ut 5 A.M.... I
wish I could send you a sketch of that gloomy hill at the foot of
which Victoria lies, as it loomed sullenly in the dusky morning, its
crest wreathed with clouds, and its cheeks wrinkled by white lines
that marked the track of the descending torrents. It was still blowing
and raining as hard as ever, but I took my two hours' exercise
notwithstanding, clad in Mackintosh. Frederick and Oliphant, who went
on shore the day before yesterday to dine with Sir J. Bowring, have
not yet returned.

[Sidenote: After the storm.]

_Seven P.M._--The weather cleared about noon. I remained in my cabin
as usual till after five, when I ordered my boat and went on shore.
There were signs of the night's work here and there. Masts of junks
sticking out of the water, and on land verandahs mutilated, &c. Loch
accompanied me, and we walked up the hill to a road which runs above
the town. The prospect was magnificent--Victoria below us, running
down the steep bank to the water's edge; beyond, the bay, crowded with
ships and junks, and closed on the opposite side by a semi-circle of
hills, bold, rugged, and bare, and glowing in the bright sunset....
When we got beyond the town, the hill along which we were walking
began to remind me of some of the scenery in the Highlands--steep and
treeless, the water gushing out at every step among the huge granite
boulders, and dashing with a merry noise across our path. After
somewhat more than an hour's walk we turned back, and began to descend
a long and precipitous path, or rather street, for there were houses
on either side, in search of our boat. By the time we had embarked the
tints of the sunset had vanished, a moon nearly full rode undisputed
mistress in the cloudless sky, and we cut our way to our ship through
the ripple that was dancing and sparkling in her beams.

[Sidenote: Better news from India.]

_Hong-kong.--October 8th._--On the 6th, I went to the anchorage of the
French fleet, about twelve miles off. On our way back we made the tour
of the island. Every spot at the foot of the hills on which anything
will grow is cultivated by the industrious Chinese, whose chief
occupation in these parts seems, however, to be fishing. Last evening
I dined with our own admiral. An opium-ship from India had just
arrived, so we had a plentiful crop of topics