most worshipped for an absence of two years, and
to go on a voyage that probably would expose him to more risks and
suffering than any other enterprise then attempted by sea-faring men. Our
young sailor thought not of the last at all, but he fell asleep dreaming
of Mary.

The master of the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond was called precisely at the hour
he had named. Five minutes sufficed to bring him on deck, where he found
everything as he had left it, with the exception of the schooner itself.
In the six hours he had been below, his vessel had moved her position out
to sea nearly forty miles. No land was now to be seen, the American coast
being very tame and unpicturesque to the eye, as the purest patriot, if he
happen to know anything of other parts of the world, must be constrained
to admit. A low, monotonous coast, that is scarcely visible at a distance
of five leagues, is certainly not to be named in the same breath with
those glorious shores of the Mediterranean, for instance, where nature
would seem to have exhausted herself in uniting the magnificent with the
bewitching. On this continent, or on our own portion of it at least, we
must be content with the useful, and lay no great claims to the beautiful;
the rivers and bays giving us some compensation in their admirable
commercial facilities, for the sameness, not to say tameness, of the
views. We mention these things in passing, as a people that does not
understand its relative position in the scale of nations, is a little apt
to fall into errors that do not contribute to its character or
respectability; more especially when they exhibit a self-love founded
altogether on ignorance, and which has been liberally fed by flattery.

The first thing a seaman does on coming on deck, after a short absence, is
to look to windward, in order to see how the wind stands, and what are the
prospects of the weather. Then he turns his eyes aloft to ascertain what
canvass is spread, and how it draws. Occasionally, the order of these
observations is changed, the first look being sometimes bestowed on the
sails, and the second on the clouds. Roswell Gardiner, however, cast his
first glance this morning towards the southward and westward, and
perceived that the breeze promised to be steady. On looking aloft, he was
well satisfied with the manner in which everything drew; then he turned to
the second mate, who had the watch, whom he addressed cheerfully, and with
a courtesy that is not alw