HOMEWARD BOUND. 255 



have had since we left Rio. At 7.30 p.m. we saw the 

 Wicklow Hills against the crimson sky. 



August 20. — Woke about five. We were waiting outside 

 the bar of the Mersey ; in the course of half an hour, a 

 dozen steamers and other vessels were round us, all waiting 

 like ourselves. The Welsh coast looked charming in the 

 early dawn. At length, by 7.30, we had passed New 

 Brighton, and the tender came alongside. Above us the 

 sky was clear ; but there was a horrid smoky fog hanging 

 over Liverpool and Birkenhead like a pall, which was 

 depressing after returning from a land where, whatever dis- 

 agreeables there may be, there is, at least, no sulphurous 

 obscurity. We had yet to undergo something before 

 putting our foot on English soil, i.e. the Custom House. 

 Two long hours were spent in that shed on the landing- 

 stage, while every box and package was opened, and 

 thoroughly ransacked for dynamite. My geological 

 specimens were looked at somewhat, but a case of guava 

 marmalade was pounced on. "It's jest the colour of 

 dynamite," says one customs officer, who must needs taste 

 it to convince himself it was not that dreaded compound. 



We are once more at home. No more remains to be 

 told. So I must wind up this part of my journal and pro- 

 ceed to the other portion, which, though perhaps not light 

 reading, may be, or at least I consider it to be, more im- 

 portant, though I can hardly hope that all who have waded 

 through my daily experiences will read on to the end of 

 the book. 



However, before I close I must express my grateful 

 thanks — and I know that I should herein be joined by all 

 our staff did they know what I am writing — to Captain 

 Hayes of the Cotopaxi, Captain Friend of the Valparaiso, 

 and all their officers, for their unvarying kindness and 



