the direction of Leigh after leaving Sidney to branch off
towards Charket, "and I do not know why he is not a Catholic. And he is a
critic and a poet, men say, too."

"Have you read anything of his?" asked Anthony.

"Well," said the other, "to tell the truth, I have tried to read some
sheets of his that he wrote for his sister, Lady Pembroke. He calls it
'Arcadia'; I do not know whether it is finished or ever will be. But it
seemed to me wondrous dull. It was full of shepherds and swains and
nymphs, who are perpetually eating collations which Phoebus or sunburnt
Autumn, and the like, provides of his bounty; or any one but God
Almighty; or else they are bathing and surprising one another all day
long. It is all very sweet and exquisite, I know; and the Greece, where
they all live and love one another, must be a very delightful country, as
unlike this world as it is possible to imagine; but it wearies me. I like
plain England and plain folk and plain religion and plain fare; but then
I am a plain man, as I tell you so often."

As the afternoon sun drew near setting, they came through Tonbridge.

"Now, what can a man ask more," said Mr. Buxton, as they rode through it,
"than a good town like this? It is not a great place, I know, with solemn
buildings and wide streets; neither is it a glade or a dell; but it is a
good clean English town; and I would not exchange it for Arcadia or
Athens either."

Stanfield lay about two miles to the west; and on their way out, Mr.
Buxton talked on about the country and its joys and its usefulness.

"Over there," he said, pointing towards Eridge, "was the first cannon
made in England. I do not know if that is altogether to its credit, but
it at least shows that we are not quite idle and loutish in the country.
Then all about here is the iron; the very stirrups you ride in, Mr.
Norris, most likely came from the ground beneath your feet; but it is sad
to see all the woods cut down for the smelting of it. All these places
for miles about here, and about Great Keynes too, are all named after the
things of forestry and hunting. Buckhurst, Hartfield, Sevenoaks, Forest
Row, and the like, all tell of the country, and will do so long after we
are dead and gone."

They reached Stanfield, rode past the green and the large piece of water
there, and up the long village street, and turned into the iron gates
beyond the church, just as the dusk fell.

That evening after supper the Retreat began.