My name is bless'd for it throughout the earth.

I taught the child to love, and dream, and sing
Of witch, hobgoblin, folk and flower lore;
And often led him by the hand away
Into St. Leonard's Forest, where of yore
The hermit fought the dragon--to this day,
The children, ev'ry Spring,
Find lilies of the valley blowing where
The fights took place. Alas! they quickly drove
My darling from my bosom and my love,
And snatched my crown of laurel from his hair."

[Illustration: _Cottages at Slinfold._]

[Sidenote: SLINFOLD]

Two miles south-west of Field Place, by a footpath which takes us beside
the Arun, here a narrow stream, and a deserted water mill, we come to
the churchyard of Slinfold, a little quiet village with a church of
almost suburban solidity and complete want of Sussex feeling. James
Dallaway, the historian of Western Sussex, was rector here from 1803 to
1834. He lived, however, at Leatherhead, Slinfold being a sinecure. A
Slinfold epitaph on an infant views bereavement with more philosophy
than is usual: in conclusion calling upon Patience thus to comfort the
parents:

Teach them to praise that God with grateful mind
For babes that yet may come, for one still left behind.

A quarter of a mile west is Stane Street, striking London-wards from
Billingshurst, and we may follow it for a while on our way to Rudgwick,
near the county's border. We leave the Roman road (which once ran as
straight as might be as far as Billingsgate, but is now diverted and
lost in many spots) at the drive to Dedisham, on the left, and thus save
a considerable corner. Dedisham, in its hollow, is an ancient
agricultural settlement: a farm and feudatory cottages in perfect
completeness, an isolated self-sufficing community, lacking nothing--not
even the yellow ferret in the cage. The footpath beyond the homestead
crosses a field where we find the Arun once again--here a stream winding
between steep banks, sure home of kingfisher and water-rats.

[Sidenote: RUDGWICK]

Rudgwick, which is three miles farther west along the hard high road, is
a small village on a hill, with the most comfortable looking
church-tower in Sussex hiding behind the inn and the general shop. In
the churchyard lies a Frusannah--a name new to me.

Rudgwick was the birthplace, in 1717, of Reynell Cotton, destined to be
the author of the best song in praise of cricket. H