TO BRIGHTON a^^a^ar 



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, min- 

 gling with the rustle of the corn stacked in shocks 

 on the slope. There inhale unrestrained the breeze, 

 the sunlight, and the subtle essence which emanates 

 from the ocean. For the loneliest of places are on 

 the borders of a gay crowd, and thus in Brighton 

 the by-name for all that is crowded and London- 

 like it is possible to dream on the sward and on 

 the shore. 



In the midst, too, of this most modern of cities, 

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