As much as ever I could learn of the matter, no one ever got farther than the middle of the second page of this volume, excepting the printer's devils, the corrector of the press, and the author. The book was lent to me, but, great reader as I am, I broke down in attempting to pass the impassible passage. The book might have been a good book, for aught I, or the world, knew to the contrary: but there was a fatality attending this particular part that was really enough to make one superstitious--nobody could break the charm, and get over it. I wish that the thought had occurred to me at that time of beginning it at the end, and reading it backwards; surely, in that manner, the book might have been got through. It was of a winning exterior, and tolerable thickness. Never did an unsound nut look more tempting to be cracked, than this volume to be opened and read. It had for its title the imposing sentence of, "A Naval and Military _Tour up and down_ the Rio de la Plate, by Don Alphonso Ribidiero da Silva." I have before stated that my shipmates were all strangers to each other. We had hardly got things to rights after leaving Cork, when Mr Silva began, "as was his custom in the afternoon," to _publish_ his book. He begged leave to read it to his messmates after dinner, and leave was granted. With bland frankness, he insisted upon the opinions of the company as he proceeded. He began--but the wily purser at once started an objection to the first sentence--yea, even to the title. He begged to be enlightened as to what sort of _tour_ that was that merely went _up_ and _down_. However, the doctor came at this crisis to the assistance of the Don, and suggested that the river might have _turns_ in it. The reader sees how critical we are in a man-of-war. However, in the middle of the second page appeared the fatal passage, "After having _paved_ our way up the _river_;" upon which, issue was immediately joined, and hot argument ensued. The objector, of course, was the purser; and, on this point, the doctor went over to the enemy. All the lieutenants followed, the master stood neuter, and the marine officer fell asleep--thus poor Silva stood alone in his glory, to fight the unequal battle; and in doing so, after the manner of authors, lost his temper. Five, six, seven times was the book begun, but, like the hackney coaches, the audience could not get off the stones. The book and the discussion were always closed together in anger, just as the author was _paving his way_. As he adopted the phrase with a parental fondness, the father was called the "_paviour_."