94 
BREAKFAST. 
“Now for the bill of fare. ‘Who cooked?’—I am 
describing a gala-day.—‘ It was Morton: he felt so 
much better that he got up at six; but he caved in 
soon after— 
“ First, coffee, great comforter to hard-worked men; 
one part of the genuine berry to three of navy-beans; 
next, sugar: what complex memories the word brings 
back !—the veritable sugar has been long ago defunct; 
but we have its representative molasses twice a week 
in our tea. Third, butter; there it is in a mutilated 
vegetable-dish; my own invention, melted from salt 
beef and washed in many waters : the unskilled might 
call it tallow. Fourth, a real delicacy, not to be sur¬ 
passed in court or camp, for Morton was up to see to 
it ; —a pile of hot rolls of fine Virginia flour. What 
else ? Nothing else: the breakfast resolves itself into 
bean-coffee, tallow, and hot bread. Yet a cordial meal 
it is. I am sorry to hurry over it so uncourteously, for 
I could dwell with Charles Lamb’s pensive enthusiasm 
upon the fleslipots; but I have been longer in de¬ 
scribing the feast than it takes us to dispose of it. I 
hurry on with the interesting detail. Dinner is break¬ 
fast, with the beans converted into soup instead of 
coffee; and supper boasts of stewed apples. 
“Work commences at nine. Petersen is off with 
his gun, and the two remaining dearly-beloved Rogers 
arrange their carte: one makes the round of the sick 
and deals out their daily allowance of raw meat; the 
other goes to cutting ice. Those who can sit in bed 
and work, pick eider-down or cotton, for coverlets to our 
