CROWBOROUGH BEACON. 
205 
The Brighton Downs form the boundary of the view towards 
the south, and on clear days and moonlight nights it is said that 
one can discern the sea in the direction of Pevensey Bay, and 
even the ships can be clearly seen with the aid of a telescope. 
The wide stretches of moorland covered with ling and 
heather, the young Scotch firs forming glades of welcome 
shadow here and there, the keen fresh breezes all suggest that 
one must be on a Scottish mountain rather than an English 
hillside, at any rate the invigorating effect is the same, and one 
is led on and on without knowing fatigue. 
At this season, after long drought the sandy soil is rather 
painfully arid and but few wild plants are to be found in flower. 
Asphodel must have been abundant in summer, for in marshy 
places its red brown seed vessels give a rich tone to the reedy 
grass. Drosera rotundifolia grows on the open parts of the moor, 
and more rarely the marsh gentian is also found. I am told 
that in spring the hedges and banks abound with primroses, 
bluebells, and anemones, and the copses are yellow with wild 
daffodils. 
I could not be in this neighbourhood without making a 
pilgrimage to the cottage known as “Downs,” where in 1885-6 
Richard Jefferies wrote some of his most fascinating essays, 
those contained in Field and Hedgerow. The square stone- 
built cottage is not by any means picturesque, having simply a 
door in the middle, a window on each side, and three windows 
above. The furze hedge which used to exist in front has been 
replaced by a low stone wall which encloses a small garden 
round the house. It is touching to think of “ The Hours of 
Spring ” having been written in that lowly room facing the road, 
the last lines ever penned by his own hand* being so full of 
sadness, his spirit pining to be able to watch the signs of coming 
spring, but only “ through the window-pane could he see the 
lark high up against the grey cloud and hear his song.” 
There was no photograph to be obtained of the cottage, and 
it was only after several inquiries that I could discover where 
it was ; so much for local fame. 
During the month I have spent here I have seen but few kinds 
of birds, and no rare species, some rich coloured sulphur butter- 
flies and an abundance of the commonest blue butterfly flitting 
over the heathery ground. They rest at night on slender grass 
stems with their heads downwards, and the wings so closely 
folded that no azure colour can be seen. I thought at first that 
they were grey flowers so numerous were they in one special 
field. They show a wise instinct in choosing their resting place, 
for even after a night of stormy wind and rain I found them next 
morning waving to and fro in their aerial cradles quite unharmed, 
while such fragile creatures amongst tree leafage would be certain 
to meet with injury and death. 
The later essays were dictated. 
