I have already expressed my opinion, founded upon a sufficiently
long experience, that the United States missionary is by far the
best man for the Western Coast, and, indeed, for dangerous
tropical countries generally. Physically he is spare and hard,
the nervous temperament being more strongly developed in him than
in the bulbous and more bilious or sanguine European. He is
better born, and blood never fails to tell. Again, he generally
adopts the profession from taste, not because il faut vivre. He
is better bred; he knows the negro from his childhood, and his
education is more practical, more generally useful than that of
his rivals. Moreover, I never yet heard him exclaim, "Capting,
them heggs is 'igh!" Lastly he is more temperate and moderate in
his diet: hitherto it has not been my fate to assist in carrying
him to bed.

Perhaps the American missionary carries sobriety too far. In
dangerous tropical regions, where there is little appetite and
less nutritious diet, where exertion of mind and body easily
exhaust vitality, and where "diffusible stimulants" must often
take the place of solids, he dies first who drinks water. The
second is the man who begins with an "eye-opener" of "brandy-
pawnee," and who keeps up excitement by the same means through
the day. The third is the hygienic sciolist, who drinks on
principle poor "Gladstone" and thin French wines, cheap and
nasty; and the survivor is the man who enjoys a quantum suff. of
humming Scotch and Burton ales, sherry, Madeira, and port, with a
modicum of cognac. This has been my plan in the tropics from the
beginning, when it was suggested to me by the simplest exercise
of the reasoning faculties. "A dozen of good port will soon set
you up!" said the surgeon to me after fever. Then why not drink