Once more I am back in my London "_pied-à-terre_"--(but how it can he
a _pied-à-TERRE_, I don't quite know, considering it's a flat on the
fourth floor!--_ridiculous_ language French is to be sure!)--and
very glad to get home again I assure you. I have spent the last few
weeks in the Isle of Wight, which is a British Possession in the
latitude of Spithead--(I don't know why Spithead should want any
latitude, but it seems to take a good deal!)--sacred to Tourists,
_Char-à-bancs_, and Pirates--the latter disguised as Lodging-letters!
While there we suffered severely from Regattas; which swarm in the
Island at this season, and are hotly pursued by the visitors, with the
deadly telescope. I myself was bitten once by the Regatta Bacteria,
and very painful it was. My friend, Baron VON HODGEMANN, owner of the
_Anglesey_, persuaded me to go on board for a race, and we travelled
the whole thirty miles sitting at an angle of forty-five degrees, and
singing the war-cry of the Royal Victoria Yacht Club!--
To the mast-head high we nail the Burge,[1]
When the north wind snores its dismal dirge!
In the trough of the sea with a mighty splurge,
The quiv'ring Yacht beats down the surge,
And weathers the Warner Light!
This experience having inspired me with courage, I indulged in another
flight of daring which required all the _aplomb_ of a leader of
Fashion to carry out successfully; and, though few of the "smart"
Ladies of my set habitually indulge in the habit. I am happy to think
I am encouraging them in a healthy and amusing pastime, which, in the
Summer, may in time even rival Lawn Tennis! However--not to beat about
the bush any longer--an utterly absurd expression this is!--as if it
could hurt the bush to beat it!--to say nothing of the difficulty of
keeping a bush always handy to beat!)--it is time I told you what this
great achievement of mine was--_I went paddling!_ There!--the secret
is out!--the Fashion is set!--the new Summer Amusement discovered!
The Rules of the Game are being written, and will shortly be published
under the title, "_Routledge's Etiquette of Paddling, for Ladies of
Good Standing_." I need hardly tell you that the first thing necessary
is to find a secluded bay, and it is also advisable to collect a few
children to take with you--(there are usually plenty left about on the
beach from which you can make a selection)--as a sort of excuse;--no
other implements are required for the game, in fact, superfluities
are a nuisance and only get wet--thus equipped--the game can be played
with freedom--(_not_ from pebbles)--combined of course with propriety,
and will be found amusing and invigorating--(quotation from the
preface to the Book of Rules written by the eminent German Doctor,
HERR SPLASHENWASSER--inventor of the Water-Cure.
The next Race meeting requiring attention takes place at Doncaster
this week, and the most important race, I take it--at least, _I_
don't take it--but the _winner_ will--another senseless expression--is
naturally the St. Leger, for which I make a poetic selection, which
has cost me weeks of anxious thought, no "leger" task!--(French
joke)--owing to the number of horses engaged, so few of which will
run!
Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.