autumn midnight
There was hardly the flutter of a leaf in the Pavilion garden . The neighbouring sea made the gentlest music -- a melancholy ebb and flow of sound , like the murmuring of some great imprisoned spirit . In the searching light of day , when its adjacent cab-stands and commonnesses are visible , and its gravelled walks are peopled with nursemaids and small children , the Pavilion garden can hardly be called romantic . But by this tender moonlight , in this cool stillness of a placid autumn midnight , even the Pavilion garden had its air of romance and mystery . The various roofs and chimneys stood up against the sky , picturesque as a city of old time . And , after all , this part of Brighton has a peculiar charm which all the rest of Brighton lacks . It speaks of the past , it tells its story of the dead .