TO BRIGHTON 189 



that the service he gave her might be unique. After 

 gazing at these curious old pieces, with dates of 1754, 

 1728, and so forth, the mind becomes attuned to such 

 times, and the jug with the inscription, "Claret, 1652," 

 seems quite an easy and natural transition. 



From the Brighton of to-day it is centuries back to 

 1/54 ; but from 1754 to 1652 is but a year or two. And 

 after studying these shelves, and getting, as it were, so 

 deep down in the past, it is with a kind of Rip Van 

 Winkle feeling that you enter again into the sunshine 

 of the day. The fair upon the beach does not seem 

 quite real for a few minutes. 



Before the autumn is too far advanced and the skies 

 are uncertain, a few hours should be given to that 

 massive Down which fronts the traveller from London, 

 Ditchling Beacon, the highest above the sea-level. It is 

 easy of access, the train carries you to Hassock's Gate 

 the station is almost in a copse and an omnibus runs 

 from it to a comfortable inn in the centre of Ditchling 

 village. Thence to the Down itself the road is straight and 

 the walk no longer than is always welcome after riding. 



After leaving the cottages and gardens, the road soon 

 becomes enclosed with hedges and trees, a mere country 

 lane; and how pleasant are the trees after the bare 

 shore and barren sea ! The hand of autumn has browned 

 the oaks, and has passed over the hedge, reddening the 

 haws. The north wind rustles the dry hollow stalks of 

 plants upon the mound, and there is a sense of hardi- 

 hood in the touch of its breath. 



The light is brown, for a vapour conceals the sun it 

 is not like a cloud, for it has no end or outline, and it is 

 high above where the summer blue was lately. Or is it 

 the buff leaves, the grey stalks, the dun grasses, the ripe 

 fruit, the mist which hides the distance that makes the 



