THE BRIGHTON OF MY 

 BOYHOOD 



Cr~]\ OHERE may be those who, seeing 

 the title of this Httle book, will at 

 once suppose they have alighted 

 on a story of Brighton as it is 

 to-day — the gay, big Brighton of the 

 speculative hotel-proprietor and music-hall 

 manager. Therefore I will in fairness tell 

 them, and without more ado, that of this 

 Brighton I have never a w^ord to say. I 

 am an old man now, and like many another 

 of my kind I have an excellent memory 

 and a clinorinor affection for the thinors that 

 happened in times long gone, and so I am 

 only going to gossip about the Brighton I 

 knew and loved as a little boy ; of which, 



I A 



