Chapter 2

Was there ever a happier scene than Cowes presented on that day? But to begin with the splendid patrons of the festival, we must turn our eyes to the elegant Club House, built at the expense of George Ward, Esq. Before it are arranged the numerous and efficient band of the Irish Fusileers, and behind them, standing in graceful groups, are many of the illustrious members of the club. That elderly personage, arrayed in ship habiliments, is the noble Commodore, Lord Yarborough; he is in conversation with the blithe and mustachioed Earl of Belfast. To the right of them is the Marquess of Anglesey, in marine metamorphose; his face bespeaking the polished noble, whilst his dress betokens the gallant sea captain. There is the fine portly figure of Lord Grantham, bowing to George Ward, Esq.; who, in quakerlike coat and homely gaiters, with an umbrella beneath his arm, presents a fine picture of a speculator "on 'Change." To the left is Richard Stephens, Esq., Secretary to the Royal Yacht Club, and Master of the Ceremonies. He is engaged in the enviable task of introducing a party of ladies to view the richly-adorned cups; and the smile of gallantry which plays upon his countenance belies the versatility of his talent, which can blow a storm on the officers of a Custom House cutter more to be dreaded than the blusterings of old Boreas. That beautiful Gothic villa adjoining the Club House, late the residence of the Marquess of Anglesey, is occupied by the ladies of some of the noble members of the club, forming as elegant and fashionable a circle as any ball-room in the metropolis would be proud to boast of. But it is time to speak of the crowd on the beach--lords and ladies--peers and plebeians--civilians and soldiers--swells and sailors--respectable tradesmen and men of no trade--coaches and carriages, and "last, not least," the Bards of the Regatta--

"Eternal blessings be upon their heads! The poets--"

singing the deeds of the contested day in strains neither Doric nor Sapphic, but in such rhythm and measure as Aristotle has overlooked in the compilation of his Poetic Rules; and to such music as might raise the shade of Handel from its "cerements." Surely the Earl of Belfast must feel himself highly flattered by the vocal compliment--

"And as for the Earl of Belfast, he's a nobleman outright, They all say this, both high and low, all through the _Iley Wight_."

Reverting to the aquatic scenery, the most prominent object amidst the "myriad convoy," is the Commodore's fine ship, the _Falcon_, 351 tons, lying out a mile and a half to sea. Contrasting her proportions with the numerous yachts around her, we might compare her commanding appearance to that of some mountain giant, seated on a precipice, and watching the trial for mastery amongst a crowd of pigmies below. Her state cabin has been decorated in a style of magnificence for a ball in the evening, at which 200 of the nobility 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 and sublime, thou canst meditate amidst the solemn and sea-worn cliffs of Chale, and regale thine ears with the watery thunders of the Black Gang Chine--if any veneration for antiquity lights up thy feelings, enjoy thy dream beneath the Saxon battlements of Carisbrooke, and poetize amidst the "sinking relics" of Quam Abbey--if geology is thy passion, visit the "wild and wondrous" rocks of Freshwater, where thou canst feast thine eyes with relics of the antediluvian world, and enrich thy collection with shells of every hue--if thou longest to dissolve thy heart in pastoral tears, _à la Keates_, adjourn to Arreton, the sweetly secluded scene of the "Dairyman's Daughter;" where thou mayest "with flowers commune;" or if thou hast the prevailing characteristics of a cheerful citizen, take up thy abode amongst the life-cherishing _bon-vivants_ of Newport--but, above all, forego not the pleasures of a Cowes Regatta! * * H.

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MANNERS & CUSTOMS OF ALL NATIONS.

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ELEPHANT HUNT.

A medical officer, in a recent letter from Hambantotti says, I have just returned from beholding a sight, which, even in this country, is of rare occurrence, viz. an elephant hunt, conducted under the orders of government. A minute description (though well worth perusal) would be far too long for a letter; I shall therefore only give you what is usually called a faint idea.

