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 gentleman has “not closed his eyes all night” seems only to stimulate them to further effort.  As I feel that even twenty minutes of this recreation will certainly drive me mad, I beg Mrs. COBBLES to send the boy who comes to clean the boots and knives to disturb the One Policeman in his first sweet slumber.  If nothing else will stir him, he is to be. informed that No. 34 on the Esplanade is on fire, or if that fails, he may throw in 33 and 35 as well.  In fact, he need not be particular as to facts, but return with the Policeman he must! There is a good-sized crowd assembled on the Esplanade, but as I am attired in a scarlet flannel dressing-gown, white nightcap, and am arguing the Act of Parliament with the deserted Christy Minstrel with some warmth, it may account for it.

* * * * *

THE KING OF THE BEASTS.

A ZOOLOGICAL ELEGY.

    [CHARLES JAMRACH, the celebrated naturalist and
    menagerie-keeper, of St. George’s-in-the-East, died on
    September 6, at the age of 76.]