Early on the morning of the 23d of December we were sailing along the coast of Bourbon, which we first made at its southwest point, and were watching the day, then just breaking beyond its lofty volcanic mountains, the tops of which became radiant as the early light played upon their summits. This island lays considerably higher than Mauritius, but its scenery is said to be less beautiful. The shore-base of the coast-line formed by the mountains is square and precipitous, and in one place extended out into the sea for a mile or more, like an immense breakwater. We were now off St. Denis, which is the chief port of the island, although a very insecure one during the prevalence of high winds. Ships lying in this harbor are always kept in readiness to sail at a moment’s warning; and we counted a fleet of fourteen sail, with all their canvas set, lying in the offing, and ready to slip out to sea at the first intimation of foul weather. At a sort of wharf, or jetty, a flag is hoisted whenever boats from the ships can land in safety. There were remarkably deep gorges between the mountains in the rear of the town, which one of our missionary party, who had lived for some years in Northern India, compared to those he had seen among the Himalaya Mountains, through which ran living streams of water. Passing other mountains whose steeps were cultivated, and covered with a rich verdure half way up their sides, we sailed a little to the east, and St. Denis disappeared. As we coasted along the island the mountains gradually receded from our view, and we were soon off a more extensive slope of country reaching far back from the sea, with finely cultivated plantations whose fields teemed with a rich tropical luxuriance, and picturesquely situated houses dotting the landscape in every direction. We had scarcely lost sight of Bourbon, when at mid-day of the 23d of December we discerned the broad-shouldered mountains of Mauritius, sixty miles in the distance, and at five o’clock in the afternoon were coasting near their base, intending to make the harbor of Port Louis. These mountains presented an almost infinite variety of forms. At one point an old castle-like looking peak passed before us, followed by several smaller ones, all rising directly out of an extensive plain; while another cone-shaped mountain that attracted our attention seemed as if surrounded by natural lawns, which were covered with a luxuriant herbage of the richest green. The country seemed to be in as high a state of cultivation as at the Isle of Bourbon, and the plantations, with their neat residences, gave every indication of thrift and prosperity.