y of peculiarly comfortable
exterior who, splendid (yet a little sinister) in a scarlet shawl and
ponderous gold jewels, used once to emerge from a tent beside the Dyke
inn and allot husbands fair or dark. She was an astute reader of her
fellows, with an eye too searching to be deceived by the removal of
tell-tale rings. A lucky shot in respect to a future ducal husband of a
young lady now a duchess, of the accuracy of which she was careful to
remind you, increased her reputation tenfold in recent years. Her name
is Lee, and of her title of Queen of the Gipsies there is, I believe,
some justification.

[Sidenote: "HE"]

Sussex abounds in evidences of the Devil's whimsical handiwork, although
in ordinary conversation Sussex rustics are careful not to speak his
name. They say "he." Mr. Parish, in his _Dictionary of the Sussex
Dialect_, gives an example of the avoidance of the dread name: "'In the
Down there's a golden calf buried; people know very well where it is--I
could show you the place any day.' 'Then why don't they dig it up? 'Oh,
it's not allowed: _he_ wouldn't let them.' 'Has any one ever tried?' 'Oh
yes, but it's never there when you look; _he_ moves it away.'" His
punchbowl may be seen here, his footprints there; but the greatest of
his enterprises was certainly the Dyke. His purpose was to submerge or
silence the irritating churches of the Weald, by digging a ditch that
should let in the sea. He began one night from the North side, at
Saddlescombe, and was working very well until he caught sight of the
beams of a candle which an old woman had placed in her window. Being a
Devil of Sussex rather than of Miltonic invention, he was not clever,
and taking the candle light for the break of dawn, he fled and never
resumed the labour. That is the very infirm legend that is told and sold
at the Dyke.

[Sidenote: HANGLETON]

I might just mention that the little church which one sees from the Dyke
railway, standing alone on the hill side, is Hangleton. Dr. Kenealy, who
defended the Claimant, is buried there. The hamlet of Hangleton, which
may be seen in the distance below, once possessed a hunting lodge of the
Coverts of Slaugham, which, after being used as labourers' cottages, has
now disappeared. The fine Tudor mansion of the Bellinghams', now
transformed into a farm house, although it has been much altered, still
retains many original features. In the kitchen, no doubt once the hall,
on an oak screen, are carved