evidently made all safe about his dinner long ago, and bore my disappointment with resignation.

"Then what could you get?"

"Cutlets, sir."

Had the observant reader dropped into the coffeeroom of the "Star Inn that night he would have remarked a gloomy and downcast stranger at the table, discontentedly munching cutlets, and making little bread balls on the table-cloth, and occasionally casting dark and lowering looks of hatred in the direction of the waiter. Let us draw a veil over the sad scene.

The next morning the appearance with a smile. matter over, and saw his the dinner. "Very nice mushrooms, sir, this morning," said he. "And a chop." "Very well," said I, "both. Broil the mushrooms carefully and serve them on toast. Don't dump them into a lot of fat." While at the fateful process of dressing the waiter came back. Sorry, sir, no mushrooms. Frost has got at 'em."

undaunted waiter made his

He had been thinking the way clear to make amends for

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"Do you ever have anything that you promise, waiter ? "

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Oh, yessir-'am and heggs, sir. Chop, sir. Sorry about the mushrooms, sir."

I went down the "fine old staircase "not over pleased with mankind, but a chop is better than nothing, although not a suitable thing, in my humble opinion, for breakfast. It was not very long before I bade good morning to the imaginative waiter and the fine old staircase, and turned to the left to reach Cliffe Hill,

from the side of which an excellent view of the old town of Lewes is to be gained. At the top a green track runs to I really do not know where, for I did not follow it, being out merely for a desultory stroll. Anyone who wishes to enjoy the South Downs must not bother himself about sticking to any track, green or white, but push out in all sorts of directions, and go wherever his fancy may guide him. By turning to the left up the brow of Cliffe Hill, a very noble view presents itself, and we soon see that we are on a kind of island, and can walk round it, and survey the whole country at our feet. The humming of a threshingmachine reached the ear from a farm several miles away, and swallows were cleaving their way through the air, while occasionally a beautiful scarlet butterfly flitted among the wild thyme and grass. I wandered leisurely round towards Mount Caburn, keeping on the brow of the hill as closely as possible. At one point there is a lovely red-brick house to be seen, old-fashioned though new, with fine trees in front of it, and standing close to the Downs. They say that if you resolve to have a house, you will get it some day, as Mr. Dickens did; therefore I resolved to have this one, and am still waiting patiently for it. And now one ought to have been rewarded by another glimpse of the sea, for Beachy Head was within eye-shot, but a touch of east had come into the wind, and who does not know what that will soon do to mar a view? On Mount Caburn there is a very perfect earthwork, with a double fosse all round it. "From his watch-tower here," says the author of

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Mr. Murray's excellent Handbook, "the archeologist may reconstruct for himself the whole panorama of ancient Sussex." It was on these hills, as one learns from the same pages, that the famous breed of South Down sheep was first pastured, and Mr. Ellman, who developed the breed, lived at Glynde just below. Now a gentleman lives there who has a more troublesome flock to manage than thousands of good, fat, well-conducted South Down sheep could ever be-Mr. Brand, the Speaker of the House of Commons.

On the south side of the hill there is a bench placed for visitors, but it is pleasanter to lie down upon the grass, and let the eye wander from the plain to the opposite range of hills, culminating in Firle Beacon. The green soft bank invites repose, and reclining there quietly the birds come quite close-a swift dashes up almost to one's face, and a starling scarcely condescends to move beyond reach. The tops of the hills look so round and clean that one might fancy they had but just been shaven, and the green winding vale, with the Ouse flowing through it, may be traced almost to the Sea.

CHAPTER VI.

AMONG THE DOWNS.

Glynde.—A Walk through Firle Park.-Firle Beacon and its Views. —Seaford.—Fairy Rings.—Alfriston.-Searching for Flints.— Moles. Sheep Rot.-Farmers' Troubles.-A Sheep in Difficulties. The River Ouse. Southease. A Scramble up the Downs.

THE village of Glynde lies close under Mount Caburn, which has, among other peculiarities, the traditional reputation of being a place where Druidical worship was once celebrated. "The mound of earth thrown up within the ramparts," says a learned writer, "corresponds precisely with the Gorseddâu, or sacred hillocks, from which the Druids of the higher order were accustomed to pronounce their decrees, and to deliver their orations to the people." Glynde has been made the subject of a very long paper in one of the volumes of the Sussex Archæological Society, and it is a picturesque South Down village, but there is nothing there to detain the traveller long. The best thing he can do on arriving at the station is to cross the line by the bridge, turn off to the left by some new cottages, and make for the woods of Firle Place,

which he will see at no great distance towards the south-east. He will enter Lord Gage's park by a little lodge gate, and follow the coach road till it brings him close to the house, leave it where it turns to the main entrance, and go straight on across the grass, till he sees Firle Beacon close by on his right hand. Several tracks lead to the top of the hill, and the visitor may please himself as to which he will take, provided he sets his face towards the highest point.

Firle Place is an old-fashioned, comfortable-looking house, and in the days of the eighth Henry was probably a much more imposing building than it is at present. There are the remains of a fine old avenue of trees near it, now mostly gone to decay. Almost adjoining the house stands the village of West Firle, where there is a cobbler's shop well worthy of a touch from the pencil of any artist who strolls this way. The church is approached by a long walk with a yew hedge on each side, and within there are several memorials to members of the Gage family, some of them dating back to the year 1568. In the churchyard there is an inscription to the memory of a young man of robust constitution and exemplary steadiness of character," who notwithstanding his good character was drowned in the river Cuckmere. The entire surroundings of the village and house are pleasant and home-like. It is easy to get to Firle Beacon from almost anywhere hereabouts, and the hill is worth climbing, for the views are very beautiful, wherever the eye may wander, over sea or land. To the north one can look entirely across the Weald to the

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