Mr. Hendee undertook to teach me American etiquette, the discipline at the table, in the parlor, etc., but he is such a jolly man that whatever he taught I took for fun. He would ask me every morning, and a great many times during the day, “Philip, how do you feel?” My answers varied according to the true state of my feelings. While sick, I said so, and while cheerful, I said _so_. But this would not satisfy him. So he taught me to answer him as follows: “Philip!” “Sir.” “How do you feel?” “All serene.” Then he would respond, “_Salubrious_.” He told me, in fun, no doubt, that in Divinity Schools they make such long prayers, that the students find their limbs stiff, having had to kneel down so long. I hoped my friends would not put me in a school like those, that would cause me to go home lame after prayers. We had a remarkably pleasant voyage. Very few storms were experienced on our way. One day, after a severe squall, Captain Hendee sat on the gangway, tired yet cheerful, and, as usual, cried, “Philip, how do you feel?” He asked me what I thought of the late squall, and hearing me speak indifferently of it, said, “Philip, you are just like a baby that knows not what is going on before him,” etc. And then he began to sing, “From all that dwell below the skies,” etc. He would not hear any one swear in the cabin, and often would say, “Mr. C., (the second mate,) don’t, don’t.” Every soul on board was kind to me, and I trust I was not less to them. “Antoon,” a Spanish sailor, hearing that I did not eat salt meat, gave me a sharp exhortation. “You are no good Christian! Me, the captain, Mr. B., etc., are good Christians. We eat beef, ham, pork, plenty,--we fat,” putting his hand on his stomach.