ut at
sea. It seems to blink at us in greeting, peeping every few seconds to
see if we are still there. Then at last we ride into the harbour, and
such a harbour! We cannot see it now at all, and even if it were
daylight we couldn't see more than a very small part of it, for it is
fifteen miles one way by four or five the other, and a harbour that size
cannot be taken in at one glance.

We have to sleep on board, for there are some formalities to be
observed before we go ashore. There is our heavy baggage to get out of
the hold, for instance, and to pass through the Customs. That can wait
until to-morrow.

Our first impression of Bombay is therefore a city of lights. There are
lights sprinkled about anyhow and anywhere; some in chains, some
separate, some low, and some apparently slung high up in mid-air. These
are on the hill above the town, which itself stands on an island.

The very first incident we notice is a ludicrous one, and I am sure we
shan't forget it. A rather stout Englishman who is landing to-night
steps on to the launch, and in an instant is garlanded with marigolds
hung in wreaths round his neck. A crowd of native friends surrounds him.
Some are in European dress, and talk a queer sort of English very fast
and fluently, as if it were being pumped out of their mouths by the
yard; others wear the flowing drapery of the East. Many of them carry
bunches of flowers, which look more like balls, because the native habit
is to strip off every atom of leaf and then pack the blossoms with all
their heads together as tight as they will go. Many such balls are being
pressed upon the embarrassed Englishman, and the scent of crushed
marigolds fills the air. This is all by way of welcome, and it is
evident that the newcomer is a prime favourite with the people. He looks
sheepish, but his round rosy face rises good-humouredly above the absurd
garlands.

Next morning we are up in good time, and as soon as ever we get our
baggage clear of the Customs we go sight-seeing. In our nostrils is the
subtle scent of India; it has something of dust in it, but is not
chiefly dust, as in Egypt; there is a waft of wood-smoke, and a strong
flavour of mixed spices, and some hint of sweet flowers, and many other
things not so agreeable. It is a blend that any Anglo-Indian knows, and
if he smelt it suddenly when he was thousands of miles away, with the
daisied grass beneath his feet, and the swallows wheeling overhead, it
would car