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 (Golden Hours, 1871.)

first ramble into the weald of Sussex was to Horsted Keynes, a sequestered village hid in the woodlands. No more reposeful spot could be found in the world than its peaceful churchyard, sacred to the memory of pious Archbishop Leighton.

It was late in the autumn, and the yellow woods told of the year's decline. From the numberless oaks, so common in this district, the acorns were falling in myriads. Boys, women, and children were out, sometimes in whole families, gathering them into baskets and pans, and turning them into a sack. A gusty day brings a rich harvest—

In ancient times the vast woods, which then existed all over the country, supported thousands of swine. According to Doomsday Book, in Essex alone there were nearly a hundred thousand hogs. Still more must this have been the case with the Weald, which at that time was covered with forests. Now, however, the breeding of pigs is a comparatively unimportant addition to the produce of the farm; and where it is carried on to any extent, acorns are used sparingly, since it is averred that acorn-feeding produces a pebbly sort of bacon. So that the acorn harvest, once so important, has dwindled into a gleaning of the roadsides by the unemployed people. However, they get a shilling a bushel from the farmer for rhat they find, showing that great quantities are still devoured by le Sussex pigs. 181