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Poor old ship! Her very looks denote her desires! how
deplorably she appears! The paint on her sides, burnt up by the
scorching sun, is puffed out and cracked. See the weeds she
trails along with her, and what an unsightly bunch of those
horrid barnacles has formed about her stern-piece; and every time
she rises on a sea, she shows her copper torn away, or hanging in
jagged strips.
Poor old ship! I say again: for six months she has been rolling
and pitching about, never for one moment at rest. But courage,
old lass, I hope to see thee soon within a biscuit's toss of the
merry land, riding snugly at anchor in some green cove, and
sheltered from the boisterous winds.
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. . . . . .
'Hurra, my lads! It's a settled thing; next week we shape our
course to the Marquesas!' The Marquesas! What strange visions
of outlandish things does the very name spirit up! Naked
houris--cannibal banquets--groves of cocoanut--coral
reefs--tattooed chiefs--and bamboo temples; sunny valleys planted
with bread-fruit-trees--carved canoes dancing on the flashing
blue waters--savage woodlands guarded by horrible
idols--HEATHENISH RITES AND HUMAN SACRIFICES.
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