100 THE JERSEY COAST. 
rest drove off to leave them; nor how he bore his 
lovely burden—plastic grace and beauty personified 
—bravely in pursuit; nor how his foot chanced to 
trip — accidentally, of course—and they fell and 
rolled in the sand together. If he would tell, he 
could not; words do not exist for the purpose. 
Try, male reader, to carry one hundred and twenty 
pounds of essential loveliness with only a single 
flannel garment to protect it; feel it give to your 
pressure; clasp its exquisite but yielding contour ; 
press it to your heart, and then in an ecstasy roll 
over and over with it in the sand. Having done so, 
endeavor to describe the sensation, or forget that 
particular girl in a life-time. 
The road to the beach lay through a village for- 
merly known by the euphonious and distinctive title 
of Crab Town—a village of a thousand inhabitants. 
It was evening ere Crab Town was reached, and 
just beyond, the driver came upon a bevy of female 
acquaintances. In a moment the suggestion was 
made that they should ride; after a little demur 
they accepted, and were crowded in. The stage 
was not large, but there would have been room if 
they had been twice as numerous; they filled every 
seat, and every lap besides. 
There are days in one’s lifetime that should be 
celebrated as anniversaries; and if any gentleman 
has carried in his arms, and rolled in the sand, one 
charming Jersey girl in the morning, and has had 
another equally charming sit on his lap in the even- 
ing, he may look upon that day as never likely to 
repeat itself. 
