12G A BIRTHDAY DINNER. 



raisins and olives and Yankee cheese and Boston 

 crackers and coffee and cigars, and I don't know what 

 else besides. There were a couple of carefully-treas- 

 ured bottles of Moselle produced from the little recep- 

 tacle under my bunk, and some madeira and sherry 

 from the same place. 



The only dish that was purely local in its character 

 was a mayonnaise of frozen venison (raw) thinly sliced 

 and dressed in the open air. It was very crisp, but 

 its merits were not duly appreciated. The " Bill ' 

 wound up thus : — " Music on the fiddle by Knorr. 

 Song, 'We won't go home till mornin',' by the mess. 

 Original ' yarns' always in order, but 'Joe Millers' 

 forbidden on penalty of clearing out the ' fire-hole ' 

 for the balance of the night." 



I left the party two hours ago in unrestrained en- 

 joyment of the evening. And right good use do they 

 appear to be making of the occasion. The whole 

 ship's company seem to be like Tarn O'Shanter, — 



" O'er a' the ills o' life victorious," 



without, however, so far as I can discover, any thing 

 of the cause which led to that renowned individual's 

 satisfactory state of mind. The sailors are following 

 up their feast with a lively dance, into which they 

 have forced Marcus and Jacob ; while the officers, like 

 true-born Americans, are making speeches. At this 

 moment I hear some one proposing the health of 

 "The Great Polar Bear." 



