SUNNY BRIGHTON. 57 



smack is drawn slowly up over tlie pebbles. The 

 full curves of the rounded bows beside me are 

 pleasant to the eye, as any curve is that recalls those 

 of woman. Mastheads stand up against the sky, 

 and a loose rope swings as the breeze strikes it ; a 

 veer of the wind brings a puff of smoke from the 

 funnel of a cabin, where some one is cooking, but 

 it is not disagreeable, like smoke from a house 

 chimney-pot ; another veer carries it away again, 

 depend upon it the simplest thing cooked there is 

 nice. Shingle rattles as it is shovelled up for ballast 

 the sound of labour makes me more comfortably 

 lazy. They are not in a hurry, nor "chivy" over 

 their work either ; the tides rise and fall slowly, and 

 they work in correspondence. No infernal fidget and 

 fuss. Wonder how long it would take me to pitch 

 a pebble so as to lodge on the top of that large brown 

 pebble there ? I try, once now and then. 



Far out over the sea there is a peculiar bank of 

 clouds. I was always fond of watching clouds ; these 

 do not move much. In my pocket-book I see I have 

 several notes about these peculiar sea-clouds. They 

 form a band not far above the horizon, not very thick 

 but elongated laterally. The upper edge is curled or 

 wavy, not so heavily as what is called mountainous, 

 not in the least threatening ; this edge is white. The 

 body of the vapour is a little darker, either because 

 thicker, or because the light is reflected at a different 

 angle. But it is the lower edge which is singular : in 

 direct contrast with the curled or wavy edge above, the 

 under edge is perfectly straight and parallel to the 

 line of the horizon. It looks as if the level of the sea 



