It was with real regret that on that May morning I left Amberley,
turning often to look back at it, and last from the great seven-arched
bridge over the Arun, whence one may look down stream upon the wooded
slopes of Arundel Park. Then I went on up the road that winds through the
steep village of Houghton swiftly up on to the Downs, wooded here very
nobly, and so at the top of Rewell Hill I turned to the left and made my
way through the noble park to the little town of Arundel.
Now I cannot say why, but in spite of its seduction, which is full of
splendour, of its noble history and great buildings, I have never been
able to love Arundel. One is there always I feel too much in the shadow
of that mighty Castle which for the most part is not old at all, too
much in the power of that great new church that surely was never built
by English hands, which has altogether blotted out the older
sanctuary, and which, Catholic though it be, has never won my
affection. Arundel itself is all in the shadow of these two things,
each of which is too big for it, too heavy for free laughter and light-
heartedness.
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