HUNTING IN THE ISLE OE WIGHT. 



*^ The ship is ready and the wind blows fair, and I 

 am bound for the sea/^ I hummed to myself as I 

 embarked on board the vessel which was to bear me 

 to the Isle of Wight, where I purposed hunting with 

 the foxhounds and riding with the harriers, so as to 

 be able to contrast the sport in this (to me) unknown 

 '* country ^^ with the clinking good gallops I have re- 

 cently had in the shires. Now, it was not a big ship 

 or a long voyage I was about to venture on ; but, 

 nevertheless, I have always anxious forebodings as 

 to whether I may not be called upon to provide for 

 the necessities of the denizens of the deep. On the 

 back of a horse, even if he cuts up a little rough, I 

 generally maintain an even balance, but in a rolling 

 craft and a heaving sea I am, so to speak, nowhere. 

 Fortunately no adverse wind — nay, not even a ripple 

 — arose to impede my progress, and in a very brief 

 period I found myself safely housed at V^entnor. 



Of this fashionable watering-place I had heard 

 marvellous accounts; if report was to be credited I 

 should find a floral display that would put Covent 

 Garden to the blush, and cause Mrs. Buck to hide her 

 diminished head. Geraniums, veronica, roses, and 

 mignonette were to be seen "all a-blowing and 

 a- growing,^' but, alas for the veracity of my in- 

 formants, instead of this wealth of flowers I found 



