H.M.S. “Edinburgh,” Vourla,
September 24, 1834.

My dear Malcolm,—I received your letter of the 27th July on the 3d of August, so it has been a whole month unanswered. I suppose you are settled down quiet and, I hope, studious at the Rectory after your visiting expedition to Scotland. I am afraid it will be a long time before Maister John has the pleasure of seeing the fine sights you promise him; however, he lives in hope. My father writes me that he sees no chance of getting my promotion while the present Ministers hold office, and says that it will be best for me to remain afloat so long as I am a mate, as, at the Admiralty, they make your not having served after passing an objection to your promotion (and very properly too, if stuck to in all cases), so I must jog on as quietly as I can, for I cannot vex my poor old father—who has trouble enough to provide for the advancement of six sons in the various ways of getting a living— by telling him of my wishes to come and live at home. I have seen a good deal of old Kingston, and have taken some walks with him. He is just the same; and as I walked along, looking at his large shoes, swinging arms, and—although it was a hot day—an immense stiff black neckcloth, I could not help laughing and thinking how you would have been amused.

As people have become familiar in the ship, and reserve worn off, I and three others have attained to the name of saints. There were at one time six or seven; but ridicule has made them renounce their profession and go back into the highway of profligacy and vice. I shall mention my friends, as I daresay you would like to know about them. Norman I have already described to you. I found him, when I joined the ship, a real Christian in every sense of the word, and so he is to this day. The next is a midshipman called Moil, a very wild fellow when he came in this ship, and Norman has been the honoured means of sending him to the Fountain of all mercy. The third is a young Collegian called Fowler. He has become very serious, and the Bible is his daily study, and he has read many of my books, beside a total alteration in most of his habits; he has been a year and a half at sea—so he had some bad ones,—but he is in earnest indeed. He has gone through six books of Euclid with me, and we are going over them a second time; but he knew some of them before, also Chemistry and Natural Philosophy. He is very clever, and learns quickly; I only hope he may retain what he acquires. The whole of us are laughed at for reading the Bible, and, horrid to relate, we go by the common name of “the Holy Ghost boys.” However, Norman’s advice and truly Christian example has enabled me to conduct myself in a somewhat more Christian way than was my wont, or rather, I have obtained in mercy an increase of that spirit which overcometh evil with good, and I hope all these trials will do me good.

Poor old Kingston has been annoyed lately in the same way. I pity him, they are so closely packed together in a small vessel like the “Tyne.” He has a great help in the assistant-surgeon, a very pious young man. Also Kingston has great delight in a youngster whom he has lent a hand to, and who has become serious. They are doing Euclid together, and get on very well. These three are called “psalm-singers,” and old Kingston has been told that it is quite unnatural for a young person to spend so much of his time in reading as he does.

I was glad to hear such good accounts of your brother. I hope some of your books will do him good in moments of reflection and loneliness, in far distant lands, when you can only pray for him and hope the best. I have read an excellent book lately: “Memoirs of Henry Martyn, missionary in India.” You will find much pleasure in reading the life of such a truly good man as he was; also sermons by Arnold, a Churchman, very plain and good. We have been cruising a good deal these last three months, but never going above sixty miles from this, and frequently anchoring merely for fresh beef. We expect to go down to Malta soon, touching at Napoli by the way. No one knows where we shall go, as this Admiral keeps everything so close that really we never get two hours’ waiting before sailing. I daresay we shall spend this winter at Malta; however, it does not much matter to me where we are. I hope you are keeping your health, and growing stout. Send me your stature and weight next time you write, and then I shall be able to judge pretty well how your twelve months’ residence on shore has agreed with you. And I hope you are fortunate in your companions at Toddenham, as I suppose your comfort depends a good deal upon their conduct.

I hope you will not think from this letter that I am melancholy or vexed at the behaviour of my messmates; for I am quite happy in the knowledge that in this ship^[1] my own pride and bad temper have not been the cause of their troubling me—Kingston being situated in the same way in the “Tyne” is a proof of this,—and that the only thing they trouble me about is on the score of being religious; and in such a cause it is a high honour to suffer at all.

I have the pinnace, and do nothing in the harbour but go away in her for water, etc. I keep forecastle watch at sea, and we are in four watches, which gives plenty of time for reading, which is a great comfort to me. I hope you will go on well, Elphie, and work hard, that you may not be taken aback at the College, especially in the Euclid, which you can just freshen up in your memory a little, in case you forget it; but I have no doubt you know what is necessary, and don’t think me officious for saying anything about it.

