the midst of the rainy season, and dwell among alarms of
hurricanes, in a very unsafe little two-storied wooden box 650 feet
above and about three miles from the sea-beach. Behind us, till the
other slope of the island, desert forest, peaks, and loud torrents; in
front green slopes to the sea, some fifty miles of which we dominate. We
see the ships as they go out and in to the dangerous roadstead of Apia;
and if they lie far out, we can even see their topmasts while they are
at anchor. Of sounds of men, beyond those of our own labourers, there
reach us, at very long intervals, salutes from the warships in harbour,
the bell of the cathedral church, and the low of the conch-shell calling
the labour boys on the German plantations. Yesterday, which was
Sunday--the _quantieme_ is most likely erroneous; you can now correct
it--we had a visitor--Baker of Tonga. Heard you ever of him? He is a
great man here: he is accused of theft, rape, judicial murder, private
poisoning, abortion, misappropriation of public moneys--oddly enough,
not forgery, nor arson; you would be amused if you knew how thick the
accusations fly in this South Sea world. I make no doubt my own
character is something illustrious; or if not yet, there is a good time
coming.

But all our resources have not of late been Pacific. We have had
enlightened society: Lafarge the painter, and your friend Henry Adams: a
great privilege--would it might endure. I would go oftener to see them,
but the place is awkward to reach on horseback. I had to swim my horse
the last time I went to dinner; and as I have not yet returned the
clothes I had to borrow, I dare not return in the same plight: it seems
inevitable--as soon as the wash comes in, I plump straight into the
American consul's shirt or trousers! They, I believe, would come oftener
to see me but for the horrid doubt that weighs upon our commissariat
department; we have _often_ almost nothing to eat; a guest would simply
break the bank; my wife and I have dined on one avocado pear; I have
several times dined on hard bread and onions. What would you do with a
guest at such narrow seasons?--eat him? or serve up a labour boy
fricasseed?

Work? work is now arrested, but I have written, I should think, about
thirty chapters of the South Sea book; they will all want rehandling, I
dare say. Gracious, what a strain is a long book! The time it took me to
design this volume, before I could dream of putting pen to paper, was
ex