as if the main desire of its builders had been to put it down as far as possible out of everybody's way. Still a little further on the road some trees will be seen to the left, down a lane, and among these trees the instinct of a traveller accustomed to find things out, told me to go and look for Plumpton Place.

I almost wish that I had not found it, for a more depressing sight could not well be met with. Everything that can be done to degrade a house has been done to this; abject poverty has hung out its miserable sign all over it, and even the beauty which age would have lent it has been ruthlessly defaced and cast to the swine which grovel before its doors-for the pigs are almost as numerous here as they are in Ireland. Upon its poor old head a new slate roof has been clapped, as if in derision- -a hideous slate roof of the commonest kind, giving the building the appearance of a workhouse. The windows have been knocked about, the doorways spoiled, and dirty little cesspools are stuck close to the once famous mansion, near the moat. Never was there a more utterly and hopelessly dishonoured old house-it could not be helped, perhaps, but it makes one wretched to look at it. For the house, to judge from the pictures of it still existing, must have been not only large, but beautiful, perhaps as noble a mansion as one could find in all Sussex. In the time of Henry the Eighth, Lennard Mascall lived here, and is said to have brought carp into England for the first time, and put them in his moat -a doubtful tale. The moat is still here, or a large part of it, covered with a thick and greasy scum

in some places, but in others running clear and bright, as it must have done three hundred years ago. Some large yew trees grow by the side of it, and look as if they were trying to hide from the water the abominations which have been put up close by. Nothing that man can do to cast shame and contempt upon a dwellingplace has been spared.

"You see, sir," said an old woman of the neighbourhood, "the house is let out in lodgings at one-andsixpence a-week. And a lodging-house is always the same-you cannot keep it clean and tidy." How much better to have pulled it down, stone by stone. "I remember the time, sir," said the woman, 66 when it was all in very good order—and very stately-looking. There was tapestry in some of the rooms, and I recollect it quite well. It showed you Hisraelites in the desert, and Moses, and when you were in bed, it seemed as if they were all alive and walking about. beautiful."

"It must, indeed, have been lovely," said I; pecially for those who wanted to go to sleep."

It was

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es

"Twenty pounds would have done the 'ouse up, sir, and lots of people would have taken it." Her estimate is a little too low, I think, judging from some little experiences of my own; but if the expense of restoring the house would have been too great, there was no necessity to turn it into a dunghill.

Gladly did I turn my back upon Plumpton Place, and made all speed towards the Borstall by which I intended to reach the Downs, and which runs between a small

plantation and a chalkpit. This borstall gives one an idea of what the roads in Sussex used to be everywhere -cut to a great depth by wagon-wheels, and left in hills and dales for the seasons to work their will upon. Near a grove of beeches, but on the opposite side of the hill, a faint trace of a large cross is to be seen-doubtless a relic of the great battle fought not far off, and of the dead who were buried all along the hill side, and it may be in specially large numbers near this cross. Then the crown of the hill is reached, and a superb view is spread before the eyes-to Brighton on one side, and all over Sussex on the other. After luxuriously feasting on this, I pushed on for Lewes over the Downs, but the reader need not pursue that course, for he may take to the hill at Ditchling, and go straight over to Brighton—a charming walk, until he gets within two or three miles of Brighton proper, when all becomes tedious and hateful.

CHAPTER IX.

WILMINGTON, EASTBOURNE, AND BEACHY HEAD.

A Hint for a Walk.-The Road Mender.-A Windmill broke Loose.

"Nothing but Bad Luck."-Rabbits and "Tigs.”—Some Advice Concerning Bees.-Wilmington and Jevington.—An Innkeeper Proud of a Church.-No Place Like Kent.-Jevington to Eastbourne.-East Dean and Friston.-Birling Gap.—Gardening under Difficulties.-Darby's Hole.-A Reminiscence of a Lighthouse.-Beachy Head.-The Last of the South Downs.

THE last of the South Downs may best be seen in the course of a walk from Wilmington to Eastbourne, and thence to Beachy Head and Birling Gap—a line of coast which will be found full of interest, no matter at what period of the year it may be visited. The cliffs are not of great height between Beachy Head and Birling Gap, between 500 and 600 feet-but they are much higher, and altogether more striking in appearance, than other cliffs which people go longer distances to see-than the cliffs at the Land's End, for instance, or along the coast of Cornwall generally. And the walk on the top of them is very much pleasanter than the walk from the Land's End to the Logan Stone, for in the one case it is over turf as smooth and soft as can be found on any lawn in a garden on the Thames, while

in the other the path runs amid jagged rocks and very stony ground. In the course which I marked out, Beachy Head was reserved for the last journey, and it was not without regret that I saw the hills coming to an end. In Murray's "Handbook of Sussex," the reader is told that he "will find the South Downs less hackneyed ground, and quite as interesting, as many parts of the Continent which enjoy a far higher reputation," and it will scarcely be necessary to travel from Petersfield to Beachy Head to enable anyone to appreciate the truth of this statement. Almost any division of the Downs described in previous chapters will suffice to reveal to the visitor a thousand attractions which he would scarcely have expected to find within fifty miles of London.

Wilmington may be reached from Berwick Station, but unluckily there are three miles of turnpike road between the two places, and at Berwick no conveyance is to be had by which this unpleasant part of the journey can be disposed of without trouble. Three miles of a dusty road are apt to take the early charm and brightness out of a day, and deaden that enthusiasm which the prospect of a long ramble among the fields and hills is sure to inspire. There is, however, no way of avoiding it, and if the visitor can reconcile himself to the first part of this route, the last part will more than compensate. him for his patience and trouble.

On the way to Wilmington a road-mender informed. me that it was possible to get to Eastbourne over the Downs, but he did not know the road. Like all country