us our release, and send us home immediately upon his reaching the
station. Had not a full view of the part of the horizon from which the
flagship might be expected to emerge, but many were the glasses directed
to the mouth of the Typa, from which a glimpse of the ocean could be
gained, and the quarter-masters of each watch were repeatedly ordered to
keep a good look-out. The fact was, we were getting tired of China, and
despite all the kind favors showered upon us, longed for home:

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said:
This is my own--my native land!"

And thoughts of home and dear ones there, would intrude, and strong
desires once more to tread the soil of that loved native land, and to
press the hands of early and long-tried friends, could not be entirely
repressed, although not altogether just to "those we had here."

But we had been now nearly two years absent. Two years on shipboard is a
long, a very long time--try it if you doubt--and had seen nearly all
that was worthy of observation within our reach. Seas of immense extent
rolled between us and our homes, and the circumference of the globe had
to be traversed ere we could expect to meet our friends. No wonder then
that we so ardently desired to be allowed to point our prow towards the
West, or watching the retiring beams of the setting sun, envied that orb
the privilege that action gave, of kissing eyelids and gazing into eyes,
on which we were wont to gaze "lang syne," nor under the influence of
such thoughts that we should give them vent in this manner:

"Farewell, my love, the evening gun
Has boomed in echo o'er the sea;
My soul goes with that sinking sun,
Which sheds its rising beams on thee.

"May it bring to thee peace and joy,
Tho' here, it care and darkness leaves;
For gloomy thoughts my soul employ,
Which now no light from thine receives.

"Oh, for one old accustomed smile!
That dark eye's glance of lustrous light;
But these are distant many a mile,
And I can only sigh--Good Night!

"Good night, my love, whilst darkness lowers
Around our lone and silent bark,
Morning smiles sweetly on thy bowers,
And greeting, upwards flies the lark.

"Thou art the sun that glads my way,
Thine _eye_ the beam of life to me,
Thy _smile_ can turn my night to day,
As upwards speeds _my soul_ to thee."

I have be