sunlight, the line of white cliff and the beach where the children are
at play. You go down to the wonderful jetty, which, to me, was one of
the most mysterious and romantic of places. There the water is of the
deepest, choicest emerald green, and it washes the wonderful net-work of
poles with a soft, lapping sound beautiful to hear. You can stand there
with only a rail between you and the green, deep water, watching the
fisher-boats out on the deep; watching, perhaps, the steamer with its
load of passengers, or looking over the wide sunlit waves,
dreaming--dreams born of the sea--out of the world; alone in the kingdom
of fancy; there is always something weird in the presence of deep,
silent, moving waters.

There is always plenty of life, gayety and fashion on the West Pier. It
is a famous place, not for love-making but for flirtation; a famous
place for studying human nature; a famous place for passing a pleasant
hour. You may often meet great celebrities on the West Pier; faces
familiar at the House of Lords, familiar at Court, familiar at the
opera, are to be seen there during the season; beautiful faces that have
grown pale and worn with the excitement of a London campaign, and here,
as they are bent thoughtfully over the green waters, the bracing air
brings sweet roses, the lines fade, the eyes brighten; there is no such
beautifier as a sea breeze, no bloom so radiant and charming as that
brought by the wind from the sea.

On the West Pier you will find all the beauty, rank and fashion of
Brighton; you will see costumes a ravir, dresses that are artistic and
elegant; you will see faces beautiful and well-known; you will hear a
charming ripple of conversation; you will witness many pleasant and
piquant adventures; but if you want to dream; if you want to give up
your whole heart and soul to the poetry of the sea; if you want to