om smugglers,
they seemed so kind and good; but then, of course, smuggling was quite a
respectable industry in Sussex, where the secretive formation of the
coast clearly showed that Providence had meant it to epict. I love the
Sussex downs, I like the Sussex faces, and I admire the Sussex church
spires--tall and pointed, covered with lichened shingles.

We stopped at Boxgrove, too, a church adored by architects; and as we
went our way to Goodwood the sea was a torn sheet of silver seen behind
great downs which the afternoon sun was gilding. Oh, the Lebanon cedars
and the views of Goodwood! If I were there for the races, I think not
even the finest horses, the most beautiful women, and the prettiest
frocks in England could hold my eyes long from that view. I can shut my
eyes now--the day after--and see those Lebanon cedars black against an
opal sky. Another picture I can see, too, is Bosham Church, standing up
tall and pure as a gray nun singing an _Ave Maria_ beside the clear
water. It comes back to me from my studies of English history that
Vespasian had a villa there, and that Harold sailed from Bosham. Do you
know, he's in the act of doing it on the Bayeux tapestry? Once, the
Danes stole the Bosham church bells, and the dear things still ring at
the bottom of the sea, because the robber ship was wrecked, and went
down with the chime, in mid channel. I like that story. It matches the
picture and the tapestry.

Our day stopped at Chichester, and my letter must stop, too, for all
this I tell you of was only yesterday. We arrived last evening, and now
it's nearly midnight of the next day. I began to write just after
dinner, sitting in my dear old-fashioned room, and if I don't soon say
good-night I shan't get much beauty sleep. To-morrow morning, at
half-past nine, we're going on; but before we start I'll scribble a
Chichester postscript. So you see, I must be up bright and early,
especially as I mean to fly out for one more glimpse of the
cathedral--though I spent most of this afternoon in it.

I wonder if you are sparing a few minutes to-night to dream of

Your Audrie?

P. S.--Eight-twenty in the morning, and I've been up for two hours.

You'd like Chichester immensely. I don't say "love," for it hasn't
engaged my affections, somehow; but I do love the beautiful jewel of a
market cross, and some of the tombs in the cathedral. The cross is quite
a baby compared with lots of others, it seems, being only just born a