Here is a note on the purser. “I have just had a game of chess with the purser, Osmer, who is delightful.... I was at first inclined to think that he was a stupid old man, because he had a chin and took snuff; but he is as merry-hearted as any young man, full of quaint, dry sayings, always good-humoured, always laughing, never a bore, takes his pinch after dinner, plays a rubber, and beats me at chess—and he is a gentleman.” The subject of the next sketch to be quoted is Harry Goodsir, the assistant-surgeon of the _Erebus_, who, though still young, was already well known as a naturalist of more than ordinary ability. Before taking up his appointment to the expedition he had been curator of the Edinburgh museum. “I can’t make out,” says Fitzjames, “why Scotchmen just caught always speak in a low, hesitating, monotonous tone of voice, which is not at all times to be understood; this is, I believe, called ‘cannyness.’ Mr Goodsir is ‘canny.’ He is long and straight, and walks upright on his toes, with his hands tucked up in each jacket pocket. He is perfectly good-humoured, very well informed on general points, in natural history learned, was curator of the Edinburgh museum, appears to be about twenty-eight years of age, laughs delightfully, cannot be in a passion, is enthusiastic about all ’ologies, draws the insides of microscopic animals with an imaginary pointed pencil, catches phenomena in a bucket, looks at the thermometer and every other meter, is a pleasant companion and an acquisition to the mess.” Crouch, the mate, “is a little black-haired, smooth-faced fellow, good-humoured in his own way; writes, reads, works, draws, all quietly; is never in the way of anybody, and always ready when wanted; but I can find no remarkable point in his character, except, perhaps, that he is, I should think, obstinate. Stanley, the surgeon, ... is rather inclined to be good-looking, but fat, with jet-black hair, very white hands, which are always abominably clean, and the shirt sleeves tucked up, giving one unpleasant ideas that he would not mind cutting off one’s leg immediately—if not sooner.” Graham Gore, the first lieutenant, is “a man of great stability of character, a very good officer and the sweetest of tempers. He plays the flute dreadfully well, draws sometimes very well and sometimes very badly, but is altogether a capital fellow.”