anding over the grave of James King,
who died aged seventeen, has this complacent couplet:

God takes the good--too good on earth to stay,
And leaves the bad--too bad to take away.

Two miles to the west of Icklesham, at Snaylham, close to the present
railway, once stood the home of the Cheyneys, a family that maintained
for many years a fierce feud with the Oxenbridges of Brede, whither we
soon shall come. A party of Cheyneys once succeeded in catching an
Oxenbridge asleep in his bed, and killed him. Old Place farm, a little
north of Icklesham, between the village and the line, marks the site of
Old Place, the mansion of the Fynches, earls of Winchelsea.

[Sidenote: PLAYDEN AND IDEN]

The mainland proper begins hard by Rye, on the other side of the
railway, where Rye Hill carries the London road out of sight. This way
lie Playden, Iden, and Peasmarsh: Playden, with a slender spire, of a
grace not excelled in a county notable, as we have seen, for graceful
spires, but a little overweighted perhaps by its cross, within whose
church is the tomb of a Flemish brewer, named Zoctmanns, calling for
prayers for his soul; Iden, with a square tower and a stair turret, a
village taking its name from that family of which Alexander Iden, slayer
of Jack Cade, was a member, its home being at Mote, now non-existent;
and Peasmarsh, whose long modest church, crowned by a squat spire, may
be again seen, like the swan upon St. Mary's Lake, in the water at the
foot of the churchyard. At Peasmarsh was born a poor artificial poet
named William Pattison, in whose works I have failed to find anything of
interest.

[Illustration: _Udimore Church._]

The two most interesting spots in the hilly country immediately north of
the Brede valley (north of Winchelsea) are Udimore and Brede. Concerning
Udimore church, which externally has a family resemblance to that of
Steyning, it is told that it was originally planned to rise on the other
side of the little river Ree. The builders began their work, but every
night saw the supernatural removal of the stones to the present site,
while a mysterious voice uttered the words "O'er the mere! O'er the
mere!" Hence, says the legend, the present position of the fane, and the
beautiful name Udimore, or "O'er the mere," which, of course, becomes
Uddymer among the villagers.

[Illustration: _Brede Place._]

[Sidenote: BREDE PLACE]

From Udimore one reaches Brede by turning off the high road