CHAPTER X. 



NOTES AT BRIGHTON. 



HE meet at Southwick is generally a favourite one. 

 The leisurely ride of four miles along the Shoreham 

 road braces you up. The Channel is hard by, 

 deliciously open, and surging over upon the unlovely strips 

 of waste that will some day doubtless be covered with 

 " elegant mansions," marking the certain westward advance 

 of London-super-Mare. We are, in truth, so near the salt 

 water that the thorns in the hedge curling inland describe a 

 distinct semicircle, as if each bush had resolved to turn its 

 back upon the sea, and point with its outstretched ringer, 

 " This way to the Downs." 



Next to the clean-shaven lawn on the opening day, when 

 the squire keeps open house for red-coats and black- 

 coats, gentles and simples alike, there is no place so 

 appropriate for a meet as the village green. The hunting 

 men like it, the ladies in the carriages blocking up the high- 

 way prefer it, the pawing hunters, I fancy, are aware of the 

 superiority of the frame in whose picture they are the fore- 

 ground figures, and you may be sure the dogs have no con- 



