ne or two instances, called the inhabitants
of Mexico, South Americans. The fact is, there is scarcely a perceptible
shade of difference in manners between the Chilians, Peruvians, and
Mexicans; there is none in their language, dress, or religion; and
sailors, who pay but little regard to arbitrary divisions of continents,
are in the habit of calling all the quondam possessions of his Most
Catholic Majesty, that border upon the Pacific, by the general name of
South America, upon the same principle, I presume, that they call the
whole of that ocean the "_South_ Sea," though they may be at that very
moment anchored in Sitka, or cruizing in the chops of Behring's Straits.

"The Rivals," is built upon a strange story that was quite current among
our men-of-war's-men some years ago, but I am unable to give any further
account of the hero of _their_ story than the reader will find in the
conclusion of mine. There seems to be no doubt that the stranger was
obliged to fly on account of a fatal duel; and sailors, who cannot
conceive of a duel between two gentlemen, as they somewhat ironically
call them, unless there is a woman in the case, have accordingly
attached one to the quarrel that compelled the unfortunate officer to
take shelter on board an American national vessel.

"Old Cuff" is a sketch from real life. He was a petty officer in the
service at the same time with me, and notwithstanding his rambling life,
was a man of good education and strong mind. His life was a striking
illustration of the truth of the proposition that "there is no romance
like the romance of real life." He proposed to me to take minutes of his
adventures, which were extremely interesting, but before I could
commence operations I was myself made a petty officer, and removed to a
station in a part of the ship where I but seldom saw him, and the ship
was soon after ordered home.

The reader need be neither a wizard nor a witch to perceive that "Mary
Bowline" is a creation of my own brain, and is of course defective, and
will disappoint. But if it is true that "Bacon, Butler, and Shakspeare
have rendered it impossible for any one after them to be profound,
witty, or sublime," it is equally true that Scott, Irving, and others
have rendered it impossible for any one to be equally entertaining,
interesting, or amusing. I hold, however, to another maxim, that "he is
a benefactor to mankind who furnishes them with innocent materials for
laughter and delig