February 12th.—­Going on as smoothly as ever....  I have been reading over some old manuscript books, written from twenty to twenty-five years ago, and containing a record of my thoughts and doings at that remote time.  It is very interesting and useful to look back.  I was working very hard during those years, searching after truth and right, with no positive occupation but that of managing the Broomhall affairs, and riding at a sort of single anchor with politics.  Would it have been better for me if I had had more engrossing positive work?  There is something to be said on both sides in answering that question.  However, these books will not be again read by me, for I shall consign them to the Red Sea.

February 13th.—­The breeze is freshening and dead ahead....  I have been thinking of the past, and remembering that just twenty years ago, at this same season, I set out on my first visit to the Tropics.  What a strange career it has been!  How grateful I should be to Providence for the protection I have enjoyed!  How wild it seems, to be about, at the close of twenty years, to begin again.

[Sidenote:  A gale.]

Sunday, February 16th.—­A bad time since I last wrote.  We have had a very strong gale....  There is less motion to-day, probably because we are under the lee of the Arabian coast.  I could not wish that you had been with me while we were undergoing this misery; and we have made slow progress, but may reach Aden to-morrow.  It has been a sad time....  I could not read, and have been lying down, thinking over so many things!...  But there may, please God, be a good time beyond.  I have been thinking of the little party in your room on this day, and endeavouring to join with you all.

[Sidenote:  A moonlight night.]

February 19th.—­Gulf of Aden.—­Seven A.M.—­I have just had my first walk on deck for this day.  It is fine, and the head wind keeps up a cool draught of air for us.  The night was pleasant and cool, and I spent an hour before I went to bed, walking up and down the bridge, between the paddle-boxes, looking at a great moon, a little past the full, climbing up the heavens before us, and (as Coleridge says, I think in the notes to the Ancient Mariner, of the stars) entering unannounced among the groups of stars as a guest certainly expected —­and yet there is a silent joy on her arrival.

February 27th.—­Near Ceylon.—­According to the account of our captain, who hails from Bombay, the Governor there must be very well off as regards climate.  He has the sea air at Bombay itself; 2,000 feet of elevation at Poonah; and 5,000 on a mountain accessible in two days from Bombay.  So that his family may always live in a cool climate, and he can join them when business permits.  Perhaps at some future time the convenience of the situation of Bombay, its greater vicinity to England, &c., may place the Governor-General there; but this will not happen in our time.

[Sidenote:  White ants.]