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.
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