Immediately in the rear of the town is a fine eminence. On arriving at its summit we found ourselves well repaid for our trouble by the beautiful prospect before us. The busy multitude in the streets below—the neat, bright appearance of the houses—the shipping lying at anchor, with their various national colors flying—the smooth, unruffled surface of the waters of the bay, inclosed by beautiful green hills and mountains—in the distance the blue waters of the Pacific—all united to bring before us one of the most beautiful scenes our eyes ever beheld. A number of years since the old city of Talcahuana was destroyed by an earthquake, a large portion of which sunk. Where the most thriving part once stood, nothing is now to be seen but a low, marshy waste. Some remains of the old city are yet visible in the town. The inhabitants speak the Spanish language—are hospitable, good-natured, and, as a general thing, very indolent. They are very loose in their morals, but warm supporters of their religion, which is the Roman Catholic, it being the only creed tolerated. The females are rather dark, very graceful and sprightly, beautiful singers, and some of them are very handsome. The town is filled with “Paulparee,” or rum-shops, which are frequented principally by Spaniards and seamen. On Monday, March 11th, we commenced getting off water and fresh provisions, such as potatoes, onions, turnips, etc. In getting off water, two boat’s crews are generally dispatched to the watering-place with a “raft of casks,” which are filled and towed to the ship, and then hoisted on board. In this manner four or five hundred barrels of water are obtained in about two days—a sufficient quantity for a six months’ cruise. By some fortune or misfortune, Mackey was one of the crew dispatched to the watering-place, and, while there, he thought he would take an observation of the country round about. Accordingly, he wandered some distance to the top of a high hill, and, while much engaged in viewing the beauties of nature, two or three “vigilantes,” or policemen, appeared, and demanded of him “what he was doing there.” Mackey replied, “Nothing, but looking at the country.” They then asked him if he had a pass (which is a necessary article to every person while on shore), and Mackey was obliged to confess he had not, when they very politely offered to show him “the elephant.” Mackey begged to be excused, declining their services; but the vigilantes were not to be put off. There was no help for him; go he must; he was in a fix; so off he marched, muttering about liberty, etc., until they arrived at the calaboose, where he was snugly quartered. The next day, being on shore, we thought we would give Mackey a call, and see how the poor fellow fared. We found him in excellent spirits. He said he “had just as lief stop there as not; for, if he was on board the ship, he would have to work, and there he got plenty to eat and had nothing to do.”