over her fair neck and shoulders, and there was something so tender and
touching in the picture of these young lovers. "I have made you a
solemn promise, Tite," she replied, in broken accents. "That promise
shall be kept sacred. I shall think of you, and pray for you. Your
parents shall be my parents. I will count the days until you return."
She paused for a moment and wiped her eyes. "Neither storm nor tempest
shall trouble you, Tite, for I will follow you with my prayers that God
may carry you safe through all dangers, and bring you safe back to us.
But, Tite, take this advice from me. Do all you can for yourself. Rise
as high as you can; make all the money you can; and don't forget what we
may come to be. People who get money, and take care of it, are sure to
rise in the world. People that don't get money never do. But, God bless
you, Tite; think of me and I'll think of you." This advice to the young
sailor to make all the money he could, and given on the eve of
departure, may seem out of place to some of my romantic readers; but it
was, perhaps, the best Mattie could have given him. She was a girl of
strong affections, and it was only natural that she should have
something of the propensity so strong in both her parents. But beyond
and above this there was something frank and generous, something of real
good in her nature. Young as she was, she saw in Tite's courage and
ambition traits of character that promised well for the future. This
made her forget that which was so objectionable to her mother--that he
was only the son of common Dutch people.

Tite had been looking for the object of his anxiety several minutes,
when, turning toward Mattie, he exclaimed: "Here she comes! here she
comes!" and they kissed and took an affectionate farewell, each
hastening to their homes. The object he had watched for so intently was
the ship Pacific, belonging to the Hudson Company's fleet of whale
ships, and bound on a voyage to the South Sea, as it was called in those