ry man that ever
sailed the sea, or sat in a chair telling about it, in the whole
habitable globe. Miriam Haven alone was distant from the scene, gliding
to and fro past the door, busied in household duties in a neighboring
apartment, and catching a word here and there as she glanced by.

It was a wonderful story, certainly, the Captain was telling, and it
seemed beyond all belief that it could be true that one man could have
seen the whales, the icebergs, the floating islands, the ships in the
air, the sea-dogs, and grampuses, the flying-fish, the pirates, and the
thousand other wonders the Captain reported to have crossed his path in
a single trip across the simple Atlantic and back. He also averred to
have distinctly seen the sea-serpent, and what was more, to have had a
conversation with a ship in the very middle of the ocean. Was there
anything wonderful in that? it occurs every day--but listen to the
jovial Captain!--a ship--and he had news to tell them of one they would
like to hear about. They pressed close to the Captain and listened
breathlessly; Miriam Haven pausing in her task, and stopping stone-still
like a statue, in the door, while her very heart stayed its beating.

Go on--Captain--go on--go on!

"Well, what do you think; we were in latitude--no matter, you don't care
about that--we had just come out of a great gale, which made the sea
pitch-dark about us; when the first beam of the sun opened the clouds,
we found ourselves along side a ship with the old stars and stripes
flying like a bird at the mast-head. There was a sight, my hearties. We
hailed her, she hailed us, we threw her papers, she threw us, and we
parted forever."

"Is that all?"

"Not half. One of these was a list of passengers; I run my eye up, and I
run my eye down, and there, shining out like a star amongst them all, I
find, whose d'ye think--Elbridge Peabody--as large as life."

Miriam Haven staggered against the door-post, the widow fell upon her
knees, "Thank God, my boy is heard from."

Little Sam Peabody darted from the Captain's knee and rushed upon the
balcony, crying at the top of his lungs, "Grandfather, brother Elbridge
is heard from."

"I don't believe it," said William Peabody; the poor old blind sorrel
had disappeared from sight into a piece of woods near the orchard, and
the merchant had quite recovered his usual way of speaking. "Never will
believe it. You hav'nt heard of that youngster,--never will. Always knew