CHICHESTER AND VICINITY 47
trace of the restlessness that so often accompanies the poetic spirit. The disaster to the great church that he loved undoubtedly hastened his end.
In the west suburb is the very ugly little classic Church of St. Bartholomew. From an engraving by John Dunstall (1662) it has been supposed that the mediaeval building was round. The city streets display a good many old houses, the fronts are, as a rule, staid brickword of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In the pre-motor epoch Chichester used to resemble Vanity Fair during the week of Goodwood races, this is -now past and gone, and for fifty-two weeks of the year a quiet peace broods over the place. It is sometimes humorously remarked that half the city is asleep, the other half goes on tip-toe not to wake the first half up, and that the Cathedral clock takes ten minutes to strike; a former Dean, facetiously inclined, dated his letters as from Sleepy Hollow. This may all be, Chichester's fires may be hidden, her citizens, perhaps, are thinking rather than doing at the moment, but only at the point of the bayonet would this city permit the Merry Monarch to occupy his throne; Chichester has spoken in the past, Chichester may speak again.
A short distance south-east of the city is Rum-boldswyke, the old church of which, now at any rate dedicated to St. Rumbold, has a plain Early Norman, or possibly Saxon, chancel arch, and part of the walling is of the same date, built largely of Roman materials. Other parts are Early English or modern. A much larger modern brick church has a mediaeval bell from St. Martin's and is dedicated to St. George. It is possible enough that this village takes its name simply from some Saxon owner, but it is far more satisfactory to believe it