could well hope to light upon, it would be including the fact that
there is but one policeman to protect the lives and properties of the
inhabitants and strangers of Torsington-on-Sea, by day and by night,
and a town band (with a uniform) of five, of which two-fifths are, I
was going to say "armed" with cymbals, triangle and with big and side
drums, it would be more reasonable to suppose that Torsington-on-Sea
had seen its day, and that what glories it ever had may be regarded as
having departed with the vanished years.

[Illustration]

Beyond the stock recreation afforded by the militarily-apparelled
Town Band of five, whose _répertoire_ appears to be confined to a
sad and serious opening march, a rather lugubrious galop, and a
couple of valses and a quick-step Polka, which evidently owe their
origin to the genius of the Conductor, the entertainment offered by
Torsington-on-Sea must be further sought for from a donkey-chair, the
donkey attached to which has many a long year ago lost what it ever
possessed in the shape of "spirit," a cast-off Nigger Minstrel, with a
concertina that is somewhat out of order, and a lovely "public-house"
tenor, who is heard only after dark, but with a voice so sweet and
true in tone, that one wonders how it is that instead of thrilling
the High Street of Torsington-on-Sea for possibly the few halfpence
he picks up in that rather unappreciative thoroughfare, he is
not simultaneously rushed at and eagerly caught up by the leading
_impressarios_ of all the continental opera-houses in Europe!

Then there is the daily arrival of the "coach," for such is the faded
yellow omnibus styled, that meets the London train from Boxminster,
which pulls up with a flourish at the "Three Golden Cups." There is