The Gent has two favourite places of sea-side resort, according to his idiosyncrasies: if joyous, he goes to Gravesend; if dreary, to Ramsgate. Margate is neither one thing nor the other, and Brighton is really too respectable. He cannot there show off: and to show off is the battle of the Gent’s life. But Gravesend is delicious. The transit is cheap and rapid; the lodgings are moderate; an effect in dress can be made at an easy rate; and, above all, there is that largest ornamental chalk-pit in the world, Rosherville. We are, perhaps, wrong in putting Gravesend under the head of sea-side resorts: but the Gent considers it to be so. And, indeed, the baths there offer peculiar advantages, combining the properties of both fresh and salt water, with the impurities of both, and the attributes of neither. Yellow slippers may also be purchased in the town; and this circumstance induces the belief, that the neighbouring water is the sea; a delusion which appears common not only amongst the Gents, but most of the settlers. This, however, by the way: we were speaking of Rosherville, the paradise which mainly draws the Gents from town. The costume of the Gent at Rosherville is analogous to the one he wears at the promenade concerts, with the exception, that he has a more airy cravat, of brighter hue, and smokes perpetually, except in the ball-room; and he would do that, thinking it was “the thing,” if a board did not warn him: showing that such warning was found absolutely necessary. And here, whilst listening to the “military band” of the first detachment of the Light Coldstream Indefatigables, he puts his hat on one side, sits on a table, and tapping his short boot, which discovers its form through his trowsers, with his equally curtailed cane, believes, as usual, that he is _the_ man of the assembly.