Sometimes we lounged on the floor of ferns, smoking, and telling stories; of which the doctor had as many as a half-pay captain in the army.

Sometimes we chatted, as well as we could, with the natives; and, one day--joy to us!--Po-Po brought in three volumes of Smollett's novels, which had been found in the chest of a sailor, who some time previous had died on the island.
Amelia!--Peregrine!--you hero of rogues, Count Fathom!--what a debt do we owe you! I know not whether it was the reading of these romances, or the want of some sentimental pastime, which led the doctor, about this period, to lay siege to the heart of the little Loo.
Now, as I have said before, the daughter of Po-Po was most cruelly reserved, and never deigned to notice us.

Frequently I addressed her with a long face and an air of the profoundest and most distant respect--but in vain; she wouldn't even turn up her pretty olive nose.

Ah! it's quite plain, thought I; she knows very well what graceless dogs sailors are, and won't have anything to do with us.
But thus thought not my comrade.

Bent he was upon firing the cold glitter of Loo's passionless eyes.
He opened the campaign with admirable tact: making cautious approaches, and content, for three days, with ogling the nymph for about five minutes after every meal.