dancing prettier than their reels—‘performances by young Paganini,’ the ship’s fiddler, and songs, &c. The captain of the foretop, who acted Miss Kitty Sprightly, was really an excellent actress, and I have seen much worse actors in the little theatres than some of the others. Then there are three of them that sing all the old English glees beautifully, and, whenever it is their evening watch, they always sit and sing and tell long stories to each other; and it is one of the few really pleasant things I know on board ship. I wonder whether knows a Scotch song about Lady Gowrie, which one of these sailors sings. I asked him for ‘Home, sweet Home,’ one night, but I shall not try that again—it is playing with edged tools. I could not stand the way in which he sang ‘There is no place like home.’ It was so undeniable and so melancholy.
I have done a quantity of sketches at Rio. If I have a book full before the ‘Jupiter’ goes back, I shall very likely send it to to keep for me, as she likes sketches; but I cannot finish them up well, as I never can stoop to my work in this unsteady vehicle, so my lines are rather of the crookedest. I have got
