ius of the Conductor, the entertainment offered by
Torsington-on-Sea must be further sought for from a donkey-chair, the
donkey attached to which has many a long year ago lost what it ever
possessed in the shape of "spirit," a cast-off Nigger Minstrel, with a
concertina that is somewhat out of order, and a lovely "public-house"
tenor, who is heard only after dark, but with a voice so sweet and
true in tone, that one wonders how it is that instead of thrilling
the High Street of Torsington-on-Sea for possibly the few halfpence
he picks up in that rather unappreciative thoroughfare, he is
not simultaneously rushed at and eagerly caught up by the leading
_impressarios_ of all the continental opera-houses in Europe!

Then there is the daily arrival of the "coach," for such is the faded
yellow omnibus styled, that meets the London train from Boxminster,
which pulls up with a flourish at the "Three Golden Cups." There is
seldom anything brought by this noteworthy conveyance, unless it be
a package or parcel for Mr. DUNSTABLE, the one highly respectable
tradesman in the town. DUNSTABLE's is _the_ emporium _par excellence_
where anything, from a patent drug down to the latest new novel, can
be ordered down from Town. There is a tradition that old GEORGE THE
THIRD, when passing through Torsington in the year 1793, stopped at
DUNSTABLE's for some boot-laces, and, patting the grandfather of the
present proprietor on the head, said, "What! what! none in stock! Then
I think we must have some of these pretty curls instead." Anyhow, that
is given as the reason for the style and title of "Dunstable's _Royal_
Library and Reading Room," which it has enjoyed without dispute from
the commencement of the present century to the present day.

I came here, as I said, by the advice of my medical adviser, to "pick
up." How far Torsington-on-Sea has helped me to do this, I must deal
with subsequently.

* * * * *

IGNORANT BLISS.

[Illustration]

At noon through the open window
Comes the scent of the new-mown hay.
I look out. In the meadow yonder
Are the little lambs at play.
They are all extremely foolish,
Yet I haven't the heart to hint
That over the boundary wall there grows
A beautiful bed of mint.
For a little lamb
Will run to its mam.
And will say "O! dam,"
At a hint, however well intentioned,
When the awful name of mint is mentioned