We have still mocking-birds and crickets and rosebuds, and occasional noonday baths in the river, though the butterflies have vanished, as I remember to have observed in Fayal, after December.

I have been here nearly six weeks without a rainy day; one or two slight showers there have been, once interrupting a drill, but never dress-parade.

For climate, by day, we might be among the isles of Greece,--though it may be my constant familiarity with the names of her sages which suggests that impression.
For instance, a voice just now called, near my tent,--"Cato, whar's Plato ?" The men have somehow got the impression that it is essential to the validity of a marriage that they should come to me for permission, just as they used to go to the master; and I rather encourage these little confidences, because it is so entertaining to hear them.

"Now, Cunnel," said a faltering swam the other day, "I want for get me one good lady," which I approved, especially the limitation as to number.
Afterwards I asked one of the bridegroom's friends whether he thought it a good match.

"O yes, Cunnel," said he, in all the cordiality of friendship, "John's gwine for marry Venus." I trust the goddess will prove herself a better lady than she appeared during her previous career upon this planet.