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. 3.30 A.M.--Chorus by his neighbours, high and low, mingling the treble of the Bantam with the Brahma's thorough bass. [Illustration: ENJOYING THE HEIGHT OF THE SEAS-ON] 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. 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. 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. 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. * * * * * [Illustration: REDCAR] * * * * *