Monday Morning, 25 m. 40 s. p. 11 a.m.
My Dear Walter,
There is a man playing "Home, sweet home" upon the key bugle—it is too much for me—my heart yearneth—I feel I must write just a line or two—especially as it is raining hard—and I don't exactly know what to be at.
Splendid effects yesterday evening—sun-set, twilight, crescent moon—stormy clouds,—tide out—reflections—dark fishing-craft—very good—quite the thing for you.
There are no people here at present—decidedly nothing Belgravian—chiefly masculines—from the Saturday to the Monday sort—it striketh me—a few I think have strayed here from Southend—I saw this sort of thing [see page 29] on the Grand Promenade—which looks like it.——
There was a great wind yesterday—Boreas had been taking concentrated essence of ginger—It fairly took me off my legs once as I was walking along the cliffs to Broadstairs, luckily for me it blew off the sea—and I was brought up short by some railings in this wise—[see page 22] otherwise I should (no doubt) have been carried across a 5 acre field of Cloveria Trifolia Browniensis.—I am glad to say I was also of service to humanity yesterday—I heard the shrill shrieks of a child and a woman's cry for help behind me—I turned—and saw there was not a moment to lose, the wind had caught a poor child—'s hat (and woman's too) and bore it rapidly to the edge of the cliff—with my usual agility I bounded over the rails fencing the cliff—and saved—yes, saved the child—'s—'at!—another puff and it would have been in the deep, deep sea—the blue, the fresh, &c.—Stout mama thanked me politely, and turning to her husband (who, of course, had come up too late to be of any use—those husbands always do)—she remarked "That the vind had blown both her and her child's 'at hoff and if she'd know'd it—she wouldn't have brought the young-un hout."
I dare say humanity is amusing here when the place is full—there seems a good deal of "os" exercise—and basket-carriage driving on Sundays—which is good to behold—this gentleman [see page 25] was driving with supreme self-content—having one rein all snug and tight under his pony's tail—luckily the beast did not seem to have any kick in him—so perhaps he got safe back to Margate.
Yr. affec. Dad,
H. K. B.