race of decanters of wine he took his leave, first
giving me his address in London. A month afterwards I heard of his death.

The following morning we sailed, and arrived at Sheerness next day, when I
received orders to pay off the ship, in consequence of her being
iron-fastened and wanting so much repair. She was afterwards sold out of
the Service. I need not say I was much disappointed, and thought the
builder at Port Royal something of an old woman, and only fit for
superannuation. I found one of my old captains commissioner at this place,
to whom I gave a turtle, a pig, and a bag of bread dust, for he thought
one without the other useless, and for which he did not even invite me to
his house. "Oh, what is friendship but a name that lulls the fool to
sleep," etc. On the sixth day the ship was put out of commission and
myself out of full pay. I took a postchaise with my light luggage, and I
arrived in the evening at my dear home, kissed my wife and all the women I
could meet with that were worth the trouble, sat myself down in a snug
elbow-chair near a comfortable English fire, told a long, tough yarn about
mountains of sugar and rivers of rum, bottle-nosed porpoises, sharks,
grampuses, and flying-fish, until I fell sound asleep, but, however, not
so sound to prevent my hearing my best end of the ship whispering to
someone to put more coals on the fire, and roast a chicken for my supper,
and then she added, with her dear, musical, soft voice, "Dear fellow! How
sound he sleeps. I hope he will awake quite refreshed, and eat his supper
with a good appetite. How rejoiced I am he is once more at home." I could
have jumped up and hugged her, but I thought it better to enjoy my sleep.
If this narrative meets the eye of a bachelor sailor I could wish him to
splice himself to such another clean-looking frigate as my wife, but mind,
not without he has a purse well filled with the right sort, and as long at
least as the maintop bowline, or two cables spliced on end. Love is very
pretty, very sentimental, and sometimes very romantic, but love without
rhino is bewildering misery.

When I awoke next morning I scarcely could believe my senses, it appeared
too much happiness. The _elite_ of the village favoured me with calls and
congratulations, as well as invitations to tea and _petit soupers_, with a
seasoning of scandal. I in return entertained them occasionally with a few
King's yarns, which, my gentle reader, are not tarred, and