To this excellent bill of fare I must add that every single item is of the very best, and when it is mentioned that the ship was stored by Morris & Co., who include the White Star Line among their patrons, further comment is hardly necessary. All the pickles and preserves are in glass jars and put up by Crosse & Blackwell, Worcestershire sauce by Lea & Perrin, while olives, Edam cheese, and several varieties of biscuits are always on the table. With such eating, we can exclaim with Nansen, “Are we to be pitied when such cheer for the inner man is provided?” Coffee that is actually delicious washes down all these good things. Would that sailors fared as well in proportion. But oh, the surroundings! The captain in his table manners really isn’t so very much out of the way, but the mate and the table-cloth are utterly beyond language. The crust of dirt upon every visible portion of old Goggins’s anatomy is rapidly increasing, and mire of various sorts is crystallized in the folds of his corrugated skin. It is true that the second mate of the “Mandalore” was no better, but then he didn’t eat with us, while this creature does, instead of with his pachydermatous relatives in the sty. The table-cloth is a marvellous piece of work at the end of the third day, with islands of gravy, continents of soup, lakes of coffee, and dollops of all kinds of grease, so that it looks like a sort of hideous crazy quilt. All this could be avoided by using a piece of white oil-cloth instead of the soiled cotton cloth, and it could be wiped clean after each meal. But no deep-water skipper who ever lived could be induced to abandon his table-cloth, which he cherishes with an extravagant affection. To him it is one of the boundaries between the cabin and the forecastle, and anything reminding him of those evil days when he himself lived in that odious den is too monstrous for thought. Latitude, 58° 40′ south; longitude, 72° west. +July 25+