that no law would sustain it, and that, in addition to the
chances of being beaten on the spot, which were at least equal, he would
certainly be beaten in the courts at home, should he really attempt to
carry out his declared design. Then, he really deferred to the expectation
that his future good fortune might be influenced by his present
forbearance. Superstition forms a material part of a sailor's nature; if,
indeed, it do not that of every man engaged in hazardous and uncertain
adventures. How far his hopes were justified in this last respect, will
appear in the contents of a communication that Deacon Pratt received from
the master of his schooner, and to which we will now refer, as the
clearest and briefest mode of continuing the narrative.

The Sea Lion left Oyster Pond late in September. It was the third day of
March, in the succeeding year, that Mary was standing at a window, gazing
with melancholy interest at that point in the adjacent waters where last
she had seen, nearly six months before, the vessel of Roswell disappear
behind the woods of the island that bears his family name. There had been
a long easterly gale, but the weather had changed; the south wind blew
softly, and all the indications of an early spring were visible. For the
first time in three months, she had raised the sash of that window; and
the air that entered was bland, and savoured of the approaching season.

"I dare say, uncle"--the deacon was writing near a very low wood-fire,
which was scarcely more than embers--"I dare say, uncle," said the sweet
voice of Mary, which was a little tremulous with feeling, "that the ocean
is calm enough to-day. It is very silly in us to tremble, when there is a
storm, for those who must now be so many, many thousand miles away. What
is the distance between the Antarctic Seas and Oyster Pond, I wonder?"

"You ought to be able to calculate that yourself, gal, or what is the use
to pay for your schooling?"

"I should not know how to set about it, uncle," returned the gentle Mary,
"though I should be very glad to know."

"How many miles are there in a degree of latitude child? You know that, I
believe."

"More than sixty-nine, sir."

"Well, in what latitude is Oyster Pond?"

"I have heard Roswell say that we were a little higher, as he calls it,
than forty-one."

"Well, 41 times 69"--figuring as he spoke--"make 2829; say we are 3000
miles from the equator, the nearest way we can get there. Then, the