Along our course the great river plowed its unobstructed way through rich alluvial lands, bordered with forests and far-reaching plantations. On the edges of these last, hamlets clustered, and about them children played, while men and women watched the angry waters with bated breath. At spots far apart, landing-places were marked by lonesome cabins, and here, in the water-soaked bank, our boat poked its nose, and was held as in a vise by the soft receptive clay. At other places, warned away, we anchored at a distance, transferring our load to smaller crafts, or passed on to await a more favorable hour. Of danger there was none, or if at night the timid held their breath when the sharp sound of the bell caused the great wheel to stop as if stricken with death, they breathed more freely when the obstruction, crashing against the bottom of the boat, passed on and we were safe. Or if at times the tumbling waters and swift converging currents threatened us, the watchful pilots steered us clear, and we saw the danger from afar, and so paid little heed. Thus waiting, some read or slept or played, while others watched the sea-gulls as they flew back and forth across the foam of the flying wheel, searching for particles of food as sharks are said to do at sea. Not meeting with accident of any kind, the more companionable among the passengers soon set themselves to form the acquaintance of those about them, and in this way, and happily, I was brought in contact with Gilbert Holmes. More fortunate still, I thought, he proved to be the companion of the beautiful lady I had seen looking down in pity on the marching convicts as I came on board. Strangely enough—but not strangely either, for such things are often noticed—he resembled her as men may resemble women. Not much alike, but as they will, without knowing it, take on some part of the features or gentle sweetness of these dear companions of their lives. Mr. Holmes was reaching on to old age, but youthful in face and erect of form and buoyant as if still in the vigor of manhood. Running through his slow speech and mirrored in the mild complaisance of his eyes there were ever present the melodies of the past, the remembrance of what had been. This as we often see in men of affairs who have mixed much in the world’s strife, but are no longer concerned in its turmoil or ambitious ends. In his look and speech there was, however, still a pleasant note of interest, as if life had not tired him, nor his concern in its affairs been dulled by usage or infirmity of temper; but while he listened to what was said or took note of what went on about him, it was plain to every one that he lived only in the presence and reflection of his loving wife. She, on her part, it was also clear, had little thought of anything but her husband, her eyes following him with tender concern, as if in him all her life’s interests were centered.