ight air from the eastward, and the mainsail being
hoisted, she stood away with several other yachts, which got under way
at the same time, standing to the westward. The sky was blue and clear,
and the sun shone brightly on the glittering water, just rippled over by
the breeze, on the polished sides of the yacht, on the burnished brass
work, and on the sails white as snow.

As the _Stella's_ squaresail was set, she ran by several of the yachts,
showing that, although a comfortable craft, she was no laggard. Every
thing on board was perfect. The men in their white duck trousers, blue
shirts, their hats having a band on which the name of the yacht was
inscribed in gold letters, the decks without a spot, the ropes neatly
flemished down, the bulwarks of a pale salmon colour, the stanchions,
belaying-pins, and other brass work burnished to a nicety, all betokened
a thoroughly well-ordered yacht, Murray himself setting the example in
his own person. The yacht soon glided by the wooded heights of Binsted.
The royal domain of Osborne, surrounded by trees, with its green lawn,
was passed, Cowes Point rounded, and its harbour opened out full of
yachts of every size and rig, some at anchor, others just getting under
way. Its club house and picturesque villas, amid its groves of trees
and bright lawns, were seen close on the port side; while on the
opposite shore, at the mouth of Southampton Water, could be
distinguished Calshot Castle, once the residence of a general well known
in the Peninsular War, the predecessor in the command of the British
army of Sir Arthur Wellesley. Beyond Calshot rose the tower of
Eaglehurst, and to the west of it, reaching to the shore, the outskirts
of the New Forest. Then further on could be seen the town of Lymington,
at the end of a river meandering through mud flats, with
Jack-in-the-basket at its mouth; on the Isle of Wight shore the village
of Newton, peeping out amongst the thick foliage, with a line of downs
rising far beyond it, extending to the extreme west of the island; and
Yarmouth, with its long street and sturdy little castle at one end, a
church tower rising in its midst; and Freshwater, with its
attractive-looking residences, perched on the hillside; and to the west
of it, its formidable but unpicturesque-looking forts, scientifically
placed on heights commanding the entrance to the Solent. On the right,
at the end of a long spit of sand, were the red light-houses, and the
cast