Yesterday, David and I were talking about our sisters.  I told him all about Nannie, and that I thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole State of Virginia, and that was saying a great deal for her.

He allowed that this might be true, but he had a sister of his own who was a match for her, and began describing her quite like a poet, and then quoted some pretty lines from a piece addressed to a sister, by Mr. Everett, I believe.

The words seemed to touch Moody Dick, who was pacing the deck near us, for he stopped and listened to them with that same distressed expression of countenance which I had noticed before, and when they were finished he said, half unconsciously,—­“A sister!  I have a sister.  There is none like her.”

“Have you seen her lately?” I asked.  “It must be hard to be so much away from her.”

“I have not seen her for many years; but what is that to you?” he replied, almost angrily.

My question might have been injudicious, and I immediately made an apology for it, which appeased Dick.  He walked up and down the deck two or three times, as if debating some point in his own mind, and then, returning, said, in a very sad tone,—­“My life has been a useless one, but I wish to make what is left of some service to others.  You two boys are still young, and may be saved from the errors into which I have fallen.  Come with me to the end of the vessel, where there are no listeners, and I will tell you the story of my life, and you will then know better how to appreciate a sister’s love than you have ever done before.”

You may imagine that we accepted this invitation very readily, but just as I was seated Clarendon called to me to come quickly to him, for he was very ill; so I had to jump up and run away.

I found that brother had only an attack of pain in his chest, which proceeds from his dyspepsia; but it alarmed him very much, and when it was over, I saw that Dick was reading his Bible by the dim light of the only lantern on board, and as I knew it would do him good, I did not disturb him again that night.  I am really anxious to know more about his sister, and why he staid away from her so long.

I don’t think that it would be pleasant to go to sea for a business, on the whole.  I used to imagine that a sailor’s life must be one of the happiest in the world; but now I see it has very great trials.  I am so glad that the people on land are beginning to feel an interest in those on the water; for they sacrifice much to procure for them the comforts and luxuries of foreign lands.

I expect, Bennie, that you will be half asleep before you have done reading this letter, for I was a little homesick when I began it, and that makes any one stupid.  Brown Tom saw that I looked, as he said, “rather watery,” and, by way of cheering me, he told me, if that black cloud in the northeast was coming over us, I would have something worse than home-sickness before night.