A SUSSEX MARSH 



and a long pole having at its extremity a singular, flat- 

 pronged fork, I fell into conversation with him and 

 learnt his trade. He was an eel-fisher, and made some 

 part of his living by spearing eels in certain parts of 

 the Marsh dykes. It is a hard and not a particularly 

 paying business, yet this man seemed singularly at- 

 tached to it. He had known the likely spots and the 

 deepest holes all his life, and the flavour of sport 

 imparted, I suppose, much of the pleasure which un- 

 doubtedly he obtained from his arduous following. 

 He feels deftly for his prey, and, having located an 

 eel, jabs into it with his flat, slightly barbed prong, 

 and hoists out his catch. Sixpence a pound is the 

 price he gets for his booty, which, considering the long 

 walk to and fro, the toil of wielding his long and heavy 

 pole, and the uncertainty of his catch, is by no means 

 an extravagant remuneration. In this part of Sussex 

 the peasants speak in a way that recalls very clearly 

 their Saxon origin. Th is invariably pronounced by 

 them d. Thus, when one hears the familiar the uttered 

 as de, one might almost fancy oneself listening to a 

 Boer or a German, both of them, after all, not so very 

 remotely connected with the South Sussex hind. 



One of the prettiest summer scenes of the Marsh is 

 at a certain sheep-washing, which takes place in the 

 stream near Sewers Bridge, on the far side of the Level 

 as you ride to Ninfield from Eastbourne. This has 

 been a sheep-washing place for centuries, and the 

 method of procedure is without doubt identically the 

 same as that practised in the time of Elizabeth — ay, 

 even of the Plantagenets. A narrow part of the stream 

 is hurdled off, and the sheep are passed from the green 

 meadow through the watery alley-way, emerging clean, 

 if somewhat breathless, at the farther end. An old- 

 fashioned inn, an orchard, gay with blossom, and the 



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