JOHN WILLIAMS, THE COOK.
- son, garnished with currant-jelly, which was awaiting
me, and upon the preparation of which the cook had evidently exhausted all his skill; and afterward Knorr made for me, with my alcohol furnace, a cup of aromatic Mocha.
And so one may find pleasure even where Bacchus and Cupid deign not to come. True, this is the region into which Apollo voluntarily wandered after the decree of Olympus made him an exile, and where the Hellenic poets dreamed of men living to an incredible age, in the enjoyment of all possible felicity; but, to say the truth, I question the wisdom of the banished god, as tradition makes no mention of a schooner, and I find that in this "Residence of Boreas" one must look out for himself pretty sharply,—poets to the contrary, notwithstanding.
The cook brought me the dinner himself. "I tinks de Commander likes dis," said he, "coming from de cold."
"Yes, cook, it is really superb. Now, what can I do for you?"
"Tank you, sar! I tinks if de Commander would only be so kind as to give me a clean shirt, I shall be very tankful. He see dis one be very dirty, and I gets no time to vash him."
"Certainly, cook, you shall have two."
"Tank you, sar!"—and he bends himself half double, meaning it for a bow, and goes back well pleased to his stove and his coppers.
Our cook is quite a character. He is much the oldest man on board, and is the most singular mixture of adverse moral qualities that I have ever chanced to meet. He makes it his boast that he has never been off the ship's deck since leaving Boston. "Vat should
