As the reception of a letter from home, by the seaman, after a long cruise, exhilarates, and encourages him, developing all the best principles of his nature, so, on the other hand, the least inattention or slight on the part of his friends, depresses him; and, on arriving in port where he has long expected intelligence; on being disappointed he goes ashore and is ready to engage in any dissipation, apologizing to himself for his departure from virtue, by the reflection that nobody cares for him, or else they would take the trouble to write to him. Mark a case in point. One of our crew, a Massachusetts boy nearly approaching to manhood, had, for months, talked and thought of nothing but his news and letters from home at St. Helena. He had, to my knowledge, written some twenty-five letters; heretofore he had received no letters from home, but thought, of course, they had written, and their missives were aboard ships we had not seen. Meantime, he had been at work for months, manufacturing trinkets and other articles from ivory, for the purpose of presenting them to his friends and relatives. On arriving at St. Helena, there was not a word or line from home for him. I never saw a person so depressed; his trinkets were given away or sold, and he asserted it as his firm determination, when he did land in the United States, not to go home. Mothers who wish to keep their sons in the path of virtue, and sisters who cherish a brother’s memory, when far away upon the sea, would do well to bear this fact in mind, and be careful to write, so that at every civilized port the object of their solicitude may receive intelligence from home; this, by a little inquiry at the outset of the voyage, can be easily arranged. It does not make so much difference about the reception of letters at sea, for there but few temptations to the grosser paths of sin are experienced; but when, after a long and arduous cruise, his ship enters port, he feels need of relaxation, and, unless reminded of home and kindred, he easily falls a prey to the wiles of the courtezan and the publican, who are ever on the alert to entrap the unwary and inexperienced. But it is time that I should return to my original topic--the consideration of the Island of St. Helena and its residents. Not having had opportunity to go ashore myself, I must see it through the eyes of others and describe it from their lips. Here comes the boat’s crew; it consists of six, who, although dressed alike and of the same country, vastly differ in sentiment. First, we will ask the less refined of the lot--those two whose reckless, careless air, bespeak them jovial, hearty fellows, ever ready for a lark without thinking of or caring for consequences--their answer to my inquiry as to what kind of place it was, being characteristic of their class (which is largely represented in the whaling fleet), “That Jamestown is a sailor’s paradise.” “Why so, my hearty?” “Because there is neither lack of women nor wine.”