264 OCCASlOxNAL HAPPY THOUGHTS. 



I write, observe, in a poetic vein ; for the craft was a 

 steamer, without sails, and singularly grubby for such a 

 spick-and-span place as she was bound for. As to that 

 epithet of Lord Byron's, " The Dark-Blue Sea," he evidently 

 refers to the See of Oxford, the only one whose colour is, legi- 

 timately, dark blue. But, avast jesting, my messmates ! and, 

 in a general way, Yeo ho ! 



I had gathered, from information I had received, that 

 Cowes was eft fete, and therefore, as Your Representative, I 

 was dressed accordingly. Splice your old timbers ! it would 

 have done good to the cockles of your heart of oak to have 

 seen me in a straw hat, real Panama, purchased in Ger- 

 many, and warranted to be folded up and stowed away in 

 your waistcoat pocket, a blue blouse, a bright sunset evening 

 tie, underlying a striped turn-down collar, while below I was en- 

 cased in a pair of ducks white as the riven snow, taut at the 

 top, but large and loose at the point where they fall over the 

 shoe. (This is, perhaps, a lengthy description, but appre- 

 ciate its delicacy, which resembles that of the excellent 

 maiden lady who would not pronounce the word " Rotter- 

 dam " on account of its improper termination, and admit 

 that if it be lengthy, it is, at least, not so broad as it is 

 long.) 



As we neared Cowes we passed through a fleet of yachts, 

 and ^'our Representative went aloft, that is stood up, and 

 kept a bright look-out, in the hopes of recognising some one 

 on board one of these aristocratic craft who would hail him 

 with a cheery " Ahoy ! Messmate ! " and ask him to come 

 off to dinner. I daresay there were several doing this in the 



