The Tragedy of the Chain Pier

ard; it is larger, more commodious, more frequented. Go to the West Pier when you will, there is always something to see; beautiful women, pretty g

lue sky overhead, and the town, with its fine, tall houses shining in the sunlight, the line of white cliff and the beach where the children are at play. You go down to the wonderful jetty, which, to me, was one of the most mysterious and romantic of places. There the water is of the deepest, choicest emerald green, and it washes the wonderful net-work of poles with a soft, lapping sound bea

lebrities on the West Pier; faces familiar at the House of Lords, familiar at Court, familiar at the opera, are to be seen there during the season; beautiful faces that have grown pale and worn with the excitement of a London campaign, and here

if you want to give up your whole heart and soul to the poetry of the sea; if you want to listen to its voice and hear no other; if you want to shut yourself away from the world; if you want to hear the music of the winds, their whispers, their lullabies, their mad dashes, their frantic rages, you must go to the Old Ch

o watch the rippling sea. Do not believe them, for you will hear the murmur of two voices, and the theme is always "love." If you go near them they look

the seagulls whirl in the blue ether, if you want to think, to read, to be alo

where you may sit on one of the old-fashioned seats, seeing nothing but water and sky around you, until you can fancy yourself out in the wide ocean; until you can wrap your thoughts and your se

the white-sailed boat in the distance-sails like the white wings of angels beckoning me away; the blue sky with the few fleecy white clouds-the wash of the waters against the woodwork of the pier; and I remember the face that looked down into mine-all Heaven lay in it for me; the deep water, the blue sky, the handsome face, the measured rhythms of the se

lliards, or cared for the theater, or enjoyed the brilliant shops on the crowded pier, with its fine music, I might have been happy enough; but I was miserable with this aching pain of regret and the chill desolation of a terrible loss. I tried the Aquarium. If fishes could soothe the heart of man, solace might be found there; but to my morbid fancy they looked at me with wide open eyes of wonder-they knew the

ith silver and showed the chain and the arches of the pier as plainly as the sun could have done-showed the running of the waves-they were bus

which a tortured heart could grow calm; there was only the wind and the sea, nothing more. I would go to the spot where we two should stand together never more. I fancied, as I paid for admission

and when I looked across the waters the West Pier was in all its radiance; the sound of the music floated over the waves to me, the light of the colored lamps shone far and wide. I could see the moving mass of

an evening spent there. At first all was quite still; the gentleman smoking his cigar walked up and down; the two youths, who had evidently mistaken the nat

thick, dark clouds came up from the west and hid her fair face-by them the thick, soft gloom had deepened into darkness. I was far from expecting anything tragical a

ness of the breeze. I crossed to the other side, where the white line of cliffs lay-away from the brilliant lights of

nd. For instance, now, how easy it would be for any man to steal up to me through the thick, soft, sh

e, such a murder was quite impossible. Yet I was foolish enough to turn

me, but I saw her-plainly, distinctly. I noticed the grace of her movements, her grand carriage. She was closely veiled, so