the sublime from the ridiculous, and perhaps the line that divides your
true tales of the marvellous from story book fiction is so thin, that
ordinary persons cannot quite detect it; but never mind, let's have
something mild, and I'll undertake to swallow everything you tell me,
even if I have to bite it in two first."

"There, now, you're laughing at me before I begin, and you shall not
have a strand of a yarn, so you may go to sleep again at once."

Then I had to coax him, and he soon came round. He could not bear to be
doubted, much less laughed at.

"Tell me about bringing that little cockle-shell of a yacht from London
to Guernsey, that you were speaking about the other day."

"Oh! the 'Dewdrop.' Why, that's no yarn at all."

Then, thought I to myself, here's something really true: and so I
afterwards proved it to be.

"The 'Dewdrop' was one of the smallest yachts that ever ventured across
the Channel in the month of March. I left London with a fair wind from
the west, and got along the London river well enough; but once past the
Nore I found it quite lumpy enough to make things very wet and
uncomfortable, and after leaving Dover behind I had serious thoughts of
putting into Folkestone, or one of the south coast ports, but as I am
not one to take a task in hand and then give it up, I shaped my course
for Guernsey, making up my mind to give Cape La Hogue a wide berth.
There was a high west wind blowing, and a choppy sea rolling the white
horses along at a great pace, so that it required some amount of
attention to handle a light built twenty-foot yacht. Everything stood as
we bowled along, but having no one to help me I felt dreadfully tired
and hungry, for I could not leave the tiller to get a proper meal. Two
or three hours more and the wind backed a little to the south south-west
and blew harder than ever, while, in proportion as the wind rose, so did
the sea, so that the poor little 'Dewdrop,' with nearly a head wind, was
labouring heavily. How I got through the night I cannot tell, for with
cold and hunger I was nearly dead, and what was more, _I was lost_. When
I say lost, I could not tell within a score miles where I was. I looked
for the Casquet Light, but could not see it. Then I strained my eyes
ahead, trying to penetrate the darkness and discern Alderney Light, but
in vain. Turning my head to the left I looked out for the lights of Cape
La Hogue, but again was disappointed. Where was I? I could not