furniture gone, flag-bottomed chairs and all,—­ and with it his ``long togs,’’ the half-pay, his beaver hat, and white linen shirts.  His wife he never saw or heard of from that day to this, and never wished to.  Then followed a sweeping assertion, not much to the credit of the sex, in which he has Pope to back him. ``Come, Chips, cheer up like a man, and take some hot grub!  Don’t be made a fool of by anything in petticoats!  As for your wife, you’ll never see her again; she was `up keeleg and off’ before you were outside of Cape Cod.  You’ve hove your money away like a fool; but every man must learn once, just as I did; so you’d better square the yards with her, and make the best of it.’’

This was the best consolation ``Sails’’ had to offer, but it did not seem to be just the thing the carpenter wanted; for, during several days, he was very much dejected, and bore with difficulty the jokes of the sailors, and with still more difficulty their attempts at advice and consolation, of most of which the sailmaker’s was a good specimen.

Thursday, February 25th.  Set sail for Santa Barbara, where we arrived on Sunday, the 28th.  We just missed seeing the California, for she had sailed three days before, bound to Monterey, to enter her cargo and procure her license, and thence to San Francisco, &c.  Captain Arthur left files of Boston papers for Captain Thompson, which, after they had been read and talked over in the cabin, I procured from my friend the third mate.  One file was of all the Boston Transcripts for the month of August, 1835, and the rest were about a dozen Daily Advertisers and Couriers of different dates.  After all, there is nothing in a strange land like a newspaper from home.  Even a letter, in many respects, is nothing in comparison with it.  It carries you back to the spot better than anything else.  It is almost equal to clairvoyance.  The names of the streets, with the things advertised, are almost as good as seeing the signs; and while reading ``Boy lost!’’ one can almost hear the bell and well-known voice of ``Old Wilson,’’ crying the boy as ``strayed, stolen, or mislaid!’’ Then there was the Commencement at Cambridge, and the full account of the exercises at the graduating of my own class.  A list of all those familiar names (beginning as usual with Abbot, and ending with W), which, as I read them over, one by one, brought up their faces and characters as I had known them in the various scenes of college life.  Then I imagined them upon the stage, speaking their orations, dissertations, colloquies, &c., with the familiar gestures and tones of each, and tried to fancy the manner in which each would handle his subject. ——­, handsome, showy, and superficial; ——­, with his strong head, clear brain, cool self-possession; ——­, modest, sensitive, and underrated; ——­, the mouth-piece of the debating clubs, noisy, vaporous, and democratic; and, so, following.  Then I could see them receiving their A.B.’s from the dignified, feudal-looking President, with his ``auctoritate mihi commissa,’’ and walking off the stage with their diplomas in their hands; while upon the same day their classmate was walking up and down California beach with a hide upon his head.