And now I must conclude my letter. May you be a useful member of your high calling which you have chosen.—I am ever your affectionate friend,

  John Irving.

H.M.S. “Edinburgh,”
Malta, Dec. 8, 1834.

My dear Malcolm,—I am glad to hear you are getting on so well with your studies, and that before another year has gone by you will have commenced your University course. I have always had a sort of misgiving that you would be inclined, by your friends, and by finding yourself in such good health, to come to sea again, when I know you must be so much happier where you are. I can fancy you laughing at this. However, you know that, with you, I speak just what I think, and I have no one else in the world whom I can do that to but yourself. In this ship I am on good terms with all, but intimate with none. And I am getting quite tired for want of some one with whom I might talk of something besides seamanship and points of service. We have been now lying here for five weeks, and in all probability we shall remain here until March or April. The “Revenge” has gone on a cruise accompanied by the “Vernon” and “Barham,” of whose sailing she is the umpire. From what we could see during two or three days, it seemed that they sailed as nearly equal as possible, keeping abreast of each other for hours. However, it is generally thought Captain Symond’s ship “Vernon“ has an advantage on a wind, while the “Barham” beats her going free. There are many bets depending upon it, and their return is anxiously expected. They have had strong breezes, and it is hoped that the trial will be decisive. I suppose you are little interested in this, but I will confess I am very much, the shape of Captain S.’s ship being so different. The “Columbine,” one of his brigs, has sailed a great deal with the squadron, and it is wonderful to see her going away two miles an hour dead to windward, under two topsails, while we are cracking on everything we can carry. The great difference seems to consist in the immense beam at the water’s edge, which prevents their heeling over, and so making lee-way.

I get books from the garrison library, and read a good deal, and of all descriptions. I occasionally go to the opera. Miss Briggs’s marriage with Captain Martin takes place on the 9th inst.; he has become Flag-Captain, and it is considered a good match, though he is old enough to be her father. You inquire about our chaplain. I do not know what to make of him. He makes good sermons; and as far as facts go he is a very good man; but he is very loose in his conversation, and joins in the laugh at improper jokes, and I have sometimes heard him use a polite oath. However, he is considered a very good sort of fellow. I was shocked to hear the Captain publish his intention of celebrating the Lord’s Supper in his cabin the other day. He is a man very passionate, and easily put out of temper. When he is so, he makes use of the most horrible terms— old Festing was reverence compared to him,—and our Commander, a very good old man, has the same fault. Both he and the Captain hail men aloft, and express their wishes for their damnation, always adding “for all eternity.” The Sacrament was received by them, and most of the lieutenants, and some of the men, one of whom got drunk the same night; and next day I heard in the ward-room enough to make me glad that I did not go, as I at first intended. I have always seen so much solemnity, and such careful preparation insisted on in the Scotch Church, that this seemed so different; and as I see I must have done harm instead of good, I thought it better not to go. I heard from Kingston some time ago; but I daresay you have more recent accounts of him. We shall probably be paid off by this time next year, and I look forward with great pleasure to paying you a visit at the College, where I suppose you will have a room, etc.; but as I shall be on my way home, I shall not trespass long on your hospitality. However, it is still a long time to look forward to. I believe my friends are trying everything in their power to obtain my promotion, but with little or no chance of success. But as I cannot blame myself if I am not promoted for ten years, I do not trouble myself about it. I will now finish my letter with expressing my delight with your last.—I am, your affectionate friend,

  John Irving.

  Portsea, March 10, 1835.

My dear Malcolm,—I received your very kind letter three days ago; however, as I did not know my movements, I delayed writing you until I did. I passed to-day. There were eleven of us tried; nine were turned back, and two passed. I start in an hour’s time for London, and from thence, per steam-vessel, for Edinburgh, my father having written me to come home. I shall be leaving Scotland about the end of the month, and will call at Harley Street for the books on my way to Falmouth, for I must go on to Malta in the April packet; but I shall write to you again before that time. Excuse haste.—My ever dearest Malcolm, your affectionate friend,

  John Irving.

