I must some day write about how I hunted the late Bishop of Carlisle with
my camera, hoping to shoot him when he was sea-sick crossing from Calais
to Dover, and how St. Somebody protected him and said I might shoot him
when he was well, but not when he was sea-sick. I should like to do it
in the manner of the _Odyssey_:
. . . And the steward went round and laid them all on the sofas and
benches and he set a beautiful basin by each, variegated and adorned with
flowers, but it contained no water for washing the hands, and Neptune
sent great waves that washed over the eyelet-holes of the cabin. But
when it was now the middle of the passage and a great roaring arose as of
beasts in the Zoological Gardens, and they promised hecatombs to Neptune
if he would still the raging of the waves . . .
At any rate I shot him and have him in my snap-shot book, but he was not
sea-sick. [1892.]