To go to the opposite extreme, there are the fashionable water-places; little Londons, or rather little imitations of London; for beside that great capital itself they are like pieces of glass to a diamond.  And yet fashion and folly are all here, sunning themselves by the sea instead of in the park; driving up and down in the same way, in equally charming toilets.  But still there seems to be something lacking, something wanting.  They are too small, these towns; you so soon know everyone by sight, and grow tired both of them and their costumes.  There is a good deal of stir and life about all the same.  There are bands, niggers, clairvoyantes, fire-eaters; plenty indeed for you to see and hear when you are weary of strutting up and down and nodding to your friends.  And yet, in spite of all, you grow tired of “London by the sea,” after a few weeks, even in that dead season of the year—­November.

Have you ever visited one of these places in the midst of a tennis week, when the grand tournaments take place?  Lawn tennis is a delightful recreation for a time, provided you have a good partner and good antagonists, and you are playing under a moderately warm sun; but when you hear, see, and play nothing else for a week, when the conversation is “tennis,” when no one appears without a racquet in his hand, when all you have to listen to are criticisms on the courts and balls, grumblings against the handicapping, imprecations on “bisques”—­well, you begin to hate the very name, and wish you could injure the man who invented it.  You grow tired of watching the same thing day after day, the men who spend their lives in tossing balls across to each other, the sea of faces; turning backwards and forwards at each stroke with the regulation of a pendulum.

Yes, it takes a long time to decide on a watering place, and when at last you do make up your mind you have to change it again very soon because you find all your “sisters, cousins, and aunts” have chosen the same resort; and really you have quite enough of your relations in town without their following you wherever you go.  You require a little variety when you go away.  An old lady I used to know always kept it a profound secret where she intended spending her summer holiday, “otherwise, my dear,” she said, “I should have the whole family at my heels!” A most disagreeable old lady she was; and I know for a fact that her relatives always avoided her when possible (she was not blessed with very great possessions!) so that her caution was quite unnecessary.  Oh, vanity of vanities, how little we know of the world’s true opinion of us!

When you have fixed on your locality, there is even a greater difficulty to go through.  You have to choose your residence; and this takes up even more thought and time.