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 “My dearest Mrs. Hall—I must send you one of my earliest epistles from the Tropics, and as a ship is just sailing, I will write, though it can only be a few hurried lines. I can tell you my whole voyage in three words—six weeks' sea-sickness—but I am now as well as possible, and have been ever since I landed. The castle is a very noble building, and all the rooms large and cool, while some would be pretty even in England; that where I am writing is painted a deep blue, with some splendid engravings; indeed, fine prints seem quite a passion with the gentlemen here. Mr. Maclean's library is fitted up with bookcases of African mahogany, and portraits of distinguished authors; I, however, never approach it without due preparation and humility, so crowded is it with scientific instruments, telescopes, chronometers, lavameters, gasometers, &c., none of which may be touched by hands profane. On three sides the batteries are dashed against by the waves; on the fourth is a splendid land view; the hills are covered to the top with what we should call wood, but is here called bush. This dense mass of green is varied by some large handsome white houses, belonging to different gentlemen, and on two of the hights are small forts built by Mr. Maclean. The cocoa-trees with their long fan-like leaves are very beautiful. The natives seem both obliging and intelligent, and look very picturesque, with their fine dark figures, with pieces of the country cloth flung round them; they seem to have an excellent ear for music; the band plays all the old popular airs, which they have caught from some chance hearing. The servants are very tolerable but they take so many to work. The prisoners do the scouring, and fancy three men cleaning a room that an old woman in England would do in an hour! besides the soldier who stands by, his bayonet drawn in his hand. All my troubles have been of a house-keeping kind, and no one could begin on a more plentiful stock of ignorance than myself; however, like Sinbad the sailor in the cavern, I begin to see light. I have numbered and labelled my keys, their name is Legion, and every morning I take my way to the store, give out flour, sugar, butter, &c., and am learning to scold if I see any dust, or miss the customary polish on the tables; I am actually getting the steward of the ship, who is my right-hand, to teach me how to make pastry; I will report progression in the next; we live almost entirely on ducks and chickens; if a sheep be killed, it must be eaten the same day; the bread is very good, palm wine being used for yeast, and yams are an excellent substitute for potatoes. The fruit generally is too sweet for my liking, but the oranges and pine apples are delicious. You cannot think the complete seclusion in which I live, but I have a great resource in writing, and I am very well and very happy; but I think even more than I expected, if that be possible, of my English friends. It was almost like seeing something alive when I saw ‘The Bucanier' and ‘The Outlaw' side by side in Mr. Maclean's library; I cannot tell you the pleasure it gave me. Do tell Mr. Hall that every day I find the books of gems greater treasures, I refer to them perpetually; I have been busy with what I hope you will like—essays from Sir Walter Scott's works, to illustrate a set of Heath's portraits; I believe they are to appear every fortnight next year. Give my kindest love to Mrs. Fielding and Mr. Hall, and believe ever,