We mourned the disappearance of our apples. They began to decay three
weeks after we left New York, and our steward was obliged to employ
his ingenuity in finding ways to use them up. We thought with pleasure
of the tropical fruits which we hoped one day to taste; but nothing,
we felt sure, could take the place of a northern apple. We expected to
miss it as much as Sydney Smith did his summer beverage, in a place
which he lugubriously describes as being situated “five miles from a
lemon.”