ten minutes ahead of the Valentine, twenty of the Julia, and twentythree of the Little Mosquito. The first prize was accordingly awarded to the Violet, and the second to Valentine, which was remarkably well sailed throughout the day, except when she incautiously luffed too sharply round the flag-boat at Coal-house Point.

The Isle of Man Regatta in Douglas Bay was this year one of the most successful events of the kind that has ever taken place at that highly-agreeable yachting station. It was fixed for the 16th and 17th of July; but as it blew a gale on the first day, the committee prudently postponed it one day, thereby giving yachts a better opportunity of arriving in the bay, to enter for the sailing matches.

The first race on the programme was for the Isle of Man Cup; a purse of fifty sovereigns, open to yachts belonging to any Royal Yacht Club; a time race at 25 seconds per ton up to 40 tons, and 15 seconds above that. The following yachts came to their stations soon after ten o'clock on the morning of the 17th of July :

The wind was all that could be desired: a fine north-west topsailbreeze, and a lumpy sea outside. A well-arranged start was effected; the Mosquito going off with the lead; the insignificant, but daring little Scud, challenging her to a beam-and-beam race; but the Coralie was watching her, altnough laying her course to leeward of both, and as soon as opportunity offered, she passed the little Scud, and pressed the Mosquito hard at the first flag-boat-the Gauntlet and Odalique being close at hand. The Mosquito now shook herself clear of her rivals, and went prominently in front-the Coralie maintaining her position as second in the race. On arriving at the flag-boat off Banks' House, the Mosquito was observed to have considerably increased her lead, and from this point she made a beautiful tack in for the land, and left her opponents still further in the rear, and every future tack increased her lead, and she rounded the flag-ship on the first round, ten minutes ahead of the Coralie, and twelve of the Gauntlet. Balloon canvas was now spread in profusion upon the snowy-looking fleet, which foamed along in highly-picturesque style. An amusing encounter took place between the saucy little Scud and the Odalique-the little cutter ever and anon stealing past the schooner with laughable audacity. Meanwhile the Mosquito had too good a lead to be overtaken during the race, and the match was concluded in the following order :

The Mosquito had therefore won the prize in all the glory of her world-wide fame; and loud and enthusiastic were the cheers that hailed

her the victor of as well-sailed and spiritedly-contested a match as we have ever witnessed in Douglas Bay.

On the second day (Friday the 18th) the weather was highly auspicious, and the match for the Isle of Man Welcome Cup, a purse of thirty sovereigns, was looked forward to with considerable interest. A goodly muster of yachts were entered, amongst which was a new cutter the "Three Swans"-built by Marshall, of Ringsend. On the gun being fired for the competitors to repair to their stations, the following yachts assembled:

The Odalique is evidently a very fast little schooner; and Mr. M'Curdy deserves much credit for entering her in matches, and sailing. her with so much spirit. The Coralie soon went away with the lead, the Odalique and Three Swans attending closely upon her; but never so as to endanger her chance of success. The Three Swans made some determined efforts, and showed that she had excellent qualities about her; but, alas for the unfortunate little clipper! an accident befel her on this, her first match, which struck terror into all hearts that witnessed it, and for a moment placed her crew in jeopardy. A squall struck the little clipper, a crash followed, and in a moment the Three Swans lay a helpless wreck upon the water-her mast having gone by the board with all her canvas upon it. The gallant owner of the schooner, on witnessing the misfortune, behaved in a manner most becoming a true-bred yachtsman, and immediately bore down to the assistance of his unfortunate rival. None but those who have been in a vessel under similar misfortunes, can tell the feeling of gratitude that strikes home to a sailor's heart when he espies from his forlorn condition the hand of kindness and humanity bearing down to his assistance. The feeling is vividly expressed in the following lines, descriptive of a scene in which a yacht was capsized, and which we borrow from a work well known in the nautical library.

