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.
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