He was a well-formed man, of medium size, straight and compact, with light, curly hair, good features, a very clean face with rosy cheeks, and blue eyes that were really beautiful in their soft expression. His cheerful smile and modest blush made it a pleasure to accost him. He was always neat in his dress, and though four bells struck when he was riding down a stay "up to his eyes" in tar, he would dive into the forecastle and in a few minutes appear to take his trick at the wheel with clean dungaree pants and hickory shirt. As his clear voice repeated the course, "Nord, nord-east, half east," I would go below saying to myself, "The ship will be well steered these two hours." Where is John now? Has he bought his farm yet in the Faderland? Or has he fallen over board, or died in a foreign hospital? Has he been disheartened by the harsh treatment of cruel mates and become degraded in his habits on shore? May God bless him wherever he is, and through all his wanderings bring him safely to the Fatherland! We attempted a Christmas dinner in the cabin, while the sailors had their plum duff in honor of the festival. Our table bore a goodly display of articles, as regards name, but probably their quality would be less attractive to landsmen's palates. We dressed in our "shore togs;" appropriate sentiments were uttered, and an original ode was recited, as follows: ODE TO THE _ROCKET_. TUNE: "_Van Amburgh's Menagerie_." The _Rocket_ is our vessel's name, A noble Boston bark. Her qualities are known to fame, As I need not remark. For fourteen years she's ploughed the wave, And sailed through every clime; Though billows roar and tempests rave, She always comes to time. _Chorus_: The _Rocket_ now we'll praise, For she's as good a craft As ever dashed aside the sprays, Or at the storm-king laughed. The captain, first and second mate, A passenger beside, Are lads as true as ever ate Plum duff upon the tide. The Straits of Sunda is our goal To which we're speeding free; And now we fill the flowing bowl To life upon the sea. _Chorus_: Here comes the fiery _Rocket_ With sportsmen smart and gay; If birds would not be shot at They'd better keep away. When with fresh wind and flowing sheet We're flying through the foam, Our hearts with joy and gladness beat, As round the world we roam. Or in the calm and tropic night, The stars recall to mind The eyes, as beautiful and bright Of girls we've left behind. _Chorus_: Speed on thou noble _Rocket_! Until the voyage ends, And our good fortune brings us Once more to home and friends. Roll on ye waves, ye breezes blow, Swift speed us on our course, And soon to Asia's shores we'll show The Ensign and Black Horse.[1] And when we step on Java's strand, Our double toast shall be The glorious old bark _Rocket_, and The Romance of the sea.