ARRIVAL AT NASSAU, 844 
shores, the honey-combed rocks, the stretches of white sand 
beaches, the low green islets, the tropical verdure, and the spark- 
ling and gleaming waters, dotted and striped ‘with colors which 
no pen can adequately describe. We seemed to feel their welcome 
in the soft and soothing wind. For men and their works we 
cared little—they were so dwarfed by those which we had left 
behind us. But for the coral isles and keys, and for the elements 
above and around them—the handiwork of the world’s great 
Architect—we entertained a genuine affection, and our hearts ex- 
perienced a thrill of pleasure as we gazed upon the beautiful 
panorama which was gradually disclosed as we neared the place 
of our landing. 
It being Sunday, a much smaller crowd than usual awaited our 
arrival upon the neighboring strects and adjacent wharfs. A few 
young negroes, black and glossy, nearly nude, were perched like 
great frogs upon the dock, and soon amused the new-comers by 
diving for pennies and other coin. The first on shore to recog- 
nize us, as we scanned the dusky upturned faces, were those little 
black dots of children—Moody and Sankey. They bowed and 
smiled and waved their hands, while eyes and teeth gleamed with 
unmistakable pleasure at seeing once more those who had listened 
to and taken an interest in their songs. The tall, manly form 
of our old yachtsman, Capt. Sampson, with his neat nautical blue 
uniform and “ Triton” hat, was a very noticeable landmark, and, 
when he discovered us, he triumphantly exclaimed, as one of his 
hearers informed us—‘‘ Dere’s a’ gentleman who’s consigned to 
me; he knows de Trident; he ken tell you about her; he sailed 
with Sampson when der Trident was first built; he’s consigned to 
Sampson—sure!” He was not long in finding us, and, with a 
hearty shake of the hands, interlarded his speech of welcome with 
those graceful, courtly airs and diplomatic phrases which, un- 
studied, he knows so well how to employ. Seizing our bundles ~ 
