He is a Catholic; and
yesterday being Friday he caught some fish and fried them for his dinner
in sweet-oil, and really they looked so delicate that I almost wished he
would invite me to partake. Every once in a while he undresses himself
and leaps overboard, plunging down beneath the waves as if the sea were
as native to him as the earth. Then he runs up the rigging of the vessel
as if he meant to fly away through the air. I must remember this little
boy, and perhaps I may make something more beautiful of him than these
rough and imperfect touches would promise.
June 11th.--. . . . I could wish that the east-wind would blow every day
from ten o'clock till five; for there is great refreshment in it to us
poor mortals that toil beneath the sun. We must not think too unkindly
even of the east-wind. It is not, perhaps, a wind to be loved, even in
its benignest moods; but there are seasons when I delight to feel its
breath upon my cheek, though it be never advisable to throw open my bosom
and take it into my heart, as I would its gentle sisters of the south and
west.
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