TO BRIGHTON 185 



spot ahead a bird rises, marked with white, and another 

 follows it ; they are wheatears ; they frequent the land 

 by the low beach in the autumn. 



A shrill but feeble pipe is the cry of the sandpiper, 

 disturbed on his moist feeding-ground. Among the 

 stones by the waste places there are pale-green wrinkled 

 leaves, and the large yellow petals of the sea-poppy. The 

 bright colour is pleasant, but it is a flower best left 

 ungathered, for its odour is not sweet. On the wiry 

 sward the light pink of the sea-daisies (or thrift) is dotted 

 here and there : of these gather as you will. The presence 

 even of such simple flowers, of such well-known birds, 

 distinguishes the solitary from the trodden beach. The 

 pier is in view, but the sea is different here. 



Drive eastwards along the cliffs to the rough steps cut 

 down to the beach, descend to the shingle, and stroll 

 along the shore to Rottingdean. The buttresses of chalk 

 shut out the town if you go to them, and rest near the 

 large pebbles heaped at the foot. There is nothing but 

 the white cliff, the green sea, the sky, and the slow ships 

 that scarcely stir. 



In the spring, a starling comes to his nest in a cleft 

 of the cliff above ; he shoots over from the dizzy edge, 

 spreads his wings, borne up by the ascending air, and in 

 an instant is landed in his cave. On the sward above, 

 in the autumn, the yellow lip of the toad-flax, spotted 

 with orange, peers from the grass as you rest and gaze 

 how far ? out upon the glorious plain. 



Or go up on the hill by the race-course, the highest 

 part near the sea, and sit down there on the turf. If the 

 west or south wind blow ever so slightly the low roar of 

 the surge floats up, mingling with the rustle of the corn 

 stacked in shocks on the slope. There inhale unre- 

 strained the breeze, the sunlight, and the subtle essence 



