The Brighton of my Boyhood 



your little beds, gentlemen," sung out an 

 old fisherman on one occasion, amid the 

 appreciative roars of his comrades. ''I'm 

 afraid you'll be catching your death o' cold 

 standin' there doing nothing." 



''And we took his advice," said my 

 friend. 



When the coastguards went, the band 

 would break up in a trice and disperse 

 with the goods according to a before-made 

 plan. Some rode away over the Downs, 

 some made for the nearest village, and 

 others disappeared with a suddenness which 

 suggested the existence of caves there 

 abouts for the storage of treasure. 



But my Mother had grim and thrilling 

 tales to tell of the smuggling in her day. 

 A rumour would run from neighbour to 

 neighbour in the little village where she 

 lived, that on such a night a cargo was 

 expected, and that the smugglers were to 

 pass through the village at such o'clock. 

 Then every one went to bed a little earlier 

 than usual, closed their windows and doors, 

 drew their curtains and knew nothing 

 about it. It was the supreme terror of her 

 childhood. 



"There was no sleep for me those 

 nights," said my Mother. " I used to say 

 the Lord's Prayer over and over, and then 

 17 B 



