Our first day’s dinner on board, with things in the state I have described—_i.e._ the _Rottenbeam Castle_ reeling and staggering like a drunken man—was a most comical affair, and I should have enjoyed it extremely had my nausea been less. It is true, with some variations, the scene was afterwards frequently repeated (except when sea-pie was the order of the day); but then, though I was no longer qualmish, it in turn had lost the master-charm of novelty. We were summoned to dinner as usual, on the day in question, by the drummers and fifers—or rather, to be more respectful, the “Captains Band;” but, from the difficulty of preserving an equilibrium, these worthies mangled the “Roast Beef of Old England” most unmercifully. The dapper little steward, with his train of subordinates, had some difficulty in traversing the deck with their savoury burthens; unable to march as before, heads erect, like a squad of recruits, the grand purveyor, with his silver tureen in the van, they now emerged theatrically from the culinary regions—advancing with slides and side-steps, like a _corps de ballet_—now a halt, then a simultaneous run—then balancing on one leg—and finally (hitting the moment of an equipoise) a dart into the cuddy, where, with some little difficulty, each contrived to deposit his dish. The passengers, emerging from various doors and openings, tottering and holding on as best they might, now made their way to seats, and amidst the most abominable creaking and groaning that ever saluted my ears the operation of dinner began. In spite of sand-bags, however, and all other appliances, there was no restraining the ambulatory freaks of the dishes, and we were scarcely seated when a tremendous lee-lurch sent a tureen of peasoup souse over the doctor s kerseymere waistcoat and Brummel tie; and a roast pig, as if suddenly resuscitated and endued with a spirit of frenzy, darted from its dish, and, cantering furiously down the whole length of the table, finally effected a lodgment in Miss Dobbikins’ lap, to the infinite dismay of that young lady, who uttering a faint shriek, hastily essayed, with Ensign O’Shaughnessy’s assistance, to divest herself of the intrusive porker. I, for my part, was nearly overwhelmed by an involuntary embrace from the charming Miss Olivia; whilst, to add to the confusion, at this particular moment, Mr. Cadet Grundy, governed rather by sight than a due consideration of circumstances and the laws of gravitation, made a desperate lunge at one of the swinging tables, which he thought was making a most dangerous approach to the perpendicular, in order to steady it, and the immediate result was, a fearful crash of glasses and decanters, and a plentiful libation of port and sherry. “Are ye mod, sir, to do that?” exclaimed the captain, with ill-suppressed vexation at the destruction of his glasses, and forgetting his usual urbanity. “I thought they were slipping off, sir,” said Grundy, with great humility.