to go to sea again next tide, and wander on for
weeks, and for hundreds of miles, till they run ashore at last on a
congenial bed of mud, throw out spider legs right and left, and hide
the foul mire with their gay green leaves.

The almond-tree, {104} with its flat stages of large smooth leaves,
and oily eatable seeds in an almond-like husk, is not an almond at
all, or any kin thereto. It has been named, as so many West Indian
plants have, after some known plant to which it bore a likeness, and
introduced hither, and indeed to all shores from Cuba to Guiana,
from the East Indies, through Arabia and tropical Africa, having
begun its westward journey, probably, in the pocket of some
Portuguese follower of Vasco de Gama.

We beached the boat close to the almond-tree, and were welcomed on
shore by the lord of the cove, a gallant red-bearded Scotsman, with
a head and a heart; a handsome Creole wife, and lovely brownish
children, with no more clothes on than they could help. An old
sailor, and much-wandering Ulysses, he is now coastguardman, water-
bailiff, policeman, practical warden, and indeed practical viceroy
of the island, and an easy life of it he must have.

The sea gives him fish enough for his family, and for a brawny brown
servant. His coconut palms yield him a little revenue; he has
poultry, kids, and goats' milk more than he needs; his patch of
provision-ground in the place gives him corn and roots, sweet
potatoes, yam, tania, cassava, and fruit too, all the year round.
He needs nothing, owes nothing, fears nothing. News and politics
are to him like the distant murmur of the surf at the back of the
island; a noise which is nought to him. His Bible, his almanac, and
three or four old books on a shelf are his whole library. He has
all that man needs, more than man deserves, and is far too wise to
wish to better himself.

I sat down on the beach beneath the amber shade of the palms; and
watched my white friends rushing into the clear sea and disporting
themselves there like so many otters, while the policeman's little
boy launched a log canoe, not much longer than himself, and paddled
out into the midst of them, and then jumped upright in it, a little
naked brown Cupidon; whereon he and his canoe were of course upset,
and pushed under water, and scrambled over, and the whole cove rang
with shouts and splashing, enough to scare away the boldest shark,
had one been on watc