it.

The Downs at the back of the town form the most glorious riding that can be imagined. As the rider crosses over them on his free going steed, he might fancy himself in the wilds of Australia, so vast does the landscape appear; the earth seems to swell and roll like the heaving billows of a mighty sea. Not a house or sign of cultivation is to be seen on them for many miles in some parts, and the only signs of life are the flocks of the famous South-Downs, which, on some distant upland of the landscape, look like so many maggots working and twisting together. The fine nature of the turf, formed of the smallest herbs between the grass, is supposed to be the cause of the exquisite flavour the mutton fed upon it attains; it also affords that delicious spring to the horse's feet which seems to make him delight in galloping upon The race-course is situated upon the highest ridge of the Downs, at no great distance from the town. Here the races are held in the early part of August, and attract a large and brilliant company. To obtain a thorough idea of the grandeur the Downs can put on, and to witness one of those contrasts which nature loves sometimes to show between the sublimity of bare and sweeping hills, and the calm and repose of her fruitful plains, the visitor should take a gallop over the smooth turf to the Devil's Dyke. This extraordinary spot lies only seven miles distant from Brighton; there is no beaten road to it, but the sod is the highway for all. As you leave the town and enter upon the Downs you see at once how cultivation, notwithstanding the repeal of the Corn-laws, is gradually advancing upon this virgin soil. Heavy crops of both wheat and oats were just being gathered in as we lately rode over the Downs, evincing how fruitful is the few inches of soil lying upon the chalk formation of which these hills are composed-there seems no sign here at least of that disastrous transformation of arable into pasture which the Duke of Richmond has so passionately predicted; on the contrary, the poor South-Downs are year by year finding the food taken from them, and the golden grain waving where once the lonely shepherd and themselves wandered freely as in the Savannahs of the far west. As you ride on,

you are journeying: the plain, undulating on all sides, is terminated before you by a gradually ascending upland. No trace of the Dyke is to be seen, and it is not until the top of the ridge is gained that any portion of the extraordinary scenery so close upon you comes to view. The Devil's Dyke, which gives the name to the spot from which such a magnificent prospect is obtained, is nothing more than a very deep and sudden valley of a semicircular form, sunken as it were in the gently rising ground. Extraordinary as this chasm is, the spectator passes it almost unnoticed as the Weald of Sussex suddenly unfolds as it were at his feet. If nature had endeavoured to create a sudden surprise for man, she could not have done it more effectually than by leading him over the gradual ascent of a vast Down, and then suddenly sinking the earth six or seven hundred feet in a bold escarpment, until it formed a plain almost limitless to the eye, and rich in summer foliage and yellow corn. For miles on each side the Downs descend into this plain in an almost perpendicular manner. It almost looks as though the Titans, piling up the land against Jove, had advanced so far with their "tip" and then stopped short. If you throw yourself down on the edge of this fearful descent on a fine summer's afternoon, and strain your eyes over this wonderful plain beneath, you gain a sensation of space that no other landscape in England can perhaps afford. The valley before you stretches north-east to south-west, a space of no less than one hundred and twenty miles, commencing at Maidstone and only terminates at the Hampshire Downs, near Portsmouth. To the north and northwest the eye reaches as far as Croydon and Norwood; no fewer than six counties being rolled out in this gigantic map at the spectator's feet, and these for the most part garden or park-like in culture and appearThose who are curious about the matter, might count upwards of sixty churches dotted over the extending landscape. Turning to the southward the spectator traces distinctly the extensive bay sweeping between Beachy Head and Selsey Bill, with Brighton in the centre. Looking over the ocean to the west, the Culver Cliffs of the Isle of Wight are seen quite distinctly by the naked eye, although upwards of forty miles distant, and an expanse of ocean stretches before you such as a whole lifetime will scarcely show you again.

ance.

Let us now turn to the Devil's Dyke,-why so called we do not know, except on the general principle that anything tremendous looking is generally ascribed by the common people to Satanic agency. Of old it used to be called "The Poor Man's Wall;" this name arose perhaps from the shelter it afforded shepherds from the bleak winds of winter.

