"I would advise you all to be very particular in not letting your 'skipper' have too much authority. Remember always, that you are the owner—high-spirited gentlemen do. Surely a man may sail his own yacht, if anybody may! It is as much his property as his horse is. To be sure, when the weather is very bad, I would let the fellow take charge then. There is a very odd difference between the Bay of Biscay and the water inside the Isle of Wight, when it blows. And a skipper too much snubbed gets rusty at awkward times.
"Your conduct in harbour will be regulated by circumstances—which means, dinners. Generally speaking, the fact of having a yacht will carry you everywhere. As every aëronaut is 'intrepid' by courtesy, so every yachtsman is a 'fashionable arrival.' This great truth is scarcely enough appreciated in England. I have known very worthy men spend in trying to get into great society in London, sums which, judiciously invested in a yacht, would have taken them to dozens of great people's houses abroad. You will get asked to dinner; you will be feasted well, generally. Anything in the way of excitement—particularly good, rich, hospitable excitement—is heartily welcome in our colonial settlements and stations.
"But I am not now speaking only to those who yacht, because to have a yacht is a fine thing. I recognise also an imperial class of yachtsmen—the swans of the flock of geese. I have seen a coronet on a binnacle, before now. I have seen a large stately schooner sail into a Mediterranean port—as into a drawing-room—splendid and serene. The harbour-master's boat is on the alert these mornings. The men-of-war send their boats to tow; the dandiest lieutenant goes in the barge; the senior captain offers his services. When such a yacht as that goes into the Golden Horn, the Sultan is shown to these yachters—like any curiosity in his capital—like any odd thing in his town! They are presented to him, as it is called, that he may be looked at.
"To this magnificent class I have not much to say. They don't snub their skipper—they are far too fine to do that. They are scarcely distinctive as travellers, for they are the same abroad as at home. In them, England is represented. England floats in a lump through the sea, like Delos used to do. As they say and do just the same as they have always said and done at home—see and mix with the same kind of people—I often wonder what they learn by it. When they go to visit Thermopylæ or Marathon, it is with a lot of tents, donkeys, camp-stools, travelling-cases, guides, and servants—such as Xerxes might have had. They encumber the ruins of temples with the multitude of their baggage. The position seems so unnatural, that I can't fancy their getting any moral or intellectual profit from it. They are too well off for that—like a fellow who cannot see for fat. Depend on it, you cannot see much through a painted window, however fine it is."
Professor Brick concluded his first sketch amidst much applause.
HOW VERY THOUGHTFUL
Old Lady. "Are you not afraid of getting drown'd when you have the boat so full?"