216 NATURE NEAR LONDON. 



And after studying these shelves, and getting, as it 

 were, so deep down into the past, it is with a kind of 

 Eip Van Winkle feeling that you enter again into the 

 sunshine of the day. The fair upon the beach does 

 not seem quite real for a few minutes. 



Before the autumn is too far advanced and the 

 skies are uncertain, a few hours should be given to 

 that massive Down which fronts the traveller from 

 I^ondon, Ditchling Beacon, the highest above the 

 sea-level. It is easy of access, the train carries you 

 to Hassock's Gate — the station is almost in a copse — 

 and an omnibus runs from it to a comfortable inn in 

 ihe centre of Ditchling village. Thence to the Down 

 itself the road is straight, and the walk no longer 

 than is always welcome after riding. 



After leaving the cottages and gardens, the road 

 soon becomes enclosed with hedges and trees, a mere 

 country lane ; and how pleasant are the trees after the 

 bare shore and barren sea ! The hand of autumn 

 has browned the oaks, and has passed over the hedge, 

 reddening the haws. The north wind rustles the 

 dry hollow stalks of plants upon the mound, and there 

 is a sense of hardihood in the touch of its breath. 



The light is brown, for a vapour conceals the sun 

 — it is not like a cloud, for it has no end or outline, 

 and it is high above where the summer blue was 

 lately. Or is it the buff leaves, the grey stalks, the 

 dun grasses, the ripe fruit, the mist which hides the 

 distance that makes the day so brown ? But the ditches 

 below are yet green with brooklime and rushes. By 

 a gateway stands a tall campanula or bell-flower, two 

 feet high or nearly, with great bells of blue. 



