in allaying public fear by a tangible and visible
symbol of defence as from any idea that they would be a real service in
the event of invasion. Many of them have now disappeared.

[Sidenote: BEACHY HEAD]

Eastbourne's glory is Beachy Head, the last of the Downs, which stop
dead at the town and never reappear in Sussex again. The range takes a
sudden turn to the south at Folkington, whence it rolls straight for
the sea, Beachy Head being the ultimate eminence. (The name Beachy has,
by the way, nothing to do with the beach: it is derived probably from
the Normans' description--"beau chef.") About Beachy Head one has the
South Downs in perfection: the best turf, the best prospect, the best
loneliness, and the best air. Richard Jefferies, in his fine essay, "The
Breeze on Beachy Head," has a rapturous word to say of this air (poor
Jefferies, destined to do so much for the health of others and so little
for his own!).--"But the glory of these glorious Downs is the breeze.
The air in the valleys immediately beneath them is pure and pleasant;
but the least climb, even a hundred feet, puts you on a plane with the
atmosphere itself, uninterrupted by so much as the tree-tops. It is air
without admixture. If it comes from the south, the waves refine it; if
inland, the wheat and flowers and grass distil it. The great headland
and the whole rib of the promontory is wind-swept and washed with air;
the billows of the atmosphere roll over it.

"The sun searches out every crevice amongst the grass, nor is there the
smallest fragment of surface which is not sweetened by air and light.
Underneath the chalk itself is pure, and the turf thus washed by wind
and rain, sun-dried and dew-scented, is a couch prepared with thyme to
rest on. Discover some excuse to be up there always, to search for stray
mushrooms--they will be stray, for the crop is gathered extremely early
in the morning--or to make a list of flowers and grasses; to do
anything, and, if not, go always without any pretext. Lands of gold have
been found, and lands of spices and precious merchandise: but this is
the land of health."

Seated near the edge of the cliff one realises, as it is possible
nowhere else to realise, except perhaps at Dover, the truth of Edgar's
description of the headland in _King Lear_. It seems difficult to think
of Shakespeare exploring these or any Downs, and yet the scene must have
been in his own experience; nothing but actual sight could have giv