P.S.—­I had just received and corrected the last proof of the foregoing volume, and was walking down the Strand from Temple Bar to Charing Cross, when on passing Exeter Hall I saw a number of devout- looking people crowding into the building with faces full of interested and complacent anticipation.  I stopped, and saw an announcement that a missionary meeting was to be held forthwith, and that the native missionary, the Rev. William Habakkuk, from—­(the colony from which I had started on my adventures), would be introduced, and make a short address.  After some little difficulty I obtained admission, and heard two or three speeches, which were prefatory to the introduction of Mr. Habakkuk.  One of these struck me as perhaps the most presumptuous that I had ever heard.  The speaker said that the races of whom Mr. Habakkuk was a specimen, were in all probability the lost ten tribes of Israel.  I dared not contradict him then, but I felt angry and injured at hearing the speaker jump to so preposterous a conclusion upon such insufficient grounds.  The discovery of the ten tribes was mine, and mine only.  I was still in the very height of indignation, when there was a murmur of expectation in the hall, and Mr. Habakkuk was brought forward.  The reader may judge of my surprise at finding that he was none other than my old friend Chowbok!

My jaw dropped, and my eyes almost started out of my head with astonishment.  The poor fellow was dreadfully frightened, and the storm of applause which greeted his introduction seemed only to add to his confusion.  I dare not trust myself to report his speech—­indeed I could hardly listen to it, for I was nearly choked with trying to suppress my feelings.  I am sure that I caught the words “Adelaide, the Queen Dowager,” and I thought that I heard “Mary Magdalene” shortly afterwards, but I had then to leave the hall for fear of being turned out.  While on the staircase, I heard another burst of prolonged and rapturous applause, so I suppose the audience were satisfied.

The feelings that came uppermost in my mind were hardly of a very solemn character, but I thought of my first acquaintance with Chowbok, of the scene in the woodshed, of the innumerable lies he had told me, of his repeated attempts upon the brandy, and of many an incident which I have not thought it worth while to dwell upon; and I could not but derive some satisfaction from the hope that my own efforts might have contributed to the change which had been doubtless wrought upon him, and that the rite which I had performed, however unprofessionally, on that wild upland river-bed, had not been wholly without effect.  I trust that what I have written about him in the earlier part of my book may not be libellous, and that it may do him no harm with his employers.  He was then unregenerate.  I must certainly find him out and have a talk with him; but before I shall have time to do so these pages will be in the hands of the public.