We were now through all our work, and had nothing more to do until the Pilgrim should come down again. We had nearly got through our provisions too, as well as our work; for our officer had been very wasteful of them, and the tea, flour, sugar, and molasses were all gone. We suspected him of sending them up to the town; and he always treated the squaws with molasses when they came down to the beach. Finding wheat-coffee and dry bread rather poor living, we clubbed together, and I went to the town on horseback, with a great salt-bag behind the saddle, and a few reals in my pocket, and brought back the bag full of onions, beans, pears, watermelons, and other fruits; for the young woman who tended the garden, finding that I belonged to the American ship, and that we were short of provisions, put in a larger portion. With these we lived like fighting-cocks for a week or two, and had, besides, what the sailors call a ``blow-out on sleep,'' not turning out in the morning until breakfast was ready. I employed several days in overhauling my chest, and mending up all my old clothes, until I had put everything in order,-- ``patch upon patch, like a sand-barge's mainsail.'' Then I took hold of Bowditch's Navigator, which I had always with me. I had been through the greater part of it, and now went carefully over it from beginning to end, working out most of the examples. That done, and there being no signs of the Pilgrim, I made a descent upon old Schmidt, and borrowed and read all the books there were upon the beach. Such a dearth was there of these latter articles, that anything, even a little child's story-book, or the half of a shipping calendar, seemed a treasure. I actually read a jest-book through, from beginning to end, in one day, as I should a novel, and enjoyed it much. At last, when I thought that there were no more to be had, I found at the bottom of old Schmidt's chest, ``Mandeville, a Romance, by Godwin, in five volumes.'' This I had never read, but Godwin's name was enough, and, after the wretched trash I had devoured, anything bearing the name of an intellectual man was a prize indeed. I bore it off, and for two days I was up early and late, reading with all my might, and actually drinking in delight. It is no extravagance to say that it was like a spring in a desert land. From the sublime to the ridiculous-- so, with me, from Mandeville to hide-curing-- was but a step; for--