“I then went upon deck, and walked about, looking at the Indiamen coming up the river, till eleven, when I and one of my companions went and asked the lieutenant if he would let us go on shore in the jolly-boat, as it was going at any rate. We intended to take a walk in some of the fields. We got leave, and some more of the midshipmen went with us. There are about six men row the boat, and we sit any where we like. Got on shore, and ran about the park you were mentioning when in the boat. Then came back to an inn, where we had some rolls and butter and coffee, to make up for the loss of our breakfast in the morning. We then took a walk to the church at Dartford, where we lounged about till we were tired—then came back through the fields to the boat, which we got into, and made the ship.” Professional eyes will detect a curious mixture of ignorance and knowledge in the above production, in which, if the nautical terms—such as ‘hole’ for hatchway—be not too severely criticised, the information may pass pretty well for twenty-four hours’ experience. In a letter written a few days afterwards, from the Nore, I find some touches of the same kind. “On Sunday, about three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by a great noise of the boatswain’s mates and the captain bawling for all hands up to unfurl the sails. As I thought I could not sleep much more, I got up in the dark and went upon deck. All the men were hauling the anchor in: they were a good while about it. As soon as the anchor was got in, all the men ran up the masts like so many cats, and went out on the yard-arms and untied the sails. In a little while all the sails were set, and we scudded down the river, very quick. Got to the Nore about twelve o’clock, where we now lie for three or four days.” In another letter, of the same date, after giving an account of the “confounded noise made by the men, and the boatswain’s mates ordering the anchor to be drawn up”—and describing, more correctly than in the above extract, that the sailors “ran up the shrouds,” I proceed to plume myself, rather prematurely, upon being already a voyager. “About twelve o’clock we made the Nore—the first time I have been in open sea!” I half suspect that the motion of the ship, which, even at that stage of our progress, began, as I well remember, to overturn the serenity of my stomach, may have led me to conclude we were at sea. In the same epistle, in spite of the open ocean, there occur the following sentences:— “I like my station very much indeed. Have some very agreeable messmates, and the schoolmaster is a very pleasant man, who has travelled a great deal. We have not begun our school yet, as we are all in confusion, but shall, as soon as we have tripped our anchor for Halifax.” The next letter was written from Spithead, and is characteristic enough. “_H. M. S. Leander, Spithead, June 18._