magnificence of the whole, by making one of the wings, or some other proper appendage, of the pile.

But for the cow-sheds, and pig-sties, they have no title to such notice. Let them be convenient, and neat; but let them be simple,

and unadorned. Let them stand in some se∣questered place; where they may not presume to vie with the mansion they depend on; but keep a respectful distance. Herds of cattle are beautiful, in a high degree, in their proper place, among lawns and woods; but pent up, as they are obliged to be in yards, amidst filth and litter, they are no objects of beauty. Neither should their habitations be considered as such. Ornaments here serve only to call the attention to a nuisance.

From Cadland we proceeded to Hethe through a variety of such beautiful country, that we almost thought the house we had just seen, might have been better stationed else∣where. In a variety of pleasing situations it is difficult to select the best. Something or other may excel in each; and the eye, divided in it's choice, is unwilling to lose any thing. As we cannot however possess every beauty, and every convenience at once, we must forego that idea; and endeavour to make such a selection, as will include the most; tho per∣haps some striking beauty, which we observe in other situations, is lost. This probably

is the case of the elegant mansion we have been surveying. No situation perhaps, on the whole, could have excelled it.

The pleasing landscape we met with between Cadland and Hethe, was of a similar kind to what we had already admired—great pro∣fusion of full-grown oak, adorning great variety of playing ground. But what parti∣cularly recommended these scenes, were several dips, running down to Southampton-bay; wooded on each side, with a rich country beyond the water. They were of the same kind, with those we admired between Christ-church, and Lymington* 1.8; but much richer, and more beautiful. Two of the most striking of these scenes, were from Stobland-common, and near Butt's-ash-farm.

At Hethe, the whole bay of Southampton opened in one view before us; but the scene it offers, is far from being picturesque. The opposite shore is long, and tedious; and the lines of the bay run parallel: for tho in fact

there are two or three bold openings in it, formed by the mouths of rivers; yet, in the distance, which is about a league, they are totally lost.

Hethe is the ferry-port to Southampton; which lies higher up in a diagonal across the bay, and upon a neck of land, which shoots into it. The flowing tide therefore carries the boat quickly to Southampton; and the ebbing tide returns it as expeditiously to Hethe.

From Hethe to Dibden, the country, if pos∣sible, improves in beauty. The many inequa∣lities of the ground—the profusion of stately trees—the sheltered inclosures, appearing every where, like beautiful little wooded lawns—the catches, here and there, of the bay—and above all, the broad green, winding lanes, adorned with clumps standing out in various parts— exhibit a wonderful variety of pleasing land∣scape. I touch general features only; for as these woodland scenes are no where strongly marked, it is impossible to give any particular detail of them by verbal description. One may say of them, as we sometimes say of a

well-written history, which runs into a variety of incidents, interesting indeed, but not replete with any important events; that no just idea of the contents of it, can be given, without referring to the book itself.

From Dibden, we continued our rout northward, till we entered a beautiful forest lawn. We had found many of these scenes in different parts, each of which had some∣thing peculiar to itself* 1.9. This too had it's peculiar character. It was about two miles in diameter. To the eye it's limits appeared circular; and it's form descending gently to a wide centre, had some resemblance to that of a dish. Yet it was far from a regular scene. It's great beauty consisted chiefly in it's noble skreens of forest-wood; which growing every where around it with great irregularity, broke out into the skirts of the area, not in clumps, which in so large a scene would have had little effect, but in corners of woods, adding variety to it's limits; yet without incroaching

[figure]

[figure]

on the simplicity, and grandeur of the general idea. The name of this beautiful, and extensive forest-scene is Hound's-down; so named probably from the fair advantage it gives the hound in pursuit. If he can drive his chase, from the thickets into this open plain, it is probable he will there secure him.

Through the middle of this wide down the Lyndhurst road passes to Southampton. The entrance into it, on the Lyndhurst side, is beautiful; particularly between the ninth and tenth stones, where the ground is finely diversified with those woody promontories just mentioned. As we approach the top of the hill towards Southampton, the beauty of the scene is gone: the extremity is a naked, barren boundary. One advantage however we obtain from it, which is a distance; in forest-scenery the more valuable, as the more uncommon. Distances are, at all times, an agreeable part of landscape, and unite with every mode of composition. Here it is intro∣duced at first in it's simplest mode. A plain fore-ground, without any ornament, is joined to a removed distance, without the intervention of any middle ground. In a composition of this simple kind it is necessary to break the lines

of the foreground; which may easily be done by a tree, or a group of cattle.—As we rise to the verge of the eminence, the view inlarges itself. The grounds immediately be∣low the eye, are overspread with wood, and become a second distance; beyond which extends a remote one. Under a proper light this landscape is calculated to produce a good effect. The parts are large; and if one vast shadow overspread the woods on the nearer grounds, an inlightened distance would form a fine contrast.

Hound's-down is one of the best pasture-grounds in the forest, at least in patches; and is of course frequented with cattle, which are a great addition to it's beauty. We rarely pass it in a summer-evening without seeing herds of deer grazing in different parts; or forest-mares with their colts.

One thing indeed disfigures it; and that is the strait course of the road, which bisects it. The vista, which leads through the forest from Brokenhurst to Lyndhurst, we observed* 1.10, was both great in itself, and accompanied with infinite variety; and therefore it became both

a grand, and a beautiful object: but a simple strait road, like this, over a plain, has a dif∣ferent effect. Tho in fact, it is grander than a winding road, as being more simple, and con∣sisting of fewer parts; yet as it is at best only a paltry object, and has not grandeur sufficient to rouse the imagination† 1.11, it is, on the whole, much less pleasing, than a road playing before us in two or three large sweeps, which would at least have had variety to recommend it; and might easily have been contrived, without lengthening the journey across it, on a trotting horse, above two minutes.—But in matters of this kind, in which surveyors of high-roads are concerned, we expect beauty only by chance; and when we obtain it, it is so much gain.

In our way to Hounds-down we rode past a celebrated spot, called the Deer-leap. Here a stag was once shot; which in the agony of death, collecting his force, gave a bound, which astonished those who saw it. It was immediately commemorated by two posts, which were fixed at the two extremities of

the leap, where they still remain. The space between them is somewhat more than eighteen yards.

About half a mile on the right, as we leave Hounds-down, stands Iron's-hill lodge. It occupies a knoll in the middle of a kind of natural, irregular vista. In front the ground continues rising gently about two miles to Lyndhurst. The back-front overlooks a wild, woody scene, into which the vista impercep∣tibly blends.

From Hound's-down we returned to Beau∣lieu, along the western side of that extensive heath, which, as I observed* 1.12, occupies the middle district between the river of Beaulieu, and the bay of Southampton. In this part it consists of great variety of ground, and is adorned with little patches of wood scattered about it; and as it is, in general, the highest ground in it's neighbourhood, it is not, like

most of the heaths we have seen, terminated by a woody skreen, but by distances; which being commonly forest-scenes, are picturesque, tho not extensive. Among these were some woody bottoms, on the right, which were pleasing.

Notes

• * 1.1

  See page 160.
• * 1.2

  See page 132.
• * 1.3

  Mud-pattens are flat pieces of board, which the fowler ties to his feet, that he may not sink in the mud.
• * 1.4

  See page 186.
• * 1.5

  See Observations on the lakes, and mountains of Cumber∣land, vol. II. p. 191.
• * 1.6

  See p. 132.
• † 1.7

  See p. 89.
• * 1.8

  See page 85.
• * 1.9

  See p. 147.
• * 1.10

  See page 65.
• † 1.11

  See this idea illustrated page 122.
• * 1.12

  See page 178.