The sailor is proverbial for his love of music. We were gamming with the “Phocion” on Wednesday, January 7th, and in the evening the cook of the “Phocion” came on board, bringing with him his violin. He was the _blackest_ man we ever saw—so black that we actually believe charcoal would make a white mark on him. He was not only cook on board the “P.,” but was also the “band.” He was asked down into the cabin to entertain his listeners with his melodious strains, and there requested to play “Hail Columbia;” and whether it was because we were so long absent from the land of Yankee Doodle, or whether we had no appreciation of music, we know not, yet we could discern no track or trace of “Hail Columbia,” as we were wont to hear it in times past. Not relishing it, we requested him to play “Yankee Doodle,” with the “variations.” He commenced, and before the first strain was ended the dogs left the cabin for the deck on the full run, howling, with their paws to their ears; the crockery in the steward’s room seemed to catch the infection, and danced about merrily; the officers, who had retired for their watch below, growled; the din increasing as the darkey worked into the merits of the tune, all tended to create admirable confusion, until we had faint ideas of being spectators and listeners in Pandemonium. The noise increased; the darkey sawed away more lustily than ever; the captain’s wife cried out that she was half crazy, until some person, who had “no soul for music,” threw a large sea-boot with such unerring aim and force, that, striking the “band” full in the countenance, fairly drove his nose in, as it was already as flat as possible; the claret flew, and the darkey, muttering something about not appreciating music, pocketed the insult and started forward for the forecastle. Here the concert again commenced, with all the “variations.” The men joined in, some singing, some drumming on tin-pans, some dancing, the Kanakas yelling, and the old darkey “coming down” with a vengeance. As these _melodious_ sounds reached the deck, we really imagined ourselves in Bedlam; at all events, we could not but wish the fiddler there with a hearty good-will. Tuesday, January 20th, we spoke the bark “Alfred Tyler,” of Edgartown, Captain Luce, who reported that a few days previous he had lost a boat and boat’s crew by desertion. They had supplied themselves with provisions and every thing necessary, and it was supposed had steered for Sydenham’s Island. Captain Luce, immediately disguising his vessel by paint, and transforming her into a ship, was in pursuit of the deserters, and felt confident that he should yet capture them.