part of Maury's 'Physical Geography of the Sea,' 'Adam Bede,' Memoirs of Lobdell,' 'Weitbrecht,' Fox,'Knill,' Gibson's account of Revival in Ireland'; I have written a long journal home and about twenty letters."

On June 25th they sighted Friar's Hood, a peak on the Island of Ceylon. The next day they saw plainly the coast south of Madras, and David bringing his seajournal to a close writes: "Our voyage is over, all full of goodness from the hand of God as it has been. My home is at hand. My work is before me. India is to be the Lord's. How soon?" The quiet of the voyage was followed by the bustle of landing, and the next day, in Madras, he finishes his sea-journal with the following account of the close of the voyage, and his first excitement upon fairly standing on the shores of India :

In a dream, in a dream. Here we are at last fairly tossed out into an Oriental jumble. Haw! haw! croak the crows, and all about chimes in, dinning into one's eyes as well as ears, "You 're a Griffin," as they call new-comers here. But lest I jumble up you as well, let me begin at my last break and run as far as I can, telling tidbits, letting big facts go. The first living thing we sighted was a dhorey or native sloop. Soon we spied a black, triangular-looking thing which turned out to be the black sail of a catamaran going out to fish. Catamaran means "tied-trees" and is nothing but three logs bound together. Squatted on these boats when at anchor, standing up when going, were some sable natives who gave us our first introduction to India. When at anchor they squat, throwing their

lines out and putting the fish into date-leaf baskets. Pretty soon the sea became alive with this style of craft. One came near us and a man held up a fish. I used my first Tamil, and shouted out "Come here!" but he could not catch us. Thicker and thicker they came, till we could hear them chattering to one another. They had none too much raiment on them, and one wonders how they can bear the hot sun on their bare heads and naked backs. Soon one chap came alongside and crawled over; a scrawny-looking fellow enough and stupid withal. We could make nothing of him, but if my alcohol had been at hand I should have got some prawns and fish for S. [a Naturalist brother.] I hope to yet.

Just as this catamaran came up, a Masullah boat appeared in sight. On it came, bearing several gayturbaned individuals in the stern. As soon as alongside, all hands scrambled on deck, and here were Hindûs. indeed. The rowers, about a dozen or eighteen, were mostly fine athletic men. The turbaned fellows were sent by the consignees. They were large in their own eyes, especially one fellow who, like all Hindûs, considered that an aldermanic protuberance was the highest ornament to the person. He strutted about with folded arms and high mien, looking as if he would not refuse a good slasher of beef. One or two were really handsome. Several had the mark of the beast on their forehead, Siva's three marks.

Pretty soon another big boat-load of the same sort came alongside with turbaned individuals, carrying their characters in their pockets and offering their services. We were busy now, for letters and papers had come for the captain, and all gathered round while we read

extracts from Boston papers and the telegraphic news from a Madras paper, extracts which let us at once into the midst of your tossings and fever. We feared the worst and it had nearly come. This mixed up matters most provokingly. News of Tammany sachems, becoming wise at last, was jumbled with Tamil chattering and orders about the ship. We had by this time rattled out our anchor. The deck was a perfect Babel, naked humanities running about and poking their chaffing English into people's faces, while the new sailors stared at the queer sight. The custom-house officer too had come, and was consulting with the captain. But suddenly our maze was disentangled by the coming of another boat, in which we made out John Scudder's brothers. He hurrahed, they shouted back, and soon the brothers were embracing and laughing, and playing their jokes in a most brotherly fashion.

Another boat! This makes for the forward part. I run and peer over and see two men. 6 Mr. Bancroft," says one. I rush back and tell the captain that the ice-agent has come. Mr. Webb looks over and sees his old friend, my new one, Mr Hunt,* who clambers up and greets us all in his quiet, affectionate way. Hurrah! Home letters! Down we sit on our tied-up mattresses and cut open the fat packages. No one missing. H. is at hers and I at mine, letting all other sights and sounds go now. But I only read enough to find that all are well, and that blessings unsupposed though not unprayed for had come upon ours, — and then we put up our last bundles ready for shore. is let down into one boat by a chair, H. on the other side of the ship descends in an Occidental fashion. I * The Printer and Agent at Madras for the American Mission.

F.

rush about, shake hands with all the sailors, say a final "Come along!" to Polly, the parrot, and down I go.

Now for Madras and the surf! We are in a Masullah boat, a big trough of a thing made of boards tied together and the seams stopped up with grass, so that it may give when going over the rollers. The seats are nothing but bars three inches square and four feet apart, that is, those for the rowers. A little raised platform, decidedly rickety, holds with squeezing Mr. Webb's party, Mr. Hunt, Mr. Bancroft, H. and me. Ava! here we go! and now we have done forever with Stars and Stripes and Western ways. Down go the oars, long poles with teakettle-covers at the end, and with gruntings from the men and pos! from us we are off. As the men pull, they sing out in a low tone, not opening their mouths, for the other organ suffices, Annán! Annán! helping it out with an occasional Vadah! Vadáh! In five minutes we are upon the rollers. It is a calm day and the rollers are lower than usual; we row on to the first swell. The men lay by, and as soon as fairly over, Jéldi! Jéldi! shout the men, and away we go to the next; so on and on, for six or seven times until we ground on the beach. It is raining hard, and the water rushes in upon us somewhat from behind. Here we lie till some black chaps, who need not be afraid of wetting their clothes, came out to us and carried us to the land in chairs.

Mr. Winslow's carriage is waiting and in we crawl. Mr. Webb goes with Mr. Hunt, and John with his brothers. Here I try my Tamil again and manage to get my things on board. (There! we are lands-folk now.) Now for a drive in this bandy, better looking than most others, which remind me of our Boston

66

House of Correction carts that we boys used to be so mortally afraid of. Away Po! The horse-keeper runs ahead to keep people out of the way, but as the drive is out of the business parts, we meet few carts. We have a jolly time. Nothing looks natural," says H., "but the surf." That's a fact! Scrawny palm-trees half withered up; crows cawing at you with the most brazen impudence; clumps of queer-looking grass; cactus growing on the beach, no flowers though, except a little purple one nodding cheerily to us as we pass. I try my Tamil again, solely in the form of "Is this so and so?" and get the very flattering answer " Am," Yes. I feel fine, but come down when I find that the driver was wrong, and that the natives will always say "Yes," when they think it will please you. We pass some fine houses and come out at last into a native neighborhood. Here is a cluster of low-roofed, thatched houses, quite respectable for the kind, and men, women, and young brats doing all sorts of things and all in a queer way. The young ones kick up and have a jolly time here just as we young ones used to.

But we go too fast to see much, and speedily rein up before Mr. Winslow's spacious house. Mr. Winslow comes down the steps and greets us both. Mrs. W. follows and we are at home, in India. Everything looks roomy. We are shown to our room, and I walk back and forth and touch the walls to assure myself that I have over six feet of spare room. The room is higher than it is broad, and everything bears the appearance of airiness. I come out after looking over some letters and walk up and down the veranda (alias piazza) with Mr. Winslow. We chat about everything, especially about the war at home. Before