A SUSSEX MARSH 



These birds are, of course, wretched eating, and are 

 not worth powder and shot. So fishy is their flesh that 

 in Catholic countries it is permissible to eat them during 

 Lent. But even a good Catholic, one would imagine, 

 must be very hard up for food to dine off a scoter. 



One of the features of Pevensey Marsh is an old- 

 fashioned pack of foot harriers, which in winter rouses 

 the blood of the inhabitants and enlivens the landscape. 

 By reason of the innumerable dykes which bisect it the 

 Level is practically inaccessible to foxhunters. Horses 

 cannot compass these deep and trappy dykes, and 

 broken backs would be too often the result if men 

 attempted to ride the country. With foot harriers the 

 Marsh is perfectly feasible, and many a stirring run is 

 enjoyed by the hearty farmers and yeomen who prin- 

 cipally support the pack. The younger sportsmen 

 follow hounds pretty closely, and some first-rate long 

 jumping is to be seen. Occasionally you may notice a 

 thoroughbred Marsh lad negotiating the dykes with 

 a leaping-pole, having at the end a flat button of wood. 

 The elder sportsmen carry long five-foot staves, locally 

 called "bats," by the aid of which they are able to 

 cross the slippery and narrow pieces of wood which 

 here and there are thrown across the ditches and act 

 as bridges. The Marsh hares are extraordinarily stout, 

 and stand before hounds, I am inclined to think, quite 

 as well as their brethren of the downs. They are 

 extremely plentiful — too plentiful, in fact, in some 

 places — and sport is never lacking. The hounds em- 

 ployed are old-fashioned English harriers, standing 

 about nineteen inches. They show a good deal of the 

 ancient southern hound type, and have rich, deep 

 voices, which may be heard far across the levels. 

 A few ladies patronise the hunt, and, nathless the deep 

 dykes and wet going, seem to enjoy the sport as keenly 



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