31st. — Three days have passed without any thing worthy of notice having occurred, except that we already feel the difference of temperature. The passengers are still enduring sea-sickness in all its phases.
This morning opened with an angry dispute between two of the gentlemen, on the subject of Cuban lotteries, and they ended by applying to each other epithets which, however much they might be deserved, were certainly rather strong; but by dinner time, they were amicably engaged in concocting together an enormous tureen of gaspachos, a sort of salad, composed of bread, oil, vinegar, sliced onion and garlic—and the fattest one declares that in warm "weather, a dish of gaspachos, with plenty of garlic in it, makes him feel as fresh as a rose. He must indeed be a perfect bouquet.
The opening of morning is dramatic in our narrow cabin. About twenty voices in Spanish, German, Italian, and broken English, strike up by degrees. From a neighbouring state room, Nid d'oiseau puts forth his head. "Stooar! a toomlar! here is no vater!" "Comin, sir, comin." "Caramba! Stooard!" "Comin, sir, comin!" "Stuart? vasser und toel!" "Here, sir!" "Amigo! how is the wind?" (This is the waking up of el Señor Ministro, putting his head half suffocated out of his berth.) "Oh steward! steward!" "Yes, miss," "Come here, and look at this!" "I'll fix it, miss,"—&c.
1st November.—A fair wind after a stifling night, and strong hopes of seeing the Bahama Banks on Sunday. Most people are now gradually ascending from
