"Extensive! my boy; I wish you could just come north and have a look at them," exclaimed McAllister. "You can't see from one end to the other, and there is the finest of fine old towers, which would be perfectly habitable, if it were not for the want of windows, and floors, and doors, and other woodwork; and as to the lands, to be sure there is a somewhat considerable preponderance of bog and moor, but oats and potatoes grow finely on the hillsides. Ah, my boy, I know well enough what's what--the value of rich pastures and corn-fields--but there's nothing like the home of one's ancestors--the heathery hills of old Scotland--for all that." My shipmate spoke with deep feeling, though he had begun in a half-joking vein. Our prisoner joined us, and put a stop to the conversation. He offered to go down for his guitar, and, returning with it on deck, he touched the strings, and sang a light French song with much taste and with a fair voice. We complimented him on his performance. "Ah, you like singing; I will sing to you night and day, ma foi," he observed. "It is a satisfaction to a man of sentiment to give pleasure to his friends, and I look upon you as my friends in spite of our relative positions. They arise from the circumstances of war. We are friends--true friends--why should we be otherwise?" Then he resumed his guitar and sang again as gaily as before. We and our consort kept close together, and as the sailing powers of the two vessels were pretty equal, there was little danger of our being separated. Two days after this it fell a dead calm. There we lay, not quite steady, but rolling gently from side to side, moved by the scarcely perceptible and glassy undulations which rose under our keels. The sails went flap-flap against the masts in the most senseless manner, till McAllister ordered them to be furled to prevent the wear and tear they were undergoing. As to the heat, I had never before felt anything like it in the tropics. We could have baked a leg of mutton almost, much more fried a beefsteak, on the capstan-head, while below a dish of apples might easily have been stewed. I remembered Mr Johnson's account of the heat in the West Indies, and began to fear that he had not exaggerated it. It went on growing hotter and hotter, or we felt the heat more and more. The smoke from the chimney of the galley went right up in a thin column, and hung in wreaths over our heads, while that from our cigars, being of a lighter character, ascended above our noses, and finally disappeared in the blue, quivering air. The Espoir lay within hail of a speaking-trumpet, and as we had nothing else to do, we carried on an animated conversation with each other, not very dignified, but highly amusing to all concerned. We had better have held our tongues, I suspect. Any departure from discipline is bad. The Frenchmen who were on deck soon began to imitate our example, and, as