106 Princes Street, Edinburgh,
March 23, 1835.

My dear Malcolm,—I set off to-morrow for London, having only had a week’s stay at home. I shall be in town in the end of the week, and shall call at Harley Street for the parcel of books for Kingston. I hope you will give Miss S. due notice of this, as I should feel it very awkward calling for the books and nobody knowing anything about them. In obedience to my father’s wishes, I am leaving home three or four days sooner than absolutely necessary for being at Falmouth by the 3d of next month. He wishes me to call upon several friends of his in London, whom he has written to, and endeavour to induce them to interest themselves as much as possible in procuring my promotion; but, as they are mostly strangers to me, this will be a most disagreeable employment. Sir George Clerk having a son coming from the West Indies to pass is a great obstacle to me; however, having passed all the examinations, and feeling that I have done my best, as far as it depends on me, I do not feel so very anxious about it. I have also to go away from London one day sooner than I would otherwise be obliged to do, as I have to pay a visit in Dorsetshire, on my way to Falmouth, to Mrs. Stanley, the wife of Captain Stanley, the commander of the “Edinburgh.” She has been long in bed, and was, I believe, despaired of. Captain Stanley could not obtain leave to go home, without losing the ship, and he entreated me, with the tears running down his cheeks, to go and see his wife before I left England. This I promised to do. I shall stop ten or twelve hours there, and proceed with the next coach. The place is called Alington, near Bridport. It vexes me to leave England without seeing you; but it cannot be helped. However, I will take it as a great favour if, when you are next in Scotland (perhaps next summer you will probably be in Edinburgh), you will go and see Mrs. Scott Moncrieff. Her name was Pringle. Her brother is M.P. for Selkirkshire, and, I believe, she is a cousin of your father’s. She is very anxious to see you. She told me she often carried you in her arms when you were an infant. She is a most pious, amiable lady, and I am sure you will be as much pleased with her as she will be with you. She lives at Dalkeith, six miles from Edinburgh; her husband is chamberlain to the Duke of Buccleuch, who has a palace there, so you will have no difficulty in finding her.

I have procured Newton’s Cardiphonia on your recommendation, but I have not had time to read it yet. I shall also get, and, as you desire, consider as a present from you, the little book called Advice to a Young Christian.

I shall be out at Malta about the end of April, and, I am afraid, shall have some difficulty in joining my ship; but I suppose I must stick to the letter-bag. It has been an expensive business this, my coming home; but it is a great comfort to my father to think that nothing has been omitted that has a chance of getting me on. I am afraid you will consider this a terribly egotistical letter, but mine are naturally such to you.—Believe me ever your affectionate friend,

  John Irving.

I have been endeavouring to make a little interest for myself while in London, of which I shall give you some account. I had a letter from Lord Arbuthnot to Lord de Gray, written, to use his own words, in the strongest terms he could employ. I also had a letter from General Arbuthnot, M.P. for Kincardineshire, to Lord de Gray, and he also spoke to Mr. Dawson, the secretary, on my behalf. Sir George Clerk introduced me to Lord de Gray’s nephew, Cole, the private secretary, and gave him a note to his uncle Lord de Gray, which he said he would deliver into his own hand, and also that he would do what he could in my favour himself.

Some of my friends seem quite confident that I shall be promoted in a short time, but if this takes place in eighteen months it will happen sooner than I myself expect. I shall leave Falmouth on Friday morning, after post, for Malta.

I have been at Bridport to see our Commander’s wife, and remained there for a few hours, and am now just arrived here, and the Falmouth mail starts in a few minutes, so you must excuse this hurried letter.

I found the poor lady quite insane; however, I saw her sisters, and have rather melancholy news to carry out to her husband, our Commander.

From having been so hurried about these last two months, and never having time to read, I regret that I am not nearly in such a peaceful state of mind as I used to be, and I am quite aware that I do not think nearly so much as I used to do about eternity and the things belonging to it. I do not know whether this may be a physical effect on the mind produced by the constant excitement in which I have lived for the last two months,—in which case, when I get settled, my mind may be restored to its former calm and comfortable state. However, it is a source of great present discomfort and uneasiness to be forced to turn my attention, with an effort, to the consideration of subjects in which I used to take great pleasure some weeks ago.

I must finish my letter in a hurry. Good-bye.—I am ever your most affectionate

  John Irving.