Imagine 2,000 or 3,000 men surrounding a tract of country six or eight miles in circumference, each one armed with different combustibles and moving fires; in the midst suppose 300 elephants, being driven towards the centre by the gradual and regular approach of these fires, till at last they are confined within a circle of about two miles; they are then driven by the same means into a space made by the erection of immense logs of ebony and other strong wood, bound together by cane, and of the shape (in miniature) of the longitudinal section of a funnel, towards which they rush with the greatest fury, amidst the most horrid yells on the approach of fire, of which they stand in the greatest dread. When enclosed they become outrageous, and charge on all sides with great fury, but without any effect on the strong barricado; they at last gain the narrow path of the enclosure, the extreme end of which is just large enough to admit one elephant, which is immediately prevented breaking out by strong bars laid across. To express their passion, their desperation, when thus confined, is impossible; and still more so, to imagine the facility and admirable contrivance by which they are removed and tamed. Thus it is:--A tame elephant is placed on each side, to whom the wild one is fastened by ropes; he is then allowed to pass out, and immediately on his making the least resistance, the tame ones give him a most tremendous squeeze between their sides, and beat him with their trunks until he submits; they then lead him to a place ready prepared, to which he is strongly fastened, and return to perform the same civility to the next one.

In this way seventy wild elephants were captured for the purpose of government labour. The tame elephants daily take each wild one singly to water and to feed, until they become quite tame and docile. The remaining elephants were shot by the people.

I took possession of a young one, and have got him now tied up near my door; he is quite reconciled, and eats with the greatest confidence out of my hand; he is, however, too expensive to keep long, and I fear I must eventually shoot him. Some idea of the expense may be supposed, when I tell you that in one article alone, milk, his allowance is two gallons per day.

I was at this scene with thirty other officers and their ladies, and we remained in temporary huts for nearly ten days.--_Asiatic Journal._

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BRAZILIAN SLAVE TRADE.

_From the Memoirs of General Miller, Second Edition._

In Brazil the slave trade is seen in some of its most revolting aspects; for there the general treatment of negro slaves is barbarous in the extreme. About thirty thousand are annually imported into Rio Janeiro alone, and perhaps an equal number in the other ports of the empire. One of the many abhorrent circumstances attending this nefarious traffic is, that, upon a vessel's arriving near the port, such slaves, as appear to be in an irrecoverable state of disease, are frequently thrown into the sea! This is done merely to evade the payment of the custom-house duty, which is levied upon every slave brought into port. Instances have occurred of their being picked up alive by coasting vessels!

Fourteen or fifteen slave ships, with full cargoes, arrived at Rio Janeiro during the six weeks that Miller remained there. One morning that he happened to breakfast on board a Brazilian frigate, the commander, Captain Sheppard, kindly lent him a boat to visit a slaver of 320 tons, which had come into port the preceding night. The master, supposing him to be in the imperial service, was extremely attentive, and very readily answered every inquiry. He said the homeward-bound passage had been tolerably fortunate, only seventy-two deaths having occurred in the cargo; and that, although thirty of the sick were then in an unsaleable plight, the owners might calculate upon sending into the market four hundred sound and well-grown Africans; a number that would yield a handsome profit.

After some further conversation, Miller requested permission to see the 'tween decks, upon which the muster accompanied him below, and pointed out the manner of securing his cargo, which was by shackling each negro by one leg to an iron bar running a midships from stem to stern, so as to form a double row, lying feet to feet. The air was so oppressively nauseating, that Miller could not remain below for more than two minutes. There was hardly a slave in the whole number who was free from festering sores, produced by constant friction from lying on the hard and unwashed decks. Some of them were bruised so dreadfully, that it was wonderful that they continued to exist. Their emaciated appearance might have led to the supposition that they had been nearly starved during the passage, did not the varied miseries to which they were subjected, sufficiently account for their fleshless forms. A great number of them were now upon deck, and clad in long woollen shirts, in order to be sent to the warehouses on shore. Miller, heartily sick of this disgusting scene, took leave of the master; but, unable to control the indignation he felt, he inveighed with great bitterness against all wretches concerned in so iniquitous a traffic, letting him know at the same time that he was not in the service of the emperor. The master, though at first taken aback by the violence of the general's invectives, soon recovered himself, and retorted in the most insolent terms of defiance, abusing the English for meddling in what he styled the legitimate commerce of Brazil. The state of the vessel was such as cannot be described, and the fetid effluvia, arising from it, offended the senses on approaching her within fifty yards. Although Miller took a warm bath immediately upon getting on shore, the stench of the slave ship haunted his nostrils for many days.