"Whoe'er then a scene of glad hope would enjoy,

Or paint with effect the true picture of joy,
Must feel as we felt when that boat came in view,
And must borrow a tint from the cheeks of my crew."

The conduct of the owner of the Odalique was the more praiseworthy on this occasion, because just at the moment of the accident he was rapidly gaining upon the leading yacht, and threatened to attend closely upon her before the close of the race. To time the arrival of the yachts would therefore be showing partiality; but it was considered by the committee that the Coralie was beyond the reach of the schooner at the time of her declining the contest for the more honourable and manly purpose before stated; therefore the prize was awarded to Mr. Byrne. Barring the accident to the new cutter, it was a noble race, and right well deserving of success is the spirited owner of the unmistakeable clipper Coralie.

The match for the Challenge Cup, given by the Prince of Wales

Club, was not so attractive an event as might have been supposed, considering the value of the prize, and the fair and reasonable conditions of the race. Five little yachts only entered in the match, viz. :—

The

The Invicta was an entirely new vessel, built by her owner. match was spiritedly sailed throughout; and so evenly were the little clippers matched that the result was at all times doubtful-as positions were changed again and again. The Invicta has evidently some good features about her, but we question if she can beat the Flirt. Unfortunately, she ran aground before the conclusion of the race, and just as the wind became stiff enough to test her qualities. The Flirt was ultimately hailed the winner; but the Mosquito was uncommonly well up at the finish, being only half-a-minute astern,

(To be continued.)

THE ATHLETE OF OLD, AND OF 1856.

BY HARRY HIEOVER.

Those who have paid me the compliment of reading what I have ventured to lay before the public, will perhaps say that the first thing I should do, on any occasion when I employ my pen, is to invoke the indulgence of the reader. To this I briefly reply by a French quotation, or rather sentence-" Cela va sans le dire;" and I trust it will be always considered that, when (in military phrase) my work 66 passes muster," I ever attribute such success much more to the forbearing kindness of the public than to any decided merit of my own.

On this particular occasion, I have to apologize for using such rude materials as the athlete, as an article for a periodical destined to meet the eye of the nice young English gentleman of the present era; but I beg to assure him that, though, from the tenor of my heading, I am compelled to touch on pugilistic encounters, it will form but a very small portion of this article, which is on athletic sports in general, of old and recent date.

Whoever writes for the perusal of the public, is unavoidably placed in this most awkward and truly unpleasant situation: Say what he will, he is sure to offend somebody; for in what he writes there will ever be found a something that touches the ticklish parts of somebody but if his writings are of such a nature as not to offend the deserving or sensible part of the community, he can easily bear

:

the brunt of the censure (perhaps I may add, abuse) of those whose praise would be anything but flattering.

I have mentioned the "nice young English gentleman" (I cannot adopt modern, common phrase, or vulgar expression, so far as to use the term "gent"), where anything of the gentleman is alluded to; and gentleman I most willingly suppose my quoted hero to be, though,

"Heavens! how unlike" his "Belgic sires of old-
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold!"

Thus expresses himself one of our best pastoral poets, in two of perhaps the most spirited lines he ever composed; for, if my respected father "said sooth" (and he knew our poet well), friend Oliver was not the brightest of companions, though his egregious vanity induced him to consider himself as such, and though he did attempt, but not play, the German flute. Our poet maintained that this said flute often maintained him. "Credat Judæus ;" but supposing it was so, it was not among those who knew how to appreciate the talent of Nicholson or Druet; or, if it had been, we must bear in mind the spirited answer of one of the diplomatists, when Charles the Twelfth, or the King of Prussia (who, God forgive him!, considered hunting as beneath a monarch), said, "Votre roi chasse toujours," received the following piquant reply: "Oui; mais il ne joue jamais de la flûte." Let us hope our present system of education may not lead the rising generation to consider playing the flute an attainment of more consequence than being able to command an army.

