The life of an amateur archaeologist in London is a pastime compared to his lot in a small Sussex village under the South Downs, writes a Home correspondent, and I must confess that I looked forward to my exile with some misgivings, even though I had miles of Downs to explore, The inn is the centre of communal life in our village, and there I learned of the Roman sentry who. in the dead watches of the night, could be seen pacing the ramparts of the former camp on the summit of the Beacon. It was not clear to me what treasure this lonely sentinel was supposed to guard, but his presence intrigues me, and although I did not try conclusions with him at 2 am. I made a careful survey of his surroundings in broad daylight.
The upshot was that I purchased a spade, pick, and other tools, and started digging in the hope of unearthing the treasure. I had no very clear idea where to start, but, with a beginfer's luck, I struck what appeared to be the refuse-pit of the camp, and soon had in my possession ever 100 coins, a ton of pottery shards, oyster shells, many bronze and iron objects, and bones of every description. I wonder, was the sentry guarding all this?
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.