and gentry are expected to be present. But all eyes
are anxiously turned to the race. "Huzza for the _Arrow_," is the
acclamation from the crowd; and certain enough the swift _Arrow_, of 85
tons, Joseph Weld, Esq., has left her opponents, even the favourite
_Miranda_ spreads all sail in vain--the _Arrow_ flies too swiftly,
outstripping the _Therese_, 112 tons; the _Menai_, 163 tons; the _Swallow_,
124 tons; the _Scorpion_, 110 tons; the _Pearl_, 113 tons; the _Dolphin_,
58 tons; and the _Harriet_, 112 tons. Now she nears the starting vessel,
gliding swiftly round it--the cannons on the battlements of Cowes Castle
proclaim the victory--the music breaks forth "with its voluptuous swell,"
amidst the applause of the multitude,--and his Majesty's Cup is awarded to
the _Arrow_.

The assemblage dispersing, we will adjourn to Paddy White's, and refresh
ourselves with a cup of his Bohea, rendered more agreeable by the company's
critiques on the sailing match. At this moment Cowes contains half the
world; and every villa, and assembly-room, and tavern, and pot-house, from
the superb club-house, with its metamorphosed lords, to the Sun tap, with
its boisterous barge-men, are as happy as mortals can be. Just before oar
departure for Newport, we will to the harbour, and take a farewell peep of
the "finish" of Cowes' Regatta. Though unwelcome night has prematurely
interrupted the enjoyments of the multitude, it engenders a social
pleasure to behold the numerous lights, forming almost a concentrated
blaze--to hear the expiring cadence of the jovial song, excited by the
second bottle--and to join in the bustle of the beach, where the company
of the _Falcon_ are embarking. But good bye to Cowes--we are already on
the road to Newport; and the lateness of the hour may be conceived by the
inmates of the rural inn, the Flower Pot, drawing the white curtains of
each bed-room window. Reader, a word at parting. Art thou tired of the
commercial monotony of the city, and wearied with its eternal aspect of
brick? Has the efflorescence of thy youth been "sicklied o'er" by the
wasting turmoil of the town?--leave its precincts for one month of the
fervid summer, and forget thy cares and toils in the embowered Isle of
Wight. Let thy taste be ever so fastidious, there it may be gratified. If
thou art in love with sentimental ease and elegance, take up thy residence
amongst the library-visiting fashionables at Ryde--if thou hast a taste
for the terrific