The ladies are invading everything. The Stock Exchange, Capel Court, the field, the lecture-room, the betting-ring—places exclusively devoted hitherto to black coats and legs of the same colour—have been recently graced, or disgraced, as the case has been, with the presence the fair, and sometimes unfair, sex. The clubs, it is true, are still in the hands of men, and woman, though she has voice enough in laying down the law at home, has none as yet in Parliament; though we are confident if a handsome duchess, or Mrs. Nisbett, were only to put up for a county (say Bucks), that she would no sooner announce her intention of standing, than every Buck in the borough would rush forward to offer her a seat. Common politeness would carry her into the House of Commons. Government, however, is not the only floating and sinking thing that has a helm. Our yachts are open to the ladies; and, till they can steer the Vessel of State, they are at full liberty to soil their _gants de Paris_ in handling the tiller of a Yacht. Are the quick-sands of office more dangerous to thread than the Needles? And what are the breezes, and the ups and downs of a parliamentary life, to those of the ocean? Go, ask Earl Grey, and he will tell you that he would sooner have fifty berths under Government than one in a royal yacht, any day! The example set by the Queen every year has turned all the ladies mad for a Yacht. It is customary now, instead of packing up the drawing-room furniture whilst the family is out of town, to have it carried on board, where it is fitted up on deck, or does state duty in the cabins. The Turkey carpet covers the vulgar planks, the bell ropes are substituted for the coarse ropes; and chairs, richly inlaid with mother-of-pearl, replace the plain lockers. The whole household is transported generally as well, though apoplectic footmen sometimes desert after the first day, preferring board wages in May Fair to the best wages on board, in the Mediterranean. The following extract from a Lady's Log Book will best illustrate this new fashion. It is written in the beautifully small handwriting of the enterprising Lady Augusta Fiddle-Faddle, who sailed in the _Jenny Lind_ on a cruise to Paris, last October. Sept. 2nd.—Started from Cowes. Sea just like a rocking-horse, up and down, up and down; not at all pleasant; very giddy; wind blowing all day at my back, nearly breaking my beautiful ostrich feather; no appetite for dinner; took an early tea, no muffins, not even a sally-lunn. Gave orders that the French cook (a promising pupil of Soyer's) might be told "to take good care it didn't occur again." In bed at eight, very unwell; ordered the rocking of the vessel to be stopped immediately, but not a soul paid any attention to my sufferings. [Illustration: YACHTING FOR LADIES—MAYFAIR IN THE MEDITERRANEAN. ]