He was always, you
know, very fond of sailing, but he had got into such sad scrapes
(including, I think, a lawsuit) on account of his last yacht, that
he took it into his head to have a cruise in a merchant vessel, so
he went to Liverpool, and looked through the craft lying ready to
sail, till he found a smart schooner that perfectly suited his
taste. The destination of the vessel was the last thing he thought
of; and when he was told that she was bound for Constantinople, he
merely assented to that as a part of the arrangement to which he
had no objection. As soon as the vessel had sailed, the hapless
passenger discovered that his skipper carried on board an enormous
wife, with an inquiring mind and an irresistible tendency to impart
her opinions. She looked upon her guest as upon a piece of waste
intellect that ought to be carefully tilled. She tilled him
accordingly. If the dons at Oxford could have seen poor
Carrigaholt thus absolutely "attending lectures" in the Bay of
Biscay, they would surely have thought him sufficiently punished
for all the wrongs he did them whilst he was preparing himself
under their care for the other and more boisterous University.
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