A little way down the ascent is a small house on the left, called The Downs. Here for some time, in 1885-6, dwelt Richard Jefferies. Sometimes, on a bright day in the winter or spring, he might be seen taking exercise under the lee of the hedge which bordered the road just outside of the gate of his cottage; but in the warm summer days I have met him in the fields and lanes, enjoying the rich mental feast which the book of Nature had opened out to him. He could see what was hid from the perception of many. The gulf between the spirit in man and that in Nature seemed to some extent bridged over to him. Some of his fascinating essays were written, I believe, in the Downs cottage. Look at it. It was the abode of a mind which loved the contemplation of Nature under every aspect, could see its hidden combinations, the links of its relationships, and could penetrate to the springs and fountains of its action. He was then sick unto death, for an insidious disease was hurrying him to the grave. He was not understood at Crowborough. He did not come with a full purse, but with a rich mind only. He has gone; his poor emaciated body rests in the little churchyard at Broadwater, near Worthing. He lives, however, in the memories of those who knew him, as well as of those who admire his writings.

Proceeding, we come to a farmhouse at Cooke's Corner, where on the right a very old oak tree, whose age is beyond local history, rears its shattered limbs above the barn roof.

We hurry on past another farm on the left, and then a chapel on the right, called Forest Fold, but also graphically designated by the villagers as the "Two Chimneys." Passing some cottages and a hop garden we come to a rather steep ascent, at the top of which we may rest to glance back over the way we have traversed.