The Devil's Dyke, then, is a precipitous valley, or more properly speaking a gigantic "cutting," of a bowed form, its two ends forming, together with the precipitous terminations of the Downs, an oval-like island of ground, as it were, completely inaccessible at

every point but one, and this is fortified with a line of earthwork and a deep vallum. From what we have said it will be clear to the reader that the spot formed of old a Roman encampment, as it undoubtedly did; and a more impregnable position could not well have been chosen. In all probability the Dyke was originally a deep chasm or valley, in the hill which the invaders rendered still more precipitous by art; indeed, if the spectator looks down upon it when the sun shines along its steep descent, on the southern side, he will perceive where the natural round of the hill-side terminates, and the straight, steep "cutting" commences. This Dyke, either side of which slopes at an angle of 45°, is upwards of 300 feet in depth, and is flat and level at the bottom, as though used by the Romans for a road. The space of ground isolated by means of this Dyke is nearly a mile in length, and forms certainly the highest point of observation in the county. Here, as upon an inaccessible eyrie, the Roman eagles of old watched the plain beneath them; keeping in awe the Britons who still hunted in the almost unbroken forest which spread as far as the eye could reach. Where, in all probability, the tents of the soldiers stood, a comfortable little inn is located, and the visitor finds accommodation such as he would little expect in the centre of these wild Downs. The house is completely supported by the pleasure-parties from Brighton, who ride over to see the Dyke and prospect. In the winter none but the shepherds of the neighbourhood approach it, and when snow covers the ground it is as much cut off from the haunts of men as the Eddystone Lighthouse during the equinoctial gales. The landlord, who is intelligent and obliging, nevertheless seems to bear well "winter and rough weather," especially those tremendous gales from the Atlantic which blow here with such force as to almost make you believe in the assertion of the sea captain, that he was obliged during one of them to employ "two men to hold on the hair of his head.".

Another favourite place of resort of the Brightonians and visitors is the Miller's Tomb, on High Down Hill. This spot is not far from the Goring station on the Brighton and Chichester Railway. The eccentric miller to whom the tomb belongs had a fancy for contemplating mortality; and if one might make a joke on such a subject, was always trying" to be in" at his own death. For this purpose he had his grave dug on the top of the hill, in the year 1776; at the same time he caused his coffin to be made, which he placed upon castors, and by touching a spring caused it to roll out into his room. This coffin he placed under his bed every night. The old man seems to have huffed grim death by these proceedings, for he continued to play with his anything but cheerful toy for thirty-three years, not dying until the year 1793, when he was in his eighty-fourth year. His tomb is surrounded by iron railings, and it has numerous inscriptions written upon it by his own hand.

| Oliver left a handsome annuity to his grave, and als to a summer-house which he erected close to it, with the idea that other people would be as fond of contemplating his last resting-place as himself. This annuity, £20 a year we believe, the living have not disbursed in those due repairs desired by the miller,—a matte some public-spirited individual should look into, for the summer-house affords a charming view, over a very charming country.

Bramber Castle, the very name it goes under in Domesday-book, is the most interesting relic of the feudal times near Brighton. The village of Bramber is on the banks of the river Adur, four miles from Shoreham. It formed one of those infamous nests of political corruption which the Reform Bill swept away. I: only contains about thirty cottages; nevertheless, they, in "the good old times," returned two members to parliament; every house built upon an ancient foundation gave a vote to its holder, provided he paid scot and lot. From the village the castle is plainly visible, as it stands on very elevated ground. It was at one time a most formidable fortress, and commanded the adjacent pass into the country. The ruins are still very extensive, and cover much space of ground, but no one perfect bit of the stronghold remains. Some portion of it was defensible in the time of the civil wars, and garrisoned by a strong body of parliamentary soldiers; but when Cromwell attained the supreme power, it was destroyed by his orders, to prevent its forming a stronghold against the Commonwealth at any future time. In the foss of the castle a church now stands, built doubtless out of the ruins of the old walls.

Arundel Castle, the splendid seat of the Duke of Norfolk, surrounded by its fringe of woods, is now, unfortunately, closed to the public; but at Lewes, the county town, which is only distant eight miles from Brighton, very considerable remains of a castle are still to be seen. The gateway, which is very old, -counting at least from the Norman times, and a greater portion of two keeps (a twin arrangement of strongholds that we do not remember in any other castle), are still in a pretty good state of preservation. The town of Lewes was formerly a more considerable place than it now is, and carried on extensive manufactures it is still, however, considered the county town, and contains the County Hall, and is one of its chief corn-markets. A very interesting discovery was made here in 1845. When they were making the excavations for the railway, the remains of Earl Warrene and his Countess Gundreda, enclosed in leaden coffins, were disinterred. The one was inscribed with the letters WILLMS, and on the other GVNDRADA is cut in the most distinct manner. The Earl and his wife were the founders of a Priory in the town, for monks of the Cluniac order, in the year 1078; so that the coffins must have been nearly eight hundred years old.