The Brighton of my Boyhood 



sistently supported by the townsfolk In 

 Brighton and otherwhere, that there was 

 nothing for It but for the excisemen to 

 wink at It as often as possible, very occa- 

 sionally make a show of resistance, and at 

 the worst clap a culprit Into gaol for a few 

 weeks by way of reminder that the law of 

 Protection did yet exist, if only to be 

 broken ! There was not, I believe, a 

 housewife In all the town but knew where 

 to get her tea and brandy without paying 

 duty, nor a lady that had not learned the 

 trick of considerably reducing the outlay of 

 her pin-money over " real French " fineries, 

 without curtailing her stock of silks and 

 laces at all ; nor an innkeeper that would 

 not wink as he assured you, you could not 

 get such cognac as his at that price else- 

 where ! Indeed every gipsy and pedlar- 

 wife would boast in strictest confidence, 

 that she had the very pick of forbidden 

 continental fruit stowed away beneath her 

 homely wares. One such I remember 

 well. She was an old woman who came 

 round selling fowls, butter and eggs in a 

 basket covered with a white cloth. She 

 had glittering eyes, and brass rings In her 

 ears, and a tongue off which the lies and 

 the blarney rolled as easily as rain off a 

 tulip leaf. When my Mother spied her 

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