himself escaped to France, but did not long survive this catastrophe.

King John, having seized the estates of his unfortunate victim, gave this castle and manor to his second son, Richard, Earl of Cornwall; but shortly before his death he restored part of these possessions to Reginald, son of the former owner, who, on the accession of Henry III., procured of that prince the restitution of the whole. The last of the family of Braose who held this castle, having married his daughter to John, son and heir of Roger de Mowbray, made a special settlement of the honour and estate upon them and their heirs. Mowbray forfeited both, together with his life, by joining the Earl of Lancaster, and other nobles, against the Despensers, the favourites of Edward II.; but his possessions were restored by Edward III. to his son, who attended that monarch in two expeditions to France. When the French threatened in their turn to invade the English coasts, he was directed to remain in this castle, whence he might sally forth and annoy the enemy. In this family it remained till the reign of Henry VII., when, on the death of John de Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, who fell at the battle of Bosworth, his estates escheated to the Crown; and this castle and manor, with several other lordships in the county, were conferred on Thomas, Lord de la War.'

There is a romantic legend attached to two monuments in the chancel of Bramber Church; one was

that of a lady, the other of a knight, with a crescent on his helmet. Eustace de Braose, affianced to Alice de Bouverie, and a crusader, while in the Holy Land, become enamoured of Zulma, a beautiful Syrian girl. In the Battle of Ascalon he slew her brother Azim, the most redoubtable warrior of Saladin's army, and her love was turned into bitter revenge. Dissembling her anger, she swore him to observe her commands, and to return to claim his English bride. Loth and sorrowful he came back to Bramber, and espoused that lady; but on his wedding night Zulma stood before them, and commanded him to die, giving him a poisoned dagger. Wild shrieks rang through the castle, the hall was emptied of the wassailers, and the bower women who flew to the chamber of Alice found her a maniac gazing with wild eyes on two lifeless forms that lay upon the floor, the false Eustace and his unhappy Zulma.

If the visitor have time while at Steyning and Bramber, I should recommend him to pay a visit to the College of St. Nicholas at Lancing, a handsome new Gothic building, from which he will get a fine view of the whole valley of the Adur, with both the Shorehams at his feet; and to Wiston House, the seat of the Gorings, celebrated for its great hall, which is 40 feet in height, length, and breadth, and is surmounted by a handsome ceiling of the Caroline era. It is a fine old English gentleman's mansion, situated

on the edge of the downs. It was built by Sir Thomas Shirley, one of three brothers who went as wanderers to the East, and whose adventures formed the plot of a play which was acted on the stage in its day. One of the brothers married a relative of the Shah of Persia.

The evenings are closing in fast, or else we would recommend our tourist friend, in his way home to Brighton, to call in upon the peaceful-shall I say parsonage or hermitage?—of the Rev. Charles Townsend, at Kingston-on-the-Sea, close to the mouth of Shoreham Harbour. I can only say that if he is fortunate enough to come to his wicket-gate provided with the 'open sesame' of an introduction, he will see one of the most charming cottage residences in England, and make the acquaintance of an elderly clergyman, one quite of the old school, at once a poet, a scholar, and a divine; the quondam friend of Samuel Rogers, and Wordsworth, and Wm. Stuart Rose, with whom he lived on terms of intimacy, and about whom he is full of pleasant and cheerful anecdote, though he has long since passed his threescore years and ten. You will find the old man reading Virgil in his summer house; or indoors with his pocket Horace and Cowley, and Herrick open on the table before him; and we should be much surprised if you were to escape from those hospitable Lares without tasting a glass of old

Falernian or Cæcuban wine, and some delicious garden fruit, which, instead of being grown in that little classic Hortus of the 'Senex Corycius' of Kingston, might for taste and smell have come from the gardens of the Hesperides.

'Alas! since the above paper was written Charles Townsend has passed away, and there is one scholar and one poet less in the world. -R. I. P.

234

A SUMMER DAY AT BEAULIEU.

It was a lovely afternoon towards the end of summer when, after a hot and dusty walk of some four miles, across a breezy heath, from Hythe, on the west side of the Southampton river, I found myself descending the well-shaded hill at the foot of which lie the ruins of Beaulieu Abbey, and the village to which the abbey gave, and still gives, its name. And well does it deserve the name of Beaulieu-‘Bellus locus,'1 the beautiful place: for though I have walked over many English counties, and visited with open and curious eyes as many English villages as most people, I never looked upon a fairer English scene. To my left and before me lay a noble sheet of water, which on inquiry turned out to be part of a tidal tributary of the Solent, the river Exe, though it looked like a lake or landlocked harbour, and forcibly recalled to my

1 There was another monastery called Beaulieu, or de Bello Loco, at Millbrook, near Ampthill, in Bedfordshire. It was a cell subordinate to the Abbey of St. Alban's. A description of it will be found in Dugdale's Monasticon, vol. iii.