A footpath from Rottingdean just a mile long crosses the Downs to Ovingdean, another lonely hamlet without inn or shop. An ancient church, possibly Saxon in part, and a few houses hidden by trees make a goal of a favourite walk from Brighton. Harrison Ainsworth has made the little place famous in "Ovingdean Grange," in which romance the novelist makes it one of the scenes in the flight of Charles II; this however is incorrect, as it is certain that Brighton was the limit of the royal fugitive's journey eastwards. The large building on the hill above Ovingdean is Roedean College for girls; its fine situation and imposing size make it a landmark, and the seascape from its windows must be unrivalled.
[ CHAPTER IV]
BRIGHTON
"Kind, cheerful, merry Dr. Brighton." Thackeray's testimonial is as apt to-day as when it was written, but the doctor is not one of the traditional type. Here is no bedside manner and no misplaced sympathy, in fact he is rather a hardhearted old gentleman to those patients who are really ill in mind or body and his remedies are of the "hair of the dog that bit you" type.
Londoners take Brighton as a matter of course and—as Londoners—are rarely enthusiastic. It takes a Frenchman to give the splendid line of buildings which forms the finest front in the world the admiration that is certainly its due. When one has had time to dissect the great town, appreciation is keener; there are several Brightons; there is a town built on a cliff, another with spacious lawns on the sea level, and a third, the old Brighton, bounded by the limits of the original fishing village, and, with all its brilliance, having a distinctly briny smell as of fish markets and tarred rope and sun-baked seaweed when you are near the shingle. This last is nearly an ever-present scent, for the sun is seldom absent summer or winter; in fact it is when the days are shortest that Brighton is at its best; The clear brilliance of the air when the Capital is full of fog and even the Weald between is covered with a cold pall of mist, makes the south side of the Downs another climate. Richard Jeffries, almost as great a town hater as Cobbet, has a good word for Brighton. "Let nothing cloud the descent of those glorious beams of sunlight which fall at Brighton" (referring to its treelessness). "Watch the pebbles on the beach; the foam runs up and wets them, almost before it can slip back the sunshine has dried them again. So they are alternately wetted and dried. Bitter sea and glowing light, dry as dry—that describes the place. Spain is the country of sunlight, burning sunlight, Brighton is a Spanish town in England, a Seville."
The history of Brighton is the history of Piccadilly, but although the Prince Regent is usually credited with the discovery of the town, this title to fame must be given to a doctor of Lewes named Russel, who wrote a book on the virtues of sea water as applied to the person. This was published in 1750, and from that time must be dated the rise of England's first sea resort, for almost immediately patients eager for the new cure came thronging from London by post-chaise and family coach, and the doctor soon removed from his native town to attend them. The "cure" became the mode, and in 1783, when the Prince made his first visit, the fortune of the town was assured.