.

[Illustration: _The Windmills at Outwood._]

Horne is pretty near the centre of the country of the Burstow foxhounds,
which stretches from Leigh, the other side of Horley, to Edenbridge in
Kent. Two good stories are told of White, the Burstow huntsman. One is
of an extraordinary jump, singular not for its height or the width of
ground covered, but for its daring and adroitness. It was on one of
the best days the Burstow ever had, when they killed a fox at Crawley
after an hour and ten minutes' run almost without a check; and went on
to find another fox near New Chapel Green, which hounds ate in Kent at
half-past five, nobody knows quite where, so bad was the light. Nearly
at the end of the second run White found himself on the edge of a
narrow, deep ghyll, with a stream at the bottom, crossed by an overgrown
footpath which went down to the stream and up again by flights of stone
steps opposite each other. Riding down two or three of the steps, he
took a standing jump over the stream and landed on the top steps the
other side. On another occasion his daring was of a different kind; he
did not know where he was riding. Hounds had crossed the golf links on
Earlswood Common, and White, close behind them, was riding straight for
one of the greens. A member of the hunt shouted to warn him, but White,
who had not the slightest notion what was meant, galloped straight over
the green, turning round to point at the hole and shout to the hunt,
"Ware hole! ware hole!"

Burstow itself, hidden among pines, has named the hounds, but has not a
large part in Surrey history. One of its rectors, the Rev. J. Flamsteed,
who is buried in the church, was the first Astronomer Royal. Charles II
made him that, when he was twenty-nine; nine years later he took orders,
and went on astronomising till his death. Newton helped him and
quarrelled with him over the publication of his observations; but it was
something, even in the days of Charles II, to be made Astronomer Royal
when Newton was alive.

Three miles on the other side of Horley lies Charlwood, once a wholly
restful little village, but of late years stiffened and discoloured by
the building contractor. The centre street of the village, near the
church, is quaintly arched by a pair of elm trees, cropped and pollarded
to meet overhead. Elms are not often selected for experiments in
topiary. But Charlwood has more than one feature peculiar to itself, or
at all events to the district. Th