before—seemed increased tenfold, and it was
nearly half an hour before we got our head off
shore. We then cast the lead; and, finding
only eight fathoms, the captain decided on
deepening our water, and for this purpose
it was necessary to get up our full steam.
This, after the thorough drenching of the
engine-room, was no easy matter. However,
in about half an hour, she was got under the
most steam we could raise; and we then
began to breast the opposing billows at the
rate of about two knots an hour.

For the previous three days we had had no
observation, and we were therefore doubtful
of our latitude. It was impossible for us to say
whether we were to the northward or southward
of our port. In this uncertainty we
passed the night, the gale increasing, and the
sea high in proportion. Our ship being light,
rolled gunwale under, and occasionally shipped
green seas " over all"—as the sailors term it—
which gave all us landsmen no trifling alarm.
As the day broke, a change took place for
the better; and, ere the sun had risen, a
range of hills was seen on our port-beam,
showing their rugged outline clear and
distinct against the gleam of the dawn. On
making the land out, we ran towards it, in
order to identify the locality, and soon
discovered that we were about thirty miles to
the southward of Bombay, off a place called
Chowl. We therefore shaped our course for
the harbour, and ere long caught a glimpse
of the Floating Lights, and stationary Lighthouse,
situated at the entrance of Bombay
Harbour. By seven o'clock we were at
anchor off the dockyard of Bombay.

Few people in England are aware of the
beauty of Bombay harbour. I know of no
port that equals it except Rio Janeiro, which
is not only more extensive and more
picturesque, but more landlocked. In heavy
gales from the south-south east, Bombay
harbour is entirely unprotected; and, in 1837,
several large ships were stranded and lost in
a hurricane from that quarter. Fortunately,
such occurrences are rare; and, up to the
present year, no similar event has taken
place.

Let us now step ashore, at the steps of the
Apollo bunder, amongst a throng of native
boats and a crowd of native boatmen, whose
discordant cries and yells recall vividly the
chaotic confusion of Babel. From natives
of every country, and every isle of the
countless archipelagos, these unintelligible
sounds proceeded. They were vociferated in
tones that put to shame the garrulous
noisiness of Billingsgate, Naples, or Lisbon,
probably the three most noisy stairs in
Europe. Once on the bunder, or pier—a
roomy, commodious landing-place, armed with
half-a-dozen long fifty-six pounders—I jumped
into a friend's Brougham; and, in twenty
minutes find myself on the top of Malabar
Hill, in a villa, or bungalow, abounding with
every comfort compatible with the climate of
this latitude. The view from this spot—
which is one hundred and twenty feet above
the bay below—is extensive and picturesque,
and presents a faint resemblance to that of
Naples from Posilipo. At this time of the
year the heat is great, but much modified by
the strong south-west wind, which, however,
bears so much moisture on its wings, as
to make the whole island one vast vapour-
bath.

A drive through the ill-constructed streets
of the fort and native town is one of the most
interesting that can be conceived. The houses
are slenderly built, but from their gay and
bright colouring, and their great irregularity,
offer many tempting bits for an artist. Nearly
all the shops are without windows; and here
may be seen in unlimited profusion, not only
the piece goods, hardware, woollens, and
crockery of Europe, but all the countless
productions of the gorgeous East, in endless
variety. In one are exposed the vivid and
tasteful tapestries of Persia, with the gilded
bottles, inlaid hubble-bubbles, amber
mouthpieces, and silver-mounted hookahs of that
country: in another, the rich silks, the splendid
toys, and cool mats of China; in another,
the carpets of Cabool and Herat, the gold-
mounted sabres of Beloochistan, and the
embroidered shawls of Delhi and Cashmere;
in another, the gorgeous Kincaubs, brocades,
and tissues of Surat; here, a keen-eyed shroff,
or native banker, sits cross-legged, enthroned
on bags of gold, silver, and copper coin;
there, a lusty Banian, is enveloped in half-
open sacks, and dishes of every sort of grain.
In one quarter are piled ponderous bales of
Manchester, Glasgow, and Leeds manufactures;
in another, the warehouses groan with
wooden chests of opium, camphor, spices, and
other odoriferous commodities; among which,
the odious assafœtida fails not to assert its
disagreeable superiority.

The population is as varied as the articles
exposed for sale, and a crowded street
presents to the eye as florid and brilliant a
whole as a bed of tulips. Were another
Paul Veronese to arise to delight the world
with his many-hued productions, what a field
would Bombay present to his pencil! It was
said of him, with truth, that he painted not
with ordinary colours, but with tints derived
from the diamond, the emerald, the ruby, and
the sapphire; and in painting the costumes
of Bombay, those vivid colours would be
indispensable. The Oriental, with few
exceptions, dresses with taste and elegance; the
Hindoo, in his spotless vest of the purest
white, with his turban of crimson, scarlet,
or yellow; the Mussulman, with equally
clean vestments, but with turban of a
soberer dye; the Parsee, in his crimson
cap, which, without being picturesque, is
striking; the Affghan, with his flowing
ringlets, sable beard, and fair complexion;
the Persian, in his robe of striped silk and
Astracan lambskin cap; the swarthy Arab,