But, my dear Malcolm, do not think for a moment that I am at all displeased at your scolding me; far from it. Nothing could have pleased me more. It shows far more than any assertions could that you are really concerned about me; and I am sure that I never read anything of yours with such heartfelt pleasure as I did these warm remonstrances on my silence and apparent neglect of your letters. Your feeling vexed at not hearing from me convinces me, more than a dozen letters could, that your interest in my welfare is still the same, and nothing could tend more to remove a horrid feeling of jealousy which sometimes crosses my mind, when I think it possible; and it does seem natural, that you, surrounded by so many new and agreeable friends and acquaintances, and cut off from all associations with your former life, should gradually slacken your interest in, and cast off your affections for your old friends. Do not let this remark offend you. It is more owing to the morbid sensibility of my own mind, combined with the long habit of deep interest about you, that makes me feel so acutely the bare possibility of your growing cold and indifferent about me, than that I have the least expectation of such an event, or that you have ever given me the slightest cause to think it at all probable. No, quite the contrary; and I should be unjust to you if I did not tell you so, that it is the greatest comfort to me to think that, as long as we live, I have such a friend as you have been to me ever since I first knew you, and when we first called each other friends. Not that I am weak enough to believe that when you and I meet again we shall suit each other as well as when we were in the  Belvidera.” We shall not have the same ties of situation nor the same feelings of relation to each other as we then had. Your mind will be filled with learning and information on many subjects of which I shall be totally ignorant. You will feel deeply interested about many things about which I shall be totally indifferent. All your old associations, connected with ships and a mid’s berth, shall have given place to those of a University and College scenes, College adventures, College manners and habits; while I, as habit is second nature, shall have become a sea-monster, and unable to sympathise with you in anything beyond the sphere of pitch and paint, tallow and tar.

You will have read hundreds of books of which I never heard the name; you will have studied subjects of which I never dreamt, and be intimate with many persons I have never seen. My conversation, like one who had been out of the world for some time, will seem insipid and stale to you, accustomed to the society of the cleverest and best-informed men of the age; while yours will be so much beyond that to which I shall have been accustomed, that I shall be galled by a sense of ignorance and insignificance.

I can fancy you enjoying a hearty laugh after reading all this nonsense, as you will call it; but there is many a true word said in jest, and really when I went home last I was astonished, and more so since my return, in finding myself actually more at home on board here than in my own father’s house—so many changes had taken place there, my brothers growing up, etc. etc.

After these reflections, so eloquently expressed, and indicating a pensive mood not common at twenty, he mentions that, after a good passage from England, he had joined the “Edinburgh” on the 23d of April. Kingston, “with his old rubicund countenance,” had sailed in the “Tyne” that very day for Corfu. Everything on board ship was going on as usual, and they expected to leave for Salamis on the 12th of May, to be present at the coronation of King Otho, which was to take place at Athens a fortnight later. He concludes the long letter,^[2] which was evidently intended to make up for the past shortcomings for which his friend had scolded him, in the following sentences:—

I am happy to say, that as I get settled on board this ship, I find my mind in a much more comfortable state than it was when I wrote you from Exeter. I was in such a perfect fever of excitement during my trip to England, that the devil got great hold of me, and my mind was open to all evil I could not in that hurry and bustle “be watchful unto prayer,” but being “troubled about many things, I was forgetting the “one thing needful;” but getting into my regular habits of reading and reflection has done much, through God’s grace, for my soul.—I am ever your very affectionate friend,

                                                                                       John Irving.

H.M.S. “Edinburgh,”
1st June 1835.

My dear Malcolm,—We left Malta on the 12th of May, and arrived at Egina on the 19th. I think it a most beautiful island. We remained there one day, and came here on the 22d. We are seven miles from Athens, and I have walked there twice. The place is very much improved since we were here in the “Belvidera.” There are a great many new houses, and they have built a wharf and several new houses at Port Leonis, where there are a number of shipping and shore boats; in fact, all have removed from Napoli to this place.

The King Otho has been visiting the squadron, and we have been manning yards and saluting. He is proclaimed to-day on his coming of age, and the regency is dissolved, and he takes the reins of government into his own hands. Besides our squadron, there are a French liner and two frigates lying here. The weather is very pleasant, and I bathe every day. I suppose you have no opportunity of practising your swimming. I can assure you I found the advantage of it in a signal manner the other day. I was coming off from Port Leonis to the ship under sail, and was under the lee of a point where a tremendous squall came on us like a shot. The land was not 100 yards to windward, so we could not see it coming. Our sheets were let go, but before they had time to render, the boat was bottom up. I had great difficulty to get clear from the sails, which were over my head, and prevented me rising. When I came to the surface, you can imagine my feelings on seeing only ten people out of nineteen who were in the boat. With great exertion we got the rest out from under the boat and sails. There were several who could not swim, and must have been drowned had the rest not held them up. The boat floated keel up, and we got everybody conveyed to her, and by crossing our arms over the keel and holding each other’s hands on the opposite side, we held on till we were observed and boats sent, who picked us up, having been nearly half an hour in the water. The Captain was very angry at me at first, but I referred him to Lieutenant Slade of the flag-ship, to whom I had given a passage off, and to our own pilot, an experienced man, who told him that I was not to blame in the least, and that everything had been done that could be done. It was a very sudden squall, and no fewer than five boats were upset nearly at the same time. Two Frenchmen were drowned. We were kept longer in the water, as the boats were sent away to rescue the others. I am sorry to have been led into this long account by the mention of swimming; but I am sure that saved my life, and perhaps the lives of one or two others whom I assisted to get hold of the boat.

