sharp cutwater cleaving the blue billows, and when, with sheet eased off and wind abeam, her lee rail almost awash, she puts on an extra spurt—all these are ecstatic raptures which your poor land-lubber has never experienced.
Yachts are fickle jades, as all who have been victims of their whims and humors must fain concede. It is no wonder that they belong to the feminine gender. No coquette can be coyer or more difficult to please than the highly strung racing yacht. On occasions it is hard to realize that she is an inanimate fabric. I have known one to develop nerves and even hysteria. It takes a man of great judgment and infinite tact and good temper to get the best speed out of a modern racehorse. Qualifications similar and quite as highly developed are necessary to the successful yacht skipper, be he amateur or be he professional.
The ambition to excel in the art of yacht racing has been the means of inducing a great number of our fashionable youth, both golden and gilded, to cultivate the sport of yachting. The wholesome and invigorating influence of sea life and salt water have developed scores of dudes into men; and the one-design classes, now so popular, do much to keep young fellows out of mischief.
Racing in the smaller classes is encouraged by all the clubs except one—the New York Yacht Club—and open regattas are plentiful, to which the boats belonging to all recognized clubs are
