shop--there is a bust of Psyche in the doorway--often attracts the eye in
passing; gold and silver plate in large masses is striking, and it is a
very good place to stand a minute and watch the passers-by.

It is a Piccadilly crowd by the sea-exactly the same style of people you
meet in Piccadilly, but freer in dress, and particularly in hats. All
fashionable Brighton parades the King's Road twice a day, morning and
afternoon, always on the side of the shops. The route is up and down the
King's Road as far as Preston Street, back again and up East Street.
Riding and driving Brighton extends its Rotten Row sometimes to Third
Avenue, Hove. These well-dressed and leading people never look at the
sea. Watching by the gold-plate shop you will not observe a single glance
in the direction of the sea, beautiful as it is, gleaming under the
sunlight. They do not take the slightest interest in sea, or sun, or sky,
or the fresh breeze calling white horses from the deep. Their pursuits
are purely "social," and neither ladies nor gentlemen ever go on the
beach or lie where the surge comes to the feet. The beach is ignored; it
is almost, perhaps quite vulgar; or rather it is entirely outside the
pale. No one rows, very few sail; the sea is not "the thing" in Brighton,
which is the least nautical of seaside places. There is more talk of
horses.

The wind coming up the cliff seems to bring with it whole armfuls of
sunshine, and to throw the warmth and light against you as you linger.
The walls and glass reflect the light and push back the wind in puffs and
eddies; the awning flutters; light and wind spring upwards from the
pavement; the sky is richly blue against the parapets overhead; there are
houses on one side, but on the other open space and sea, and dim clouds
in the extreme distance. The atmosphere is full of light, and gives a
sense of liveliness! every atom of it is in motion. How delicate are the