This evening ‘Beau Brummel,’ the little pig I brought from Bow Island, in the South Pacific, died of a broken spine, as the doctor, who made a post-mortem examination in each case, discovered.  A spar must have dropped upon poor piggy accidentally whilst he was running about on deck, though of course no one knew anything about it.  I am very sorry; for though I must confess he was somewhat greedy and pig-like in his habits, he was extremely amusing in his ways.  He ran about and went to sleep with the pugs, just like one of themselves.  Besides, I do not think any one else in England could have boasted of a pig given to them by a South-Sea-Island chief.  Probably ‘Beau Brummel’ was a lineal descendant of the pigs Captain Cook took out in the ‘Endeavour.’

The bodies were all placed together in a neat little box and committed to the deep at sunset, a few tears being shed over the departed pets, especially by the children.

Tuesday, May 15th.—­Cape de Gat was abeam early this morning.  The wind fell light, but Tom hoped it would freshen again; otherwise, with steam we might easily have got into Gibraltar to-night.  As it was, fires were not lighted until ten o’clock.

Wednesday, May 16th.—­At 3 a.m.  I was called to see the light on Europa Point, and stayed on deck to watch the day dawn and the rising of the sun.  It was not, however, a very agreeable morning; the Levanter was blowing, the signal station was enveloped in mist, the tops of the mountains of Africa were scarcely discernible above the clouds, and Ceuta and Ape’s Hill were invisible.  Algeciras and San Roque gleamed white on the opposite shore of the bay, while the dear old Rock itself looked fresher and cleaner than usual, exhaling a most delicious perfume of flowers.  As the sun rose, the twitterings of the birds in the Alameda sounded most homelike and delightful.

We had dropped our anchor inside the New Mole about 4.30, and before six the familiar sounds of English martial music could be heard from all the different barracks, as the regiments came marching down the hill and along the Alameda to the north front with all their baggage, military trains, tents, and ambulances, for a day’s camping out.  We were anxious to get on shore to see about coals, water, and provisions, but no health-boat came near us.  About seven o’clock we started in despair, first to hail a policeman on shore (at a most respectful distance), to inquire where we could get pratique; then we procured it, and sent word back to the ‘Sunbeam’ that she was out of quarantine, and might hoist the yellow flag.  We landed, went to the market, bought some lovely carnations stuck in a prickly-pear leaf to keep them fresh, and then went to the Hotel Royal—­kept by the landlord of the old Club House Hotel, where we had so often stayed—­to order breakfast.  Our old friends the servants greeted us at every step from the house-door to the coffee-room, and we were