The Brighton of my Boyhood 



" How many did ye say there was of 

 them, father?" roared Tim Hurst when, at 

 our earnest request, he took us into his 

 rope-shop to show us his greatest treasure. 

 This was a testimonial presented to his 

 father and brothers by a number of persons 

 they had rescued from a wreck one bitter 

 night — a large roll of parchment, whereon 

 were the signatures of those saved, sur- 

 mounted by a deal of handsome and totally 

 illegible blazoning in red, blue, and gold, 

 which we all took on faith as expressive of 

 their gratitude, admiring it hugely. 



'' Thirt'-nine and a dog," said old Master 

 Hurst, who was smoking with closed eyes 

 in the sun outside. 



" Well, / say forty and a dog," roared 

 Tim again. 



" Thirt'-nine's the figger, I tell ye, boy," 

 growled the old giant, opening one eye and 

 peering in at us; "and don't go pilin' 

 up reckonin's in that way, or mebbe th' 

 Almighty won't let ye do the like again." 



The fisher-folk were quite able to stand 

 up for their rights in those days, and fought 

 sturdily against every encroachment of the 

 ofrowinof health resort on the old fishinof- 

 town ; and on the strength of their ancient 

 right to draw boats up on to the Steine in 

 rough weather, granted them, they claimed, 



