I don’t think that I shall ever want to go abroad myself; for they say that in foreign countries one sees so many poor, miserable children; and that would make me so unhappy that I should not enjoy any thing.  I said so to David; but he talks like a young philosopher.  He seems to have a way of keeping himself from feeling badly about others, though he has a very good heart, and, if he gave way to it, could make himself as unhappy about others as I sometimes do.  He says he could enjoy looking at St. Peter’s quite as much if there were a few beggars around it.  I was sure, for my part, that I could take no pleasure in looking at the most beautiful building, if I saw any one who was suffering at the same time.

Clarendon laughed when he heard me make this remark, and said that I was too chicken-hearted for a boy, and ought to have been a girl.  He need not smile at me, for he feels himself more quickly than the New-Englanders, though, after they have weighed any case of suffering in their own minds, they would do quite as much to relieve it.  I can never think them cold-hearted, after visiting Boston and seeing their hospitals and schools.  While I was there, there was a tremendous fire in the neighbourhood, by which a great many poor people lost their all.  But the intelligence was hardly received before thousands of dollars were subscribed for their relief.  They certainly have a great deal of real feeling and generosity, and if they would only express a little more of it in manner and words, every body would allow them to be, what I know they are, the kindest people in the world, always excepting the dear old Virginians.  They speak, act, think, and feel just as they ought to do.  You will perceive, from this last remark, that I am not turning traitor to the Old Dominion.  We have been so successful in our fishing that I hope ere long to see it once more; and, till then, shall remain affectionately yours,

Pidgie Beverley.

LETTER VII.

MOODY DICK’S SISTER LOUISA.

From Pidgie to Bennie.

Schooner Go-Ahead, August 1st, 1846.

You will think from my last letters, dear Bennie, that I have lost all interest in Moody Dick; and to be sure I did forget his story in the excitement of our visit to the Cunard steamer.

The evening after that great event was so pleasant, that David and I, who in general are great sleepy-heads, had no desire to rest; perhaps from having seen so much that was new during the day.  The sailors are too used to such visits to think any thing about them; and, besides, they are a mighty independent set of men, and care as little for the world as the world for them.  Clarendon sat on one end of the schooner reading some English papers by the moonlight, which was intensely bright, while at the other end Brown Tom and some of his friends were regaling themselves