THISTLE-DOWN 9 



to the mysterious voices of the wind ; and the Lincoln- 

 shire fen-land, over whose desolate expanse, shimmer- 

 ing in the summer heat, Mariana gazed each day in 

 vain and said despondingly, " He cometh not ! " Hills, 

 valleys, wolds, dales, plains, marshes, rivers, lakes, moors, 

 heaths, woods, towns, villages, are in this way known 

 familiarly to us all over the land; but the county of 

 Sussex is not included in this spiritual geography. 



From the writers of genius who have made so 

 much of the scenery of England familiar to us all, to 

 those literary South Saxons who have stayed at home 

 and written something, little or much, about their 

 native land — Hayley, William Hay, Charlotte Smith, 

 Parsons, Hurdis, with a few more of even less account 

 — is indeed a tremendous descent. These are now 

 forgotten, and their works will never come back; for 

 though important in their own day, they were, viewed 

 at this distance, little people who could have no place 

 with the immortals. But I do not despise them on 

 that account; being of that tribe myself, I have 

 a kindly feeling for little people, not for the living 

 only, who write in the modern fashion and are by 

 some thought great, but also for those who have been 

 long dead, whose fame has withered and wasted in 

 the grave. And for the last of the few singers I 

 have mentioned I cherish a very special regard, and 

 should now like to tell how the forgotten name of 

 Hurdis came by chance to be associated in my mind 

 with the South Downs. 



