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
sent you "_Mr. Punch looking at the Midnight Sun_." pretty humorous I
think ("more pretty than humorous," you cabled to me at Bergen), and
since that I have sent you several beautiful works of Art, in return
for which I received another telegram from you saying, "No 'go.
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