Chichester has its roughs and its public houses (Mr.Hudson in his _Nature in Downland_ gives them a caustic chapter); it also has its race-week every July, and barracks within hail; yet it is always a cathedral town.

Whatever noise may be in the air you know in your heart that quietude is its true characteristic.

One might say that above the loudest street cries you are continually conscious of the silence of the close.
[Illustration: _Chichester Cathedral._] [Sidenote: CHICHESTER CATHEDRAL] Chichester's cathedral is not among the most beautiful or the most interesting, but there is none cooler.

It dates from the eleventh century and contains specimens of almost every kind of church architecture; but the spire is comparatively new, having been built in 1866 to take the place of its predecessor, which suddenly dropped like an extinguisher five years before.

Seen from the Channel it rises, a friendly landmark (white or gray, according to the clouds), and while walking on the Downs above or on the plain around, one is frequently pleased to catch an unexpected glimpse of its tapering beauty.