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Rh missing my father and mother—Willie to my eyes the most beautiful thing on earth was with us—and we children of the "Padre Sahib" in Calcutta Cathedral were the pets of the ship, and that same Captain Toynbee, whose name is dear to every man that sailed in those days, and for many a long year after from the port of London.

I could write page upon page about the great East Indianmen of the past, but as my life, save for this one voyage as a little child, had nothing to do with them I will refrain. I suppose that from my early associations with it, and perhaps because my mother was the daughter of a distinguished Admiral, I gained my first and my undying love for the sea. It has called to me all my life, and it calls to me as strongly to-day, as it did in my youth. Above all things the sea has ever been mistress of my heart. I can remember too, seeing my first steam engine. It was at Plymouth when the long voyage was over, and we were taken ashore.

Then all was wonderment. England where everything was so green—where everyone was white—where we had no ayahs, no bearers—no palkees and nothing we were used to. We were installed in a little house in St. John's Wood. I remember it well. The whole place would have gone into the hall of the lovely home in Harrington Street, Calcutta. We were not happy. It was so gloomy and cold when the winter came. I remember the snow—and above all I recollect my dreadful chilblains! Then things happened, we didn't understand.

Strange people came; at last father arrived—and he came alone. Years followed. We moved to a pretty little home near his grand big church; a tutor came to take care of us boys; the girls went to a school, and "Willie," our beautiful and well-beloved Willie disappeared. A turning point seemed to come in all our lives, when one day my father told us we were