and Lady Chydroke (d. 1455), removed from the
nave, and in the Lady Chapel lie its founders, Sir Thomas and Lady
West. Of the modern restorations and additions I have nothing to say,
and more especially of the monument to Shelley; a parody of a Pieta
merely blasphemous, beneath the tower.

Now when I had seen all this, to say nothing of the old school-room
over the Lady Chapel and the Norman house and castle mound of the De
Redvers, somewhat sorrowful for many things, I began to think again of
the Forest, and immediately set out where the road led to Lyndhurst,
and this just before midday.

CHAPTER XIX

THE NEW FOREST AND ROMSEY ABBEY

All day I went through the Forest, sometimes by green rides, enchanted
still, such as those down which Lancelot rode with Guinevere, talking
of love, sometimes over heaths wild and desolate such as that which
knew the bitterness of Lear, sometimes through the greenwood, ancient
British woodland, silent now, where the hart was once at home in the
shade, and where at every turn one might expect to come upon Rosalind
in her boy's dress, and think to hear from some glade the words of
Amiens' song:

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat;
Come hither, come hither, come hither....

There are days in life of which it can only be said, that they are
blessed; golden days, upon which, looking back, the sun seems to shine;
they dazzle in the memory. Such was the day I spent in the byways of
Holmsley and Burley, in the upper valleys of Avon water, Ober water and
Black water, forest streams; in the silent woods, where all day long
the sun showered its gold, sprinkling the deep shade with flowers and
blossoms of light, where there was no wind but only the sighing of the
woods, no sound but the whisper of the leaves or the rare flutter of a
bird's wings, no thoughts but joyful thoughts filling the heart with
innocence.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets;
Come hither, come hither, come hither....

At evening I came to Lyndhurst.

Lyndhurst is the capital of the Forest; as its name implies it was
established in a wood of limes, a tree said to have been introduced
into England only in the sixteenth century. It is already spoken of in
the tenth century Anglo-