The two families agreed to devote the next day to exploring two small islands, visible from both homes, but which, being uninhabited, had never yet invited nearer inspection. You know I always say it is my mission in life to stir up my friends in all corners of the globe to take me to see places of interest close to their own homes, but never before visited by themselves. So next morning we all met at the small isle of Tomberrua, which is an ancient place of burial. Many old chiefs lie beneath the cocoa-palms, but their graves are all uncared for and overgrown. The lovely white sand tempted us to bathe in the warm sunny sea—a rare pleasure, for there are so few places tolerably safe from sharks. We then rowed to the other isle, Manbualau, which proved to be the most extraordinary specimen of volcanic formation I have ever seen; all one vast honeycomb of hard cutting rock, with deep fissures intervening between ridges so close together that you can step from one to the other. The rock is veiled with rank vegetation, which adds to the danger and difficulty of the scramble; and innumerable bats haunt the great Mbaka trees (a sort of Fijian banyan), which overshadow the whole, their countless interlacing stems finding a holding-ground in every crevice of the rock. It is an exceedingly curious place, utterly unlike anything I know elsewhere. I walked across the isle to the other side with the gentlemen but it was difficult to make our way, and the smell of bats was positively sickening; so we were glad to hurry back and join the rest of the party, who had kindled a fire and prepared a cheerful tea in our absence. The next few days slipped pleasantly by. I sketched various points of interest, such as the great Mbaka trees near the old king’s house, the foundations of the great temple, and the stone on which the victims’ heads were dashed (which is a basaltic pillar from Khandavu).