And so, to the gallant ship—to the “warlike world within”—to the docks I have so often promenaded, and the moonlight watches I have so often shared—to the groups of manly faces I have learned to know so well—to the drum-beat and the bugle-call, and the stirring music of the band—to the hammock in which I swung and slept so soundly, and last and nearest my heart, to the gay and hospitable mess with whom for six happy months I have been a guest and a friend, whose feelings I have learned but to honour my country more, and whose society has become to me even a painful want—to all this catalogue of happiness, I am bidding a heavy-hearted farewell. Luck and Heaven’s blessing to ship and company!
| [19] | A courteous old traveller, of the last century, whose book I have somewhere fallen in with, indulges his recollections of Smyrna with less scruples. “Mrs. B.,” he says, “who has travelled a great deal, is mistress of both French and Italian. The Misses W. are all amiable young ladies. A Miss A., whose name is expressive of the passion she inspires, without being beautiful, possesses a je ne sais quoi, which fascinates more than beauty itself. Not to love her, one must never have seen her. And who would not be captivated by the vivacity of Miss B.?” How charming thus to go about the world, describing the fairest of its wonders, instead of stupid mountains and rivers! |
THE END.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
215, Regent Street.
WORKS PUBLISHED BY T. BOSWORTH.