"Now then, attention to my introduction!" said Nugent, holding up the manuscript, heedless of the nods and winks of his companions; "I'm sure you'll like it. 'The moon is high in the mid heavens, and not a single envious cloud frowns darkly upon her fair loveliness; there is a flood of silvery light; and fleecy vapours, with their hoary crests, like snow-wreaths from the mountain top, float on its surface to do honour to the queen of night. The winds are sporting with the waters; the amorous waves are heaving up their swelling bosoms to be kissed by the warm breeze that comes laden with perfumes from the sunny clime of Italy. There is a glow of crimson lingering in the west, as if departing day blushed for her wanton sister. Hail, thou inland sea, upon whose breast the gallant hers of the British isles have fought and conquered! Ancient history recounts thy days of old, and the bold shores that bind thee in their arms stand as indubitable records of the truth of Holy Writ. The tall ship, reflected on thy ocean mirror, seems to view her symmetry in silent exultation, as if conscious of her grandeur and her beauty, her majesty and her might. The giantess of the deep, her lightnings sleeping and her thunders hushed, dances lightly o'er thy mimic billows, and curtseys to the gentle gale.' There, my lord, that is the way I begin: and I appeal to your well-known judgment whether it is not a pretty picture, and highly ptical." "A pretty picture truly," grumbled old Parallel: "it ounly wants a squadron of angels seated with their bare starns upon the wet clouds, scudding away before it like colliers in the Sevin, and in one corner the heads of a couple o' butcher's boys blowing wooden skewers, and then it would be complete. Why, there's the marine a-laughing at you. Talk about the winds kissing the waves, indeed. Ay, ay, young sir, when you've worked as many reckonings as ould Will Parallel,--and that's myself,--you'll find 'em kiss somat else, or you'll have better luck than your neighbours. Why don't you stick to Natur, if you mean to write a book? and how'll the log stand then?--Why, His Majesty's ship Spankaway cruising in the Mediterranean: and if you've worked your day's work, you ought to know the latitude and longitude. Well, there she is, with light winds and fine weather, under double-reefed top-sels, jib, and spanker, the courses snugly hauled up, the t'gant-sels furled in a skin as smooth as an infant's, the staysels nicely stowed, and not a yard of useless canvass abroad. There'd be some sense in that, and everybody would understand it; but as for your kissing and blushing, and such like stuff, why it's all nonsense." "That's always the way with you matter-o'-fact men," retorted the lieutenant: "you make no allowance for the colourings of the imagination; your ideas of the picturesque never go beyond the ship's paint."