um_ for them. Thus, "a blackbird flew up and her killed 'n"; that is to
say, he killed it.

[Sidenote: THE ANGEL'S FAN]

Among the Harleian MSS. at the British Museum is the account of a
supernatural visitation to Rye in 1607. The visitants were angels, their
fortunate entertainer being a married woman. She, however, by a lapse in
good breeding, undid whatever good was intended for her. "And after that
appeared unto her 2 angells in her chamber, and one of them having a
white fan in her hand did let the same fall; and she stooping to take it
upp, the angell gave her a box on the eare, rebukinge her that she a
mortall creature should presume to handle matters appertayninge to
heavenlie creatures."

[Sidenote: ROBERTSON OF BRIGHTON]

It was an error to omit from Chapter XVII all reference to Frederick
William Robertson--Robertson of Brighton--who from 1847 until 1853
exerted his extraordinary influence from the pulpit of Trinity Chapel,
opposite the post-office, and from his home at 9, Montpellier Terrace.

Of Robertson's quickening religion I need not speak; but it is
interesting to know that much of his magnetic eloquence was the result
of the meditations which he indulged in his long and feverish rambles
over the Downs. His favourite walk was to the Dyke (before exploitation
had come upon it), and he loved also the hills above Rottingdean.
Robertson, says Arnold's memoir, "would walk any man 'off his legs,' as
the saying goes. He not only walked; he ran, he leaped, he bounded. He
walked as fast and as incessantly as Charles Dickens, and, like Dickens,
his mind was in a state of incessant activity all the time. There was
not a bird of the air or a flower by the wayside that was not known to
him. His knowledge of birds would have matched that of the collector of
the Natural History Museum in his favourite Dyke Road."

Robertson often journeyed into Sussex on little preaching or lecturing
missions (he found the auditors of Hurstpierpoint "very bucolic"), and
his family were fond of the retirement of Lindfield. On one occasion
Robertson brought them back himself, writing afterwards to a friend that
in that village he "strongly felt the beauty and power of English
country scenery and life to calm, if not to purify, the hearts of those
whose lives are habitually subjected to such influences."

Mr. Arnold's book, I might add, has some pleasant pages about Sussex and
Brighton in Robertson's day, with glimpses of Lady By