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other literature a county guide-book, and glancing over it to see if we might ascertain any particulars relating to Hawkhurst, we found that charming spot thus briefly dismissed: Hawkhurst, one of the most attractive parishes of the county, contains many gentlemen's residences. There are two fine churches here one old, the other a modern building of great beauty. At Hawkhurst is an excellent inn.' I quote this as a fair sample of guide-book writing when describing picturesque spots that have not become famous. It will be noted that the two churches are mentioned: the ancient one, replete with interest, is passed over in just two words, the new one comes in for all the praise; and, above all (like the postscript to a lady's letter), we learn of the excellence of the inn. To the writer this seems to be the most important matter of all; and perhaps to the average healthy Briton it is, for does he not first think of providing for the inner man, and secondly of the scenery? I well remember, once upon a time, as the fairy stories have it, overhearing a discussion between two worthy Englishmen as to where they should go for the day. Two places were named, one possessing great scenic attractions, the other far less interesting, but having near to a renowned hotel; and they both agreed to go to the spot where they could get a good dinner-most naturally.

Lamberhurst, like Hawkhurst and other villages around, was in former times the seat of important ironworks. It was at a furnace a mile from here that the old railings round St. Paul's Cathedral were

The village is built partly in Kent and partly in Sussex, on either banks of the little river Teise, that here divides the two counties-a river of whose existence we were not even before aware. In like manner, the Cuckmere and others we had come across during our outing were previously unknown to us. A driving tour is an excellent way of becoming better acquainted with the geography of one's own country.

The main road from London to Hastings passes through Lamberhurst, and so doubtless in the days of highway travel our inn was a busy and prosperous one; and though, like many other such, it appears no longer busy, its prosperity has not altogether departed with the mail coaches.

Rambling about the place, we noticed a sort of skeleton windmill raised high above some outbuildings. Prompted by curiosity to learn its use, we made our way to it. We found that the structure stood over the workshops of a carpenter and wheelwright. Coming upon the owner of this, we got into conversation with him. He informed us that his father had planned and erected the windmill, and said that he found it most useful to saw his timber and turn his lathes, doing this and other work at the small cost of a little attention and occasional oiling. I think in this country we hardly utilise wind power as much as we might; it is a little uncertain, truly, though not so much so as imagined if the situation be open, and it is the most economical of all power. In the Western States of America, and especially in California, I have noticed how much

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windmills are employed for various purposes, and particularly at the different railroad stations (depots our Transatlantic cousins call them) to pump up a supply of water for the locomotives. Then the owner of the little windmill that had attracted us kindly asked us into his pleasant workshops, to show us how handy it was. Pleasant workshops I have said, for from their windows we could see green trees and patches of the far-away country. How different the prospect from the glimpse of blackened bricks and smoky chimneys of a town factory! 'Of course,' he said, 'we take advantage of the good weather to work the windmill' (for 'good,' breezy must be understood), and we arrange to do other jobs when the wind fails us. Of late years the trees around have grown very much, and in the summertime when they are in leaf they cut off a good deal of our wind supply. If ever you build a windmill, sir, be sure there are no young trees growing up near.' And we said that we would be careful to remember his advice, should we by any chance build a windmill.

A Chartless Cruise-A Railless Land- A Hilly Country-Kentish Roads Goudhurst-An Elevated Village-Rural SuperstitionsHaunted Houses-Old-fashioned Words-An Inviting HostelrieA Chat in the Bar-room of 'mine Inn'-The finest Westeria in England-An old Timbered Farmhouse-Hawkhurst PlaceScenery hard to beat'-Sandhurst-A Wooden Village-Rolvenden Towns far from Railways-A Restored and Plastered Church-Curious ancient Alms-box-Tenterden and its famous Steeple The charm of our Rural Towns-How others see usDeserted England!

ABOUT Lamberhurst the country is exceedingly beautiful and the scenery charmingly diversified. Hill and river, forest and tilled lands are in a delightful manner combined, though the wild predominates. We determined that for once we would put our maps and road-books safely away in the boot, and take just those roads that best pleased us, regardless to where they might lead, and thus we set out to explore the hilly country around-a new world to us. So, in a delightful state of expectancy and uncertainty of all that was before, with a mild though real sort of a Columbus spirit, we left our

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comfortable quarters at Lamberhurst, and once more resumed our road rovings.

A magnificent drive we had that day, through a very hilly country-a country as innocent of railways as though a certain George Stephenson had never been born. A most interesting and little traversed portion of Kent this, one that well repays exploring, abounding, as it does, in wide views, in charming old-world red-tiled villages, hidden away amidst wooded hollows or standing boldly on the top of wind-blown uplands; in ancient churches, richly possessed of curious brasses and ancestral altar-tombs to brave men of a bygone age; in moated farmhouses, recalling the stormy days wherein they lived-pictures in architecture these, delightful both to artist and antiquary; and in many a snug hostelrie that our forefathers knew so well how to build and take their ease at-a land of good things.

A bit of real old England, much as it was long years ago, in passing through which we felt it difficult to realise that we were actually in the busy steam-driven nineteenth century, so peaceful and happily unprogressive it seemed it was as though, by some magic, the hand of Time had been turned backward, or that we had reversed Rip Van Winkle's dream, and had been suddenly transported into the seventeenth century. In these days of cheap travel and rapid transit, when railways penetrate almost everywhere, it is a blessing to find some portion of our land that has successfully

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