210 NATUEE NEAR LONDON. 



the offices sets the teeth on edge, the sooty blackened 

 walls (yet without shadow) thrust back the sympathies 

 which are ever trying to cling to the inanimate things 

 around us. A breeze comes in at the carriage window 

 a wild puff, disturbing the heated stillness of the 

 summer day. It is easy to tell where that came from 

 silently the Downs have stolen into sight. 



So easy is the outline of the ridge, so broad and 

 flowing are the slopes, that those who have not 

 mounted them cannot grasp the idea of their real 

 height and steepness. The copse upon the summit 

 yonder looks but a short stroll distant ; how much you 

 would be deceived did you attempt to walk thither ! 

 The ascent here in front seems nothing, but you must 

 rest before you have reached a third of the way up. 

 Ditchling Beacon there, on the left, is the very highest 

 above the sea of the whole mighty range, but so great 

 is the mass of the hill that the glance does not 

 realize it. 



Hope dwells there, somewhere, mayhap, in the 

 breeze, in the sward, or the pale cups of the harebells. 

 Now, having gazed at these, we can lean back on the 

 cushions and wait patiently for the sea. There is 

 nothing else, except the noble sycamores on the left 

 hand just before the train draws into the station. 



The clean dry brick pavements are scarcely less 

 crowded than those of London, but as you drive 

 through the town, now and then there is a glimpse- 

 of a greenish mist afar off between the houses. The 

 green mist thickens in one spot almost at the horizon;, 

 or is it the dark nebulous sails of a vessel ? Then the 

 foam suddenly appears close at hand a white streak 



