Such a story must have had a basis of some kind.

A printed narrative such as this would hardly have proceeded from a clear sky.
St.Leonard's Forest has another familiar; for there the headless horseman rides, not on his own horse, but on yours, seated on the crupper with his ghostly arms encircling your waist.

His name is Powlett, but I know no more, except that his presence is an additional reason why one should explore the forest on foot.
[Sidenote: SUSSEX NIGHTINGALES] Sussex, especially near the coast, is naturally a good nightingale country.

Many of the birds, pausing there after their long journey at the end of April, do not fly farther, but make their home where they first alight.

I know of one meadow and copse under the north escarpment of the Downs where three nightingales singing in rivalry in a triangle (the perfect condition) can be counted upon in May, by night, and often by day too, as surely as the rising and setting of the sun.