TO BRIGHTON. 211 



seems to run from house to house, reflecting the sun- 

 light ; and this is Brighton. 



" How different the sea looks awly from the pier ! " 

 It is a new pleasure to those who have been full of 

 gaiety to see, for once, the sea itself. Westwards, a 

 mile beyond Hove, beyond the coastguard cottages, 

 turn aside from the road, and go up on the rough 

 path along the ridge of shingle. The hills are away 

 on the right, the sea on the left ; the yards of the 

 ships in the basin slant across the sky in front. 



With a quick, sudden heave the summer sea, calm 

 and gleaming, runs a little way up the side of the 

 groyne, and again retires. There is scarce a gurgle 

 or a bubble, but the solid timbers are polished and 

 smooth where the storms have worn them with pebbles. 

 From a grassy spot ahead a bird rises, marked with 

 white, and another follows it ; they are wheatears ; 

 they frequent the land by the low beach in the 

 autumn. 



A shrill but feeble pipe is the cry of the sandpiper, 

 disturbed on his moist feeding-ground. Among the 

 stones by the waste places there are pale-green 

 wrinkled leaves, and the large yellow petals of the sea- 

 poppy. The bright colour is pleasant, but it is a 

 flower best left ungathered, for its odour is not sweet. 

 On the wiry sward the light pink of the sea-daisies 

 (or thrift) is dotted here and there : of these gather 

 as you will. The presence even of such simple flowers, 

 of such well-known birds, distinguishes the solitary 

 from the trodden beach. The pier is in view, but the 

 sea is different here. 



Drive eastwards along the cliffs to the rough steps 



