e, when he broke off somewhat abruptly,
in the middle of a very tough yarn, leaving the gentlemen of the sword
to guess at the catastrophe.

As the party stood around a chest, upon which these whalebone toys, and
other curiosities, were displayed, Antonia dropt a bouquet from her
bosom. As Morton picked it up, and returned it to its fair owner, he
made some remark upon the beauty, and fragrance, of the flowers.

"Are you fond of flowers?" said the young lady.

"Yes, very."

"That I can answer for," said Coffin; "he is always, when on shore for
wood, water, or pleasure, in search of rare flowers, and shells. It is
well there are no such things at sea, or we should never have taken a
single whale--and then he paints those he finds so beautifully."

"What! _he_ paint flowers! a _man_ paint flowers! Santa Maria! who ever
heard of such a thing!" echoed the two young ladies.

"And why not, my children," said the fat priest, laughing; "do you
ladies think you have an exclusive title, and right, to all the elegant
accomplishments?"

"I do not doubt," said Coffin, "that Signor Morton would be proud to
show the ladies his drawings. Come, Charlie," he continued, in English,
"you shall not keep your candle under a bushel any longer--you see
you're in for it, and you may as well submit with a good grace."

So saying, he led the way to the cabin, where the drawings were paraded
upon the table. They were certainly very beautiful; for to a fondness
for the "serene and silent art," Morton added a natural taste for it,
which he had ample leisure to cultivate, during his long voyages. After
admiring them for some time, Madame de Luna gave the artist a cordial
invitation to visit their house, and garden, a mile or two beyond the
town; in the latter, she assured him, he would find some rare and
beautiful subjects for his pencil. Morton was exceedingly gratified by
this kindness, and said, in a low voice, and in English, to Isabella,
but without looking at, or apparently addressing, her, as she stood next
him, "Then I shall have the happiness of seeing you once more."

CHAPTER VI.

Love's power's too great to be withstood
By feeble human flesh and blood.
'Twas he that brought upon his knees
The hect'ring kil-cow Hercules;
Transform'd his leaguer-lion's skin
T' a petticoat, and made him spin;
Seiz'd on his club, and made it dwindle
T' a feeble distaff and a spindle.