Re-worked from the edition first published in 1877.
104 page book, supplied as a PDF document on CD-ROM.
From Midhurst to Haslemere and Godalming
Dorking and its Neighbourhood
To Leith Hill by Wotton
From Dorking to Leatherhead via Effingham & Great Bookham
To Guildford over The Hills
Caterham, Tatsfield, Limpsfield, Oxted & Tandridge to Godstone Station
Norbury Park, Albury, Shere & The Deepdene
Reigate, Gatton Park, Merstham & The Pilgrim’s Way
Redhill, Nutfield, Bletchingley, Godstone, to Crowhurst
Gomshall Station, Sutton, Felday, Ewhurst, Albury to Chilworth
EXTRACT: (Chap. 1, page 3)
"On my return into the town I met a man driving some cows,
and asked him whereabouts was Mr. Tennyson's house?
"Tennyson," repeated he doubtfully, "Tennyson? I never heerd tell of that name. There is a Mr. Hodgson lives up there," pointing to Blackdown. For the credit of the Haslemere folk I must add that this man came from Midhurst, and perhaps a poet's reputation can scarcely be expected to extend in rural districts so far as that. Nor would local ignorance of Mr. Tennyson's poems be surprising, considering that I with difficulty found anyone in the place who had ever heard of the "old beech tree," which Murray's Handbook reports to be the "lion" of Haslemere. I found this beech after some search, and to say the truth it is, though old, not a particularly fine tree. It stands a little off the London road, to the left, about half a mile from the village, and does not look as large as it is said to be - 20 feet in girth.
No one, of course, would dream of going to Haslemere without paying a visit to Blackdown —a stretch of moor, kneedeep in heath and ferns and wild flowers. The views from the upper part are magnificent, and it is not easy to realise that this wild spot, with so much exquisite scenery around it, is only a little over forty miles from London. In the most solitary part of the moor or heath, slightly below the crest of the hill, with all the southern country lying below it, stands Mr. Tennyson's house. I had driven to Blackdown to save time, and the coachman told me that he had no doubt I could go round and look at the house. I asked if the family were there. "Oh yes," said the driver, "but never mind. The old gentleman does not like to see strangers about his place, but he won't say anything to you. In fact, he seldom speaks to anybody, but goes walking about with his head down. Writes books, I believe—not that I've read 'em. Something about poetry, ain't they, sir?" Such is fame. The Laureate's house is lonely enough to suit the tastes of the most confirmed anchorite. On a fine day it must be a lovely spot—such a view as that which extends southward is worth travelling many a long and weary mile to see. But all days are not fine, and in rain or fog, ..."