Let us return to the heading of this article-the athlete of many centuries ago and then gradually work our way up to 1856.

The athletæ, if what I have said of them is true, and if I have rightly understood what I have read, were men following professionally fistic and other combats, in public exhibitions; and as hypercritical pretended moralists and teetotallers were not so rife in those days as now, these men were (and deservedly so) held in much higher esteem than the prize-fighter of later days. The former ranked, in the estimation of the public, higher or lower, in accordance with their tried and known prowess; and on supporting their character as to bravery, strength, and activity, depended their means of support: a defeat, to them, was almost as fatal as death itself; and "selling a fight" was unknown and unthought-of in such days. They contended for prizes, it is true; but the reward showered on them by an enthusiastic and admiring multitude far exceeded the guerdon contested for.

Refinement in a nation, we might infer, would improve the habits of all those who lived under its influence; and, if so, why not those of the prizefighters? "So it has," some may say, and, in proof, refer us to old pictures, adding, "Look at the ungainly efforts of the gladiators of former times; and then compare them with the elegance of attitude, neatness, and rapidity of a Belcher or an Eales." Doubtless, refinement has done this; but it has also so refined the modern school of boxing, and the pugilist himself, as to have made him (speaking in general terms) a man in whom no confidence can be placed, whom no gratitude influences, and no shame deters. This the warmest patrons of pugilism have found out; and such men as

Crib, Gully, Oliver, and others of the same era, are no more to be found now than one of the athlete of old. That others may possess their powers, if brought forth, is probable; but there can be no hope entertained of their possessing their powers and honesty too. So much for refinement in the prize-ring.

The hypocrites to whom I have alluded may say that "it matters little by what means; but if refinement has in any way put down pugilistic encounters, it has done good." This would, however, be jumping to a very hasty conclusion. If it had ever been made clearly manifest that the old English practice, when fairly carried on, was prejudicial to society, then the conclusion would be just; but this never was ascertained to be the case; and I, and many others, must be reborn, before we can be convinced that it was so.

"Horrid!" would exclaim the miss of '56, if the word "pugilism" were mentioned: "what savages men must have been sixty years ago!" and, looking at the delicate hand of her lover, encased in the more delicate cream-coloured kid glove, she figures to herself the horror of that hand exposed to manly encounter. Lady, to a certain degree you are quite right. I should be one of the last to commit such a gaucherie as to mention such a thing in your presence-the last to wish to hear you speak in its praise; but I should be the first to regret seeing your admiration placed on a "thing" that entertained the same opinion.

When in the heading I use the term athlete, I must add that I do not mean it merely to allude to the gladiator, but to the athlete in any pursuit; a race, I fear, as fast receding as the drama. By what is such loss supplied? If good sense answers," By an equivalent in value," I can only say I take quite a different view of the matter.

We will now take another subject; and in doing so, as in the former one, we will first refer to former times, or, as the song says— "Sing of times of good times older,

When men than women were much bolder."

The chase, the glorious chase, on which many have written, and in which so many thousands have joined so enthusiastically! Who that writes at all on such a subject, can write without feeling enthusiastically? He who can, if he has ever hunted at all, is like

"The man that hath not music in his soul;"

and I should all but say is fit for "treason, treachery, and plots.' The man who has never enjoyed the extatic pleasures of the chase, is no more to be blamed for not feeling rapturously at the bare mention of it than the blind for not feeling an elevation of mind and spirit when a glorious landscape and far-distant horizon is before him. I should merely say of him who had never known the joys of hunting what a pampered butler once said when speaking of his master's son, who was a captain in a marching regiment-" That is a description of poor d we always pity." I say this not derisively, contemptuously, or arrogantly, but with all the philanthropy of which my heart is capable. I do pity a man who has never enjoyed that which, next to woman's smile, imparts the most intoxicating and enthusiastic joy the heart and senses are capable of feeling. Why it is so I can