had left on
his own desk at Shanghae the more intelligible English. "And so I must
wait," said Tom philosophically, "till the next East India mail for my
orders, certain that seven English houses have had less enthusiastic and
philological correspondents than my brother."

I said I did not see that. That I could not teach him to speak the
Taghalian dialects so well, that he could read them with facility before
Saturday. But I could do a good deal better. Did he remember writing a
note to old Jack Percival for me five years ago? No, he remembered no
such thing; he knew Jack Percival, but never wrote a note to him in his
life. Did he remember giving me fifty dollars, because I had taken a
delicate boy, whom I was going to send to sea, and I was not quite
satisfied with the government outfit? No, he did not remember that,
which was not strange, for that was a thing he was doing every day,
"Well, I don't care how much you remember, but the boy about whom you
wrote to Jack Percival, for whose mother's ease of mind you provided
the half-hundred, is back again,--strong, straight, and well; what is
more to the point, he had the whole charge of Perry's commissariat on
shore at Yokohama, was honorably discharged out there, reads Japanese
better than you read English; and if it will help you at all, he shall
be here at your house at breakfast." For as I spoke we stopped at
Coram's door. "Ingham," said Coram, "if you were not a parson, I should
say you were romancing." "My child," said I, "I sometimes write a
parable for the Atlantic; but the words of my lips are verity, as all
those of the Sandemanians. Go to bed; do not even dream of the Taghalian
dialects; be sure that the Japanese interpreter will breakfast with you,
and the next time you are in a scrape send for the nearest minister.
George, tell your brother Ezra that Mr. Coram wishes him to breakfast
here to-morrow morning at eight o'clock; don't forget the number,
Pemberton Square, you know." "Yes, sir," said George; and Thomas Coram
laughed, said "Merry Christmas," and we parted.

It was time we were all in bed, especially these boys. But glad enough
am I as I write these words that the meeting of Coram set us back that
dropped-stitch in our night's journey. There was one more delay. We were
sweeping by the Old State House, the boys singing again, "Carol, carol,
Christians," as we dashed along the still streets, when I caught sight
of Adams Todd, and he recognized me. He