mpagne, for which he
never pays more than twelve pounds a dozen, and then four stalwart
seamen row him to the landing-place. He criticises the mighty ocean
from the balcony of the club until the middle of the afternoon, and
then he prepares for a desperate deed of daring. The Rover goes to the
landing-place and scans the gulf that yawns between him and his
vessel. Two hundred yards at least must be covered before the Rover
can bound on to the deck of his taut craft. Two hundred yards! And
there is a current that might almost sweep a tea-chest out to sea! But
the Rover's steady eye takes in the whole view, and his very nautical
mind enables him to lay plans with wisdom. He looks sternly at his gig
with the four stout oarsmen; his simple carpets are all right; his
cushions, his pillows, his cigar-box, his silken rudder-lines are all
as they should be. The Rover takes his determination, and a dark look
settles on his manly countenance. For one brief instant he thinks of
all he leaves behind him; his dear home rises before his eyes, the
voices of his loved ones thrill in his ear, and his bronzed hand is
raised to dash away the tear that starts unbidden. But there must be
no weakness. Rovers have their feelings, but they must subdue them
when two hundred yards have to be traversed over waves that are nearly
two inches high. The Rover steps into his boat, resolved to do or die.
Now or never! He puts one cushion behind his athletic back, he lights
a Regalia--so cool are genuine heroes in peril--and shoots away over
the yeasty billows. For forty seconds the fierce struggle lasts; the
bow of the boat is wetted to a height of four inches; but
dauntlessness and skill conquer all difficulties, and in forty seconds
and a half the unscathed Rover stands on his quarter-deck.

Sometimes when the captain is in a good humour, the Rover goes for a
sail, and he takes as many as three ladies with him. This statement
may be doubted, but only by those who do not know what British courage
is really like. Yes, the Rover sometimes sails as much as ten miles in
the course of one trip, and he may be as much as three hours away from
his moorings. Moreover, I have known a good-natured skipper who
allowed the roving proprietor of a yacht to take as many as six trips
in the course of a single season. Observe the cheapness of this
amusement, and reflect thankfully on the simplicity of taste which now
distinguishes the wealthy Rovers of the South Coast.