ABSTRACT
On board Steamer ‘Phoenix'. Pretty sleepy. Left London this morning at 8 which requires one to rise pretty early. My evil genius inhabits the water, & as it is always a comfort to resemble a great man in the smallest particular, I can solace myself by resembling Napoleon in this wise. Ever since I embarked in the unhappy Liverpool, the winds have blown themselves into a huge passion, & every now & then, when they catch me on the water, they pitch me about merrily. Just now it is blowing a thumping North Easter & the carpenter is amusing himself by nailing up the dead lights. The solemn gloom & closeness of the cabin, the rolling of the vessel & the squeamish look & actions of the passengers all denote the impending, if not present[,] storm. “Steward”, cries my neighbour, “get me a glass of brandy and water”, in a voice very little like the gruff tones of the same voice just now in boasting of having crossed the atlantic often & knocked about a good deal. “A bit of lunch, waiter!” says an extraordinary mulatto opposite, with the manners, appearance & conversation of an accomplished gentleman. It all won't do, gentlemen, you must be sick at last.
