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PRIL 5th.—After interminable weeks at sea, weeks beset with doubts and fears and hopes, our fondest dreams have come true. The night has fallen on our first day in Lemuel Wilkins Island. As I write, the firelight flickers upon the bronzed forms of our stalwart native bodyguard, and throws into bold silhouette their incomparable sets of tropical whiskers. These treasures are all that the Shipwrecked Parent led me to hope for, and I picture to myself happy months to come, with camera, sketching tablets and note books. Perhaps I shall be able once more to organize an Hirsute Orchestra, here where the rarest of tonal qualities are waiting to be grouped and tuned, here where the steady sweep of the [161