future.

It has been blowing hard for some few days, and we had rather a rough
passage, and though the yacht was not a wreck, _I_ was I am afraid,
in spite of the compliment paid me by Mr. SPOOPENDYKE K. SIDNEY, the
well-known American Four Millionnaire, who said he thought me "a real
smart sailor!"--and he was very near the truth, too, for the salt
water got in my eyes and they _did_ smart; but I resolutely declined
to go "below," and hung on to "the shrouds," I think they called
them--a most unpleasantly suggestive name, when you are dreading a
watery grave every moment. However, we got to our "moorings" at last
(as _Othello_ would call them), and having chartered the inevitable
"sharry-bang" started for the course.

By the way, _en passant_ (I have not dropped into French for a long
time), what a strange thing it is, that the moment you land at one of
these islands you are immediately advised to proceed to another.

I was told at Guernsey that I must on no account miss seeing "Sark."
so I didn't--but was careful to observe it from a distance--for
really, in these days of eruptions one doesn't know what might happen
on such a volcanic-looking island!--and besides, I _always_ carry
a pocket "Ætna" in my dressing-bag, so that I can have a flare-up
whenever I like. But let me see, where was I? Oh, yes! sharry-banging
out to the races at Jersey. Well, really now, judging from some
of the lovely toilettes worn by the Jersey "Daughters of Eve" (an
old-established journalistic expression, and to my mind, most idiotic
and insulting--we are _not_ all tempting!)--they are in front of a
good many of their Main-land sisters!--and the Hospitality--(always
a capital H, I believe)--shown by the 1st South Lancashire Regiment