fitter for a vessel of
twice her size, and when her enormous mainsail was raised and usual
sail set, she looked more like one of those birds whose wings bear
such a disproportion to the body, that in the contemplation we forget
to what they are attached, than like a safe and sea-worthy craft. But
the shipwright who laid her keel and shaped her ribs, knew what he was
about, and the Calypso was as staunch and stiff as she was handsome.
Her cabin extended full one-half the length of the vessel, and by
means of a raised quarter deck, was conveniently high between joints,
so that even the tallest man ran no risk of striking his head. True,
it was not embellished with gilding, and mahogany, and satinwood, but
the paint was virgin white, the state-rooms commodious, the berths
wide, and the bedding and linen scrupulously clean. Captain Standish
prided himself upon the comfort and propriety of his craft, and the
good reputation he enjoyed and deserved. The length of the passage
varied according to the state of the winds and tides. It might, under
the most favorable circumstances, be made in less than twenty-four
hours, and it might last a week. It was at a period of the world's
existence, before steam and electricity had imparted a feverish
impatience to the community, and men did not hurry as if they had not
time enough to live.

But let it not be thought, that it is as one who peevishly resents the
improvements made in mechanical and other departments of knowledge, we
dwell upon these particulars. We are quite awake to the fact that the
world turns round, and although the consequence is an alternation
of light and darkness, are satisfied with the change. With the
philosopher Pangloss we would rather believe, "_dans ce meilleur des
mondes possible_," than to entertain any less cheerful opinion. No.
It is rather to perpetuate the remembrance of what has been, or to
qualify more truthfully and modestly the expression, to save it for a
moment longer from oblivion. It is with a melancholy pleasure that
one who has reached that stage of the journey of life, from which
henceforth his progress can only be one of continued descent towards
the valley whereon broods the cloud not untouched with rays of
divine light, reverts to whatever, even though they may seem trifles,
characterized the beginning of his career. Ah! it was the breaking of
the morning. For a time the sky glowed with a deepening glory, to fade
at last into the "light of