loses the volume _In the South Seas_;
Part VII. developed itself into _A Footnote to History_. The verses
at the end of this letter have already been printed (_Songs of
Travel_, vol. xiv., p. 244); but I give them here with the context,
as in similar instances above. The allusion is to the two colossal
images from Easter Island which used to stand under the portico to
the right hand of the visitor entering the Museum, were for some
years removed, and are now restored to their old place.

_Schooner Equator, at sea. 190 miles off Samoa.
Monday, December 2nd, 1889._

MY DEAR COLVIN,--We are just nearing the end of our long cruise. Rain,
calms, squalls, bang--there's the foretopmast gone; rain, calm, squalls,
away with the stay-sail; more rain, more calm, more squalls; a
prodigious heavy sea all the time, and the _Equator_ staggering and
hovering like a swallow in a storm; and the cabin, a great square,
crowded with wet human beings, and the rain avalanching on the deck, and
the leaks dripping everywhere: Fanny, in the midst of fifteen males,
bearing up wonderfully. But such voyages are at the best a trial. We had
one particularity: coming down on Winslow Reef, p. d. (position
doubtful): two positions in the directory, a third (if you cared to
count that) on the chart; heavy sea running, and the night due. The
boats were cleared, bread put on board, and we made up our packets for a
boat voyage of four or five hundred miles, and turned in, expectant of a
crash. Needless to say it did not come, and no doubt we were far to
leeward. If we only had twopenceworth of wind, we might be at dinner in
Apia to-morrow evening; but no such luck: here we roll, dead before a
light air--and that is no point of sailing at all for a fore and aft
schooner--the sun blazing overhead, thermometer 88 deg., four degrees above
what I have learned to call South Sea temperature; but for all that,
land so near, and so much grief being happily astern, we are all pretty
gay on board, and have been photographing and draught-playing and
sky-larking like anything. I am minded to stay not very long in Samoa
and confine my studies there (as far as any one can forecast) to the
history of the late war. My book is now practically modelled: if I can
execute what is designed, there are few better books now extant on this
globe, bar the epics, and the big tragedies, and histories, and the
choice lyric poetics, and a novel or so--n