"A child found drowned by the Chain Pier." Kind-hearted, motherly women
shrugged their shoulders with a sigh. The finding or the death of such
hapless little ones is, alas! not rare. I do not think of the hundreds
who carelessly heard the words that morning there was one who stopped to
think of the possible suffering of the child. It is a wide step from the
warmth of a mother's arms to the chill of the deep-sea water. The gay
tide of fashion ebbed and flowed just the same; the band played on the
Chain Pier the morning following; the sunbeams danced on the
water--there was nothing to remind one of the little life so suddenly
and terribly closed.

There was not much more to tell. There was an inquest, but it was not of
much use. Every one knew that the child had been drowned; the doctor
thought it had been drugged before it was drowned; there was very little
to be said about it. Jim, the boatman, proved the finding of it. The
coroner said a few civil words when he heard that one of the visitors of
the town, out of sheer pity, had offered to defray the expenses of the
little funeral.

The little unknown babe, who had spent the night in the deep sea, was
buried in the cemetery on the Lewes Road. I bought a grave for her under
the spreading boughs of a tree; she had a white pall and a quantity of
white flowers. The matron from the work-house went, and it was not at
all like a pauper's funeral. The sun was shining, and the balmy air was
filled with the song of birds; but then the sun does shine, and the
birds will sing, for paupers!

I ordered a small white marble cross; it stands underneath the trees at
the head of the little green grove. When the head mason asked me what