but at Barecliff-on-Sea, in wet weather, the miserable
little local Institute, with its specimens of strata, its calf with two
heads in spirits, and its petrified toad, is an irresistible
temptation. The great event of the day, however, is the wading down to
the railway-station (which is in a quagmire) to meet the express train
which brings more victims, 'unconscious of their doom,' to Barecliff,
and who evidently flatter themselves that the pouring rain is an
exceptional phenomenon; it also brings the London newspapers, for which
we fight and struggle (the demand being greatly in excess of the
supply) and think ourselves fortunate if we secure a supplement. It is
true there is a _Times_ in the smoking-room of the hotel, but it is
always engaged five deep, is the cause of terrible quarrels, and every
afternoon we expect to see it imbrued in gore.

In the evening, when one does not mind the wet so much--'its tooth is
not so keen because it is not seen'--there are dissipations at 'the
Rooms by the Sea.' Amateur charitable concerts are given there, in
which it is whispered that this and that lady at the _table d'hote_
will take part, who become public characters and objects of immense
interest in consequence. Thither, too, come 'the inimitable Jones,'
from the Edgware Road Music Hall, with his 'unrivalled _repertoire_ of
comic songs;' the Spring Board Family, who have been 'pronounced by the
general consensus of the medical faculty in London to be unique,' as
having neither joints nor backbone; and Herr von Deft, 'who will repeat
the same astounding performances which have electrified the reigning
families of Europe.' The serious people (for whom 'the glee-singers of
Mesopotamia' are also suspected of dropping a line) are angled for by
white-cravatted lecturers, who enhance their statistics of conversion
by the exhibition of poisoned arrows, and of clubs, on which, with the
microscope, may be detected the hairs of missionary martyrs. In fine
weather, of course, these attractions would be advertised in vain; but
the fact is, our whole community has been reduced by the cruelty of the
elements to a sort of second childhood; the rain which permeates
everything is softening our brain.

This is only too evident from the conversation in the hotel porch where
the men meet every morning to discuss the topic of the day--the
weather. A sullen gloom pervades them--the first symptom of mental
aberration. Those, on the other hand, who