a new pet, given me by the doctor; he brought me a little paroquet from Rio, about the size of a sparrow—green, with blue wings. It has no cage, and is so tame it does not want one, and it makes no noise; but , who has seen some of them at Calcutta, says they can speak. The blacks call them ‘Jemmy Green.’ So he stuck my Jemmy Green instantly into the open breast of his waistcoat, where it made a little purring noise of delight and went to sleep, and now, whenever I put it in my handkerchief, it chuckles itself to sleep. I should have liked to send it home to you, but these very small birds always die of cold in the Channel. It is a great diversion to Wright and Jones. So, God bless you! Of course you are always writing to your most affectionate
There are three little midshipmen going their first voyage; one of them, who was to join another ship, is dying of a decline (poor boy!), and has not been out of his hammock for a fortnight; nothing can equal the care that is taken of him.
