We have just had two interesting domestic events in the middle of the storm. The first was the arrival of a fine litter of young pigs, who chose this very awkward moment for their appearance. The other was the ruthless destruction of a cherished nest, just in front of the nursery window, where a Muscovy duck had made her home at the root of an old tree overhanging the water. We watched a sudden rush carry away her supporting-bank, and the poor thing looked up in despair, as, one after another, her eggs rolled into the stream. A Fijian rushed to the rescue up to his waist in water, saved the last six, and carried them and her off to the kitchen for safety, but she declines to sit on the surviving eggs. A fresh access of storm. My door has just blown violently open. We are putting up hurricane-bars, and expect to have an anxious night. The new roof of the old house is leaking all over. _March 17._—We have had a night of it, but as yet no hurricane. However, old hands tell us we cannot hope we are through the wood for ten days to come, after which we may count on six months of pleasant weather. The rainfall yesterday was 4½ inches, and all night the wind blew savagely; but the roof was very slightly damaged, and the stream kept in its proper channel. No harm was done, save that the boat-house was blown down. Luckily all the boats had been dragged up to the verandah for security. Last night at sunset we were watching a poor little cutter trying to beat in at the passage through the coral-reef. Then we lost sight of her in the utter darkness. This morning we hear she did reach a passage farther along the coast, but struck the reef and went down like a shot. The men got to shore, but she and her hard-earned cargo are lost. Her story may interest you. She was the private property of a tribe near Khandavu, who had the sense to see the advantages of owning a ship for themselves. About eighty of the tribe bound themselves to work for three years on plantations in order to pay off her price; and their long service has only just expired. So you see it is a serious loss to these poor folk. _March 18._—After a storm a calm. To-day is a dead calm—not a ripple on the sea. We do not know whether it is merely a case of _reculer pour mieux sauter_; but at all events, a vessel is to be despatched to-night to Khandavu on the chance of still being in time to catch the mail _viâ_ Torres Straits. Anyhow, we hope we shall get some English letters, unless the storm blew the mail-steamers past us. We are rather anxious about Baron von Hügel, as he has for months been wandering about the mountains alone with natives, and a fortnight ago wrote that he was very ill. We expected him by the steamer to-day, but have no word of him. CHAPTER XV. GOVERNMENT HOUSE—PETS—CURIOS—CRABS—NATIVE POLICE—DEATH OF MRS DE RICCI. NASOVA, _March 23, 1876_.