The Bathing Season 



touching the beach; the boat is broadside on and 

 the occupants in the water in a second. To-day the 

 groundswell was more active, the waves closer 

 together, not having had time to forget the force of 

 the extinct gale. Yet the sea looked calm as a 

 millpond just the morning for a bath. 



Along the yellow line where sand and pebbles meet 

 there stood a gallant band, in gay uniforms, facing the 

 water. Like the imperial legions who were ordered 

 to charge the ocean, and gather the shells as spoils 

 of war, the cohorts gleaming in purple and gold ex- 

 tended their front rank their fighting line one to a 

 yard along the strand. Some tall and stately; some 

 tall and slender; some well developed and firm on 

 their limbs; some gentle in attitude, even in their 

 war dress; some defiant; perhaps forty or fifty, 

 perhaps more, ladies; a splendid display of woman- 

 hood in the bright sunlight. Blue dresses, pink 

 dresses, purple dresses, trimmings of every colour; a 

 gallant show. The eye had but just time to receive 

 these impressions as it were with a blow of the camera 

 instantaneous photography when, boom! the 

 groundswell was on them, and, heavens, what a 

 change ! They disappeared. An arm projected here, 

 possibly a foot yonder, tresses floated on the surface 

 like seaweed, but bodily they were gone. The whole 

 rank from end to end was overthrown more than 

 that, overwhelmed, buried, interred in water like 

 Pharaoh's army in the Red Sea. Crush! It had 

 come on them like a mountain. The wave so clear* 

 so beautifully coloured, so cool and refreshing, had 

 struck their delicate bodies with the force of a ton 

 weight. Crestless and smooth to look at, in reality 

 that treacherous roller weighed at least a ton to a 

 yard. 



145 K 



