next leisure moment he would have a yarn to spin or a word about home to soothe me again, for he seemed quite concerned about my ultimate impressions of my captain. I philosophized over all this and comforted myself with the reflection that it was good training for me to be under such strict surveillance, and then I fell back upon the memory of pleasures which had been the result of this voyage, my travels in Italy; and often in the night-watch, I sought refuge from my intense broodings over the captain's tyranny and harshness, by standing, in imagination, by the Coliseum or under the dome of St. Peter's, or in gazing with memory's eye upon the almost living figures of Raphael and Guido, or the statues of the Vatican. The whistling of the wind recalled to me the beautiful echoes of the Baptistry of Pisa, and the inclining masts, its leaning tower; or, in more sober moods I remembered my sensations as I stood by the tombs of Galileo, Michael Angelo and Dante at Florence. After passing the longitude of Bermuda the course was shaped more to the northward, and losing the trades, southerly winds and variables took their place, and helped the good ship along still further. A few days more would end the voyage, and I hoped the disagreeable features of it might prove to be already ended. There was an old negro on board called Jenkings, who was nearly sixty years of age. He had been to sea a good part of his life, but was now not much more of a sailor than when he first started. Being in the mate's watch, poor Jenkings was hauled over the coals every day for some bad job or mistake; and the mate had expended more words upon him than upon any two men in the crew. The captain was very fond of calling Jenkings to him and giving him an errand at the other end of the ship, telling him to run as fast as he could, and the captain stood and laughed at his movements; for his feeble legs made strange work of it, and though they moved up and down pretty often, made a slow business of forging ahead. One day, while watching these movements, he remarked to me, as I was sitting on the deck near him, strapping a block: "A man would be a wretch that would strike that old thing." And I remembered it as evidence that the captain had some tender mercies with regard to sailors after all. The mate never went farther with him than to pull his white beard, or tie him up in the rigging by his thumbs. But it was very hard for him to do anything to the mate's satisfaction; and every day Mr. Morrison's shrill tones and Scotch accent were bestowed most liberally upon old Jenkings, who always received his rebukes in perfect silence, but with his thick, pouting lips stuck out beyond their usual great prominence.