listen to its voice and hear no other; if you want to shut yourself away
from the world; if you want to hear the music of the winds, their
whispers, their lullabies, their mad dashes, their frantic rages, you
must go to the Old Chain Pier. As a rule you will find few there, but
you may know they are a special few; you will see the grave, quiet face
of the thinker, who has chosen that spot because he does not want to be
disturbed by the frou-frou of ladies' dresses, or the music of their
happy voices; he wants to be alone with the sea and the wind.

It often happens that you find a pair of very happy lovers there--they
go to the side and lean over the railing as though their sole object in
life was to watch the rippling sea. Do not believe them, for you will
hear the murmur of two voices, and the theme is always "love." If you go
near them they look shyly at you, and in a few minutes move gently away.
Ah, happy lovers, make hay while the sun shines; it does not shine
always, even over the Chain Pier.

If you want to watch the waves, to hear their rolling music, if you want
to see the seagulls whirl in the blue ether, if you want to think, to
read, to be alone, to fill your mind with beautiful thoughts, go to the
Chain Pier at Brighton.

There is a jetty--an old-fashioned, weird place, where the green water
rushes swiftly and washes round the green wood, where there is always a
beautiful sound of the rising and falling of the sea; where you may sit
on one of the old-fashioned seats, seeing nothing but water and sky
around you, until you can fancy yourself out in the wide ocean; until
you can wrap your thoughts and your senses in the very mists of romance.
Time was when the Chain Pier at Brighton was one of the wonders of
England, and even now, with its picturesque chains and arches, I like it