isle of Cuba; and, lest memory should fail, the piles of oranges, about four feet square, all round the upper-deck, are ready to refresh it.  How different the “Isabel” from the “Cherokee!” Mr. Law might do well to take a cruise in the former; and, if he had any emulation, he would sell all his dirty old tubs for firewood, and invest the proceeds in the “Isabel” style of vessel.  Land a-head!—­a flourishing little village appears, with watch-towers high as minarets.  What can all this mean?

This is a thriving, happy community, fixed on the most dreary and unhealthy-looking point imaginable, and deriving all their wealth and happiness from the misfortunes of others.  It is Key West, a village of wreckers, who, doubtless, pray earnestly for a continuance and increase of the changing currents, which are eternally drifting some ill-fated barque on the ever-growing banks and coral reefs of these treacherous and dangerous waters; the lofty watch-towers are their Pisgah, and the stranded barques their Land of Promise.  The sight of one is doubtless as refreshing to their sight as the clustering grapes of Eschol were to the wandering Israelites of old.  So thoroughly does the wrecking spirit pervade this little community, that they remind one of the “Old Joe Miller,” which gives an account of a clergyman who, seeing all his congregation rise from their seats at the joyous cry of, “A wreck! a wreck!” called them to order with an irresistible voice of thunder, and deliberately commencing to despoil himself of his surplice, added, “Gentlemen, a fair start, if you please!”

We picked up a couple of captains here, whose ships had tasted these bitter waters, and who were on their road to New York to try and make the best of a bad job.  We had some very agreeable companions on board; but we had others very much the contrary, conspicuous among whom was an undeniable Hebrew but no Nathanael.  He was one of those pompous loud talkers, whose every word and work bespoke vulgarity in its most obnoxious form, and whose obtuseness in matters of manners was so great that nothing short of the point of your shoe could have made him understand how offensive he was.  He spoke of courts in Europe, and of the Vice-regal court in Ireland, as though he had the entree of them all; which it was palpable to the most superficial observer he never could have had, except possibly when, armed with a dingy bag on his shoulder and an “Ol clo’” on his lips, he sought an investment in cast-off garments.  He was taking cigars, which, from their quantity, were evidently for sale; and as the American Government is very liberal in allowing passengers to enter cigars, never—­I believe—­refusing any one the privilege of five hundred, he was beating up for friends who had no cigars to divide his speculations among, so as to avoid the duty; at last his arrangements were completed, and his mind at ease.