'Our Ship looks best, I think, at night. She's by no means unworthy of being sketched in the morning when a few albatrosses are sailing round her, and a whale blowing his foamy fountain just a length or two behind. She's pretty at sunset again, when her sails flush purple, and the passengers form themselves into so many little knots, and, as the twilight thickens, watch the roseate touches dying in the west. She's brave in a storm at any time.... She shakes off a sea as a restive horse throws its rider. But she's best of all o' nights, when the dancing is going on aft, the sailors are singing "Chiliman" round the galley, and any number of proposals are being made among the "intermediates" behind the long-boat. How beautifully, at the stilly hour of eight bells, she moves through the water, and flings the phosphorescent foam about her like an Eastern queen beneath a rain of pearls. What was Cleopatra's barge in comparison, or any "Nicean barque" that ever sailed upon a "perfumed sea?" 'But the best part of Our Ship, either by day or night, isn't on deck at all. There is a snug little cockpit forward, before the jollity of which mere cuddy luxuries count as nothing. The second and third mates, one or two young middies, a guitar, plenty of grog and smoke, a good old cheese, and some biscuits, will make as jolly an evening among them as any Christian need wish to spend. On Our Ship these parties are nightly occurrences. There is a young midshipman on board with lots of money. He is always inviting his friends to meet him. He is a pleasant youth, with large, bland eyes, and a superfluous number of oaths. I never knew a lad, though, who imprecated more innocently. He evidently thinks that good swearing and good seamanship go together. He swears at a little child on board all the time he is filling its lap with candy and comfits. He is, withal, a good-tempered youth, but constantly getting into scrapes with the officers. After the breaking up of these festivities--which doesn't generally happen until an advanced hour, when not even the ghost of a _deadlight_ remains--it sometimes happens that you find it difficult to discover your right "home" amongst the long line of cabins down the side of the dimly-lighted saloon. This kind of thing, though, is by no means confined to festivities at sea.