she was not "in trim;" that it was too much
trouble to get her into trim; that there was
no better "sea-boat between this and the
Isle of Man" (arbitrarily limiting the area to
that district of ocean for no valid reason);
finally, adding darkly, that "she could give
a good account of the M—sq— to, or the
B—nsh—e, or any of their vaunted craft, if she
chose."

This granite settlement, which glitters in the
sun, and looks as snowy as if it were scrubbed
and burnished, lies along a pleasant shore, and is
a sort of suburb to a great city, from which (some
seven miles away, by the railway) the inhabitants
are pouring in every moment. The long white
winding arms of the harbour, its elbows, its
wrists, the tips of its fingers even, are blackened
over as with clouds of flies. On the piers, and
on the shores, and up the hilly streets that lead
to the little sea-town, the people cluster in
swarms; they are busy with the "Punches,"
the shooting for nuts, and the cheap roulette:
sure and certain tokens that British festivity
has set in. Every spot that can hold a pole, and
every stick that can be made to take the likeness
of a youth-pole, flutters with streamers and
gaudy flags.

We see the men-of-war all over flags, and the
platforms of the club-houses all crowded. From
our club comes the sound of military music, and
at its little piers is a succession of arrivals performed
with all nautical state; for the harbour
is one vast thoroughfare for boats going and returning
among commodores, vice-commodores,
and other great men of the sea. It is pleasant to
behold the salt of theseaarriving,with red-capped
rowers and white-capped rowers, in yellow boats
that are like mirrors with shining varnish, and
who come up to the steps with judicious sweep,
and whose oars fly into the air at the one moment.
Presently comes the man-of-war's long
white boat, with its six strong rowers in indigo
shirts, and the captain in the stern with his
Union Jack apparently growing out of the small
of his back at a graceful angle.

Presently come ladies, she sea-captains, who
are going round these islands, and who are
better sailors, perhaps, than their lords, and who
wear a nautical suit—sailor's hat, with a blue
ribbon and anchor, and a kind of roomy serge
pea-jacket—not yet, however, those other roomy
"things" that Jack also wears, but there is no
knowing what may be yet ordained.

Our club, which is assumed to be an universal
nautical host on this occasion, does the briny
honours with great effect. Every commodore and
vice-commodore, every yacht captain, is bidden.
We swarm over again and again with very theatrical-looking
seamen, with loud quarter-deck
voices, and much blotched with gold buttons.
But everything is pleasant and very welcome;
especially that lounging for hours on the
galleries and balconies, and, more especially still,
the banquet, which sets in at about four of the
clock, and which is given in the "cool grots"
of our boat-house below, transformed into quite
gaudy regions by flags and calico. Those two
enchanters can do wonders. Gradually the
sun goes down, and the cool stillness of
evening steals on. Now the huge mail-packet,
with four great chimneys, drifts in; gliding
among the smaller boats in a placid good-
natured way, as who should say, "Easy, my
little boys; don't be afraid, I shan't hurt or
tread on you!" and lets down its London
passengers—men of business and strangers—
who rub their eyes, and wonder is this the
normal state of the natives they are coming
among? Everything is dreamy, tranquil, and
pleasant.

By-and-by, when the commodore has fired his
evening gun, and every flag in harbour comes
sliding down, the cool greys come gradually
on, and the colder darkness. Then lights
begin to twinkle here and there, and afar off
are seen the full white sails of the winning
yachts, bending as they come in, and seeming
to make low curtseys. The sea glistens and
drips like melting glass. The lights glimmer,
and get reflected in a thousand timid ripples.
There is an air of languid fatigue over everything.
But our club is all ablaze with light;
and, looking from the pier over the heads of the
crowd at its windows, strained as wide open
as they can bear, can be seen many heads moving
up and down, and many muslin backs reposing,
while the sound of the loud excellent string
band further proclaims that high festival is
raging.

Through the bluish darkness, lights begin to
twinkle everywhere, from the greater light at
the entrance of the harbour, which at fixed
intervals becomes unseen and then turns its
"bull's-eye" on us with a start, like a distant
policeman. All between is liberally sprinkled
with soft dots of lights, which expand into
perfect lanterns when coming through the
cabin tops of the yachts. The whole harbour is
alive with boats; for now the night's fun is
about to begin, and the fireworks to blaze.
Every deck has its crowd of ladies and gentlemen,
and echoes with chatter of voices and
peals of laughter. The harbour is a great noisy
highway. Now, do the men-of-war begin with
a hiss and a roar to burst out into lines of
blue light, and every line and rope seems
lighted up with gigantic lucifer-matches. Then,
do all the smaller fry follow suit, and aboard
our yacht everybody is turned to profit, and
made to stand in a line and hold a port-fire
over the bulwarks, with the pleasing effect
of dropping molten blue blazes into the water.
Then, comes the professional display of fireworks
from the shore; the roaring rockets, the
Catherine wheels sputtering and blowing, as
if they were in a passion, and the set pieces.
Now does every yacht let off her own private
rockets, discharging them artfully so as to
let the sticks fall among "friends" on the
deck of a neighbouring yacht. And as the
water is all but covered with overloading boats
creeping in and out and anywhere, a more exquisite
diversion is found in letting the sticks
fall into the centre of a packed crowd, from which