he Master_ should do well, and at
least that notice is agreeable reading. I expect to be home in June: you
will have gathered that I am pretty well. In addition to my labours, I
suppose I walk five or six miles a day, and almost every day I ride up
and see Fanny and Lloyd, who are in a house in the bush with Ah Fu. I
live in Apia for history's sake with Moors, an American trader. Day
before yesterday I was arrested and fined for riding fast in the street,
which made my blood bitter, as the wife of the manager of the German
Firm has twice almost ridden me down, and there seems none to say her
nay. The Germans have behaved pretty badly here, but not in all ways so
ill as you may have gathered: they were doubtless much provoked; and if
the insane Knappe had not appeared upon the scene, might have got out of
the muddle with dignity. I write along without rhyme or reason, as
things occur to me.

I hope from my outcries about printing you do not think I want you to
keep my news or letters in a Blue Beard closet. I like all friends to
hear of me; they all should if I had ninety hours in the day, and
strength for all of them; but you must have gathered how hard worked I
am, and you will understand I go to bed a pretty tired man.

_29th December [1889]._

To-morrow (Monday, I won't swear to my day of the month; this is the
Sunday between Christmas and New Year) I go up the coast with Mr.
Clarke, one of the London Society missionaries, in a boat to examine
schools, see Tamasese, etc. Lloyd comes to photograph. Pray Heaven we
have good weather; this is the rainy season; we shall be gone four or
five days; and if the rain keep off, I shall be glad of the change; if
it rain, it will be beastly. This explains still further how hard
pressed I am, as the mail will be gone ere I return, and I have thus
lost the days I meant to write in. I have a boy, Henry, who interprets
and copies for me, and is a great nuisance. He said he wished to come to
me in order to learn "long explessions." Henry goes up along with us;
and as I am not fond of him, he may before the trip is over hear some
"stlong explessions." I am writing this on the back balcony at Moors',
palms and a hill like the hill of Kinnoull looking in at me; myself
lying on the floor, and (like the parties in Handel's song) "clad in
robes of virgin white"; the ink is dreadful, the heat delicious, a fine
going breeze in the palms, and from the other side of the house the
sudd