Newhaven, though a good harbour--in fact, the only real haven of refuge of any consequence or ease of entrance between Folkestone and the Wight--is not a place in which to waste much time. The town is picturesque in parts (as, indeed, are most ports), but it is not much frequented by any save those brought hither by business or stress of weather. Although, even as Meeching, its old name, it finds no mention in the Domesday Book, there is little doubt that it is a place of some antiquity, for there are early Norman traces in the architecture of its church, and also the remains of an encampment with high earthworks on the land side near the shore on the west bank of the river. The modern town which has sprung up on the banks of the Ouse as one of the cross Channel ports dates its origin to the great storm in the year 1570, during which the course of the river was changed from its Seaford outlet to a more direct confluence with the sea at Meeching. In the year 1881 the town was made a port, and since then has gained considerable standing as one of the most frequented places of embarkation for France and as a depôt for a considerable amount of Continental trade. It was here that in 1848 Louis Philippe and his Queen, Marie Amelie, landed after escaping from Tréport in a fishing lugger under the unromantic and not easily distinguished names of Mr and Mrs Smith. The Royal fugitives were welcomed by a well-known Sussex character, William Catt by name, who was not only a prosperous miller but a noted fruit-grower. They afterwards took rooms at the Bridge Hotel, kept, as it happened, by a Mr Smith, which circumstance, we are told, “caused his ex-Majesty some considerable amusement and laughter.” The town has the distinction (like Kingsbridge in fair Devon) of manufacturing “a local tipple of some potency.” The original brewer, Thomas Tipper by name, after whom the concoction, “Newhaven tipper,” is known, died in the merry month of May, 1785, at, as it was reckoned in those times, the early age of fifty-four. The epitaph on his tomb, after reciting various virtues, declares: The best old stingo, he both brewed and sold, Nor did one knavish act to get his gold; He played thro’ life a very comic part, And knew immortal _Hudibras_ by heart. Reader, in real truth, such was the man, Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can. Local tradition asserts that the said Thomas Tipper was a good friend, too, of the local smugglers; but this in the times in which he lived would not invalidate his claim to have never done “one knavish act to get his gold.” His brew, we are told, was prepared with, and owed its “peculiar charm of flavour” to, brackish water, and it is more, we believe, than a mere tale that George IV, whilst at Brighton, imbibed it freely and with no particular harm. One authority goes so far as to assert “with great satisfaction.”