DEAR SIR,--The captain went on board the gallant _Naughty Lass_ with his Wind Lass. A Wind Lass is short for "Winn'd Lass," _i.e._ a Lass he has won. I think her name is "POLL." The Captain says he is always true to her, and nothing will ever induce him to leave his dear Wind Lass ashore when he's afloat. Noble sentiment, but unpractical. The fact is (as whispered) the Wind Lass is jealous of the _Naughty Lass_, and won't let the Captain go alone. When the other Captain went on board the rival of the gallant _Naughty Lass_, the _Anne Nemone_, and "the crafty ones," as they call the sailors "in the know," were ready to bet any money on the _Anne Nemone_. Both cutters "cut" (hence the name) well away from each other at the start, and a fresh breeze coming up (the stale one had been got rid of) there was a lot of fore-reaching, until the Captain, who is an old hand at this sort of thing, sent round steward with brandy. "All hands for grog!" was then the order of the day, and we just managed to clear Muddle Point, leaving the home-marked (or "home-made," I forget which is the technical term, but I suppose the latter, as she was built on the neighbouring premises) boat well to windward. After a free reach in this weather down to Boot Shore--where the vessel heeled over a bit, but nothing to speak of, as it was soon remedied by a cobble that was close at hand--the _Naughty Lass_ lifted her head-sails, and away we went for Incog Bay, where nobody knew us, or we should have been received with three times three. At this moment the _Anne Nemone_, racing close to us, let out a right good "gybe," which was in execrable taste, I admit, but which ought not to have called for any retort from the captain's Wind Lass, who gave it her hot and strong, and threatened to haul her over the coal-scuttlers. Fortunately we were away again, and there was no time for opposite gybes. (I spell "gybes" in the old English nautical fashion, but, as I ascertain, it is precisely the same as "jibes.") Sailors' language is a bit odd; they don't mean anything, I know--it's only professional; still, as reporting the matter to ears polite, I scarcely like to set down in full _all_ I heard. At 1 P.M. all hands were piped for luncheon, and we had spinnakers cooked in their skins (they are a sort of bean), with a rare nautical dish called "Booms and Bacon." Fine! I did enjoy it! But then I'm an old hand at this sort of thing,--luncheon on board, I mean; for there's scarcely a board, be it sea board or other board, or, in fact, any boarding establishment, that I don't know. But "yeo ho! my boys! and avast!" for are we not still racing? We are!!