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The jolly Bacchanalian, who accompanies him in his morning's lounge, is
Charles Davis, a right jolly fellow, universally respected, although, it
must be admitted, he is a _party_ man, since in a ~316~~show of hands,
Charles must always, unfortunately, be on one side." A promenade up and
down the room, and a visit to the goddess Hygeia, for such, I suppose,
the ancient matron who dispenses the healing draught must be designated,
gave us an opportunity of observing the fresh arrivals, among whom we
had the pleasure to meet with an old naval officer, known to Heartly, a
victim to the gout, wheeled about in a chair, expecting, to use his own
sea phrase, to go to pieces every minute, but yet full of spirits as an
admiral's grog bottle, as fond of a good joke as a fresh-caught reefer,
and as entertaining as the surgeon's mate, or the chaplain of the fleet.
"I say, Master Heavtly," said the captain, "the frigate yonder with the
brown breast works, and she with the pink facings, look something like
privateers. My forelights, Master Heartly, but if I had the use of my
under works, I should be for firing a little grape shot across their
quarters to see if I could not bring them into action!" "And I will
answer for it, they would not show any objection to lie alongside of
you, captain," said Eglantine, "while you had got a shot left in your
locker.
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