IN THE SUSSEX DUKERIES 17 



appeared to me as I doddled along thinking of 

 Lord Carnarvon's great house near Bingham, up 

 Nottingham way, with its window for each of the 

 365 days in the year. I hope that he does not 

 find it so, but I can well imagine the lord of the 

 place seeing cause for a fresh incidental worry, 

 disappointment, or vexation out of every window, 

 while the man who contributes ''nix" to upkeep 

 has no reckoning of such drawbacks in his con- 

 stitution. 



From Whiteways Lodge towards Slindon the 

 high road runs through quite as park-like a 

 country as you might name. Curiously enough, 

 I came straight from the box, elder, and yew, and 

 enclosed down park of Norbury, hard by Mickle- 

 ham, where continually crop up groves that make 

 you expect Claude Lorraine or Poussin to be 

 about sketching, or at any rate successors in 

 their specialities. For, say, a couple of miles 

 this highway runs through a ribbon of this sort 

 of country, carrying more yews and finer than I 

 have seen elsewhere. Peeps of farms show you 

 Caldecott rufous-toned brick, old-fashioned home- 

 steads, peaceful havens, no more in the world as 

 regards noise and racket than they were a 

 hundred years ago. Smoke is a thing not to be 

 dreamed of. Mist is mist, not fog, and the high 

 woods ward off the tearing gales which a mile or 

 two south cut up vegetation as though sliced with 

 a knife. Pretty good to go on with, says I, and 

 better still was Goodwood when I arrived, taking 

 on the way some of the grandest Spanish chest- 

 nut trees in the land. Cowdray Park, at Midhurst, 

 where, on the occasion of a fire a long while ago, 

 the country-side braved danger to save Lord 

 Egmont's furniture and pictures, and saved them 



B 



