“On the morning of Sunday, April 11th, 1842, the good ship Elphinston—­(that’s the way to begin, I suppose, as per ledger, log-book, and midshipman’s epistles to mamma)—­in fact, dear, we cast anchor just outside a furious wall of surf, which makes Madras a very formidable place for landing; and every one who dares to do so certain of a watering.  There lay the city, most invitingly to storm-tost tars, with its white palaces, green groves, and yellow belt of sand, blue hills in the distance, and all else coleur de rose.  But—­but, Emmy, there was no getting at this paradise, except by struggling through a couple of miles of raging foam, that would have made mince-meat of the Spanish Armada, and have smashed Sir William Elphinston to pieces.  How, then, did we manage to survive it? for, thank God always, here I am to tell the tale.  Listen, Emmy dear, and I will try not to be tedious.

“We were bundled out of the rolling ship into some huge flat-bottomed boats, like coal-barges, and even so, were grated and ground several times by the churning waves on the ragged reefs beneath us:  and, just as I was enjoying the see-saw, and trying to comfort two poor drenched women-kind who were terribly afraid of sharks, a huge, cream-coloured breaker came bustling alongside of us, and roaring out ‘Charles Tracy,’ gobbled me up bodily.  Well, dearest, it wasn’t the first time I had floundered in the waters [noble Charles! noble Charles! he had long forgiven Julian]; so I was battling on as well as I could, with a stout heart and a steady arm, when—­don’t be afraid—­a Catamaran caught me!  If you haven’t fainted (bless those pretty eyes of your’s, my Emmy!) read on; and you will find that this alarming sort of animal is neither an albatross nor an alligator, but simply—­a life-boat with a Triton in the stern.  Yes, God’s messenger of life to me and happiness to you, my girl, came in the shape of a kindly, chattering, blue-skinned, human creature, who dragged me out of the surf, landed me safely, and, I need not say, got paid with more than hearty thanks.  So, I scuffled to the custom-house to look after my traps and fellow-passengers, like a dripping merman.

“‘Who is that miserable old woman, bothering every body?’ asked I of a very civil searcher, profuse in his salaams.

“’Oh, Sahib, you will know for yourself, presently:  she’s always hanging about here, to get news of somebody in England, I believe—­and to try to find a charitable captain who will take her all the way for nothing:  rather too much of a good thing, you know, Sahib.’

[We really cannot undertake to scribble broken English:  so we will translate any thing that may mysteriously have been chatted by havildars, and coolies; and all manner of strange names.]

“‘Poor old soul—­she looks very wretched:  what’s her name?’ asked I, carelessly.

“’Oh, I never troubled to inquire, Sahib:  I believe she was an old servant left behind as lumber, and she pesters every one, day by day, about some ‘bonnie bonnie bairn.’’