him; his dear home rises before his eyes, the voices of his loved ones thrill in his ear, and his bronzed hand is raised to dash away the tear that starts unbidden.  But there must be no weakness.  Rovers have their feelings, but they must subdue them when two hundred yards have to be traversed over waves that are nearly two inches high.  The Rover steps into his boat, resolved to do or die.  Now or never!  He puts one cushion behind his athletic back, he lights a Regalia—­so cool are genuine heroes in peril—­and shoots away over the yeasty billows.  For forty seconds the fierce struggle lasts; the bow of the boat is wetted to a height of four inches; but dauntlessness and skill conquer all difficulties, and in forty seconds and a half the unscathed Rover stands on his quarter-deck.

Sometimes when the captain is in a good humour, the Rover goes for a sail, and he takes as many as three ladies with him.  This statement may be doubted, but only by those who do not know what British courage is really like.  Yes, the Rover sometimes sails as much as ten miles in the course of one trip, and he may be as much as three hours away from his moorings.  Moreover, I have known a good-natured skipper who allowed the roving proprietor of a yacht to take as many as six trips in the course of a single season.  Observe the cheapness of this amusement, and reflect thankfully on the simplicity of taste which now distinguishes the wealthy Rovers of the South Coast.  The yacht costs about two thousand pounds to begin with, and one thousand pounds per year is paid to keep her up.  Thus it seems that a Rover may have six sails at the rate of one hundred and sixty-six pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence per sail!  So long as the breed of Cowes Rovers exists we need have no fears concerning our naval supremacy.  Indeed competent nautical men think that, if any band of enemies, no matter how ferocious they might be, happened to see a thorough-bred Cowes Rover equipped for his perilous afternoon voyage of two hundred yards, they would instantly lose heart and flee in terror.  Such is the majesty of a true seaman.  I hope that all my readers may respect the Rover when they see him.  Remember that his dinner rarely numbers more than six courses, and he cannot always ice his champagne owing to the commotion of the elements.  If such privations do not win pity from judicious readers, then, alas, I have written in vain!  Those who read this will often be surrounded by strolling Rovers.  Treat the reckless daring salts with respect, for they live hard and risk much.

XXIII.

SORROW.