Mr. Rarx is somewhat improved, we think, and this afternoon he is not in so much pain. When I went in to see him yesterday I was shocked at his appearance. His face was swollen and puffed and glistening with perspiration; he twitched suddenly in jerks and was so exhausted that a dozen consecutive words wore him completely out. The worst of all, however, was his rambling speech, due to five-grain doses of opium; these seem to me to be prodigious amounts to administer, and perhaps account for the excessive cardiac palpitation from which he suffers. During breakfast this morning he had a dreadful spasm of pain, and we could hear him crying, “Oh, oh, oh, oh!” and it was miserable to see this powerful man stricken down at one blow. Louis still conducts himself with the grim indifference of a Sioux Indian; his chains have been double-riveted and shackled, and an idea of the massiveness of the gear may be obtained when it is said that the stanchion to which he is secured is five inches square and only four feet high, that being the amount of head-room in the lazarette. The skipper has to stand the second mate’s watches now, which is hard on him, as he is suffering acutely from rheumatism. Lately, or since we took the southeast Trades, he has been most astonishingly affable. We don’t know what to think of him; his argumentativeness has disappeared and he insists on conversing pleasantly at meals; in short, he has assumed a gracious benignity as surprising as it is welcome, and it proves that he knows quite well how to talk and act, and that his surly manner is simply the result of a morose temper. I expect that he wants to leave a good impression on our minds at the end of the voyage.