203 NATURE NEAR LONDON 



tween the foot of the sward and the cliff; it is ploughed, 

 and the teams come to the footpath which follows the 

 edge ; and thus those who plough the sea and those who 

 plough the land look upon each other. The one sees 

 the vessel change her tack, the other notes the plough 

 turning at the end of the furrow. Bramble bushes pro- 

 ject over the dangerous wall of chalk, and grasses fill up 

 the interstices, a hedge suspended in air ; but be careful 

 not to reach too far for the blackberries. 



The green sea is on the one hand, the yellow stubble 

 on the other. The porpoise dives along beneath, the 

 sheep graze above. Green seaweed lines the reef over 

 which the white spray flies, blue lucerne dots the field. 

 The pebbles of the beach seen from the height mingle in 

 a faint blue tint, as if the distance ground them into 

 coloured sand. Leaving the footpath now, and crossing 

 the stubble to " France," as the wide open hollow in the 

 down is called by the shepherds, it is no easy matter 

 in dry summer weather to climb the steep turf to the 

 furze line above. 



Dry grass is as slippery as if it were hair, and the sheep 

 have fed it too close for a grip of the hand. Under the 

 furze (still far from the summit) they have worn a path 

 a narrow ledge, cut by their cloven feet through the 

 sward. It is time to rest ; and already, looking back, the 

 sea has extended to an indefinite horizon. This climb of 

 a few hundred feet opens a view of so many miles more. 

 But the ships lose their individuality and human character; 

 they are so far, so very far, away, they do not take hold 

 of the sympathies ; they seem like sketches cunningly 

 executed, but only sketches on the immense canvas of 

 the ocean. There is something unreal about them. 



On a calm day, when the surface is smooth as if the 

 brimming ocean had been straked the rod passed across 

 the top of the measure, thrusting off the irregularities of 



