LETTERS FROM MADRAS.
LETTER THE FIRST.
Bay of Biscay, August 17th.
I begin now, in hepes of meeting a ship, to tell you our histories. This is the first day I have been well enough to write; and I am not very steady yet, as you may perceive, but still we are all exeeedingly well—for the Bay of Biscay.
We have persuaded my brother Frank to go with us as far as Madeira, and take his chance of finding a homeward-bound ship.
The Captain says he never had so smooth a passage, but there is a good deal of swell here. The wind allows of our passing outside the roughest part of this unfortunate Bay, which is a very great advantage.
Mrs. M——was quite right in advising us to take the round-house. There is much more air than in the lower cabins, and the noises do not annoy me at all, Weall go to bed at nine o'clock, so that it is no hardship to be awakened at five. Certainly, the first morning, when I woke, there did seem to be as quaint a combination and suecession of noises as could well be imagined. Pigs, dogs, poultry, cow, eats, sheep, all in concert at sunrise. Then the nursery noises: Major O’Brien twittering to his baby-—the baby squealing—the nurse singing and squalling to it-—the mamma cooing to it. Then the euddy noises: all the servants quarrelling for their clothes, &c. &c. So on till breakfast-time.
T was too sick to laugh then, and I amused to it now. Thén, when I was as sick and cross as possible, in came my Irish maid Freeman with a great plate of beefsteak and potatoes. I ex-
