that that will be favourable, but we confess to some misgivings on the subject. We like not the geometrical angles of Sol and Saturn, and Venus and Herschel, which follow so closely upon the heels of the new moon. If our surmise prove illusory so much the better; but if, as we calculate, copious condensation succeeds extensive evaporation and a rainy period sets in, we could counsel the promoters both of the St. Leonards regatta and the Hastings regatta to seize the first favorable(sic) opportunity that may subsequently offer rather than defer the racing to any definite day.” The wet and windy weather of the 24th appears to have prompted “X” to send to the Hastings News the following
“Dialogue”
“Between Davy Jones and Boreas on Wednesday morning, 24th of July, in reference to the St. Leonards Regatta.” The said dialogue was copied from the Hastings News into the St. Leonards Gazette, with apologies for corrections and revisions, as follows:-
Davey Jones
“Now, blow-up, old Boreas, for glorious Aquata!
Tomorrow, you know comes St. Leonards Regatta;
Betwixt you and me, one regatta’s enough;
So wake up, old boy, and just give us a puff.
Yea, puff out a blast from those stunning old bellows,
And send to my locker those boat-racing fellows;
Now blow up, my hearty – the rest leave to me;
I’ll swamp all I can at St. Leonards-on-sea.
That wicked committee no peace shall enjoy,
If only friend Pluvius and you, my old boy,
Will rumple my bosom and cause me to swell,
No more they’ll conspire at the British Hotel.
Tomorrow, all day, if you’ll keep up a grumble,
I’ll show them my teeth, and I’ll rear and I’ll tumble;
I’ll get ‘half seas over’ – exhibit my might,
And put the whole ‘biling’ in terrible fright.
A parcel of land-sharks a-meeting, d’ye see?
And bidding defiance to Old Hastings and me,
And planning regattas they know nought about,
We must and we will put them all to the rout.”
Boreas.
Davey Jones having mistaken Notus for Boreas, the latter replies thus:-
“Stay, stay, Mister Davey! You foolishly pratt!
‘Tis not in my nature their plans to frustrate.
My duty, it is, your own wrath to assuage,
And curb, if I can, your unprovoked rage.
You swagger as though all the world was your own,
And yet ‘tis but little you do when alone;
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