swell solo parts of a boyhood fled
They'll never give more to me!

* * * * *

ANNALS OF A QUIET WATERING-PLACE

THAT HAS "SEEN ITS DAY."

This is the nineteenth day that I have had my face glued to the
window-pane watching for the promised "break" in the weather that is
to enable me to get a little of the benefit of the sea-air of this
place that my doctor assures me is "to do such wonders for me in
a week that I shall not know myself." What it might do for me if
I could only get hold of it, I can only guess, but the result of
the persistent rain has been slowly but surely to empty the Grand
Esplanade, the drawing and dining-room floors of which announce on
colossal cards that the whole twenty-four establishments are "to let,"
with the result that all the recreation that Torsington-on-Sea affords
has formed a sort of conspiracy to drive me mad with amusement.

The trombone of the town band steals a march on the rest, commencing
as early as eight o'clock in the morning with a very powerful
rendering of "_Il Balen_," who is succeeded in turn by the discarded
Christy Minstrel with the damaged concertina. Then comes a Professor
in black velvet spangled tights, who insists, spite my shaking my
head at him dolefully through the drizzling mist, in going through
a drawing-room entertainment for the amusement and edification of a
Telegraph-office Boy, who has apparently only one message to deliver,
and it is to be presumed finds time hang in consequence a little
heavily upon his hands. Spite my menacing and almost fierce refusal to
appear at my window, however, he has the hardihood to knock, and ask
for a "trifle." This, if I could only ensure that he would devote it
to the purchase of a place on the coach to Barminster, I would gladly
give him; but knowing that it will only enable him to make an early
breakfast of cold gin and bitters at the "Boar's Head and Anchor,"
I shake my fist at him, as much as to say, "I am feeble I admit,
and do not, I dare say, look as if there were much fight in me!
But, by Jove! there is such a thing as the law, even, I suppose, at
Torsington-on-Sea! You had best not tempt me too far, my fine fellow."

His reply to this is characteristic; at least, I think so. For within
twenty minutes the discarded Christy Minstrel, the Silvery-voiced
Tenor, some performing dogs, the whole of the Town Band, the Man with
the Bath-chair and general crowd of "loafers," assemb