Thomas, now just able to grope his way
along, in a doubled-up condition, with the aid
of two thick sticks, was no bad embodiment
of Commodore Trunnion, or of one of those
many gallant Admirals of the stage, who
have all ample fortunes, gout, thick-sticks,
tempers, wards, and nephews. With this
distinguished naval appearance upon him,
Thomas made a crab-like progress up a clean
little bulk-headed staircase, into a clean
little bulk-headed room, where he slowly
deposited himself on a sofa, with a stick on
either hand of him, looking exceedingly
grim.

"Francis," said Thomas Idle, " what do
you think of this place?"

"I think," returned Mr. Goodchild, in a
glowing way, "it is everything we
expected."

"Hah!" said Thomas Idle.

"There is the sea," cried Mr. Goodchild,
pointing out of window; "and here," pointing
to the lunch on the table, " are shrimps.
Let us— " here Mr. Goodchild looked out of
window, as if in search of something, and
looked in again,—"let us eat 'em."

The shrimps eaten and the dinner ordered,
Mr. Goodchild went out to survey the
watering-place. As Chorus of the drama
without whom Thomas could make nothing
of the scenery, he by-and-bye returned, to have
the following report screwed out of him.

In brief, it was the most delightful place
ever seen.

"But," Thomas Idle asked, "where is
it?"

"It's what you may call generally up and
down the beach, here and there," said Mr.
Goodchild, with a twist of his hand.

"Proceed," said Thomas Idle.

It was, Mr. Goodchiid went on to say, in
cross-examination, what you might call a
primitive place. Large ? No, it was not
large. Who ever expected it would be large?
Shape? What a question to ask! No shape.
What sort of a street? Why, no street.
Shops? Yes, of course (quite indignant).
How many? Who ever went into a place to
count the shops? Ever so many. Six?
Perhaps. A library? Why, of course!
(indignant again). Good collection of books?
Most likely couldn't say had seen nothing
in it but a pair of scales. Any reading-room?
Of course, there was a reading-room. Where?
Where! why, over there. Where was over
there? Why, there! Let Mr. Idle carry
his eye to that bit of waste-ground above
high water-mark, where the rank grass and
loose stones were most in a litter; and he
would see a sort of a long ruinous brick loft,
next door to a ruinous brick outhouse, which
loft had a ladder outside, to get up by. That
was the reading-room, and if Mr. Idle didn't
like the idea of a weaver's shuttle throbbing
under a reading-room, that was his look out.
He was not to dictate, Mr. Goodchild
supposed (indignant again), to the company.

"By-the-bye," Thomas Idle observed; "the
company?"

Well! (Mr. Goodchild went on to report)
very nice company. Where were they?
Why, there they were. Mr. Idle could see
the tops of their hats, he supposed. What?
Those nine straw hats again, five gentlemen's
and four ladies'? Yes, to be sure. Mr.
Goodchild hoped the company were not to
be expected to wear helmets, to please Mr.
Idle.

Beginning to recover his temper at about
this point, Mr. Goodchild voluntarily reported
that if you wanted to be primitive, you could
be primitive here, and that if you wanted to
be idle, you could be idle here. In the course
of some days, he added, that there were three
fishing-boats, but no rigging, and that there
were plenty of fishermen who never fished.
That they got their living entirely by looking
at the ocean. What nourishment they looked
out of it to support their strength, he couldn't
say; but, he supposed it was some sort of
Iodine. The place was full of their children,
who were always upside down on the public
buildings (two small bridges over the brook),
and always hurting themselves or one
another, so that their wailings made more
continual noise in the air than could have been
got in a busy place. The houses people lodged
in, were nowhere in particular, and were in
capital accordance with the beach; being all
more or less cracked and damaged as its
shells were, and all empty—as its shells were.
Among them, was an edifice of destitute
appearance, with a number of wall-eyed
windows in it, looking desperately out to Scotland
as if for help, which said it was a Bazaar
(and it ought to know), and where you might
buy anything you wanted—supposing what
you wanted, was a little camp-stool or a child's
wheelbarrow. The brook crawled or stopped
between the houses and the sea, and the
donkey was always running away, and when
he got into the brook he was pelted out with
stones, which never hit him, and which always
hit some of the children who were upside
down on the public buildings, and made their
lamentations louder. This donkey was the
public excitement of Allonby, and was
probably supported at the public expense.

The foregoing descriptions, delivered in
separate items, on separate days of
adventurous discovery, Mr. Goodchild severally
wound up, by looking out of window, looking
in again, and saying, " But there is the sea,
and here are the shrimps—let us eat 'em."

There were fine sunsets at Allonby when
the low flat beach, with its pools of water
and its dry patches, changed into long bars
of silver and gold in various states of
burnishing, and there were fine viewsl—on fine
days—of the Scottish coast. But, when it
rained at Allonby, Allonby thrown back upon
its ragged self, became a kind of place which
the donkey seemed to have found out, and to
have his highly sagacious reasons for wishing