The upper class, indeed, is now largely made up of well-to-do strangers drawn to the Island by its various amenities; while the sons of the soil have laid aside suspicious dislike of the outsiders whom they know as profitable guests. From pictorial cards, valentines, and such vulgar documents, they appear to bear the nickname of Isle of Wight “Calves,” which may be taken as a sub-species of the “Hampshire Hogs,” who suffer such neighbourly satire as is shown in by-words like “Norfolk Dumplings,” “Lincolnshire Yellow-bellies,” or “Wiltshire Moonrakers.” Some strangers, however, at the height of the season, have been more inclined to find for the natives a zoological similitude in the order of _Raptores_. “I do not mean,” as a precise old gentleman once explained to me of his landlady, “that she has feathers and claws like a bird; but I assert that, in character and in disposition, she resembles a vulture.” It is often, indeed, made evident to the meanest capacity that the Island hosts belong to a long-billed family; but they perhaps as often as not may be classed as overners, or referred to the hydra-like form of polyzoic organism popularly known as a Company, Limited. The soil is well cultivated, and many of the farms look thriving, though the rank hedges and the flowers that colour some of the pastures, spread a more pleasing view for an idle stranger than for a practical cultivator. The Downs support flocks as well as golf clubs; the breed of Island sheep was highly esteemed of old, where the climate makes for early lambing. When some parts were overrun with “conies,” Sir E. Horsey had the name of bringing in hares, which he paid for at the rate of a lamb a-piece; but foxes and badgers have not crossed the Solent. The coast folk carry on amphibious business, from oyster beds to ship-chandling. Ship-building at Cowes, and cement-making on the Medina, are the only large industries I know of. The chief trade seems to be in tourists, who are taxed, tolled, and touted for at every turn by the purveyors of entertainment for man and beast, the managers of excursions, and the enclosers of natural curiosities. Visitors come from far and near, the Island making a holiday resort for the townsfolk of Portsmouth and Southampton, while among foreign tourists, it seems to have a special attraction for Germans; and some of the American travellers who “do” Europe in three weeks are known to spend as much as several hours in scampering across to Ventnor.