A few days of lovely weather in the balmy air of the Indian Ocean, lounging, dozing, dreaming, watching the wild leaps of the flying-fish escaping from the dolphins, speculating upon the unknown that lay ahead—those were days of which every hour was precious. The four or five of us older men who had made friends sat together in a well-chosen corner. The griffins and youngsters bound for the far East left us severely to ourselves; we were told that they called our corner the lions’ den. Well, we were very happy and did not growl too much. At Pointe de Galle Overbeck and I bade Gloster good-bye. At Hong Kong, after three or four delightful days, thanks to the hospitality of Messrs. Dent, I parted from Overbeck, and the last link with the “lions’ den” of the _Simla_ was finally broken. He, Gloster and I corresponded fitfully, but we did not meet again for nine years, and then in rather a curious way—indeed, if it were not for the wish to record the meeting later on, and to explain its significance, I should not have ventured to write about the voyage. All the “old China hands” of the sixties will remember with affection Captain “Ikey” Bernard, who commanded the _Ganges_ which carried me from Hong Kong to Shanghai. Captain Bernard was a great character in the China Sea. He was the son of a former professor of Hebrew at Cambridge, from whom he had inherited literary tastes of which the choice little library in his cabin gave proof, and he kept glowing more than a small spark of that sacred fire which burns upon the University altar. He made me free of his cabin, and I spent many hours there in great comfort, and with some profit. He was, moreover, something of an epicure, and he and I and two other passengers dined and had luncheon in his cabin, where we had the best that the ship could afford: it was a coasting voyage through narrow island passages, where one could almost hear the fury of the sea dashing itself against the black rocks frowning on either side, we passed many fishing junks with their busy crews, and the skipper, who never could resist the temptation of fresh fish, would stop and buy quantities of pomfret, all alive, paying for them in ship’s biscuit. Those were the halcyon days of monopoly. Fancy stopping a mail steamer to buy fish in these times of ocean-racing and competition! Fifty years ago, “Ikey” Bernard did not hesitate. His father must have been a very cultivated and remarkable man. I remember a book of essays upon various subjects by him, full of wise and clever thoughts, amongst others one on Inspiration which fascinated me. I often met my friend “Ikey” during the years that I spent in the Far East, for, welcome whenever his ship touched the shore, he was one of those much-invited men, whom everybody is glad to secure, and we had many pleasant talks about all things and some others.