"What a profusion of viands--but how little to eat! this is cold; that
under-done; this is tough; that you never eat; while all smell oily;
oh, the only dish you did fancy, you can't touch, for that horrid
German has put his hand into it. But it is all told in one short
sentence; two hundred and fifty passengers supply two hundred and
fifty reasons themselves, why I should prefer a sailing vessel with a
small party to a crowded steamer. If you want to see them in
perfection go where I have been it on board the California boats, and
Mississippi river crafts. The French, Austrian, and Italian boats are
as bad. The two great Ocean lines, American and English, are as good
as anything bad can be, but the others are all abominable. They are
small worlds over-crowded, and while these small worlds exist, the
evil will remain; for alas, their passengers go backward and forward,
they don't emigrate--they migrate; they go for the winter and return
for the spring, or go in the spring and return in the fall.
"Come, Commodore, there is old Sorrow ringing his merry bell for us to
go to dinner. I have an idea we shall have ample room; a good
appetite, and time enough to eat and enjoy it: come, Sir, let us, like
true Americans, never refuse to go where duty calls us."
After dinner, Cutler reverted to the conversation we had had before we
went below, though I don't know that I should call it conversation,
either; for I believe I did, as usual, most of the talking myself.
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