a--some of
the houses built into the high green cliff which rises steep and almost
menacing behind. Already parts of the cliff have crumbled away in some
place and the proprietors of the villas find some difficulty in letting
them. The front rooms on the sea are charming, but the back
ones--directly under the cliff--with no air or sun, are not very
tempting. There is a fine digue and raised broad walk all along the sea
front, with flowers, seats, and music stand.

It is a perfectly safe beach for children, for though the channel is
very near and the big English boats pass close to the shore, there are
several sand banks which make the beach quite safe, and from seven in
the morning till seven at night there are two boats au large and two men
on the beach, with ropes, life-preservers, and horns which they blow
whenever they think the bathers are too far out. There is an "Inspecteur
de la Plage," a regular French official with a gold band on his cap, who
is a most important and amiable gentleman and sees that no one is
annoyed in any way. We made friends with him at once, moyennant une
piece de dix francs, and he looked after us, saw that our tents were put
up close to the water, no others near, and warned off stray children and
dogs who were attracted by our children's toys and cakes.

The plage is a pretty sight on a bright day. There are hundreds of
tents--all bright-coloured. When one approaches Boulogne from the sea
the beach looks like a parterre of flowers. Near the Casino there are a
quantity of old-fashioned ramshackly bathing cabins on wheels, with very
small boys cracking their whips and galloping up and down, from the
digue to the edge of the water, on staid old horses who know their work
perfectly--put themselves at once into the shafts of the
carriages--never go beyond a certain limit in the sea.

All the bathers are prudent. It is rare to see any one swimming out or
diving from a boat. A policeman presides at the public bathing place
and there are three or four baigneurs and baigneuses who take charge of
the timid bathers; one wonderful old woman, bare-legged, of course, a
handkerchief on her head, a flannel blouse and a very short skirt made
of some water-proof material that stood out stiff all around her and
shed the water--she was the premiere baigneuse--seventy years old and
had been baigneuse at Boulogne for fifty-one years. She had bathed C. as
a child, and was delighted to see her again and wildly