Once again "my foot is on my native heath."--(I don't know where this
quotation comes from, but presume the author of it had lost a leg,
or he would have placed _his feet_ there--or else he must have had
one leg shorter than the other, and so _couldn't_ put both down at
once!)--and heartily glad I am to be there--we had a most alarming
passage from Jersey, and I thought every moment would be my
last--(_for a time_)--but I was cheered and stimulated to endurance
by the noble example of my friend and fellow-passenger The
MACDOUGAL--Chief of the Clan--who was obtrusively well up to
lunch-time!--but I had my revenge then, for he was unable to face
the dish of Haggis that I am given to understand every right-minded
Scotchman thinks it his duty to eat at least once a day.
However, "I pulled through all right," as Lord ARTHUR would say,
and was so delighted with my sailor-like indifference to the
"rolling-sea," that I adopted a rolling-walk on landing, which was
most impressive, to judge from the staring of the inhabitants of
Weymouth!--(I may confess to _you_ that I couldn't help myself;
everything was going up and down and sideways, for _hours_ after I
landed, and I really think the sea ought to be done away with, or
flattened out by some means!--there's a fortune for the man who
invents the machine which will do it!)--I should prefer it done away
with myself, as then there would be no mackerel-fishing!
I have no personal animosity against the humble but lovely-looking
mackerel; but I was weak enough to accept an invitation to go
fishing for them, and you may imagine my horror at being "roused
out,"--(yachting expression, _very_ significant)--at _three_ in the
morning to go and capture them!--or at least to _try_--for as a matter
of fact, we didn't get a single one--and my temper was "roused out"
before we'd finished, for no well-conducted woman cares to be balked
in her efforts to "hook a big fish,"--and all I could catch were a
few small "Pollock" and "Pout." By the way, who on earth christens
the fish, I wonder?--and why on earth--or rather in sea--are there so
many varieties which you must either remember or submit to nave your
ignorance jeered at by the practised fisherman, who has probably
acquired his information concerning them only the day before?
The English "Bay of Naples" is a wonderful place, and its resemblance
to its Italian prototype is admirably sustained through the liberality
of the Local Board in encouraging the importation of Italian penny-ice
men! I really think this wholesale importation of foreigners is being
carried to excess, and has already created a feeling that England
is no place for the English! And then the concerts you can hear for
nothing!--that is, if you harden your heart when the man comes round
with the tin pail!--everyone has a spade or a pail at the seaside--all
the latest London successes, from TOSTI to "_Ta-ra-ra_," accompanied
by a strong contingent of the Salvation Army Brass Band!--and there
is a lot of "brass" about the Army still unaccounted for! What
an enervating part of the world this is! One quite realises what
"lotus-eating" means, even though there are no lotuses about!--(I
wonder if that's the correct plural?--or is it "_Loti_"? which looks
like French, only wants "PIERRE" as Christian name. Or if additional
"_t_" introduced, it would be "Lotti," suggestive of COLLINS' Ode to
_Boom_, &c.; but I am wandering)--and it requires enormous energy
to do anything more than loll about and bathe; even on the Island of
Portland, where the air is rather more invigorating, I am told there
are numbers of people who express a strong disinclination to perform
any hard labour whatever, in spite of the fact of a short residence
there having been recommended as calculated to improve their general
"tone"! I only wish the aforesaid Salvation Army Band would go
there on a lengthy visit, as its "tone" leaves much to be desired at
present.
I hear that the Brighton Meeting was a great success both in weather
and racing; and the present "Horse of the Century," _Buccaneer_, fully
maintained his reputation, winning his race in what they call "gallant
style," and beating _Lady Rosebery_--not, perhaps, a gallant thing to
do, but Buccaneers have always been notoriously rough to the sex!
I am afraid thousands of my readers must be getting impatient for
more of my excellent prophecies, but I really cannot run the risk of
ruining my health by reading the papers when in the country; and,
as patience is an admirable virtue, I feel I am doing my duty in
encouraging it as much as possible. So, for yet another cycle of time
(poetic, and usefully vague),