PROBABLY the most important historical event of the year '49was the discovery of gold in California, or rather, the greatWestern Exodus in pursuit of it. A restless desire possessedme to see something of America, especially of the Far West.

　　I had an hereditary love of sport, and had read and heardwonderful tales of bison, and grisly bears, and wapitis. Nobooks had so fascinated me, when a boy, as the 'Deer-slayer,'

　　the 'Pathfinder,' and the beloved 'Last of the Mohicans.'

　　Here then was a new field for adventure. I would go toCalifornia, and hunt my way across the continent. Ruxton's'Life in the Far West' inspired a belief in self-reliance andindependence only rivalled by Robinson Crusoe. If I couldnot find a companion, I would go alone. Little did I dreamof the fortune which was in store for me, or how nearly Imissed carrying out the scheme so wildly contemplated, orindeed, any scheme at all.

　　The only friend I could meet with both willing and able tojoin me was the last Lord Durham. He could not undertake togo to California; but he had been to New York during hisfather's reign in Canada, and liked the idea of revisitingthe States. He proposed that we should spend the winter inthe West Indies, and after some buffalo-shooting on theplains, return to England in the autumn.

　　The notion of the West Indies gave rise to an off-shoot.

　　Both Durham and I were members of the old Garrick, then but asmall club in Covent Garden. Amongst our mutual friends wasAndrew Arcedeckne - pronounced Archdeacon - a character towhom attaches a peculiar literary interest, of which anon.

　　Arcedeckne - Archy, as he was commonly called - was about acouple of years older than we were. He was the owner ofGlevering Hall, Suffolk, and nephew of Lord Huntingfield.

　　These particulars, as well as those of his person, are note-worthy, as it will soon appear.

　　Archy - 'Merry Andrew,' as I used to call him, - owned one ofthe finest estates in Jamaica - Golden Grove. When he heardof our intended trip, he at once volunteered to go with us.

　　He had never seen Golden Grove, but had often wished to visitit. Thus it came to pass that we three secured our cabins inone of the West India mailers, and left England in December1849.

　　To return to our little Suffolk squire. The description ofhis figure, as before said, is all-important, though theworld is familiar with it, as drawn by the pencil of a mastercaricaturist. Arcedeckne was about five feet three inches,round as a cask, with a small singularly round face and head,closely cropped hair, and large soft eyes, - in a word, solike a seal, that he was as often called 'Phoca' as Archy.

　　Do you recognise the portrait? Do you need the help of'Glevering Hall' (how curious the suggestion!). And wouldyou not like to hear him talk? Here is a specimen in hisbest manner. Surely it must have been taken down by ashorthand writer, or a phonograph:

　　MR. HARRY FOKER LOQUITUR: 'He inquired for Rincer and thecold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked MissRincer when she would be prepared to marry him, and paid hiscompliments to Miss Brett, another young lady in the bar, allin a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousnesswhich set all these young ladies in a giggle. "Have a drop,Pen: it's recommended by the faculty, &c. Give the youngone a glass, R., and score it up to yours truly."'

　　I fancy the great man who recorded these words was moreafraid of Mr. Harry PHOCA than of any other man in theGarrick Club - possibly for the reason that honest Harry wasnot the least bit afraid of him. The shy, the proud, thesensitive satirist would steal quietly into the room,avoiding notice as though he wished himself invisible. Phocawould be warming his back at the fire, and calling for aglass of 'Foker's own.' Seeing the giant enter, he wouldadvance a step or two, with a couple of extended fingers, andexclaim, quite affably, 'Ha! Mr. Thackry! litary cove! Gladto see you, sir. How's Major Dobbings?' and likely enoughwould turn to the waiter, and bid him, 'Give this gent aglass of the same, and score it up to yours truly!' We havehis biographer's word for it, that he would have winked atthe Duke of Wellington, with just as little scruple.

　　Yes, Andrew Arcedeckne was the original of Harry Foker; and,from the cut of his clothes to his family connection, and tothe comicality, the simplicity, the sweetness of temper(though hardly doing justice to the loveableness of thelittle man), the famous caricature fits him to a T.

　　The night before we left London we had a convivial dinner atthe Garrick - we three travellers, with Albert Smith, hisbrother, and John Leech. It was a merry party, to which allcontributed good fellowship and innocent jokes. The latestarrival at the Zoo was the first hippopotamus that hadreached England, - a present from the Khedive. Someonewondered how it had been caught. I suggested a trout-fly;which so tickled John Leech's fancy that he promised to drawit for next week's 'Punch.' Albert Smith went with us toSouthampton to see us off.

　　On our way to Jamaica we stopped a night at Barbadoes tocoal. Here I had the honour of making the acquaintance ofthe renowned Caroline Lee! - Miss Car'line, as the negroescalled her. She was so pleased at the assurance that herfriend Mr. Peter Simple had spread her fame all the worldover, that she made us a bowl of the most delicious icedsangaree; and speedily got up a 'dignity ball' for ourentertainment. She was rather too much of an armful to dancewith herself, but there was no lack of dark beauties, (not awh............