M., whose chivalry at least equalled his infatuation, suppressed his own ardour in favour of his friend's. They went to the theatre together, they supped at Delmonico's, and in two days the young and happy couple were engaged to be married. I don't think I shall betray any special confidence when I add that the young lady was on her way with her brother to her native home at the Antipodes, and that the successful smitten one was a wealthy _ranchero_ of the Far West. When the happy secret was confided to me I gave them my paternal blessing and we all separated—he hastening off to his hunting grounds to sell his immense stock of cattle and sheep, and then to meet his young _fiancée_ and her brother at San Francisco, thence to proceed together to Australia to settle affairs with "papa." This little episode, probably not an uncommon one on board ship, though quite new to me, I will call "_The Romance of a Rickety Old Chair_." The heat was so oppressive when we arrived at New York, that we were well pleased to accept the kind invitation of a friend to spend a night at his pleasant residence on the Sound. Here it was that I first heard, and was gradually lulled to sleep by the incessant singing of little green katydids in the surrounding trees. What a curious monody their combined song makes! It varies the note, as it seemed to me, to something like this:— Katy-did, Katy-did, Katy-didn't, Katy-_did_, Katy-didn't, Katy-_did_, Katy-_didn't_, Katy-did, Katy-didn't. Such was the unchanging song of myriads of these little creatures for hours at a time; and to this was added the chirping of grasshoppers and locusts, and a perpetual accompaniment of the shrill little shriek of tree-toads. The lovely autumn evening, a pleasant sail on the Sound, the green foliage of the trees, and these little insect-songs were refreshing to me after our rough and rolling experiences on the Atlantic. [Illustration] [Illustration] LETTER No. VIII. Up the Hudson River—The Catskills—My first chipmunk—"The Rip Van Winkle"—"Sleepy Hollow"—The Mountain-House Hotel—Old Indian squaw-spirit—A snake in the grass—A painting by Holbein. _Catskill Mountains, Sept., 1885._ After a short time in New York, agreeably spent in spite of the heat, we started early one bright morning on the splendid river steamer "Albany" up the noble Hudson River. It is no part of my plan or my duty to describe the innumerable objects, historical and picturesque, which command this wonderful river. Why should I attempt to describe or even to mention points so fully and so well described elsewhere? All I aspire to record is the passing impression of whatever comes under my own notice or interests me as a rapid traveller; it would be presumption to do more.