Hurrah for New England! | Page 5

and myself where to get such beautiful ones as yours."
This morning, before we had half done breakfast, I heard a bright,

pleasant voice asking of our host, in a free and easy way,--"Captain
Peck, is there considerable of a pretending chap here who's going out
fishing in our craft to-day? When the salt water has washed some of his
airs out of him he'll be good for something; and his brother ain't so bad
now."
You should have seen Clarendon taking as much of a glance at himself
in the little wooden-framed looking-glass, opposite the breakfast-table,
as the size of it would allow, when he heard this qualified compliment.
"A pretty way, that, of speaking of Clarendon Beverley!" he exclaimed,
almost fiercely. "These Yankees have no respect for any thing on earth,
but their own boorish selves."
"But he is only a little boy, about thirteen or fourteen, brother," I said,
coaxingly; "and that's his way of praising." For I did not want to lose
our new acquaintance. "He can show us where to get our clothes, just
as well as if he had better manners."
The scene at the little shop where we went for our new clothes was
comical, even to me, though I am used to brother's ways; so I could not
wonder that some sailors at the door laughed out.
"I would like some coarse jackets and trousers for this lad and myself,"
he said. "Of course, we do not need any different under-clothes."
"That shirt of yours," said the shopman, pointing to the ribbon binding
of a fine silk shirt, which had slipped below brother's beautiful linen
wristband, "would be terribly uncomfortable when it was wringing wet,
and soon spoiled by sailor's washing. Nobody of any sense would think
of going to sea in such things as those."
Poor Clarendon! the thought of those red-flannel shirts was near killing
him; for they were just like those our negroes wear, and so were the
duck trousers. When, at last, he was persuaded to have them sent home,
and put them on for trial, they did seem most ludicrously unsuitable. I
never saw him, however, look so handsome in my life; for his tarpaulin
is mighty becoming to his pale, dark face, and those jet moustaches of

his, when he has not time to tend them and keep every hair in place,
will be quite fierce. He looked as solemn when he got his sea-rig on, as
if he was about preaching a sermon.
O, that reminds me that I have not told you of our visit to old Father
Taylor's church in Boston! His text was,--"He that cometh unto me
shall never thirst." And every word of the sermon was just suited to the
plain tars whom he was addressing. He baptized some children more
touchingly than any one I ever saw. Their mother was the widow of a
sailor, who had been lost on a late cruise, and sat beside the altar alone
with two little boys, the youngest an infant in her arms. As the old
father took it from her and kissed it, a tear of sympathy with the
bereaved parent actually fell from his kind eye, on the little, round
cheek; and I shall never forget the manner in which, after the rite was
performed, he replaced it in her arms, saying,--"Go back to your
mother's bosom, and may you never be a thorn there."
Captain Peck, our host,--and a worthy man he is, who was himself a
sailor till he was washed overboard and lost his health,--has just come
in to say that it is time for "our chest," as he calls brother's portmanteau,
to be on board; so I must say good by. My next will probably be sent
from some port, into which we may run for a few hours.
Yours, ever,
PIDGIE.

LETTER III.
OUR MESSMATES.
FROM PIDGIE TO HIS COUSIN BENNIE.
Bay of Fundy, July 9th, 1846.
O Bennie, how I wish you were here! You used to enjoy so much
skulling around that little pond of Mr. Mason's in his flat boat, what

would you do to be bounding over the water as we are now? I am
sitting Turk-fashion on the deck-floor, leaning against the mast, and, as
you see, writing with a pencil, being afraid to use my inkstand, lest
some stray wave should give it a capsize. There comes one now, that
has washed our floor for us, and it needed it badly enough; nor do I
mind the wetting, for I am bare-footed and my duck trousers always
expect it. We have been five days now upon the water, and since we
have thrown overboard the good things that Clarendon laid in for the
voyage, and taken to sailor's fare, we have no