at, gazed wildly round him,
and then broke out into peals of extravagant laughter, which continued
without intermission, and were the only replies which he could give to
the interrogatories of the quarter-deck, until he fell down in a swoon,
and was entrusted to the care of the surgeon.

CHAPTER TWO.

THE BACHELOR.

On the evening of the same day on which the child and the two negroes
had been saved from the wreck by the fortunate appearance of the
frigate, Mr Witherington, of Finsbury Square, was sitting alone in his
dining-room wondering what could have become of the _Circassian_, and
why he had not received intelligence of her arrival. Mr Witherington,
as we said before, was alone; he had his port and his sherry before him;
and although the weather was rather warm, there was a small fire in the
grate, because, as Mr Witherington asserted, it looked comfortable.
Mr Witherington having watched the ceiling of the room for some time,
although there was certainly nothing new to be discovered, filled
another glass of wine, and then proceeded to make himself more
comfortable by unbuttoning three more buttons of his waistcoat, pushing
his wig further off his head, and casting loose all the buttons at the
knees of his breeches; he completed his arrangements by dragging towards
him two chairs within his reach, putting his legs on one, while he
rested his arm on the other. And why was not Mr Witherington to make
himself comfortable? He had good health, a good conscience, and eight
thousand a-year.

Satisfied with all his little arrangements, Mr Witherington sipped his
port wine, and putting down his glass again, fell back in his chair,
placed his hands on his breast, interwove his fingers; and in this most
comfortable position recommenced his speculations as to the non-arrival
of the _Circassian_.

We will leave him to his cogitations while we introduce him more
particularly to our readers.

The father of Mr Witherington was a younger son of one of the oldest
and proudest families in the West Riding of Yorkshire: he had his choice
of the four professions allotted to younger sons whose veins are filled
with patrician blood--the army, the navy, the law, and the church. The
army did not suit him, he said, as marching and counter-marching were
not comfortable; the navy did not suit him, as there was little comfort
in gales of wind and mouldy biscuit: the law did not suit him, as he was
not sure that he would be at e