ther, and she was a widow. A dangerous
trade, that, and one that I have to practise. I'll put in a word when I
get home again, to tell you whether I'm killed or not. "Accident in the
(Paper) Hunting Field: death of a notorious author. We deeply regret to
announce the death of the most unpopular man in Samoa, who broke his
neck, at the descent of Magiagi, from the misconduct of his little
raving lunatic of an old beast of a pony. It is proposed to commemorate
the incident by the erection of a suitable pile. The design (by our
local architect, Mr. Walker) is highly artificial, with a rich and
voluminous Crockett at each corner, a small but impervious Barrieer at
the entrance, an arch at the top, an Archer of a pleasing but solid
character at the bottom; the colour will be genuine William-Black; and
Lang, lang may the ladies sit wi' their fans in their hands." Well,
well, they may sit as they sat for me, and little they'll reck, the
ungrateful jauds! Muckle they cared about Tusitala when they had him!
But now ye can see the difference; now leddies, ye can repent, when ower
late, o' your former cauldness and what ye'll perhaps allow me to ca'
your _tepeedity_! He was beautiful as the day, but his day is done! And
perhaps, as he was maybe gettin' a wee thing fly-blown, it's nane too
shuene.

_Monday, August 6th._--Well, sir, I have escaped the dangerous
conjunction of the widow's only son and the Sabbath Day. We had a most
enjoyable time, and Lloyd and I were 3 and 4 to arrive; I will not tell
here what interval had elapsed between our arrival and the arrival of 1
and 2; the question, sir, is otiose and malign; it deserves, it shall
have no answer. And now without further delay to the main purpose of
this hasty note. We received and we have already in fact distributed the
gorgeous fahbrics of Kirriemuir. Whether from the splendour of the robes
themselves, or from the direct nature of the compliments with which you
had directed us to accompany the presentations, one young lady blushed
as she received the proofs of your munificence.... Bad ink, and the
dregs of it at that, but the heart in the right place. Still very
cordially interested in my Barrie and wishing him well through his
sickness, which is of the body, and long defended from mine, which is of
the head, and by the impolite might be described as idiocy. The whole
head is useless, and the whole sitting part painful: reason, the recent
Paper Chase.

There was racin