I remember when I was on a
visit at Fareham, I used to go to Portsmouth to see the dock-yard
and the ships, and there was your great friend the tall admiral, Sir
Hurricane Humbug, I think you call him, driving the poor lieutenants
about like so many sheep before a dog; there was one always at his
heels, like a running footman; and there was another that appeared to
me to be chained, like a mastiff, to the door of the admiral's office,
except when the admiral and family walked out, and then he brought
up the rear with the governess. No, Frank, I shall not surrender at
discretion, with all my charms, to any thing less than a captain, with
a pair of gold epaulettes."
"Very well," replied I, looking into the pier glass, with tolerable
self-complacency; "if you choose to pin your happiness on the promises
of a first lord of the Admiralty, and a pair of epaulettes, I can say
no more. There is no accounting for female taste; some ladies prefer
gold lace and wrinkles, to youth and beauty--I am sorry for them,
that's all."
"Frank," said Emily, "you must acknowledge that you are vain enough to
be an admiral at least."
"The admirals are much obliged to you for the compliment," said I. "I
trust I should not disgrace the flag, come when it will; but to tell
you the truth, my dear Emily, I cannot, say I look forward to that
elevation, with any degree of satisfaction. Three stars on each
shoulder, and three rows of gold lace round the cuff, are no
compensation, in my eyes, for grey hairs, thin legs, a broken back, a
church-yard cough, and to be laughed at or pitied by all the pretty
girls in the country into the bargain.
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