Four weeks of lovely weather and uninterrupted fair winds brought us to this southern fairyland.  In my last letter I told you a considerable yarn about Madeira, I guess, and so for fear lest you should imagine me scenery mad I will spare you any description of Rio Harbour.  Suffice it to say that it contends with the Bay of Naples for the title of the most beautiful place in the world.  It must beat Naples in luxuriance and variety of vegetation, but from all accounts, to say nothing of George’s [his eldest brother] picture, falls behind it in the colours of sky and sea, that of the latter being in the harbour and for some distance outside of a dirty olive green like the washings of a painter’s palette.

We have come in for the purpose of effecting some trifling repairs, which, though not essential to the safety of the ship, will nevertheless naturally enhance the comfort of its inmates.  This you will understand when I tell you that in consequence of these same defects I have had water an inch or two deep in my cabin, wish-washing about ever since we left Madeira.

We crossed the line on the 13th of this month, and as one of the uninitiated I went through the usual tomfoolery practised on that occasion.  The affair has been too often described for me to say anything about it.  I had the good luck to be ducked and shaved early, and of course took particular care to do my best in serving out the unhappy beggars who had to follow.  I enjoyed the fun well enough at the time, but unquestionably it is on all grounds a most pernicious custom.  It swelled our sick list to double the usual amount, and one poor fellow, I am sorry to say, died of the effects of pleurisy then contracted.

We have been quite long enough at sea now to enable me to judge how I shall get on in the ship, and to form a very clear idea of how it fits me and how I fit it.  In the first place I am exceedingly well and exceedingly contented with my lot.  My opinion of the advantages lying open to me increases rather than otherwise as I see my way about me.  I am on capital terms with all the superior officers, and I find them ready to give me all facilities.  I have a place for my books and microscope in the chart room, and there I sit and read in the morning much as though I were in my rooms in Agar Street.  My immediate superior, Johnny Thompson, is a long-headed good fellow without a morsel of humbug about him—­a man whom I thoroughly respect, both morally and intellectually.  I think it will be my fault if we are not fast friends through the commission.  One friend on board a ship is as much as anybody has a right to expect.

It is just the interval between the sea and the land breezes, the sea like glass, and not a breath stirring.  I shall become soup if I do not go on deck.  Temperature in sun at noon 86 in shade, 139 in sun.  N.B.—­It has been up to 89 in shade, 139 in sun since this.

March 28, 1847.

I see I concluded with a statement of temperature.  Since then it has been considerably better—­140 in sun; however, in the shade it rarely rises above 86 or so, and when the sea or land breezes are blowing this is rather pleasant than otherwise.