beauty now, with its moss-grown stones, its ferns and
greenery; and we would fain linger awhile to think on all the Norman
invasion brought, all its woes and its brightnesses; but the guide is
inexorable: we must pass on with the flock of tourists to view the only
considerable remain, the Early English hall, generally known as the
Refectory. The walls of this stand roofless to the sky, with a lawn in
place of a floor. Below there are three fine vaulted chambers--one,
the Scriptorium, with a good geometrical window and a vaulted roof
supported by graceful pillars.

But after all we come away with no very clear idea of the place; and
perhaps it is as well. Instead, we have a vague, an impressionist
picture of flowers and ruins, grey stones mantled with gorgeous
blossoms; and over all a brooding serenity.

The pedestrian's route, by which we may either come to Battle or
return, passes through Hollington and Crowhurst. At the latter place
is one of the most famous yews in the country; at the former is the
notorious "Church in the Wood". Just why this little church should
ever have attained to its present eminence as a goal of pilgrimage we
fail utterly to comprehend. There is nothing remarkable about the
edifice itself, either in the way of structure or ornaments; the
graveyard is too crowded with the hideous monuments of parvenu
strangers to be interesting; the approach is little more than
commonplace. Yet for all that, thousands come and go through the
summer months, and on fine Sundays the little sanctuary is packed to
the door, doubtless to the entire satisfaction of the clergy. Charles
Lamb discovered the place many years ago, when the surroundings were
rather more favourable; and we should certainly give thanks, for the
visit gave rise to an inimitable passage: "It is a very Protestant
Loretto, and seems dropt by some angel for the use of the hermit, who
was at once parishioner and a whole parish.... It is built to the text
of 'two or three are assembled in my name'. It reminds me of the grain
of mustard seed. If the glebe land is proportionate, it may yield two
potatoes. Tithes out of it could be no more split than a hair. Its
first fruits must be its last, for 'twould never produce a couple. It
is truly the strait and narrow way, and few there be--of London
visitants--that find it.... It is secure from earthquakes, not more
from sanctity than size, for 'twould feel a mountain thrown upon it no
more