m" came into port at Auckland. Mrs. Weldon did not hesitate, but
asked Captain Hull to take her on board to bring her back to San
Francisco--she, her son, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, an old negress who
had served her since her infancy. Three thousand marine leagues to
travel on a sailing vessel! But Captain Hull's ship was so well
managed, and the season still so fine on both sides of the Equator!
Captain Hull consented, and immediately put his own cabin at the
disposal of his passenger. He wished that, during a voyage which might
last forty or fifty days, Mrs. Weldon should be installed as well as
possible on board the whaler.

There were then certain advantages for Mrs. Weldon in making the voyage
under these conditions. The only disadvantage was that this voyage
would be necessarily prolonged in consequence of this circumstance--the
"Pilgrim" would go to Valparaiso, in Chili, to effect her unloading.
That done, there would be nothing but to ascend the American coast,
with land breezes, which make these parts very agreeable.

Besides, Mrs. Weldon was a courageous woman, whom the sea did not
frighten. Then thirty years of age, she was of robust health, being
accustomed to long voyages, for, having shared with her husband the
fatigues of several passages, she did not fear the chances more or less
contingent, of shipping on board a ship of moderate tonnage. She knew
Captain Hull to be an excellent seaman, in whom James W. Weldon had
every confidence. The "Pilgrim" was a strong vessel, capital sailer,
well quoted in the flotilla of American whalers. The opportunity
presented itself. It was necessary to profit by it. Mrs. Weldon did
profit by it.

Cousin Benedict--it need not be said--would accompany her.

This cousin was a worthy man, about fifty years of age. But,
notwithstanding his fifty years, it would not have been prudent to let
him go out alone. Long, rather than tall, narrow, rather than thin, his
figure bony, his skull enormous and very hairy, one recognized in his
whole interminable person one of those worthy savants, with gold
spectacles, good and inoffensive beings, destined to remain great
children all their lives, and to finish very old, like centenaries who
would die at nurse.

"Cousin Benedict"--he was called so invariably, even outside of the
family, and, in truth, he was indeed one of those good men who seem to
be the born cousins of all the world--Cousin Benedict, always impeded
by his long arms and