“September 21, 1798. Sweet fresh morning. Left Cobham between seven and eight. Passed under a picturesque bridge uniting the grounds of Paine’s hill; high, rough, broken banks, topped with lofty trees, that hang over a light rustic bridge. Then enter upon a wide scene of heath, skirted here and there with rich distances; afterwards, many miles of heath, of a dull purple and dusty iron brown, with, sometimes, sudden knolls planted with firs; sometimes distances let in between bold hills. After Guildford, a large neat old town, and pretty Godalmin, at the end of a green level; steep hills to Haslemere and beyond it, but opening to vast prospects:—again, many miles of purple and rusty heath, with scarcely a tree or a hut. Nearer to Horndon, the country, though it continues to be heathy, is upon a grander scale, opening to distant ridges of high swelling hills, that probably overlook the sea; the hills in Hampshire, on the right, more cultivated; those in Sussex vast, sweeping and downy. Fine sunset from under clouds; the strong gleam almost blinded us as we descended in a hollow; the high, heathy banks receiving the full effulgence, while all below was gloom. The rays had already become much fainter, as we wound up a chalky precipice of great sweep and length, with steep downs rising over it; sheep on the summit showing themselves against the sky. A fine moon rose, and lighted us over the downs to Horndon. Heard only the sheep-bells, as the shepherd lad was folding his flocks, and they came down from the hills. Slept at Horndon.