At Northiam, in East Sussex, we shall come (not to be utterly baulked) to a tree under which she truly did sit and dine too.
[Sidenote: JACK PUDDING'S WISDOM] Beyond Parham, less than two miles to the east, is Storrington, a quiet Sussex village far from the rail and the noise of the world, with the Downs within hail, and fine sparsely-inhabited country between them and it to wander in.

The church is largely modern.

I find the following sententious paragraph in the county paper for 1792:--"This is an age of _Sights_ and _polite entertainment_ in the country as well as in the city .-- The little town of _Storrington_ has lately been visited by a _Company of Comedians_,--_a Mountebank Doctor_,--and a _Puppet Show_.
One day the Doctor's _Jack Pudding_ finding the shillings come in but slowly, exclaimed to his Master, 'Gad, Sir, it is not worth _our_ while to stay here any longer, _players_ have got all the _gold_, _we_ all the _silver_, and _Punch_ all the _copper_, so, like sagacious locusts, let us migrate from the place we helped to impoverish." [Illustration: _Amberley Church._] [Sidenote: A TRAVELLING CIRCUS] [Sidenote: A TIME-HONOURED JOKE] This reminds me that I saw recently at Petworth, whither we are now moving, a travelling circus whose programme included a comic interlude that cannot have received the slightest modification since it was first planned, perhaps hundreds of years ago.

It was sheer essential elemental horse-play straight from Bartholomew Fair, and the audience received it with rapture that was vouchsafed to nothing else.

The story would be too long to tell; but briefly, it was a dumb show representation of the visit of a guest (the clown) to a wife, unknown to her husband.