SWEETS OF THE SEASIDE.

Shingleton, near Dulborough.

Sympathising Mr. Punch,

With the desire of enjoying a few days of tranquillity and a few dips in the sea, I have arrived and taken lodgings at this "salubrious watering-place" (as the guide-books choose to call it), having heard that it was quiet, and possessed of a steep, cleanly, and bathe-inviting beach. As to the latter point, I find that fame has not belied it; but surely with a view to tempt me into suicide, some demon must have coupled the term "quiet" with this place. Quiet! Gracious Powers of Darkness! if this be your idea of a quiet spot to live in, I wonder what, according to your notion, need be added to its tumult to make a noisy town. Here is a list of aural tortures wherewith we are tormented, which may serve by way of time-table to advertise the musical attractions of the place:—

1 a.m.—Voices of the night. Revellers returning home.

1.30 a.m.—Duet, "Io t'amo", squealed upon the tiles, by the famous feline vocalists Mademoiselle Minette and Signor Catterwaulini.

2 a.m.—Barc-arole and chorus, "Bow wow wow" (Bach), by the Bayers of the Moon.

3 a.m.—Song without words, by the early village cock.

REDCAR

3.30 a.m.—Chorus by his neighbours, high and low, mingling the treble of the Bantam with the Brahma's thorough bass.

4 a.m.—Twittering of swallows, and chirping of early birds, before they go to catch their worms.

4.45 a.m.—Meeting of two natives, of course just under your window, who converse in a stage-whisper at the tip-top of their voices.

5 a.m.—Stampede of fishermen, returning from their night's work in their heavy boots.

6 a.m.—Start of shrimpers, barefooted, but occasionally bawling.

7 a.m.—Shutters taken down, and small boys sally forth and shout to one another from the two ends of the street.

ENJOYING THE HEIGHT OF THE SEAS-ON

7.15 a.m.—"So-holes! fine fresh so-holes!"

7.30 a.m.—"Mack'reel! fower a shillun! Ma-a-ack'reel!"

8 a.m.—Piano play begins, and goes on until midnight.

8.25 a.m.—Barrel-organ at the corner. Banjo in the distance.

9 a.m.—German band to right of you. Ophicleide out of time, clarionette out of tune.

MEETING OF THE OLD AND NEW PEERS AT BRIGHTON

9.30 a.m.—"Pa-aper, mornin' pa-aper! Daily Telegraft!"

9.45 a.m.—German band to left of you. Clarionette and cornet both out of time and tune.

10.15 a.m.—A key-bugler and a bag-piper a dozen yards apart.

11 a.m.—Performance of Punch and Toby, who barks more than is good for him.

WALTON ON THE NAZE

11.30 a.m.—Bellowing black-faced ballad-bawlers, with their banjoes and their bones.

Such is our daily programme of music until noon, and such, with sundry variations, it continues until midnight. Small wonder that I have so little relish for my meals, and that, in spite of the sea air, I can hardly sleep a wink. I shall return to Town to-morrow, for surely all the street tormentors must be out of it, judging by the numbers that now plague the sad seaside.

Miserrimus.

"THE MEAT SUPPLY"

Bathing-man. "Yes, mum, he's a good old 'orse yet. And he's been in the salt water so long, he'll make capital biled beef when we're done with him!!!"

Our Poetess. "Do not talk to me of dinner, Edwin. I must stay by this beautiful Sea, and drink it all in!"

Bill the Boatman. "Lor! She's a thirsty one too!"

HOW TO KILL TIME AT THE SEASIDE

Hire bath-chairs, put the bath-chairmen inside, and drag them as fast as you can up and down the parade.

INOPPORTUNE

Enthusiast of the "No Hat Brigade" (to elderly gentleman, who has just lost his hat). "Fine idea this, sir, for the hair, eh?"

Jones. "Hullo, Brown, what's the matter with you and Mrs. Brown?"

Brown. "Matter? Why, do you know what they call us down here? They call us Beauty and the Beast! Now I should like to know what my poor wife has done to get such a name as that!"