Before I had time to realize what had taken place, I was perched up in the carriage with Clarendon, and in five minutes more had taken leave of every thing at home but Uncle Jack, who was driving us to the cars, in which we were to start for Baltimore.

You have heard so much of New York and Boston, that I cannot, probably, tell you any thing new about them, though, to be sure, when there, I felt as if the half had not been told me.  All the streets and houses look so nice and comfortable in the New England towns, that I cannot imagine where the poor people live.  At the hotel in New York, when I rang the bell, such a nice-looking young gentleman came to our door, that I thought he was a fellow-boarder who had made a mistake in the room.  I asked him, very politely, if he would have the kindness to tell me where any servants were to be found, as they did not answer the bell.

He stared at this request, and then answered, quite proudly,—­“I wait on gentlemen, my young friend; but we are all free men here.”

I cannot get used to this new state of affairs, and should be quite out of patience, having to do so many things for myself, if brother Clarendon did not keep me laughing all the while with his perfect fits of despair.  But he is calling to me to stop writing, for, since here in Marblehead they won’t let him have any peace in sleeping till eleven o’clock, he insists on going to bed with the chickens, or he shall die for want of rest.

Love to all, men, women, and children, horses and dogs, from your affectionate cousin,

Pidgie Beverley.

LETTER II.

FITTING OUT FOR THE CRUISE.

To Bennie Allerton at Bellisle.

Marblehead, July 3d, 1846.

Dear Bennie,—­Just now I heard a rolling of small wheels, and then the barking of a dog.  Forgetting where I was, I thought of you and Watch, and walked to the window actually expecting to see you, with Watch in his new harness, drawing the little wagon.  I only saw a strange boy, rolling a wheelbarrow along, with a great Newfoundland dog at his side, which I should have bought for you if I could have sent it back to Virginia.  But, after all, you would not have liked it as well as Watch, and I am sure that I don’t know of a fault he has, but chasing chickens and every thing else on the road, besides barking all night when the moon shines.

I always liked moonlight nights, but never knew half how glorious they were till now.  Last evening, Clarendon said, it was too ridiculous for him to be going to bed when it was so beautiful; so he called to me to take a stroll with him on a cliff, not far from the house, which commands a magnificent prospect of the sea.  I snatched up my cap in a moment, delighted at the proposition, and ran along at his side, as I always have to do, to keep up with his long, fast strides.