le opposite my
dining-room windows, braving south-west wind (half a gale of it),
and a general downpour, leaden sky, and indications of "being in" for
"another day of it."

I feel quite convinced that the Professor in velvet tights has rapidly
whipped up the whole place with some such sentence as "No. 27 on the
Grand Esplanade. Give the Old Bloke there a taste. He wants waking up
a bit!"

I write to my Medical Adviser. One day is much like another here,
I cannot say I go forward very fast. I admit the weather has been
against me here; still, things might, I think, have been better.

Take this, for instance, as a typical day for an invalid. It is hardly
the sort of place to "pick up" in; at least, so it strikes me.

9 A.M.--Am disturbed after a windy night, which has threatened, to
blow the front of the house (one of the twenty-four commanding a fine
sea-view "both ways") off, and in my first and only turn of refreshing
sweet sleep, by the Silvery-voiced Tenor, who persists, spite
entreaties, requests, and finally threats, to move a little further
away, or curtail a singularly florid version of "_Fra Poco_" under
eighteen-pence. On, at length, threatening to send for the police
if he declines to desist, he meets the announcement with shouts of
derisive laughter, a fact which, Mrs. COBBLES, my landlady, is kind
enough to explain, indicates that "The Policeman," not retiring till
half-past one that morning, he will not be available, even for a
murder, before two o'clock in the afternoon. I compromise the matter,
therefore, by sending out sixpence to the Silvery-voiced Tenor,
begging Mrs. COBBLES to give as heartrending a description as possible
of my exhausted condition, which has the effect of wringing from the
MARIO of Torsington an expression of sympathy, and an intimation that
he will finish "_Fra Poco_" round the corner.

[Illustration]

But ill news travels apace, and within ten minutes the discarded
Christy Minstrel with the concertina that is somewhat out of order,
and the Town Band (reduced to three), as if by common consent,
together with the man in black velvet spangled tights, a short
walking-stick, wash-hand basin, and small square of carpet, draw up,
as if by magic, before Mrs. COBBLES' lodgings, and with the un-earning
increment of Torsington-on-Sea as audience, commence a simultaneous
_matinee_ for my special benefit at twenty-five minutes and a half to
ten.

Mrs. COBBLES' assurance that the poor