It was mid-day, and high water in the English port for which the Screw
was bound, when, borne in gallantly upon the fullness of the tide, she
let go her anchor in the river.

Bright as the scene was; fresh, and full of motion; airy, free, and
sparkling; it was nothing to the life and exultation in the breasts of
the two travellers, at sight of the old churches, roofs, and darkened
chimney stacks of Home. The distant roar that swelled up hoarsely from
the busy streets, was music in their ears; the lines of people gazing
from the wharves, were friends held dear; the canopy of smoke that
overhung the town was brighter and more beautiful to them than if the
richest silks of Persia had been waving in the air. And though the water
going on its glistening track, turned, ever and again, aside to dance
and sparkle round great ships, and heave them up; and leaped from off
the blades of oars, a shower of diving diamonds; and wantoned with
the idle boats, and swiftly passed, in many a sportive chase, through
obdurate old iron rings, set deep into the stone-work of the quays;
not even it was half so buoyant, and so restless, as their fluttering
hearts, when yearning to set foot, once more, on native ground.

A year had passed since those same spires and roofs had faded from their
eyes. It seemed to them, a dozen years. Some trifling changes, here
and there, they called to mind; and wondered that they were so few and
slight. In health and fortune, prospect and resource, they came back
poorer men than they had gone away. But it was home. And though home is
a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke,
or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration.

Being set ashore, with very little money in their pockets, and no
definite plan of operation in their heads, they sought out a cheap
tavern, where they regaled upon a smoking steak, and certain flowing
mugs of beer, as only men just landed from the sea can revel in
the generous dainties of the earth. When they had feasted, as two
grateful-tempered giants might have done, they stirred the fire, drew
back the glowing curtain from the window, and making each a sofa for
himself, by union of the great unwieldy chairs, gazed blissfully into
the street.

Even the street was made a fairy street, by being half hidden in an
atmosphere of steak, and strong, stout, stand-up English beer. For on
the window-glass hung such a mist, that Mr Tapley was obliged to rise
and