“Why we do make out to ascertain the difference,” replied the captain, a little puzzled for an answer; “and I suppose it must be by means of the barometer, which goes up and down like a pair of scales.  But the time I mean, we was a scuddin’ under a goose-wing foresail—­”

“A sail made of goose’s wings, and a beautiful object it must be; like some of the caps and cloaks that come from the islands, which are all of feathers, and charming objects are they.  I beg pardon—­you had your goose’s wings spread—­”

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; we was steering for a Mediterranean port, intending to clear a mole-head, when a sea took us under the larboard-quarter, gave us such a sheer to-port as sent our cat-head ag’in a spile, and raked away the chain-plates of the top-mast back-stays, bringing down all the forrard hamper about our ears.”

This description produced such a confusion in the mind of the widow, that she was glad when it came to an end.  As for the captain, fearful that the “goose’s wings” might be touched upon again, he thought it wisest to attempt another flight on those of Cupid.

“As I was sayin’, Madam Budd, friendship is n’t love; no, not a bit of it!  Friendship is a common sort of feelin’:  but love, as you must know by exper’ence, Madam Budd, is an uncommon sort of feelin’.”

“Fie, Captain Spike, gentlemen should never allude to ladies knowing any thing about love.  Ladies respect, and admire, and esteem, and have a regard for gentlemen; but it is almost too strong to talk about their love.”

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; I dare say it is so, and ought to be so; and I ask pardon for having said as much as I did.  But my love for your niece is of so animated and lastin’ a natur’, that I scarce know what I did say.”

“Captain Spike, you amaze me!  I declare I can hardly breathe for astonishment.  My niece!  Surely you do not mean Rosy!”

“Who else should I mean?  My love for Miss Rose is so very decided and animated, I tell you, Madam Budd, that I will not answer for the consequences, should you not consent to her marryin’ me.”

“I can scarce believe my ears!  You, Stephen Spike, and an old friend of her uncle’s, wishing to marry his niece!”

“Just so, Madam Budd; that’s it, to a shavin’.  The regard I have for the whole family is so great, that nothin’ less than the hand of Miss Rose in marriage can, what I call, mitigate my feelin’s.”

Now the relict had not one spark of tenderness herself in behalf of Spike; while she did love Rose better than any human being, her own self excepted.  But she had viewed all the sentiment of that morning, and all the fine speeches of the captain, very differently from what the present state of things told her she ought to have viewed them; and she felt the mortification natural to her situation.  The captain was so much bent on the attainment of his own object, that he saw nothing else, and was even unconscious that