vowed that I would never pay another visit again. But even as I write,
an invitation was brought me. It is from my Aunt. She writes that she
has taken charming rooms at Flatsands, and hopes I will go and stay
with her there for a few days. She thinks the sea air will do me good.
Perhaps it will. I shall write at once and accept.

THE ODD GIRL OUT.

FROM OUR YOTTING YORICK, P.A.

_Aboard the Yot "Placid," bound for Copenhagen (I hope)._

DEAR EDITOR,

You told me when I set sail (I didn't set sail myself, you understand,
but the men did it for me, or rather for my friends, Mr and Mrs.
SKIPPER, to whose kindness I owe my present position--which is far
from a secure one,--but no matter), you said to me, YORICK Yotting
has no buffoonery left in him? I too, who was once the life of all
the Lifes and Souls of a party! Where is that party now? Where am _I_?
What is my life on board? Life!--say existence. I rise early; I can't
help it. I am tubbed on deck: deck'd out in my best towels. So I
commence the day by going to Bath. [That's humorous, isn't it? I hope
so. I mean it as such.]

[Illustration]

"Send me notes of your voyage to Sweden and Norway, and the land of
_Hamlet_. You'll see lots of funny things, and you'll take a humorous
view of what isn't funny; send me your humorous views." Well, Sir, I