How, on the voyage to China, he was met half-way by the news of the Indian Mutiny; how promptly and magnanimously he took on himself the responsibility of sacrificing the success of his own expedition by diverting the troops from China to India; how, after many weary months of enforced inactivity, the expedition was resumed, and carried through numberless thwartings to a successful issue—­these are matters of history with which every reader must be acquainted.  But those who are most familiar with the events may find an interest in the following extracts from private letters, written at the time by the chief actor in the drama.  They are taken almost exclusively from a Journal, in which his first thoughts and impressions on every passing occurrence were hurriedly noted down, from day to day, for transmission to Lady Elgin.

[Sidenote:  Malta.]

H.M.S.  ’Caradoc’—­May 2nd.—­I have just returned to my ship after spending a few hours on shore and visiting Lord Lyons in his magnificent Prince Albert....  How beautiful Malta is with its narrow streets, gorgeous churches, and impregnable fortifications.  I landed at about six, and walked up to the Palace, and wrote my name in the Governor’s book, who resides out of town.  I then took a turn through the town, and went to the inn to breakfast....

[Sidenote:  Chance meetings.]

By way of conversation with the waiter, I asked who were in the house:  ‘Only two families, one of them Lord Balgonie[1] and his sisters.’  I saw the ladies first, and, at a later hour, their brother, in his bed.  Poor fellow! the hand of death is only too visibly upon him.  There he lay; his arm, absolutely fleshless, stretched out:  his large eyes gleaming from his pale face.  I could not dare to offer to his broken- hearted sisters a word of comfort.  These poor girls! how I felt for them; alone! with their brother in such a state.  They go to Marseilles by the next opportunity, probably by the packet which will convey to you this letter, and they hope that their mother will meet them there.  What a tragedy! ...  I had been incog. at the hotel till Sir W. Reid[2] found me there.  When the innkeeper learned who I was, he was in despair at my having been put into so small a room, and informed me that he was the son of an old servant at Broomhall, Hood by name, and that he had often played with me at cricket!  How curious are these strange rencontres in life!  They put me in mind of Heber’s image, who says that we are like travellers journeying through a dense wood intersected by innumerable paths:  we are constantly meeting in unexpected places, and plunging into the forest again!

[Sidenote:  Alexandria.]