"A statesman, then," resumed the Purser, "should recall most vividly the only element by which he can effectually be purified." "Sulphur is not to be used under the rays of the sun," interposed the Commodore; "let's take to a more cooling element." A few moments were devoted to extra-careful stowing, for there was a likelihood that _terra firma_ would again be reached only on the shores of the great St. Lawrence. The Vice, with the statesmanlike instinct of saving himself by assisting his companions heavenward, endeavored by fair means and foul to persuade the others to accommodate his gun, shot-bag and the volume of Tupper, but regarding the latter his failure was complete. At length he slyly tossed it into the branches of an umbrageous ash, a picturesque old landmark of centuries. But the Commodore saw him, and went handsomely to the rescue of the old tree by knocking the book out with a boat-hook. "There are trees enough being destroyed daily by coon-hunters, road-boards, and other villains," said he, "and I won't stand quietly by and see so splendid a specimen crushed beneath so relentless a weight." "But somebody may find the book," pleaded the Vice, who was already afloat. "Thank heaven, the natives can't read English," replied the Commodore, "so they won't be injured." "But I supposed I might find it there when I came this way on next summer's cruise," said the Vice. "So you will," said the Commodore; "neither wind nor wave can move any thing so heavy: when that book changes its base, there'll be nothing left to cruise with, and nobody left to cruise."