There is a long narrow street in Rio Janeiro exclusively appropriated to the negro stores. It is, in fact, the slave-bazaar. The fronts of the shops are open, and the objects for sale are seated on benches, where, strange to say, they often pass their time in singing. People wishing to become purchasers lounge up and down until they see a subject likely to suit their purpose. Miller one day put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, and walked into several of the stores, as if with a view of making a purchase. The slave venders came forward with eagerness to show off their stock, making their bipeds move about in every way best calculated to display their good points, and in much the same manner that a jockey does in showing off a horse. Those who appeared to be drowsy were made to bite a piece of ginger, or take a pinch of snuff. If these excitements did not prove sufficient to give them an air of briskness, they were wakened up by a pull of the ear, or a slap on the face, which made them look about them. Miller was so inquisitive, and his observations were so unlike those of a _bona fide_ purchaser, that the dealers soon began to suspect he did not intend to be a customer. One of them being in consequence rather pert in his replies, Miller once more allowed his indignation to get the better of his judgment, and he abused the fellow in terms more violent, if possible, than those he had addressed to the master of the slave ship. He had some difficulty to avoid getting into a very serious squabble, as many of the other dealers came out and joined in the yell now raised against him. As he passed along the street, it was like running the gauntlet; for he was saluted by vituperations on all sides, and it was perhaps only by preserving a menacing attitude in his retreat that he prevented something more than a mere war of words. They dwelt with marked emphasis on the officious English, who, instead of attending to their own affairs, would not, they said, allow other people to gain an honest livelihood.

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OLD CHARING CROSS.

This is one of the celebrated memorials of the affection of Edward I. for his beloved Elinor, being the cross erected on the last spot on which the body rested in the way to Westminster Abbey, the place of sepulture. This and all the other crosses were built after the designs of Cavilini; and all of them were destroyed by the zeal of the Reformers.

Our illustration is from an engraving copied from a print found in a mutilated genealogy published in 1602, relative to the Stuart family, in which were portraits of James I. and family, and a print of Old St. Paul's. Pennant, speaking of Old Charing Cross, says "from a drawing communicated to me by Dr. Combe, it was octagonal, and in the upper stage had eight figures; but the Gothic parts were not rich." The above print differs from this drawing, yet it was evidently intended to represent the same subject, "Charing Cross" being engraved at the bottom.

The site of the cross is now occupied by the Equestrian Statue of Charles I. in which the figure and symmetry of the horse are beautifully displayed. Indeed, it is said to be the most finished piece of workmanship of the kind ever produced: that of Marcus Aurelius, or the two horses on the Monte Cavallo, or Quirino at Rome not excepted.

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NOTES OF A READER.

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ODD MISTAKE.

Judge Hall says, "I once travelled through Illinois when the waters were high; and when I was told that _Little Mary_ would stop me, and that to get by _Big Mary_ was impossible, I supposed them to be attractive damsels, who, like beauteous Circe of old, amused themselves with playing _tricks upon travellers_. But, lo! instead of blushing, blooming, and melodious maids, I found torrents cold as ice, and boisterous as furies. Mary is too sweet a name to be thus profaned."

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FIGHT IN A CHURCH.

Among the ecclesiastical anecdotes of the age of the Commonwealth, is a tradition still current at Bishop's Middleham, concerning their intrusive vicar, John Brabant. He was a soldier in Cromwell's army; but preferring the drum ecclesiastic to the drum military, he came with a file of troops to Middleham, to eject the old vicar. The parishioners made a good fight on the occasion, and succeeded in winning the pulpit, which was the key of the position, for their proper minister; but Brabant made a soldierly retreat into the chancel, mounted the altar, and there preached, standing, with a brace of horse-pistols at his side. Right, however, had little chance when Might ruled; and the old vicar, who had held the living forty years, was ejected.

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SPANISH AND ITALIAN REFUGEES.

A pretty little "Garland of Miscellaneous Poems" has just been published by one of our occasional correspondents,[1] for the Benefit of the Spanish and Italian Refugees. These poems are gracefully written, independent of the interest they ought to awaken from the profits of the sale being appropriated to a benevolent purpose. We subjoin an extract--

[1] Mr. W.H. Brandreth, author of "Field Flowers," &c.

THE FIELD OF BANNOCKBURN.

