My arrival here was a funny example of how we do things in Fiji. My visit has been under discussion for a whole year; and once, owing to miscarriage of letters, Mr Leefe even came to Levuka to fetch me when I had gone up the Rewa! This time I had written about a week before starting, to announce my coming. That letter has only just arrived a week after me. So of course I was not expected; and further, both Mrs Leefe and Ethel were suffering from severe cold and headache. However, I was most cordially welcomed, and shown the various objects of interest, but saw no symptom of any special quarters being awarded to me. At bed-time I was hospitably invited to share a bed with my hostess and her daughter—Mr L. and the Baron occupying a tiny house outside. I preferred a shake-down in the drawing-room, and at early dawn awoke in time to accompany Mrs Leefe and Ethel to milk the goats—which on paper sounds very pretty, and which in fine weather is really so. But when you come to the reality of having to start at 5 A.M. every morning of your life—fine weather or foul, in sickness or in health—and walk a mile and a half up and down very steep slippery hill-paths, which in wet weather are mere slides of red mud,—and, when the milking is done, return by the same path, making a walk of three miles before the day’s work has actually begun, you can imagine that this pretty pastoral scene becomes a tolerably fatiguing item in daily life. Of course to me there was the great charm of novelty—an early morning in lovely sunlight, blue sea and cocoa-palms on every side, and the very picturesque flock of goats. One of Mr Leefe’s most anxious experiments has been the introduction of Angora goats,—lovely white creatures, with long silky fleece. At great expense he procured two pair, and having killed off all the wild he-goats on the island, these beautiful strangers were established as monarchs of the isle. So the flock is now exceedingly pretty. There are 230 mothers, of all varieties of colour, and each has either one or two pure white kids, all, without exception, taking after their father. Alas! many of them are already orphans, one of these splendid fellows having met with a most untimely end. Its long fleece got entangled in a thorny lemon-bush, which held it prisoner, and it was not found till it was dead. The second narrowly escaped the same fate. It got astray, and was caught in a thicket by its horns, and was not discovered till the following day. It was, however, reported missing at night, and all hands turned out to seek for the lost father of the flock. Torches were lighted, and the search continued for some hours; at last it was given up as being vain, and all returned to sleep, when suddenly an alarm of fire was given, and the whole hill was seen to be in a blaze: a torch, carelessly dropped in the dry grass, had started a fire which spread rapidly, destroying a multitude of promising young palm-trees recently planted.