self-congratulations were not of long continuance. The sugared omelet
passed with slight remark. The beefsteak smothered in onions was merely
prohibited in future. But when, on the second day, the potatoes were
served with mashed lemon-peel, the general discontent burst forth; and we
scolded till we laughed again at the dilemma in which we found ourselves.
Next to being without food, is the calamity of being subjected, in the
middle of the Atlantic, to the diabolical arts of the French Admiral's
cook. At sea, the arrangements of the table are of far more importance
than on shore. There are so few incidents, that one's dinner becomes, what
Dr. Johnson affirmed it always to be, the affair of which a man thinks
oftenest in the course of the day.

16.--All day, the wind has been ahead, and very light. This evening, a
dead calm is upon the sea; but the sky is cloudless, and the air pure and
soft. All the well are enjoying the fine weather. The commodore and
captain walk the poop-deck; the other officers, except the lieutenant and
young gentlemen of the watch, are smoking on the forecastle, or
promenading the quarter-deck. A dozen steady old salts are rolling along
the gangways; and the men are clustered in knots between the guns,
talking, laughing, or listening to the yarns of their comrades--an
amusement to which sailors are as much addicted as the Sultan in the
Arabian Nights. But music is the order of the evening. Though a band is
not allowed to a ship of our class, there are always good musicians to be
found among the reckless and jolly fellows composing a man-of-war's crew.
A big landsman from Utica, and a dare-devil topman from Cape Cod, are the
leading vocalists; Symmes, the ship's cook, plays an excellent violin; and
the commodore's steward is not to be surpassed upon the tambourine. A
little black fellow, whose sobriquet is Othello, manages the castanets,
and there is a tolerable flute played by one of the afterguard. The
concerts usually commence with sentimental songs, such as "Home, sweet