jumped out of bed and found it was troops, about to sail for India; I
therefore, dressed myself and strolled down to the beach to witness
what, to me, was quite a novel sight, the embarkation.

It was a clear bright morning in June, and the sun was shining in full
splendor, while the calm bosom of the beautiful Thames reflected back
all its dazzling effulgence. The river was studded with shipping, and
to add to the beauty of the scene, two or three East Indiamen had just
anchored there, and as I viewed them majestically riding, I could
easily fancy the various feelings their arrival would create, not only
in the breasts of those who were in these stately barks, but of the
hundreds of expectant friends, who were anxiously awaiting their
return. With how many momentous meetings was that day to be filled.
How many a fond and anxious mother, who had, perhaps, for years,
nightly closed her eyes in praying for a beloved son, was in a few
hours to clasp him to the maternal breast. Here, too, might be
pictured, the husband and father returning, not as he left his wife
and children, in the vigour of health and manhood, but with his cheeks
pallid and his constitution enfeebled by hard service in a tropical
climate. Some few had, doubtless, realized those gorgeous dreams of
affluence and greatness which first tempted them to leave their native
land. I once knew one myself, whose hardy sinews had for nearly sixty
years, braved the fervid heat of the torrid sun; but he returned to
_endure_ life, not to _enjoy_ it. He told me, he had left England at
the early age of fourteen. He had, as it were, out grown his young
friendships. Eastern habits and associations had usurped the place of
those domestic feelings, which his early banishment had not allowed to
take root, we might question if the seeds were even sown in his young
breast, for he was an orphan, with no other patrimony than the
interest of connexions, which procured him a cadetcy in the East India