ork. v. Republics.

" XXI. Rule and Misrule on Makin. i. Butaritari, its King and Court.
ii. History of Three Kings. iii. The Drink Question.

" XXII. A Butaritarian Festival.

" XXIII. The King of Apemama. i. First Impressions. ii. Equator Town
and the Palace. iii. The Three Corselets.

_Part VII. Samoa_

which I have not yet reached.

Even as so sketched it makes sixty chapters, not less than 300 Cornhill
pages; and I suspect not much under 500. Samoa has yet to be accounted
for: I think it will be all history, and I shall work in observations on
Samoan manners, under the similar heads in other Polynesian islands. It
is still possible, though unlikely, that I may add a passing visit to
Fiji or Tonga, or even both; but I am growing impatient to see yourself,
and I do not want to be later than June of coming to England. Anyway,
you see it will be a large work, and as it will be copiously
illustrated, the Lord knows what it will cost. We shall return, God
willing, by Sydney, Ceylon, Suez and, I guess, Marseilles the
many-masted (copyright epithet). I shall likely pause a day or two in
Paris, but all that is too far ahead--although now it begins to look
near--so near, and I can hear the rattle of the hansom up Endell Street,
and see the gates swing back, and feel myself jump out upon the Monument
steps--Hosanna!--home again. My dear fellow, now that my father is done
with his troubles, and 17 Heriot Row no more than a mere shell, you and
that gaunt old Monument in Bloomsbury are all that I have in view when I
use the word home; some passing thoughts there may be of the rooms at
Skerryvore, and the blackbirds in the chine on a May morning; but the
essence is S.C. and the Museum. Suppose, by some damned accident, you
were no more; well, I should return just the same, because of my mother
and Lloyd, whom I now think to send to Cambridge; but all the spring
would have gone out of me, and ninety per cent. of the attraction lost.
I will copy for you here a copy of verses made in Apemama.

I heard the pulse of the besieging sea
Throb far away all night. I heard the wind
Fly crying, and convulse tumultuous palms.
I rose and strolled. The isle was all bright sand,
And flailing fans and shadows of the palm:
The heaven all moon, and wind, and the blind vault--
The keenest planet slain, for Venus slept.
The King, my neighbour, with his host