"On awaking the next morning, I find that we are lying at anchor opposite Paknam, where the mother and sisters of our noble friend are to disembark. It is truly affecting to witness the kind attentions of Luang Nai Sit, and to observe how ready he is to anticipate our wants, and prepare to meet them. Last evening, while we were singing, a company of native singers removed their seats at the forecastle, and sitting down near to us, began to bawl out in the native style. Luang Nai Sit soon came to us and requested that we should go to the upper deck, and take seats which he had prepared for us, saying, 'There is too much confusion for you to stay here; go up yonder, and bless God undisturbed.' "These native singers, I am informed, are now practising with a view to sing to the white elephant at Chantaboun. They sang many times a day, of which I have become heartily sick. "We weighed anchor very early in the morning of the 14th, and sailed with the tide in our favor for the bar. We were interested in witnessing the outgushings of maternal and filial affection of the noble relatives just before we sailed from Paknam. Luang Nai Sit exhibited much of it on parting with his mother, and she was tenderly moved on taking leave of her son and grandchildren. [One of the latter was a little boy, who afterward became prime minister and minister of war.] We noticed that their tears were allowed to flow only in the cabin, out of sight of their slaves. On deck, and when in the act of parting, they were solemn and perfectly composed. A little after sunrise we came in sight of the mountains of Keo, which to me was a peculiarly gratifying sight. I had for months sighed after something of the kind to interrupt the dead monotony of Bangkok. There, do what you may by the means of telescopes and towers, you will discover nothing but one unbroken plain." We condense Dr. Bradley's journal from this point, omitting unnecessary details of the voyage: