In Fairlight there are two famous spots--the Dripping Well and the Lovers' Seat. The well, situated at the northern end of the glen, shows a decided tendency to follow the custom of most local waters, but we can nevertheless get some idea of what a pretty little spot it must have been at its best. The Lovers' Seat is a little to the east, high up on the face of a steep, shrub-grown cliff. A large rock overhangs at the top, and beneath is a tiny platform, slowly disappearing. It is a fine place, especially on an early summer morning, when the air is athrob with the tumultuous melody of the birds in the glen below, and the sea birds wheel round the aerie--a place well fitted to stir even Charles Lamb to praise: "Let me hear that you have clambered up to Lovers' Seat; it is as fine in that neighbourhood as Juan Fernandez, as lonely too, when the fishing-boats are not out; I have sat for hours staring upon a shipless sea. The salt sea is never so grand as when it is left to itself." Of course it has a story: what similar romantic spot has not? Doubt has been cast on the veracity; but such pretty tales certainly _ought_ to be true. East of the glen lies Cliff End, where the brown sandstone cliffs dip down sharply once more to the level marshlands. The path thither meanders along the top of the cliffs, now approaching perilously near the edge to give a glimpse of some sweet little hanging dell with trees right down to the waves, now wandering inland a little through acres of bee-thronged gorse and heather. It is such a spot as Richard Jefferies loved: "All warmly lit with sunshine, deep under liquid sunshine like sands under the liquid sea, no harshness of man-made sound to break the isolation amid nature". Once at Cliff End we marvel, and yet offer up fervent thanks that it is not one of the "show places" of the district. The low rolling hills, having constituted the coast-line for half a dozen miles, at this point break away inland to form a delightful country-side. By so doing they enclose what was formerly a great lagoon or inland sea, having long arms, or fiords, running up into the different river-valleys of Brede, Tillingham, and Rother. Now the sea has gone, and there, in its place, stretch away acres upon acres of marshland, marked out like a piece of old patchwork by the countless watercourses--a place of stressless labour and contentment.