I trust you had a good season.

How much oil"-- "Oil?
What do you take me for?
I'm not a whaler." "Oh, I beg a thousand pardons, your Excellency.
"Major General in the household troops, no doubt?
Minister of the Interior, likely?
Secretary of war?
First Gentleman of the Bed-chamber?
Commissioner of the Royal"-- "Stuff! I'm no official.

I'm not connected in any way with the Government." "Bless my life! Then, who the mischief are you?
what the mischief are you?
and how the mischief did you get here, and where in thunder did you come from ?" "I'm only a private personage--an unassuming stranger--lately arrived from America." "No?
Not a missionary! Not a whaler! not a member of his Majesty's Government! not even Secretary of the Navy! Ah, Heaven! it is too blissful to be true; alas, I do but dream.

And yet that noble, honest countenance--those oblique, ingenuous eyes--that massive head, incapable of--of--anything; your hand; give me your hand, bright waif.

Excuse these tears.