Regatta, a description of that _fête_ may not be uninteresting. From the
days assigned to the nautical contest, we will select that on which his
Majesty's Cup was sailed for, on Monday, the 13th of August, 1827, as the
most copious illustration of the scene; beginning with Newport, the _fons
et origo_ of the "doings" of that remembered day. Dramatically speaking,
the _scene_ High-street, the _time_ "we may suppose near ten o'clock,"
A.M.; all silent as the woods which skirt the river Medina, so that to
hazard a gloomy analogy, you might presume that some plague had swept away
the population from the sunny streets; the deathlike calm being only
broken by the sounds of sundry sashes, lifted by the dust-exterminating
housemaid; or the clattering of the boots and spurs of some lonely ensign
issuing from the portals of the Literary Institution, condemned to lounge
away his hours in High-street. The solitary adjuncts of the deserted
promenade may be comprised in the loitering waiter at the Bugle, amusing
himself with his watch-chain, and anxiously listening for the roll of some
welcome carriage--the sullen urchin, reluctantly wending his way to school,
whilst

"His eyes
Are with his heart, and that is far away;"

amidst the assemblage of yachts and boats, and dukes and lords, and
oranges and gingerbread, at Cowes Regatta.

But where is all Newport? Why, on the road to Cowes, to be sure; for who
dreams of staying at home on the day of sailing for the King's Cup? If the
"courteous reader" will accompany us, we will descant on the scenery
presented on the road, as well as the numerous vehicles and thronging
pedestrians will permit us. Leaving the town-like extent of the Albany
Barracks, the prospect on the left is the Medina, graced with gently