Hark to the twanging horn! it is the early coach going out to
London. Your eye follows it, and rests on the pinnacles built by the
beloved GEORGE. See the worn-out London roue pacing the pier, inhaling
the sea air, and casting furtive glances under the bonnets of the pretty
girls who trot here before lessons! Mark the bilious lawyer, escaped for
a day from Pump Court, and sniffing the fresh breezes before he goes back
to breakfast and a bag full of briefs at the Albion! See that pretty
string of prattling schoolgirls, from the chubby-cheeked, flaxen-headed
little maiden just toddling by the side of the second teacher, to the
arch damsel of fifteen, giggling and conscious of her beauty, whom Miss
Griffin, the stern head-governess, awfully reproves! See Tomkins with a
telescope and marine jacket; young Nathan and young Abrams, already
bedizened in jewellery, and rivalling the sun in oriental splendour;
yonder poor invalid crawling along in her chair; yonder jolly fat lady
examining the Brighton pebbles (I actually once saw a lady buy one), and
her children wondering at the sticking-plaister portraits with gold hair,
and gold stocks, and prodigious high-heeled boots, miracles of art, and
cheap at seven-and-sixpence! It is the fashion to run down George IV.
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