The visitors and other inhabitants of Teapot Bay had returned from the Races, and were walking on the pier listening to the band. The gentlemen were in flannels, the ladies decorated with yards of white ribbon. The band was more select than numerous. Its conductor beat time with his left hand, while with his right he played the "air" of the tune at the moment attracting his attention upon an elaborate instrument that looked like a cross between a clarionet and an old-fashioned brass serpent. There was not much drumming, because the drummer spent nearly all his ample leisure on more or less successful efforts to vend programmes. The band was in a gusty alcove at one end of the pier, a small room covered with placards of a Wizard who, after making the acquaintance of "The Crowned Heads of Europe," was to perform there "to-night," was at the other. Having soon exhausted the pleasure derivable from listening to the band, I sought out the wizard. "Oh, he ain't going to do it again until next Saturday," was the answer of a little girl who had charge of a turnstile, when I asked for a ticket. "But you can see him then." [Illustration: "You're up!"] I retired. As all the shops (possibly a couple of dozen) were closed, I returned to my hotel--really a very comfortable one. In the morning I thought I would have a sea-bath. There were a few machines, which were manipulated with ropes and windlasses. There was an elderly man in charge, who informed me that he could not lower one of these vehicles until his mate returned. "Gone to breakfast?" I suggested. "Breakfast--no one here has time for breakfast!" was the reply. When I left, the landlord again murmured his thanks for the honour I had done him by patronising his hotel. Still anxious to preserve my _incognito_, in bidding him adieu I begged him not to allow my name to appear in the Visitors' List. "You may be sure I won't Sir," said he with a bow as he opened the door, and a tip-inviting "boots" put my portmanteau on the omnibus starting for the station,--"_as I don't know it!_" On the whole I prefer Eastend-on-Mud to Teapot Bay! * * * * * A PRETTY CENTENARIAN. (_Mr. Bull's Song on Miss Columbia's Hundredth Birthday._) "The chief authorities of the several States of this Union have resolved to celebrate, on the 15th, 16th, and 17th days of September next, at Philadelphia, the first centennial anniversary of the framing of the Constitution of the United States, with military and industrial displays, and with other suitable ceremonies."--_Letter of Invitation to Mr. Gladstone from the Constitutional Centennial Commission._ [Illustration: _John Bull._ "A Hundred Years Old, my Dear! Who would have thought it! But then you have such a wonderful constitution!"] AIR.--"_I'm getting a Big Boy now._"