A piano never sounds well on ship-board—the cabins are too small, and the ceilings too low. To the sick and nervous, (and all who are sea-sick become very nervous,) this instrument is peculiarly annoying. Therefore be kind enough to spare them the annoyance. You can practise when the weather is fine, and the invalids are on deck. Pianos have been abolished in many of the finest ships. Such instruments as can be carried on deck, and played in the open air, are, on the contrary, very delightful at sea, when in the hands of good performers—particularly on a moonlight evening.
In going to England, take with you no American reprints of English books, unless you intend leaving them on board the ship. If you attempt to land them, they will be seized at the custom-house. American books by American authors are not prohibited.
Make no attempt to smuggle any thing. You may be detected and disgraced. The risk is too great, and the advantage too little.
When you leave your state-room to sit in the ladies’ cabin, do not fall to relating the particulars of your sickness, or complaining of the smallness of your apartment, the rolling of the ship, or the roughness of the waves. These inconveniences are unavoidable, and must always be expected in a sea-voyage; and talking about them too much seems to magnify their evils.
If there is any deficiency in accommodations or attentions, either try as well as you can to do without them, or in a kind and considerate manner endeavour to obtain them of the servants, if not too inconvenient, or against the ship’s regulations.
It is very inconsiderate to have things cooked at luncheon time purposely for yourself. Ladies who are quite well will sometimes order baked apples, stewed prunes, buttered toast, arrow-root, cups of tea or coffee, &c.,—notwithstanding that the lunch-table is always profusely spread with a variety of cold articles; and that when dinner is cooking at the same time, the small size of the kitchen renders any extra preparations very inconvenient to the preparers.
CHAPTER XIII.
LETTERS.
The practice of inclosing letters in envelopes is now universal; particularly as when the letter is single no additional postage is charged for the cover. The postage now is in almost every instance pre-paid, it being but three cents when paid by the writer, and five if left to the receiver. Therefore, none but very poor or very mean people send unpaid letters. Letter-stamps for the United States post should be kept in a little box on your writing-table. You can get them always by sending to the post-office—from a dollar’s worth or more, down to fifty or twenty-five cents’ worth, at a time. In a second box, keep stamps for the city or penny post, which transmits notes from one part of the town to another. And in a third, stamps to go on the covers of newspapers.
Sealing with wax is found to be very insecure for letters that are carried by steamers into warm climates—the wax melting with the heat, and sticking the letters to each other, so that they cannot be separated without tearing. Wafers are better.
It would be very convenient to use the post-office stamp as a seal, but the clerks in that establishment charge extra postage for the trouble of turning the letter to mark the stamp. This subjects the receiver to the payment of two additional cents.