tea, and all other uses, it cannot be said to be extravagant.
"August 27th.—By reference to the ship's log it appears that we have made as much progress during the last four days as we did during the whole antecedent part of August. The demands upon our gallant Captain's patience not being now so great as they were—when about £15 a day (estimated expenses of the ship) were going out of his pocket, without any progress in the voyage being made—the austerity he then assumed has softened down, and he is nearly himself again. In fact, the Captain's visage is a pretty good barometer; nothing seems to annoy him but a calm or an adverse wind. The wrangling and complaints of the passengers he manages to dispose of readily enough.
"Sunday, September 4th.—The weather is still fine and the wind favourable, but the change from heat to cold is to me anything but agreeable. My time is divided between reading, renewing my acquaintance with figures, and amusing myself with my goats. We are both looking forward to our arrival at the Cape with feelings of anticipation a little similar to those experienced by schoolboys before the holidays. It is uncertain, however, whether our holidays are to be spent at Simon's Bay or Cape Town.
"September 8th.—Since Sunday we have had strong breezes; a landsman would perhaps call the wind a gale. Flocks of the Cape pigeon are constantly about the ship, with some birds of black plumage, and now and then an albatross is seen sailing majestically through the air. The largest of those we have seen would not measure, perhaps, more than 9 or 10 feet from wing to wing; occasionally they are met with, 14 feet in width. Several Cape pigeons have been caught by the passengers with a line and hook, baited with pork, one of which having been given me I have skinned and preserved.
"September 17th.—The thermometer is now at 57°,
