ed, 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
better than any other.

I may as well tell the truth while I write of it. I know that if the
dead can rise from their graves I shall re-visit the Chain Pier at
Brighton. I spent one hour there--that was the hour of my life--one
madly happy, bewildering hour! I remember the plank of wood on which my
feet rested; I remember the railing, over which I heard the green, deep
water, with the white-sailed boat in the distance--sails like the white
wings of angels beckoning me away; the blue sky with the few fleecy
white clouds--the wash of the waters against the woodwork of the pier;
and I remember the face that looked down into mine--all Heaven lay in it
for me; the deep water, the blue sky, the handsome face, the measured
rhythms of the sea, the calm tones of the clear waves--are all mixed in
one dream. I cry out in anguish at times that Heaven may send me such
another, but it can never be! If the dead can return, I shall stand
once more where I stood then. I will not tell my story now, but rather
tell of the tragedy with which the Chain Pier at Brighton is associated
for evermore in my mind.

I had gone down to Brighton for my health, and I was staying at the most
comfortable and luxurious of hotels, "The Norfolk." It was the end of
September, and the only peculiarity of the month that I remember was
this: the nights grew dark very soon--they were not cold; the darkness
was rather that of soft thick gloom that spread over land and sea. No
one need ever feel dull in Brighton. If I could have liked billiards, or
cared for the theater, or enjoyed the brilliant shops on the crowded
pier, with its fine music, I might have been happy enough; but I was
miserable with this aching pain of regret and the chill desolation of a
terrible loss. I tried the Aquarium. If fishes could soothe the heart of
man, solace might be found there; but to my morbid fancy they looked at
me with wide open eyes of wonder--they kne