But I suppose it will be all right by and by, as I get
stronger.
"But rouse thee, Thomas! Where is this end of your yarn, that you are
blameying about?"
"Avast heaving, you swab you--avast--if you had as much calomel in your
corpus as I have at this present speaking--why you would be a lad of more
mettle than I take you for, that is all.--You would have about as much
quicksilver in your stomach, as I have in my purse, and all my silver has
been quick, ever since I remember, like the jests of the gravedigger in
Hamlett--but, as you say, where the devil is the end of this yarn?"
Ah, here it is! so off we go again--and looked forward towards the rising
moon, whose shining wake of glow--worm--coloured light, sparkling in the
small waves, that danced in the gentle wind on the heaving bosom of the
dark blue sea, was right a--head of us, like a river of quicksilver with
its course diminished in the distance to a point, flowing towards us,
from the extreme verge of the horizon, through a rolling sea of ink, with
the waters of which for a time it disdained to blend. Concentrated, and
shining like polished silver afar off--intense and sparkling as it
streamed down nearer, but becoming less and less brilliant as it Widened
in its approach to us, until, like the stream of the great Estuary of the
Magdalena, losing itself in the salt waste of waters, it gradually melted
beneath us and around us into the darkness.
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