tion (long since completed) for
some houses at the end of it. On my left another field in the same state
of passive preparation, and on my right a side view of the Ocean. It was
growing dark, so after an "old-fashioned but comfortable" dinner, I went
out for a stroll.

"Pleased you should honour us," said the landlord, as he opened the door
to allow me to pass. Again to my annoyance, as it was vexatious to be
thus identified in this out-of-the-way place as one of the celebrities
of the hour.

The visitors and other inhabitants of Teapot Bay had returned from the
Races, and were walking on the pier listening to the band. The gentlemen
were in flannels, the ladies decorated with yards of white ribbon. The
band was more select than numerous. Its conductor beat time with his
left hand, while with his right he played the "air" of the tune at the
moment attracting his attention upon an elaborate instrument that looked
like a cross between a clarionet and an old-fashioned brass serpent.
There was not much drumming, because the drummer spent nearly all his
ample leisure on more or less successful efforts to vend programmes. The
band was in a gusty alcove at one end of the pier, a small room covered
with placards of a Wizard who, after making the acquaintance of "The
Crowned Heads of Europe," was to perform there "to-night," was at the
other. Having soon exhausted the pleasure derivable from listening to
the band, I sought out the wizard.

"Oh, he ain't going to do it again until next Saturday," was the answer
of a little girl who had charge of a turnstile, when I asked for a
ticket. "But you can see him then."

[Illustration: "You're up!"]

I retired. As all the shops (possibly a couple of dozen) were closed, I
returned to my hotel--really a very comfortable one. In the morning I
thought I would have a sea-bath. There were a few machines, which were
manipulated with ropes and windlasses. There was an elderly man in
charge, who informed me that he could not lower one of these vehicles
until his mate returned.

"Gone to breakfast?" I suggested.

"Breakfast--no one here has time for breakfast!" was the reply.

When I left, the landlord again murmured his thanks for the honour I had
done him by patronising his hotel. Still anxious to preserve my
_incognito_, in bidding him adieu I begged him not to allow my name to
appear in the Visitors' List.

"You may be sure I won't Sir," said he with a bow as he opened the door,
an