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.
[Illustration: MEETING OF THE OLD AND NEW PEERS AT BRIGHTON]
_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!"
[Illustration: 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.]
_Enthusiast of the "No Hat Brigade"_ (_to elderly gentleman, who has just lost his hat_). "Fine idea this, sir, for the hair, eh?"]
[Illustration: _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!"]
I sat on a slippery rock, In the grey cliff's opal shade, And the wanton waves went curvetting by Like a roystering cavalcade. And they doffed their crested plumes, As they kissed the blushing sand, Till her rosy face dimpled over with smiles At the tricks of the frolicsome band.