very ‘old-un,’ shovelling out the chalk and flint stones by waggon loads, and his tail whisking about like a serpent in fits. The bold hostess did not hail him to stop his digging. Not she, good honest soul, as she was desirous of seeing a little clearer what he was about, before giving any alarm; so she quickly struck a light, and lest the candle should alarm her ancient guest, she caught up something to put before it, and this something fortunately happened to be a sieve. Suddenly the old gentleman ceased working, looked up at the window, and when he saw the candle behind the seive, surmounted by the old woman’s night cap, he exclaimed ‘Oh! Beelzebub, the rising sun,’ and folding his stilts across to form a spindle, he ducked his head forward and rolling himself into a ball like a hedgehog, he went bounding along the Downs with fearful rapidity. The Right Rev. Rector of Poynings had been to a jolly christening, had made a wet night of it, and was endeavouring to navigate his road homewards, when he saw a sort of galvanized harlequin whirling and tumbling along straight towards him. The Rev. Rector stopped short; when, just on passing, a sharp pointed sting was protruded from the rolling mass; and having slightly touched his Reverence’s great toe, the whole ball exhaled, evaporated and vanished—_exit in fumo_. The parish duties of Poynings were performed by the Curate for the next three months; the doctor said his Reverence was laid up with the gout, but the Rector himself maintained it was the Devil. The question has ever since been, what could induce this queer old gentleman to set to work and dig away in such an outlandish fashion? Some old gossips say that his evil intention was to let in the salt sea, and flood all this most beautiful valley of pleasant Sussex. Be that as it may, one fact is worth noting, that the hostelry of ‘The Jolly Shepherd,’ from that period ceased its existence, and never, in the village of Poynings, since that night, when his Satanic Majesty was foiled, has a license been held by any person _again_ to ‘sell spirits.’” The largest attendance of visitors to the Dyke, is during the months of August and September, when, frequently, as many as a hundred carriages a-day arrive with parties, either to view the magnificent expanse of scenery which the spot commands, or on pic-nic excursions, as the establishment has accommodation for many sets of visitors at the same time. The predilection which the English have for displaying their wit in snatches of their poetic genius, has, on the walls of the rooms, the looking-glasses, and the panes of glass in the windows, extensive scope, and signatures innumerable crowd every available spot. O! foul attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot, In vain recorded.