A fearful form from Stirling's tower Was dimly seen to bend; He look'd as though, 'mid fate's far hour, Some mighty woe he kenn'd. White was his hair, and thin with age, One hand was raised on high, The other ope'd the mystic page Of human destiny. And oft, ere shone the moon's pale ray, His eyes were seen to turn Where, in the gloomy distance, lay The plain of Bannockburn.

And fair uprose the queen of night, Shining o'er mount and main; Ben Lomond own'd her silvery light, Forth sparkled bright again. Fair, too, o'er loyal Scoone she shone, For there the Bruce had kneel'd, And, half forgetful, look'd she down On Falkirk's fatal field. For ere to-morrow's sun shall set, Stern Edward's self shall learn A lesson pride may ne'er forget, Where murmurs Bannockburn.

A voice is heard from Stirling's tower, 'Tis of that aged seer, The lover leaves his lady's bower, Yet chides her timid tear. The infant wakes 'mid wild alarms, Prayers are in vain outpour'd; The bridegroom quits his bride's fond charms, And half unsheaths his sword. Yet who may fate's dark power withstand, Or who its mandate spurn? And still the seer uplifts his hand And points to Bannockburn.

"There waves a standard o'er the brae, There gleams a highland sword; Is not yon form the Stewart, say,-- Yon, Scotland's Martial Lord? Douglas, with Arran's stranger chief, And Moray's earl, are there; Whilst drops of blood, for tears of grief, The coming strife declare. Oh! red th' autumnal heath-bells blow Within thy vale, Strathearne; But redder far, ere long, shall glow The flowers of Bannockburn!

"Alas! for Edward's warrior pride, For England's warrior fame; Alas! that e'er from Thames' fair side Her gallant lances came! Lo! where De Bohun smiles in scorn,-- The Bruce, the Bruce is near! Rash earl, no more thy hunter horn Shall Malvern's blue hills hear! Back, Argentine, and thou, De Clare, To Severn's banks return Health smiles in rural beauty there,-- Death lours o'er Bannockburn!

"Up, up, De Valence, dream no more Of Mothven's victor fight-- Thy bark is on a stormier shore, No star is thine to-night. And thou, De Burgh, from Erin's isle, Whom Eth O'Connor leads, Love's tear shall soon usurp his smile In Ulster's emerald meads. But oh! what tears will Cambria shed When _she_ the tale shall learn-- For Forth's full tide shall flow blood red, Ere long, from Bannockburn!

"But not alone shall Southron vale Lament that day of woe-- Grief's sigh shall soothe each ruder gale Where Scotia's waters flow. From Corra Linn, where roars the Clyde, To Dornoch's ocean bay-- From Tweed, that rolls a neutral tide, To lonely Colinsay:-- But see, the stars wax faint and few, Death's frown is dark and stern-- But darker soon shall rise to view Yon field of Bannockburn!"

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RIVER MELODIES.

Between Pittsburgh and Shawneetown, whilst "gliding merrily down the Ohio" in a _keel-boat_, "navigated by eight or ten of those half-horse and half-alligator gentry commonly called Ohio boatmen," Judge Hall was lulled to sweet sleep, as the rowers were "tugging at the oar," timing their strokes to the cadence:--

"Some rows up, but we rows down, All the way to Shawnee town: Pull away--pull away."

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REAL DISCONTENT.

The following anecdote is related of Robert de Insula, or Halieland, a man of low birth, and one of the bishops of Durham:--Having given his mother an establishment suitable to his own rank, and asking her once, when he went to see her, how she fared, she answered, "Never worse!"--"What troubles thee?" said the bishop; "hast thou not men and women enough to attend thee?"--"Yea," quoth the old woman, "and more than enough! I say to one--go, and he runs; to another--come hither, fellow! and the varlet falls down on his knees;--and, in short, all things go on so abominably smooth, that my heart is bursting for something to spite me, and pick a quarrel withal!" The ducking-stool may have been a very needful piece of public furniture in those days, when it was deemed one characteristic of a notable housewife to be a good scold, and when women of a certain description sought, in the use of vituperation, that sort of excitement which they now obtain from a bottle and a glass.

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The magnificent bishop of Durham, Antony Beke, once gave forty shillings for as many fresh herrings; and hearing someone say, "This cloth is so dear that even bishop Antony would not venture to pay for it," immediately ordered it to be brought and cut up into horse-cloths.

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SOLIMAN "THE GREAT."

Here is a specimen of the magnificence with which this historical butcher treated his fellow-creatures:--