OUT OF THE DEPTHS 105 



When this is his description, it is no wonder that 

 the sea should be the pet object of his detesta- 

 tion ; but for my part there is something in the 

 splash of the waves, the rise and fall of the tide, 

 the smell of the salt, which reconciles me even 

 to the bathing-machines, the long monotonous 

 frontage, the negro minstrels, the Salvation Army, 

 the organ-grinders, the shrimp-sellers, and the 

 whole posse comitatus of a fashionable watering- 

 place. Judge then of my delight in a sea not 

 bearing the remotest resemblance to the satirist's 

 caricature a sea which, at the rise and fall of 

 the tide, rushes and eddies round innumerable 

 rocks and islands, whirling and roaring like a 

 mill-race at the rate of eight or nine knots an 

 hour a sea as clear as a Hampshire trout-stream, 

 the calm recesses of which the eye may penetrate 

 to a depth that I am afraid to state in figures for 

 fear I should be accused of exaggeration. There, 

 as you hang over the side of the boat, you may 

 see the long lazy tangle waving its broad streamers 

 over the dark rocks, the fish darting about among 

 the undergrowth, the comical crabs parading, 

 fighting, and gormandising at the bottom ; and 

 sea-urchins, from great red fellows as big as a 

 good-sized melon, called seal's eggs by the natives, 

 to little ones no bigger than a walnut, which, in 

 some places, literally pave the sand, and render 

 it rather an uncomfortable pavement for bare- 

 footed children, who endeavour to emulate the 



