Less as Lord SHERBROOKE than as "BOBBY LOWE."
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
"The Yacht" Jersey.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
You will see par mon adresse that I am encore une fois on my travels! At present, in fact, the Channel Islands "claim me for their own," as Lord Marmion says in BULWER LYTTON. Pardonnez-moi, if I occasionally lapse into French, for vraiment il y a such a mixture of tongues that we might almost rename them the Babel Islands—even my noted Parisian accent is scarcely understood. C'est étonnant! and were it not for EULALIE, I should quelquefois be in a fix agaçant.
I told you in my last letter that I should be unable to brighten Goodwood with the sunshine of my smile. But what is Goodwood compared to racing at Jersey? Indeed, it was unfortunate for Goodwood that the meetings clashed, and it should be avoided in 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 is not to be beaten anywhere! The Lawn was well patronised, and the enthusiasm was tremendous—seven events—all over two miles, and two over hurdles, where one came down! What more could you want—together with a glorious day, "and all the fun for the Fair!"