“’Tis a remarkable spot, as no one can deny,” answered Daggett; “but I like its abundance of seal the most of all T cannot say I have much taste for sights, unless they bring the promise of good profit with them.  We Vineyarders live in a small way, and are not rich enough to take delight in landscapes.”

“Serve God, and reverence his holy name,” said Stimson, earnestly, “and all places will be good to look upon.  I have been on the Vineyard in my time, and have never found any difference as to the spot, so long as the heart is right.”

“A poor man must work,” answered Daggett, dropping his eyes from the more distant and gorgeous views of the drifting ice-mountains, to the rocky shore, that was still frequented by thousands of seals, some of the largest of which might be seen, even from that elevation, waddling about; “ay, a poor man must work, Sundays or no Sundays; and he who would make his hay, must do it while the sun shines.  I like meetin’-goin’ at the right place, and sealin’ when sealin’ ought to be done.  This day is lost, I fear, and I hope we shall not have reason to regret it.”

Stimson did not abandon what he conceived to be his duty, but answered this cold, worldly spirit in the best manner his uncultivated speech enabled him to do.  But his words were thrown away on Daggett.  The lust of gold was strong within him; and while that has full dominion over the heart, it is vain to expect that any purely spiritual fruits will ripen there.  Daggett was an instance of what, we fear, many thousands resembling him might be found, up and down the land, of a man energetic by temperament, industrious by habit, and even moderate in his views, but whose whole existence is concentrated in the accumulation of property.  Born poor, and in a state of society in which no one other generally recognised mode of distinction is so universally acknowledged as that of the possession of money, it is not surprising that a man of his native disposition should early bend all his faculties to this one great object.  He was not a miser, Irke Deacon Pratt, for he could spend freely, on occasion, and perfectly understood the necessity of making liberal outfits to insure ample returns; but he lived for little else than for gain.  What such a man might have become, under more favourable auspices, and with different desires instilled into his youthful mind, it is not easy to say; it is only certain that, as he was, the steel-trap is not quicker to spring at the touch, than he was to arouse all his manifold energies at the hopes or promise of profit.  As his whole life had been passed in one calling, it was but natural that his thoughts should most easily revert to the returns that calling had so often given.  He never dreamed of speculations, knew nothing of stocks, had no concern with manufactures in cotton or wool, nor had any other notion of wealth than the possession of a good farm on the Vineyard, a reasonable amount of money “at use,” certain interests in coasters, whalers, and sealers, and a sufficiency of household effects, and this in a very modest way, to make himself and family comfortable.  Notwithstanding this seeming moderation, Daggett was an intensely covetous man; but his wishes were limited by his habits.