"Let me not forget to make honorable mention of the white-headed little raggamuffin who was working his passage, and who, in this capacity, had the decks to sweep, ropes to haul, chickens and pigs to feed, the cow to milk, and the dishes to wash, as well as all other jobs to do that belonged to no one in particular. As a proof of good will, he had chopped off the tails of a dandy, velvet-collared, blue coat, with the cook's axe, the very first day out. This was performed at the windlass-bits, in full conclave of the crew, and I suspected at the suggestion of a roguish man-of-war's-man, a shipmate of mine. The tails were cut just below the pocket flaps, which gave them a sort of razee look, and, in conjunction with the velvet collar, made the oddest appearance in the world, as he would creep, stern first, out of the long-boat after milking the cow. Blow high or blow low, the poor boy had no time to be sea-sick. Sometimes he would get adrift in the lee scuppers and roll over in the water, keeping fast hold of the plates he was carying to the galley." Some incidents at sea--such as the narrow escape from running down a brig, and the imminent danger incurred by an English pilot--are told with all the gusto of a seaman. Among other fine passages we may particularize an account of British sailors on shore at Portsmouth--of a family group on board a steamer--of the appearance of the Kentish coast--of the dangers of the Thames--of the Dover coach--of some groups in a London coffee-room--of a stand of hackney-coaches--of St. James' Park--of a midnight scene in the streets--of the Strand--of Temple-Bar--of St. Paul's and the view from the summit--of Rothschild--of Barclay and Perkins' Brewery--of the Thames' Tunnel--of the Tower--of the Zoological Gardens--of Robert Owen--of the habits of retired citizens--and of the rural tastes of Englishmen. A parallel between Regent Street and Broadway brings the two thoroughfares with singular distinctness to the eye of the mind--and in the way of animated and vivid description we can, at this moment, remember nothing in the whole range of fact or fiction much superior to the Lieutenant's narrative of his midnight entrance into London. Indeed we can almost pardon a contemporary for speaking of this picture as sublime. A small portion of it we copy--but no just idea of its total effect can be thus gathered--an effect depending in a great measure upon the gradual manner in which it is brought about.