Water in a few Years past. This Danger is so imminent, that they have been obliged to get Briefs to beg Money all over England, to raise Banks against the Water; the Expence of which, the Brief expresly says, will be Eight Thousand Pounds; which, if one were to look on the Town, would seem to be more than all the Houses in it are worth.

From hence, still keeping the Coast close on the Left, we come to Shoreham, a Sea-faring Town, and chiefly inhabited by Ship-Carpenters, ShipChandlers, and all the several Trades depending upon the Building and Fitting up of Ships, which is their chief Business. They are indeed justly noted for Building neat and good Sea-Boats, and good Sailers; but for Strength and Duration, they do not come up to Yarmouth, Ipswich, and the North.

The Builders of Ships seemed to plant here chiefly because of the exceeding Quantity and Cheapness of Timber in the Country behind them ; being the same wooded Country I mentioned above, which still continues thro' this County and the next: The River this stands upon, tho' not navigable for large Vessels, yet serves them to bring down this large Timber in Floats from Bramber, Stenning, and the Country adjacent; which is, as it were, all covered with Timber.

ARUNDEL

DANIEL DEFOE: Tour of Great Britain

FROM hence we come to Arundel, a decay'd Town also; but stands near the Mouth of a good

River, call'd Arun, which signifies, says Mr. Camden, the swift, tho' the River itself is not such a rapid Current as merits that Name; at least it did not seem to be so to me.

The principal Advantage to the Country from this River, is the Shipping off great Quantities of large Timber here; which is carry'd up the Thames to Woolwich and Deptford, and up the Medway to Chatham; as also Westward to Portsmouth, and even to Plymouth, to the new Dock there, and indeed to all the King's Yards, where the Business of the Navy is carry'd on: The Timber shipped off here is esteemed the best and largest that is brought by Sea from any Part of England; also great Quantities of Knee Timber are had here, the largest of which is valuable in its kind above the strait Timber, being equally necessary and scarce.

This River, and the old decay'd, once famous Castle at Arundel, [which has the Privilege to give to its Possessor, the Title of an Earl and Peer of the Realm, without Creation, and] which belongs to the noble Family of Howard, Earls of Arundel, and Dukes of Norfolk, is all that is remarkable here; except it be, that in this River are catch'd the best Mullets, and the largest in England, a Fish very good in itself, and much valued by the Gentry round, and often sent up to London. [Arundel, as I said, affords Title of Earl to the Duke of Norfolk and returns two Members to Parliament.]

From hence to the City of Chichester are Twelve Miles, and the most pleasant and beautiful Country in England, whether we go by the Hill, or, as it is called, the Downs, or by the Plain, or inclosed Country.

A LOVER OF ENGLAND

BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

(1811-1863)

ALMOST the last words which Sir Walter spoke to Lockhart, his biographer, were, "Be a good man, my dear!" and with the last flicker of breath on his dying lips, he sighed a farewell to his family, and passed away blessing them.

Two men, famous, admired, beloved, have just left us, the Goldsmith and the Gibbon of our time.1 One was the first Ambassador whom the New World of Letters sent to the Old. He was born almost with the republic; the pater patriæ had laid his hand on the child's head. He bore Washington's name; he came amongst us bringing the kindest sympathy, the most artless smiling good-will. His new country (which some people here might be disposed to regard rather superciliously) could send us, as he showed in his own person, a gentleman, who, though himself born in no very high sphere, was most finished, polished, easy, witty, quiet; and, socially, the equal of the most refined Europeans. If Irving's welcome in England was a kind one, was it not also gratefully remembered? If he ate our salt, did he not pay

1 Washington Irving, died November 28, 1859; Lord Macaulay, died December 28, 1859.

us with a thankful heart? Who can calculate the amount of friendliness and good feeling for our country which this writer's generous and untiring regard for us disseminated in his own? His books are read by millions of his countrymen, whom he has taught to love England, and why to love her. It would have been easy to speak otherwise than he did to inflame national rancours, which, at the time when he first became known as a public writer, war had just renewed: to cry down the old civilisation at the expense of the new: to point out our faults, arrogance, shortcomings, and give the republic to infer how much she was the parent state's superior. There are writers enough in the United States, honest and otherwise, who preach that kind of doctrine. But the good Irving, the peaceful, the friendly, had no place for bitterness in his heart, and no scheme but kindness. Received in England with extraordinary tenderness and friendship (Scott, Southey, Byron, a hundred others have borne witness to their liking for him), he was a messenger of goodwill and peace between his country and ours. "See, friends!" he seems to say, "these English are not so wicked, rapacious, callous, proud, as you have been taught to believe them. I went amongst them a humble man; won my way by my pen; and, when known, found every hand held out to me with kindliness and welcome. Scott is a great man, you acknowledge. Did not Scott's King of England give a gold medal to him, and another to me, your countryman, and a stranger?"

W. H. HUDSON: Dead Man's Plack & an Old Thorn

THE little village of Ingden lies in a hollow of the South Wiltshire Downs, the most isolated of the villages in that lonely district. Its one short street is crossed at right angles in the middle part by the Salisbury road, and standing just at that point, the church on one hand, the old inn on the other, you can follow it with the eye for a distance of nearly three miles. First it goes winding up the low down under which the village stands, then vanishes over the brow to reappear again a mile and a half further away as a white band on the vast green slope of the succeeding down, which rises to a height of over 600 feet. On the summit it vanishes once more, but those who use it know it for a laborious road crossing several high ridges before dropping down into the valley road leading to Salisbury.

When, standing in the village street, your eye travels up that white band, you can distinctly make out even at that distance a small, solitary tree standing near the summit-an old thorn with an ivy growing on it. My walks were often that way, and invariably on coming to that point I would turn twenty yards aside from the road to spend half an hour seated on the turf near or under the