[Illustration: The Fifth of November anticipated in Quite Mad-eira.]
_En route_, called on the Bey of Biscay. Found him in amiable
temper--not a bit rough. Lisbon delightful. Chatsworth not in it
with the smallest flower-and-kitchen garden here. Dined at the
"Brag"--short for Braganza. Suddenly inspired--wrote drinking song:--
_Sancho Panza_
At Braganza,
Quaffed no end of cup,
But _Don Quixit_
Said "Don't mix it--
Let us go and sup."
Have composed my own music to this--call it my musical cup-yright.
Shan't publish it, for fear of pirates. No other rates at sea, except
pi-rates, and the rate we're now going at--i.e., two knots an hour,
and ties pay the dealer. Hoorah! I enclose portrait of self after
the above symposium, carried round the town to the air of "_Please
to Remember_," &c. Too Novembery perhaps, but everything too previous
here, and it's summer even in winter, and winter's nowhere, except in
some other places. This is the meteorological or illogical rule, the
"_Summa Lex_." Look at my bearers! These are heads of the people,
eh? Carried round town in triumph, and then back to the ship, which I
_now_ look upon as my native place, or _the land of my berth!_
"ONCE MORE ABOARD THE LUGGER!"
[Illustration]
Here we are, off the Cape of Good Hope. HOPE, as you know, was a
worthy Admiral who discovered this place; he is mentioned by the poet
as having done so; you remember--
"Hope told a flattering tale;"
but no one believed him. Wish BALFOUR, GORSTY, and WOLFFY were here,
and WOLFFY better than when I left him. First-rate place to pick up
health. Every morning I climb the maintop-gallant, plunge into the
ocean, and out again in the blowing of a Bo'sen's whistle. I dive,
grapple with fresh lobster, bring him up by the tail, and before he
knows where he is, he is boiled and on my table, hot, for breakfast.
Excellent lobster! But how he changes colour at being caught and
boiled! Such a breakfast!