depth of despair, worried out of my life, and half dead with anxiety, I
have not really been able to put pen to paper. But now all is changed,
and I am able to address you with a light heart.

I am sure, Amy, that you will be longing to know why, and for this
reason I will not for a moment leave you a victim to the most terrible
ailment that can attack our sex--unsatisfied feminine curiosity.

Two days ago we were still at Southampton, and it was proposed that
after lunch we should take a little trip down the river Hamble--a river
which runs into Southampton Water. Well, we started--Jack, and a friend
of his, Captain Cleland, Mrs. Vivian, Mrs. Tenterden, and myself. All
went well for about an hour, when a breeze sprang up which soon
developed into half a gale. At least I understood the captain of the
yacht to say so. I didn't mind it in the least, but Mrs. Vivian, poor
old lady, was dreadfully ill and nervous, and though I did all I could
to comfort and reassure her, it was not of much use. As for Mrs.
Tenterden, she absolutely collapsed. In abject terror she uttered
incoherent cries, and no one could make out what she wished to be done.
Jack seemed very upset and tried to soothe her as well as he could, but
it was all to no effect, and indeed she once turned on him just like a
virago, saying,

"I never wanted to come on your horrid yacht, but you would make me,
and see what has happened to me now."

Poor Jack--I call him "Poor Jack" although he has behaved like a very
naughty boy--seemed to wince, but made no reply.

Eventually we arrived opposite the village of Hamble, and there the