On our arrival at 'Lintin' we had scarcely anchored when my fellow-passenger took fast[2] boat and went to Macao. Soon after, we heard that he had there engaged two young Chinese small-footed women to accompany him to Calcutta, from whence he took passage with them for England as a 'speculation.' Subsequently we learnt that he was associated in the enterprise with Captain C----, also of the Honourable East India Company's service, on board whose vessel he had filled the office of surgeon. While in England, these 'Golden Lilies'[3] had the honour of a presentation to H.M. George IV. The enterprise, however, was not successful. It met with great opposition in certain quarters, and finally it ended by those young daughters of 'Han'[4] being returned to their own country. Some years after, in the winter of 1832, I last had the pleasure of shaking hands with my old shipmate at Canton. He was then surgeon of the Honourable Company's ship 'Lady Melville.' We had the misfortune to lose the ship's cook about five o'clock on the morning of the twenty-fifth day out, when he sprung into the sea. We had rushed on deck at the cry of the 'cook overboard,' and heard him shout as he passed the ship's quarter, 'You are all going to--(a most uncomfortable place of one syllable, beginning with the letter H), I'm going to Guadaloupe.' The ship was instantly brought to the wind, a man sent aloft to keep the poor fellow in sight, and a boat lowered in a trice, but suddenly he disappeared. We resumed our course. The crew had often been amused while about the galley to find its 'monarch' with an open Bible in one hand, and reading aloud from it, while prodding the salt junk in the boiler with a 'tormentor' in the other! They thought him a 'queer fellow,' particularly as he would caution them as to their wickedness in blaspheming, and their utter disregard of the future! We had heard through the officers of those erratic ways and strange conduct for a 'ship's cook,' but no one imagined that his head was turned.