I cannot say whether or no I expressed it
sufficiently. It is better with such a man, or, indeed, with any man, to
say too little than too much; and, in fact, it would have been indecorous
in me to take too much of his kindness to my own share, Bennoch being
likewise in question.
We had a cup of coffee, and then took our leave; Tupper accompanying us
part way down the village street, and bidding us an affectionate
farewell.
BATTLE ABBEY.
Bennoch and I recommenced our travels, and, changing from one railway to
another, reached Tunbridge Wells at nine or ten in the evening. . . . .
The next day was spent at Tunbridge Wells, which is famous for a
chalybeate spring, and is a watering-place of note, most healthily
situated on a high, breezy hill, with many pleasant walks in the
neighborhood. . . . . From Tunbridge Wells we transported ourselves to
Battle,--the village in which is Battle Abbey. It is a large village,
with many antique houses and some new ones; and in its principal street,
on one side, with a wide, green space before it, you see the gray,
embattled, outer wall, and great, square, battlemented entrance tower
(with a turret at each corner), of the ancient Abbey. It is the perfect
reality of a Gothic battlement and gateway, just as solid and massive as
when it was first built, though hoary and venerable with the many
intervening centuries. There are only two days in the week on which
visitors are allowed entrance, and this was not one of them.
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