There are some strange anomalies attendant on the march of civilization, and none more so, perhaps, than the indifference, or rather want of real taste, which nations in a high state of refinement evince in regard to costume. Whether it is that scientific pursuits, and the busy occupations of the thoughts on matters of high social, moral, political, and commercial interest, leave no time for men to study the graces of attire, or that such a study is really unworthy of, or incompatible with, cultivated minds, or, as the Quakers think, unfavourable to morality, certain it is that the art of decorating the person does not keep pace with other improvements. Our commander (finding he could not leave Kedgeree till the following morning), Marpeet, Grundy, and I, accepted the obliging invitation of Capt. Grogwell, of the _Rohomany_ barque, country trader, a friend of the captain, to accompany him in his vessel, then under weigh for Calcutta. “I can give you a glass of grog, gentlemen, and a bit of curry, and there’s my cabin for you to turn into if you should stay with me overnight,” said the frank and good-humoured sailor; “but,” added he, “there’s no time to be lost for those that go, as the tide’s already on the turn.” A few bags and boxes were soon stowed in Captain Grogwell’s boat, and after many warm adieus from our friends on board, and the expression of mutual hopes that we should meet again in Calcutta, off we pushed for the _Rohomany_ barque. As we approached her, two or three bronzed faces, surmounted by straw hats, rose above the side, and were directed expectantly towards us, whilst the whistling pipe of the serang, or native boatswain, announced the skipper’s approach alongside. We mounted through a bevy of the sable crew, and soon stood on the deck of the country ship, just arrived from a voyage to the Eastern Islands. “Welcome on board the _Rohomany_, gentlemen, where I hope you will make yourselves at home and comfortable,” said Captain Grogwell. “My first officer, Mr. Dobbs, gentlemen,” he continued, presenting a tall, brawny, and fine-countenanced man. Mr. Dobbs made his best leg; was glad to see us on board. The lascars now began to weigh the anchor to a wild and not unmusical chant, with an agreeable chorus of _Ya Ullahs!_ All was soon bustle, the anchor a-peak, and the mates shouting forth their commands in the most extraordinary lingo that ever grated “harsh music” on my ears. “Trinkum Garvey de man,” said one; “Garvey brass trinkum de man,” roared another; whilst Mr. Dobbs, in a tremendous fury (why I knew not), and stamping like a madman, sung out “Chop and string your goosey, and be d——d to you all.”