s treat, where he can gloat over the more hidden fleet of the
future.

Some, perhaps many, people keep yachts who do not enjoy sailing. We have
sometimes seen a yacht-owner who could not steer his own dingey. There
are others whose chief anxiety when once on board is for their speedy
arrival at the next port. To have the best yacht of the year is no sign
of its owner being a good sailor. The horse that wins the Derby would
most likely not be first if he carried his owner, and a man may have a
good carriage who cannot himself "handle the ribbons."

It is no discredit to anybody that he is not able to ride a race, or
steer a schooner, or drive a drag; but it is well to remember more than
we do whose is the skill that wins in each of these exercises.

At Cowes one perceives very soon that a good deal of _yachtomania_ is fed
upon the good meat and drink afloat, and balls and promenades ashore, and
the pomp and bustle of getting from one to the other, not to forget the
brass buttons which fasten more vulgar minds to some Clubs.

Leaving aside all these in peace, provided they play with the thing as
they have a right to do, and as openly as now, so that none can mistake
them, we have still to admire a splendid set of fellows, yes, and of
women too, who really love the sea. We know a hardy canoeist who said he
would not marry anybody unless she could "pull bow oar," and it certainly
is an addition to the family hearth when the tender help-meet can "mind
her luff."

In the regatta week the tide of a congregation coming out of the pretty
church at Cowes is thoroughly aquatic. Fine stalwart men with handsome
faces, girls with chignons as big as a topsail bunt, yacht skippers of
bronze hue and anxious eye, well fed sailors with cerulean Jerseys,
children with hat ribbons and neckties labelled with yacht names. There
were 150 yachts on the water here, and the Rob Roy anchored close to the
Hotel, from which the sight was magnificent at night, when each
mast-light was hung, and the whole made a brilliant crescent reflected in
calm sea, while excellent music played softly on shore, and at each
half-hour the bell of every vessel tolled the time, the Rob Roy adding
her note to the jingle by so many thumps on an iron pot.

Near the yawl was a strange little cutter of five tons, as remarkable for
the number of people on board it as mine was for having so few. There
was the grey-haired hearty papa, and when we had noticed him