now, when i say that i am in the habit of going to sea whenever i begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, i do not mean to have it inferred that i ever go to sea as a passenger. for to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. besides, passengers get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don’t sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;—no, i never go as a passenger; nor, though i am something of a salt, do i ever go to sea as a commodore, or a captain, or a cook. i abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them. for my part, i abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. it is quite as much as i can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not.