mith, the skipper, a regular-built, true-blue,
Yankee ship-master. Though his short black curls are thickly sprinkled
with gray, he has not yet seen forty years; but the winds and suns of
every zone have left their indelible traces upon him. He is an
intelligent, well-informed man, though self-taught, well versed in the
science of trade, and is a very energetic and efficient officer.

The tall gentleman, just folding his doily, is the mate of the ship,
Mr. Stewart. You would hardly suppose him to be a sailor at the first
glance; and yet he is a perfect specimen of what an officer in the
merchant service should be, notwithstanding his fashionably-cut
broadcloth coat, white vest, black gaiter-pants, and jeweled fingers.
He is dressed for the theatre. Mr. Stewart is a graduate of Harvard,
and at first went to sea to recover the health which had been somewhat
impaired by hard study; but becoming charmed with the profession, he
has followed it ever since, and says that it is the most manly
vocation in the world. He is a great favorite with the owner of the
ship; and when he is at Boston, always resides with him. He will
command a ship himself after this voyage. His age is twenty-eight. Mr.
Stewart is a handsome man, a polite gentleman, an accomplished
scholar, a thorough seamen, a strict but kind officer, a most
companionable shipmate, and, in one word--a fine fellow.

Next comes Mr. Brewster, the second mate. That is he devouring those
huge slices of cold beef with so much gusto, while Langley mutters,
"Will he never have done!" He with the blue jacket, bedizzened so
plentifully with small pearl buttons, the calico shirt, and
fancifully-knotted black silk cravat around his brawny neck.

Mr. Micah Brewster hails from Truro, Cape Cod, and, like all Capemen,
is a Yankee sailor, every inch of him. He commenced going to sea when
only twelve years old, by shipping for a four months' trip in a
banker; and in the space of fourteen years, which have since elapsed,
he has not been on shore as many months. He is complete in every
particular of seamanship, and is, besides, a tolerably scientific
navigator. He knows the color and taste of the water all along shore
from Cape Farewell to the Horn, and can tell the latitude and
longitude of any place on the chart without consulting it. Bowditch's
Epitome, and Blunt's Coast Pilot, seem to him the only books in the
world worth consulting, though I should, perhaps, except Marryatt's
novels