We sail on the 4th for Vourla, to water the squadron. I was afraid the Captain would take me out of the boat, which is a duty I like; but he is all right now, and paid me a sort of compliment about all hands being saved.

H.M.S. “Edinburgh,”
Zante, July 25, 1836.

My dear Malcolm,—  . . . We left Malta in April and visited Syracuse and Catania. From the latter place I went with a large party to the summit of Mount Etna. There was a great quantity of snow on the mountain, and we had some hours’ very hard work toiling up to the middle in snow; but we were amply repaid for our trouble, on arriving at the top, by the magnificent prospect of the whole coast-line of Sicily and the southern shore of Italy laid out at our feet like a map. As to the crater, if you could imagine a sugar-loaf with a round hole bored in the apex of an inch in depth and the same diameter, you have a good model of the cone of Etna. The actual depth of the crater is 300 feet, and the same diameter. The edge is quite sharp, and fringed with snow. We could sit with one leg hanging into the crater and the other down the steep slope of the cone, which is 1100 feet, and then the mountain slopes away in a more gradual manner. At the bottom of the cone the thermometer stood 16°, 9000 feet above the sea. At the top of the cone, 1100 feet higher, it stood at 21°, owing to the internal heat of the mountain. Water boiled at 188° at the top. We all got new skins to our faces, from the great change of temperature in going up and coming down. Being so early in the year, we had to walk six miles in snow above our knees. There were some splendid icicles hanging from the edge into the crater—fifty feet long, and at the upper part, three feet thick—caused by the sulphurous vapours melting the snow on the edge.

H.M.S. “Edinburgh,”
Vourla Bay, Sept. 29, 1836.

I shall direct this to Toddenham, and trust, if you get it, you will be satisfied that I am just the same as you knew me in the “Belvidera,” and that my feelings towards you are by no means altered by three years’ absence; that I still consider you my greatest friend, and that one of my chief pleasures consists in recalling all that intercourse which was almost my sole occupation and my only pleasure while we were in the “Belvidera.” I look forward to seeing you again with much pleasure. I wrote to my father asking his opinion concerning my staying out on the station. He asked Sir George Clerk,^[3] and sent me his opinion. To my great joy it was that it was more advisable for me to come home; but if I particularly wished to stay out, I might use my own discretion. So of course I shall go home in the “ Edinburgh.” The Captain says he expects to be paid off in January at the latest, so I shall go on shore for a spell, having served as a mate for nearly three years. I hope to be able to meet you, as I shall have plenty of time, and can come to any part of the country you like for that purpose.

I have been very much distressed by the sad news of my brother, the minister, having lost his wife. She was safely delivered of a daughter, and my poor brother wrote me by the August packet that she was doing well, and how happy he was, and that he would call me Uncle John for the future. But by the September packet I got a letter from my father saying that ten days after the birth of the baby she suddenly turned very ill and died. Poor Lewie! He had been married only four years. She was only twenty-four years old, and he left a widower, with a little daughter, at the age of twenty-nine. They seemed made for each other. The manse of Abercorn will no longer be the cheerful and happy abode to which I always looked forward. However, I shall have great pleasure in comforting him and diverting his mind from his loss. The little girl too will take up his attention; but living in a manse for four years a life of happiness, as he did, he must feel the blow dreadfully: but he knows whence to derive strength and support to bear it. But I beg your pardon for taking up your time with what does not concern you.—Believe me, as much as ever, your affectionate friend,

John Irving.

H.M.S. “Edinburgh,”
Malta, Nov. 4, 1836. 

