162 THE OPEN AIB. 



else on the face of the earth in so comparatively small 

 a space. It is a sort of triangular plot of beach 

 crammed with everything that ordinarily annoys the 

 ears and offends the sight. 



Yet you hear nothing and see nothing; it is per- 

 fectly comfortable, perfectly jolly and exhilarating, a 

 preferable spot to any other. A sparkle of sunshine 

 on the breakers, a dazzling gleam from the white 

 foam, a warm sweet air, light and brightness and 

 champagniness ; altogether lovely. The way in which 

 people lie about on the beach, their legs this way, and 

 their arms that, their hats over their eyes, their utter 

 give-themselves-up expression of attitude is enough in 

 itself to make a reasonable being contented. Nobody 

 cares for anybody ; they drowned Mrs. Grundy long 

 ago. The ancient philosopher (who had a mind to 

 eat a fig) held that a nail driven into wood could only 

 support a certain weight. After that weight was 

 exceeded either the wood must break or the nail 

 come out. Yonder is a wooden seat put together 

 with nails — a flimsy contrivance, which defies all 

 rules of gravity and adhesion. One leg leans one 

 way, the other in the opposite direction; very lame 

 legs indeed. Careful folk would warn you not to sit 

 on it lest it should come to pieces. The music, I 

 suppose, charms it, for it holds together in the most 

 marvellous manner. Four people are sitting on it, 

 four big ones, middle-aged, careful people; every 

 moment the legs gape wide apart, the structure 

 visibly stretches and yields and sinks in the pebbles, 

 yet it does not come down. The stoutest of all sits 

 actually over the lame legs, reading his paper quite 



