The Distracted Preacher by Thomas Hardy Page A

malodorous marsh called Lodmore and under Jordan Hill, once the site of a Roman watering-place, where many relics of imperial times have been turned up by the plough and spade. A couple of miles further, the road crosses a stream, and looking to our left there is to be seen a little one-arched bridge of exceedingly rude construction. This may date back to Roman times, though some authorities have been inclined to assign it to the Norman period. It may possibly have been the bridge without a parapet under which Anne Garland and Matilda Johnson hid Bob Loveday from the press-gang, for the houses near which it stands form part of the village of Sutton Poyntz, the Overcombe of “The Trumpet-Major.” The village may be approached by the footpath near this bridge, or by taking the next turn on the left beyond it. Whichever way is chosen, the visitor will eventually reach a flour-mill driven by the waters of the little stream running through the valley in which the village nestles. The Hardyite, who is really familiar with the novels, will at first experience a sense of disappointment, for in no way can what he sees be made to fit in with the details given in the story. His mind will, however, be relieved when he learns that the mill of the story has been pulled down, that which now occupies its site being a modern erection. Modern, too, is the tall chimney of the waterworks, which ensure to Weymouth a constant and excellent supply of that fluid, to the serious detriment of the scene, and the great attenuation of the stream which drives the mill. If one passes the mill and halts upon the tiny bridge which spans the stream a little higher up the road, and then endeavours to eliminate from the prospect the aforesaid chimney and a new and obtrusive inn, too often noisy with hordes of trippers from the neighbouring watering-place, a good idea can be obtained of what the village and the mill-pond looked like on the day when John Loveday and the troopers descended from the hill to water their horses in the pool.
    This is the prospect which Anne surveyed from her chamber window. “Immediately before her was the large, smooth mill-pond, over-full, and intruding into the hedge and into the road. The water, with its flowing leaves and spots of froth, was stealing away, like Time, under the dark arch, to tumble over the great slimy wheel within. On the other side of the mill-pond was an open place called the Cross, because it was three-quarters of one, two lanes and a cattle-drive meeting there. It was the general rendezvous and arena of the surrounding village. Behind this a steep slope rose high into the sky, merging in a wide and open down, now littered with sheep newly shorn. The upland by its height completely sheltered the mill and village from north winds, making summers of springs, reducing winters to autumn temperatures, and permitting myrtles to flourish in the open air.” John Loveday pointed out to Anne one day that the soldiers were “cutting out a huge picture of the king on horseback in the earth of the hill. The king’s head is to be as big as our mill-pond, and his body as big as this garden; he and the horse will cover more than an acre.” Those who wish to climb up and closely examine this work of art had better do so from here. Those who are content with a distant view of it can obtain it from the long hill which has to be climbed after the main road has been regained. This hill climbed and the descent of its opposite side accomplished, the village of Osmington, where there is nothing to detain us, is reached.
    The next village is Poxwell, whose name is a corruption of Puck’s well. It is the Oxwell of “The Trumpet-Major,” and contains the fine Jacobean manor-house of the Hennings at which old Derriman lived—though, for the purposes of his story, Mr. Hardy has placed it considerably nearer to Overcombe than it really is. Like Waterston, it was once the residence of one of the