to say, "I am
a lover," and implied that I, also, had been engaged in low intrigue.
"Farewell, with good fortune," he replied, and went on his way, singing
some catch about Amaryllis, who, I presume, was the object of his
unhallowed attentions.

We slipped into the silent town, unwalled and unguarded as it was, for as
one of their own poets had said, "We dwell by the wash of the waves, far
off from toilsome men, and with us are no folk conversant." They were a
race that knew war only by a vague tradition, that they had dwelt, at
some former age, in an island, perhaps New Zealand, where they were
subject to constant annoyance from Giants,--a likely story. Thence they
had migrated to their present home, where only one white man had ever
been cast away--one Odysseus, so their traditions declared--before our
arrival. Him, however, they had treated hospitably, very unlike their
contemplated behaviour to Bludger and me.

I am obliged to make this historical digression that the reader may
understand how it happened, under Providence, that we were not detected
in passing through the town, and how Bludger successfully accomplished
what, I fear, was by no means his first burglary.

We parted at the chief's house, Bill to secure provisions, and I to
unmoor a boat, and bring her round to a lonely bay on the coast, where my
companion was to join me.

I accomplished my task without the slightest difficulty, selected a light
craft,--they did not use canoes, but rowed boats like coracles,--and was
lying at anchor, moored with a heavy stone, in the bay.

The dawn was now breaking in the most beautiful colours--gold, purple,
crimson, and green--across the sea. All nature was still, save for the
first pipe of awakening birds.

There was a delicate fragrance in the air, which was at once soft and
keen, and, as I watched the red sunlight on the high cliffs, and on the
smooth trunks of the palm trees, I felt, strange to say, a kind of
reluctance to leave the island.

The people, apart from their cruel and abominable religion, were the
gentlest and most peaceful I have ever known. They were beautiful to
look upon, so finely made and shapely that I have never seen their like.
Their language was exquisitely sweet and melodious, and though, except
hymns, I do not care for poetry, yet I must admit that some of their
compositions in verse were extremely pleasing, though they were ignorant
of the art of rhyme. All about them was beau