From Newcastle to Port Said. 237 



of flowers in the open air. Next evening, as a farewell 

 token, came Start Point. 



One traveller was there upon the deck who looked long 

 and wistfully towards the Devonshire shore, albeit its out- 

 lines were indistinct. That wistful looker was, on the feet 

 of fancy, roaming booted and basketed over bonny Dart- 

 moor, picking out its delicate little trout from the purling 

 brooks ; was climbing the Tors into an atmosphere of dry 

 champaign, to feast his eye upon the lovely panorama that 

 stretched between his moorland standpoint and the Cornish 

 hills in the west. In his pocket-book there was, as there 

 had been by accident during the two previous years, a speci- 

 men fly known to Devonshire anglers as the Meavy Red, 

 and he must forsooth bring it forth to inspect it in the un- 

 certain flicker of the binnacle lamp, and wonder if that tiny 

 artificial insect would again be cast upon any waters. 



Eight bells cut the reverie short. It was appropriate that 

 Milton's lines should that very evening fall in my way, for a 

 truer description of what was lying in our wake could not 

 be :— 



" Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 



While the landscape round it measures 



Russet lawns and fallows gray, 



Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 



Mountains on whose barren breast 



The lab'ring clouds do often rest ; 



Meadows trim with daises pied, 



Shallow brooks and rivers wide, 



Towers and battlements it sees 



Bosom'd high in tufted trees." 



And now being fairly at sea, may I be allowed the luxury 

 of open confession? I have no objection to plead that 

 there is something more resounding — call it pretentious if 

 you will — than correct in the title chosen for these chapters. 



