nd the Duke of Wellington, too," said I, "is not an ugly title, and I
would give a great deal to see the man who bears it."

"Ah! ah!" said David, shaking his head; "you Virginians will never get
over some of those Tory notions you got from the old Cavaliers, that had
to clear out of England when Cromwell made it too hot for them."

"And you Yankees," I replied, with equal warmth, "will always have the
blind obstinacy of the Barebones Parliament, and think that there is no
morality or religion in the world but your own, and that calling a man
an ugly name will make him a better Christian."

We might have gone on disputing thus till we had made each other very
angry, had not Old Jack stopped us by saying,--"Come, come, boys, be
done quarrelling! Don't you both belong to the same country? When you
have sailed round the world as I have, Old Virginny and Boston Bay will
seem all the same thing, and you will love every inch of ground over
which the stripes and the stars wave. I love all Yankees, from Maine to
Texas; and if we would only keep tight together, we could whip all the
world."

"That's sound sense," said Clarendon, who had just come in. "We Yankees
should stick to our motto,--'United we stand, divided we fall.' In our
days, we think too much of our being 'pluribus,' and too little that we
are 'in unum.'"

Don't Clarendon deserve three cheers for that speech? To think of his
calling himself a Yankee! Why! I have seen the time when he would have
knocked any one down who had dared to say the same thing of him. And
when Jack, sung out, in a tremendous voice,--

"Hail Columbia, happy land!"

Clary joined in with all his might, and so did the rest of the sailors,
and such a singing of Yankee songs as they kept up for a full hour, you
never heard. If brother practises that kind of music, he'll find hard
work in fetching his guitar to match it.

Captain Cobb has just told us, that, when we have caught a few barrels
more of mackerel, the schooner can carry no more, and then right about
for Boston Harbour. O, how my heart jumps with delight! Home, home,
sweet home! Your happy cousin,

PIDGIE.

LETTER IX.

BOSTON LIONS.

FROM PIDGIE TO BENNIE.

Tremont House, Boston, August 27th, 1846.

You will see, dear Bennie, that I am once more on dry land, and a very
nice place it is that I have anchored in. Shortly after I last wrote to
you, the Go-Ahead had her full complement of mackerel, and, with hearty
r