212 NATURE NEAR LONDON. 



cut down to the beach, descend to the shingle, and 

 stroll along the shore to Eottingdean. 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, mingling 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, 

 with its swift, luxurious service of Pullman cars, its 

 piers, and social pleasures, there exists a collection 

 w^hich in a few strokes, as it were, sketches the ways 

 and habits and thoughts of old rural England. It is 

 not easy to realize in these days of quick transit and 

 still quicker communication that old England was 

 mostly rural. 



