now entered upon, far beyond the reach even of
those long-armed persons, the "gentlemen of the press," or the
startling sound of the postman's knock; that call which so often sets
off the steadiest-going pulse at a gallop!

Oh, the joy! the relief unspeakable! of feeling oneself fairly under
weigh, and of seeing the white cliffs of Old England sinking in the
north-eastern horizon right to windward! Let the concocters of
romances and other imaginary tales say what they please of the joys of
returning home; give me the happiness of a good departure, and a
boundless world of untried enjoyments ahead. If a man be out of debt
and out of love, or only moderately involved in either of these
delicate predicaments; if he have youth and health and tolerable
prospects, a good ship under his foot, good officers over him, and
good messmates to serve with, why need he wear and tear his feelings
about those he leaves behind? Or rather, why need he grieve to part
from those who are better pleased to see him vigorously doing his duty
rather than idling in other people's way at home? Or wherefore should
he sigh to quit those enjoyments in which he cannot honourably
participate till he has earned his title to them by hardy service?

On the other hand, who is there so insensible as not to feel the
deepest apprehension, on returning from a long and distant voyage?
Busy fancy will conjure up images of death and sickness, of losses and
sorrows. And when the accumulated pile of letters is first placed in
our hands after a long voyage, with what sickening eagerness do we not
turn from the superscription to discover the colour of the seal?

It happened once to me to be nearly fifteen months without receiving a
single line from home, or seeing an English newspaper. On reaching the
port of rendezvous, I found that as the ship I commanded was the only
man-of-war in the harbour, there devolved upon me an immense load of
official business requiring immediate and careful attention. All this
I learned on my way to the consul's office, where a huge budget of
letters was delivered to me. My first impulse, naturally, was to tear
away the envelopes, and dive into the secrets of these domestic
dispatches; but I paused on detecting several ominous-looking patches
of black wax, and, thrusting them all into a drawer, did not open one
till next day. Officially considered, it was well I imposed this
restraint upon my curiosity; for the fatal news these letters