IN THE SUSSEX DUKERIES 19 



branch, twig, leaf, and seed-key the Sussex man's 

 motto on the Rye china pigs, '* Wun't be druv." 



Now suppose you want another walk — in 

 August, say. What about Cocking and its peace- 

 ful churchyard, with the beautiful many-boled 

 lime tree and the chalk stream, its boundary, 

 running into the mill-pond ? Does the persistent 

 lady dabchick still insist on building among the 

 reeds on that pond — when I was last there a 

 much, too much, weed-grown dammed-up piece 

 of water, whose overflow makes a most romantic 

 cataract and falls ? By the way, while talking of 

 cataracts, I noted the other day reference to the 

 late Captain Webb and his final swim. Reading 

 the memoir one would be led to believe in the 

 Falls and the Rapids and the Whirlpool being 

 all of a piece. End from end they must be nearly 

 two miles apart. Everyone who sees illustrations 

 knows the Falls by sight. After the river has 

 tumbled over it enters on a wide expanse, with a 

 by no means startling flow, and remains thus so 

 long as its walls are far separated. Below the 

 suspension bridge the river's bed narrows and 

 deepens till the weight of the stream from above 

 causes a mighty rush in the restricted channel 

 fearsome to look on, seeing that the current abso- 

 lutely piles itself above bank level, terribly fasci- 

 nating in its course, calling to you to come, yet 

 simultaneously telling plainly your probable fate 

 among the submerged rocks. These send up 

 great jets like to a whale's spouting. Webb 

 would have come out all right, given luck — great 

 luck is wanted — to escape being driven on to these 

 rocks. But his chance was a very outside one, 

 and, as those who know the circumstances can 

 tell, fully taken into consideration by the plucky 



