Even in the cabin there was a tendency to dissatisfaction, and the passenger expressed his weariness of our simple and restricted fare by composing a parody on the "Ode to the Rocket," in which she was abused as heartily as any old sailor could have done it. His pencil was also called into requisition, and the scantiness of fare on the cabin table was graphically portrayed. Sea life is a severe test of disposition, and it must be a remarkable amiability which can endure its vicissitudes without complaint. Lord Byron's prescription for truly knowing a man: "Go to sea with him," is certainly correct, as regards knowledge of a man's temper. The first verse of the Parody will serve as an example of its sentiment: "IN THE DOLDRUMS--HOMEWARD BOUND." The _Rocket_ is an old tub's name, An aged Boston bark; Her lack of speed is known to fame, As I need not remark. For fifteen years she's rolled and pitched. And leaked in every clime, She's worn out two old captains And a young one in his prime. _Chorus._--The _Rocket_ we won't praise, For she's a wretched bark, Homelier than Joe Bowers' dog, And slower than Noah's ark. Our stock of conversation got low after so long a season of intercourse, and many trivial arguments were sustained for lack of better material. Perhaps the most frequent of these minor themes was the question, whether the dish which sailors always call "Hash," was properly hash or minced meat. [Illustration: Illustrated bill of fare:--"Spuds and Soft Tack."]