verhead? The eye must stay here a long period, and drink
in these distances, before it can adjust the measure, and know exactly
what it sees.

The vastness conceals itself, giving us no landmark or milestone. The
fleck of cloud yonder, does it part it in two, or is it but a third of
the way? The world is an immense cauldron, the ocean fills it, and we
are merely on the rim--this narrow land is but a ribbon to the
limitlessness yonder. The wind rushes out upon it with wild joy;
springing from the edge of the earth, it leaps out over the ocean. Let
us go back a few steps and recline on the warm dry turf.

It is pleasant to look back upon the green slope and the hollows and
narrow ridges, with sheep and stubble and some low hedges, and oxen, and
that old, old sloth--the plough--creeping in his path. The sun is bright
on the stubble and the corners of furze; there are bees humming yonder,
no doubt, and flowers, and hares crouching--the dew dried from around
them long since, and waiting for it to fall again; partridges, too,
corn-ricks, and the roof of a farmhouse by them. Lit with sunlight are
the fields, warm autumn garnering all that is dear to the heart of man,
blue heaven above--how sweet the wind comes from these!--the sweeter for
the knowledge of the profound abyss behind.

Here, reclining on the grass--the verge of the cliff rising a little,
shuts out the actual sea--the glance goes forth into the hollow
unsupported. It is sweeter towards the corn-ricks, and yet the mind will
not be satisfied, but ever turns to the unknown. The edge and the abyss
recall us; the boundless plain, for it appears solid as the waves are
levelled by distance, demands the gaze. But with use it becomes easier,
and the eye labours less. There is a promontory standing out from the
main wall, whence you can see the side of the cliff, getting a flank
view, as from a tower.

The jackdaws occasionally floating out from the ledge are as mere specks
from above, as they were from below. The reef running out from the
beach, though now covered by the tide, is visible as you look down on it
through the water; the seaweed, which lay matted and half dry on the
rocks, is now under the wave. Boats have come round, and are beached;
how helplessly little they seem beneath the cliff by the sea!

On returning homewards towards Eastbourne stay awhile by the tumulus on
the slope. There are others hidden among the furze; butterflies flutter
over them, and the