Joe Burnham, the son of the well-known millionaire mining-man, had, I knew, been recommended to go abroad for change of air about a year before, owing to failing health arising from too intense application to study. This, however, was all I knew, and I had no idea that he had concluded to take his change of air aboard a whaler. But knowing his taste for scientific pursuits of any and every character, I can not say that I was very much surprised to meet him again as I had just done. At any rate, the trip had certainly been most beneficial, as he had changed from a sickly and rather delicate student to a hale, hearty, and robust man. “Yes,” he remarked, as he came back from the dray, which was now moving slowly off, the four sturdy horses which drew it evidently straining under the weight with which it was loaded, “my doctor prescribed absolute freedom from brain-work of any kind. He shook his head when I suggested Europe. There was too much, he said, to be seen in Asia, or, in fact, in any other quarter of the globe, to insure the perfect repose he thought necessary. Even a prolonged yachting excursion did not meet his views. That, he said, would be worse than anything else. Its very monotony and loneliness would drive me to cogitation. The sea part of it, he admitted, was capital. If a sea voyage could be combined with excitement and something to do--but would I work? Then some lucky inspiration seemed to flash across my mind, and I asked him if there were any objections to a whaling trip. ‘The very thing,’ he said; ‘you have plenty of money and can go more as a passenger than as a sailor. You won’t have much time to study on board _that_ kind of a vessel, and I’ll risk all the chances you get to indulge in the study of the flora and fauna of the Arctic.’ And now you see how it is that I happen to be disembarking at the present moment from the stanch bark _Marion_.” “You seem to have got plenty of baggage, anyhow,” I returned, motioning toward the dray, which was now fast retreating in the direction of the city; “your share of the blubber, perhaps,” I added, banteringly; “or maybe specimens of the flora and fauna of the Arctic, which your doctor cautioned you against.” “Partly right and partly wrong,” said Burnham, sententiously and somewhat seriously; “you may have got nearer the truth about that queer parcel than you think. But this is no time or place to speak about it. Come up to the house to-morrow forenoon, if you have time, and I will show you something that will astonish you. I particularly wish you to come,” he added, with emphasis; “you will be amply repaid for doing so by what you will see. Meantime, I have something more to arrange on board this vessel.” So saying, he crossed the gangway and disappeared.