The steep sides of the Dyke have been the scenes of numerous accidents, from persons having the temerity to run down them. Some daring feats of riding and driving have also been exhibited here. The most memorable and daring act was that of Tom Poole, who, for the wager of a champagne dinner for twelve, drove a tandem down the most abrupt part. It was most cleverly accomplished, without the least accident; but that he might not be disappointed in participating in the wagered repast,—in the event of the loss of life or limb in the performance of the exploit,—he insisted upon having the dinner before he undertook his task. Many other dare-devil tricks have been attempted here; and perhaps the most remarkable is that related in what is familiarly known as the LEGEND OF THE DEVIL’S DYKE. “Once upon a time, at the period of yore, in the days of mistletoe and harvest-homing, when our country merited the title of ‘merrie England,’ there was to be found on the edge of the South Downs, opposite the pleasant little village of Poynings, in Sussex, a humble hostel, or village Inn, yclept ‘The Jolly Shepherd,’ kept by one Dame Margery, who, in her younger days, had followed the camp, but had long since retired upon her reputation as a trooper’s widow. The accommodations of the ‘Jolly Shepherd’ would be held in slight repute in modern days, but in the time of which we are speaking they were reckoned all-sufficient, although consisting chiefly of a warm seat by a cheerful fire, fresh eggs and bacon, and good honest home-brewed ale; and accordingly some half-dozen rustic customers were seated round the widow’s hearth, to escape the cutting blast of the Downs without, and commemorate the eve of Holy Saint John, within. Suddenly the song and the tale of the party were interrupted by a most mysterious knocking at the door, and a shrill, querulous voice demanding instant admittance. The active old hostess hastened to obey, but made a kind of a jump, step, and hop backward, on beholding the unusual appearance of the new arrival, exclaiming, ‘Lord preserve us! what is it?’ ‘A gentleman from below,’ replied a little, decrepid, wizened old man, Whose coat was red, whose breeches were blue, With a little hole where a tail came through.