Another break in my journal, and here I am on board the Pacific, bound for America, having left home and all the world behind.—Well!
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We reached the quay just as the ship was being pulled, and pushed, and levered to the entrance of the dock;—the quays were lined with people; among them were several known faces,—Mr. ——, Mr. ——. M—— came on board to take my letters, and bid me good-by.
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I had a bunch of carnations in my hand, which I had snatched from our drawing-room chimney;—English flowers! dear English flowers! they will be withered long before I again see land; but I will keep them until I once more stand upon the soil on which they grew.
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The sky had become clouded, and the wind blew cold.
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Came down and put our narrow room to rights.
Worked at my Bible-cover till dinner-time. We dined at half-past three.—The table was excellent—cold dinner, because it was the first day—but every thing was good; and champagne, and dessert, and every luxury imaginable, rendered it as little like a ship-dinner as might be. The man who sat by me was an American; very good-natured, and talkative. Our passengers are all men, with the exception of three; a nice pretty-looking girl, who is going out with her brother; a fat old woman, and a fat young one. I cried almost the whole of dinner-time.