’July 20.—­Yesterday in sailed the “Southern Cross” with not a spar carried away or sail lost, perfectly sound, and in a fit state to be off again at once.  She left England on the same day that we did, and arrived just a fortnight after us, and this is attributable to her having kept in low latitudes, not going higher than 39°; whereas we were in 51° 30’, which diminished the distance and brought us in the way of more favourable winds.  I saw from my windows about 9 A.M. a schooner in the distance, and told the Bishop I thought it might be the “Southern Cross” (she has no figure-head and a very straight bow).  Through the day, which was very rainy, we kept looking from time to time through our glasses.  At 3 P.M. the Bishop came in:  “Come along, Coley; I do believe it is the ‘Southern Cross.’” So I hurried on waterproofs, knowing that we were in for some mudlarking.  Off we went, lugged down a borrowed boat to the water, tide being out.  I took one oar, a Maori another, and off we went, Bishop steering.  After twenty minutes’ pull, or thereabouts, we met her, jumped on board, and then such a broadside of questions and answers.  They had a capital passage.  Two men who were invalided when they started died on the voyage—­one of dysentery, I think—­all the rest flourishing, the three women respectable and tidy-looking individuals, and two children very well.  After a while the Bishop and I went off to shore, in one of his boats, pulled by two of the crew, Lowestoft fishermen, fine young fellows as you ever saw.  Then we bought fresh meat, onions, bread, etc., for them, and so home by 7 P.M.  “Mudlarking” very slight on this occasion, only walking over the flat swamp of low-water marsh for a quarter of a mile; but on Tuesday we had a rich scene.  Bishop and I went to the “Duke of Portland” and brought off the rest of our things; but it was low-water, so the boats could not come within a long way of the beach, and the custom is for carts to go over the muddy sand, which is tolerably hard, as far into the water as they can, perhaps two and a half or three feet deep when it is quite calm, as it was on Tuesday.  Well, in went our cart, which had come from the College, with three valuable horses, while the Bishop and I stood on the edge of the water.  Presently one of the horses lost his footing, and then all at once all three slipped up, and the danger was of their struggling violently and hurting themselves.  One of those in the shafts had his head under water, too, for a time.  Instanter Bishop and I had our coats off, my trousers were rolled over my knees, and in we rushed to the horses.  Such a plunging and splashing! but they were all got up safe.  This was about 4 P.M., and I was busy about the packages and getting them into the carts, unloading at Mr. Kissling’s till past 8; but I did not catch cold.  Imagine an English Bishop with attending parson cutting into the water up to their knees to disentangle their cart-horses from the harness in full view of every person on the beach.  “This is your first lesson in mudlarking, Coley,” was the remark of the Bishop as we laughed over our respective appearance.