My dear Malcolm,—  . . . You make inquiries concerning my books and companions, etc. As to books—as I have been three years in this ship, I have long ago read all on board, the stock never having been great. But the truth is, that for a long time past I have been very idle. In our mess we get all the magazines, Blackwood’s, etc., the reviews, and three or four dozen of newspapers every month, and I must confess with shame that I have read little else for many months past. I want you and Kingston sadly. I smoke nearly all the evenings, and what with regular watch-keeping and sleeping in watches below—taking long walks—beating the bushes for sportsmen—and constantly boat-sailing, for which there is a sort of mania in this ship—I have spent all this last year in a most unprofitable manner. As to companions, I have not one friend in the ship, although I am on tolerably good terms with them all. And now to come to the worst confession I have to make: I have no longer the same comfort and pleasure in religious contemplation that I have known—whether from having no one with whom to talk to, or perhaps from gradually thinking less and less. “The friendship of the world is enmity with God.” Ah! Malcolm, how much more happy I was when I spoke to no one but you and Kingston than now—hail fellow well met with every one. I have tried again and again, and am convinced that on board ship I shall never be happy; I have trifled on the very verge of perdition; every day I find myself placed in situations of every kind of peril and temptation, so that I can hardly escape. I hear all kinds of oaths and obscene conversation, but it does not shock my ear now. However, the ship has commenced her fourth year, and I hope in a few weeks more to be paid off, and my father writes me that I had better stay on shore for some time. So I trust I shall be able to refresh my wearied heart with some sweet discourse for which I long so much.  

I made an attempt to make a friend of a mid of about three years’ standing. I fancied that he had a scientific turn, and hoping, through that, to gain his confidence and have some influence with him, after much talk on these subjects, I commenced Arnott with him; but he was capricious and changeable, and after four or five weeks of great vexation and trouble, having only got with him through one-half of the first volume, he excused himself in various ways, and finally, in spite of all my persuasion, dropped it altogether, and has ever since held aloof from anything like particular conversation with me. I am conscious that I did everything I could, and, though very much annoyed, I do not blame myself. After this I sunk into my routine of laziness and trifling amusements. I daresay you will be surprised when I tell you that I spend upwards of two hours a day in smoking; but you must make some allowance for a solitary being. I also draw a little, but nothing to speak of. I count the days till the ship is paid off.

We arrived here a month ago after a passage of ten days from Vourla. Malta is as dull and tiresome and just the same as ever, except that six sail of the line lying in harbour make every place on shore constantly thronged with midshipmen.

I am so sick of the ship, and everything belonging to it, that I hope you will, on that account, excuse anything you do not like in this letter. I have no prospects of promotion. However, a few months on shore in society to my taste will relieve me much. Do you recollect my carrying you on my back down the road at the top of the harbour? I was wandering there alone and also at Bighi Bay a few hours ago: my thoughts were of you and happier days. I felt myself really alone.—Dearest Malcolm, I am ever your affectionate friend,

John Irving.

H.M.S. “Edinburgh,”
Portsmouth, Jan. 17, 1837.

My dear Malcolm,— I received your letter of the 12th three days ago, and delayed writing until I heard from home what they intended doing with me. My father says that he thinks it better for me to remain at home for some months. I hope to be with you in the first week of February; but it is not quite certain what day we shall be paid off— the severe weather retarding us much. We were detained three days at Spithead before we could get into harbour. However, I think I shall certainly get to Cambridge by the 5th at furthest. I need not tell you how I look forward to meeting you after our long separation. I am afraid you will think me very awkward and ignorant. I have such ideas of grandeur attached to Cambridge University that I can hardly fancy that you are actually there, my recollections of you being as yesterday, though three years have gone by. The weather is very bad, but it does not much matter, as I do not go to Cambridge to see it. The mention of your snug room made me quite glad.

At Gibraltar we found the “Childers” (18). Dunlop, formerly of the “Belvidera,” is surgeon of her, and he immediately on our arrival invited me to dine, and gave me a letter Kingston had left with him for that purpose before the “Tyne” sailed, which she unfortunately did a few days before we arrived. Kingston was quite well and happy. We shall write to him a joint letter from Cambridge. Dunlop was very kind to me. He gave me a letter to Rutherford, who is now a mate on board the “Excellent” in this harbour. He came to see me on our arrival here, and I dined with him on board his ship. He seems a sensible fellow. Both Dunlop and he desired me to remember them to you and Kingston, for whom they assured me they had a great respect, as everybody has who knows him.— Yours sincerely,

 John Irving. 

We are very busy, having left several on the station, and five ill with a complaint called influenza, very prevalent here. I am on my legs all day.