“Uriah S. (or Z.) GRAUNT—­popular poet of ancient times in the Aztec provinces of the United States of British America.  Some authors say flourished about A. D. 742; but the learned Ah-ah Foo-foo states that he was a cotemporary of Scharkspyre, the English poet, and flourished about A. D. 1328, some three centuries after the Trojan war instead of before it.  He wrote ‘Rock me to Sleep, Mother.’”

These thoughts sadden me.  I will to bed.

CHAPTER XXXII.

Home, again!  For the first time, in many weeks, the ship’s entire family met and shook hands on the quarter-deck.  They had gathered from many points of the compass and from many lands, but not one was missing; there was no tale of sickness or death among the flock to dampen the pleasure of the reunion.  Once more there was a full audience on deck to listen to the sailors’ chorus as they got the anchor up, and to wave an adieu to the land as we sped away from Naples.  The seats were full at dinner again, the domino parties were complete, and the life and bustle on the upper deck in the fine moonlight at night was like old times—­old times that had been gone weeks only, but yet they were weeks so crowded with incident, adventure and excitement, that they seemed almost like years.  There was no lack of cheerfulness on board the Quaker City.  For once, her title was a misnomer.

At seven in the evening, with the western horizon all golden from the sunken sun, and specked with distant ships, the full moon sailing high over head, the dark blue of the sea under foot, and a strange sort of twilight affected by all these different lights and colors around us and about us, we sighted superb Stromboli.  With what majesty the monarch held his lonely state above the level sea!  Distance clothed him in a purple gloom, and added a veil of shimmering mist that so softened his rugged features that we seemed to see him through a web of silver gauze.  His torch was out; his fires were smoldering; a tall column of smoke that rose up and lost itself in the growing moonlight was all the sign he gave that he was a living Autocrat of the Sea and not the spectre of a dead one.

At two in the morning we swept through the Straits of Messina, and so bright was the moonlight that Italy on the one hand and Sicily on the other seemed almost as distinctly visible as though we looked at them from the middle of a street we were traversing.  The city of Messina, milk-white, and starred and spangled all over with gaslights, was a fairy spectacle.  A great party of us were on deck smoking and making a noise, and waiting to see famous Scylla and Charybdis.  And presently the Oracle stepped out with his eternal spy-glass and squared himself on the deck like another Colossus of Rhodes.  It was a surprise to see him abroad at such an hour.  Nobody supposed he cared anything about an old fable like that of Scylla and Charybdis.  One of the boys said: