some pure water on board, of which we are in great want. I am very desirous of seeing something, however small, of a tropical country, and of the trees, birds, and other productions of a tropical climate; and this may be my only opportunity. Above all I long for a short respite, if only for a day, from this confinement to the vessel, and for a little exercise upon the land before we continue our long voyage to the coast of South America.

April 24. Saw the flight of a school of flying-fish. They rush through the air with great rapidity, and generally—those that I have seen,—against the wind. They look very prettily as they skim over the water a little above its surface, and follow the undulations of the waves a distance varying from five to twenty rods. Towards night a large English steamer with four masts and all sails set, was seen on our starboard bow, and continued in sight nearly two hours.

This afternoon we had a slight specimen of a tropical shower. Some dark clouds suddenly arose, and before the heavens were half covered, they broke upon us in a heavy shower accompanied by thunder, that drove us all under shelter. It passed away however as quickly as it arose.

We had this day been sailing with a fair breeze, and hoped by to-morrow to be anchored in one of the harbors of the Cape Verde Islands. We were much elated at the prospect, and it had been the chief topic of conversation for two or three days. Judge then of my disappointment when I learned at night that the captain had ordered the helmsman to put the bark off to the south-west, the direction of the islands being south. He had determined to avoid the islands, and we had no other alternative but to submit. After sailing south-west about four hours in order to give the islands a wide berth, our course was again changed to the south. We turned into our berths with no very amiable feeling towards Capt. J., who, we thought, manifested very little regard for the welfare or comfort of his passengers.

Sunday, April 25. We are passing the Cape Verde Islands without even the gratification of looking at them. But we have now got the trade-wind in earnest, and are driving before it at the rate of ten or eleven knots. We have seen several schools of flying-fish to-day, and two of them have been picked up on the deck by the sailors. This afternoon a large school of porpoises came playing round the ship, and one of them was struck with the harpoon by Sherman, our sailor passenger, and secured. It was about five feet long, and weighed, probably, two hundred pounds.

Monday, April 26. Some portions of the porpoise killed yesterday were served up to-day for dinner. The liver was said to be very good, resembling that of a cow; but the flesh, though relished by some of the passengers, was black, and had rather a strong flavor. I did not taste of either of them.

Saturday, May 1. May-day at sea. We rose as usual this morning, took our breakfast, and talked of May-day at home, and of the friends we had left there, and seeing in fancy the youthful portion of them setting out on a shivering ramble in pursuit of a few flowers or leaves through the mud and snow, while we strove to shelter ourselves from the heat of a tropical sun under an awning of a large sail, which we raised over the after house, where we sat, lay or walked, and read, talked and sung, during the day. Towards evening I sat for an hour—and it is an indolent pleasure I often indulge in—observing the sky and the clouds, and watching their slow and sometimes almost imperceptible changes of shape and hue, and in comparing them with the sunset skies of our northern climes, which, if wanting something of the ethereal softness of this, are more glowing, more brilliant, and more decidedly beautiful.

Sunday, May 2. This morning a sail was seen on our larboard tack, but the wind being light, we did not speak her till night. We watched her till after sunset, when her mate boarded us, and reported her to be an English bark bound for Liverpool. We had been writing letters all day, hoping this vessel would prove to be an American homeward bound. We were somewhat disappointed, but as we might not soon have an opportunity of sending more directly, we decided to send our package, containing forty-five letters, by the bark to England, thence to be forwarded by steamer to America.

Monday, May 3. Spoke another bark, the Fanny Major, for which I had prepared another letter, but she was found to be outward-bound, from New-York to the same port with us, and having on board sixty-five passengers. Our vessel proved to be the best sailor. We had been sailing on different tacks, and she was half a mile astern of us, when our captain backed sail and let her come up. Just at this time a squall arose, and she soon ranged along-side, and in a few minutes passed by us. The captains hailed each other through their speaking-trumpets, asking what port they sailed from, where bound, how long out, what ports they intended to touch at, what was the longitude by the reckoning of each, &c. After the bark had passed us we set our sails, and soon overhauled her. The captains had a few more words, when the passengers and crew of the New-Yorker gave us three hearty cheers, which we answered with an equal number, then three more from the New-Yorker answered by one from us, and our military band, consisting of a drum and a fife, set up a lively air, when we speedily shot by, and left her to follow in our wake.

At night we had a visit from a large aquatic bird. After flying around the ship for some time, she alighted on the jib-boom, and was captured by Sherman. I was very desirous of preserving the skin of this bird, which differed from any of those described by Audubon or Wilson, and was probably not a visitor to the United States; but our captain, who is a man of contracted views, and is deeply tinctured with a sailor's whims and superstitions, ordered it to be set at liberty under the pretense of sympathy.

Tuesday, May 4. We have for a week past been drifting,—I can hardly say sailing, for the winds have been light, and we have made but little progress,—towards the Equator, and to-day we have crossed that important geographical line, and passed into another hemisphere. The event has been celebrated with a good deal of hilarity and nonsense. Old Neptune appeared on board rigged out with an immense wig of Manilla cordage, a grotesque mask, red flannel drawers, and a buffalo coat, and holding the captain's speaking-trumpet in his hand. He was accompanied by his wife, personated by a thin, slender and active fellow, arrayed in a long gown and a straw bonnet. They amused us with a dance to the music of a fiddle, and in return they were treated with some brandy, of which they partook with great gusto. Neptune enquired into the affairs of the ship, cautioned the stewards and cooks to do their duty, gave some wholesome advice to the officers, to whom he was formally introduced, cracked a good many jokes upon the passengers, and disappeared. The frolic went off with great good humor among all parties.

Wednesday, May 12. We have had many squalls accompanied with rain for several days past. Last night a pretty heavy one struck us, sending down a torrent of rain, which leaked into our berths and houses. Many of us got well drenched. Feeling rather uncomfortable from the wet, I arose and stood up by the side of my berth, holding on to it for support, while the ship rolled violently. But I soon grew tired of this. So feeling over my bed in the dark, and finding a comparatively dry place at the foot of it, I changed my pillow to that end, and turned in again. Lulled to rest by the howling of the wind, the dashing of the seas, the rushing of several pailfuls of water over the floor