The Aquarium is a dear delightful place. We have been much interested in the performances of the Infant Jumbo, the dwarf elephant, and no wonder. He kneels, and stands, and walks, plays a mouth organ, makes his way across a row of ninepins, and across a bar, balancing himself with a pole like a veritable Blondin. He plays a street-organ and beats a drum at the same time; and last, and most wonderful of all, he rides a huge tricycle, which he works with his legs, steering himself with his trunk. This infant is not much bigger than a donkey, but has the sense and judgment of ten thousand donkeys. I should dearly like to go on a cycling tour with him to John o’ Groat’s. I believe we would astonish the natives.
How the wind has been blowing to be sure, and how wild and spiteful the waves have been; how they have leapt and dashed and foamed, wrecking everything within reach, and tearing up even the asphalt on the promenade!
Sunday was a pleasant day, though wind and sea were still high, and on Monday we made an early start.
It is a muggy, rainy morning, with a strong head wind. The sea is grey and misty and all flecked with foam, and the country through which we drive is possessed of little interest. Before starting, however, we must needs pay a farewell visit to the shore, and enjoy five minutes’ digging in the sand. Then we said,—
“Good-bye, old sea; we will be sure to come back again when summer days are fine. Good-bye! Ta, ta!”
Shoreham is a quaint and curious, but very far from cleanly little town.
We heard here, by chance, that the storm waves had quite destroyed a portion of the lower road to Worthing, and so we had to choose the upper and longer route, which we reached in time for dinner with the kindly landlord of the Steyne Hotel. If children are a blessing, verily Mr C— is blessed indeed; he hath his quiver full, and no man deserves it more.
Worthing, I may as well mention parenthetically, is one of the most delightful watering-places on the south coast, and I verily believe that the sun shines here when it does not shine anywhere else in England.
Two dear children (Winnie and Ernie C—) came with us for three miles, bringing a basket to hold the blackberries they should gather on their way back.
Winnie was enchanted with this short experience of gipsy life, and wanted to know when I would return and take her to Brighton. Ernie did not say much; he was quietly happy.