On our way here from Ovalau, we sailed close along the north-east coast of Viti Levu, which is most picturesque,—a fine rugged land, with narrow valleys hemmed in by great cliffs, and running down to the shore, where little villages nestle beneath great trees, from which hang the fishers’ nets. I thought several points exceedingly beautiful, and hope to retrace the ground more leisurely and secure some good sketches. As we came nearer here, the scene became bleaker and less attractive. Still the general effect of the coast, as seen from this house, is like some of the better parts of Ross-shire; and the narrow strait which separates this isle from the mainland, is like a fine Highland loch. Nananu itself is rather a low flat island, in shape something like a star-fish, whence you perceive that you cannot walk far in any direction without looking down on the sea—the bluest sea, with lines and patches of vividly emerald green, marking where the coral-reef rises almost to the surface. All the centre of the star-fish is a great grassy hill, but each of its many arms is edged with a belt of magnificent old trees, which overshadow the whitest of coral-sand, and in some places quite overhang the water. You are tempted to bathe at every turn. One bay in particular is quite lovely. I have never seen another quite so fascinating in any country. It is an immense horse-shoe of the purest white sand, where for a mile and a half you can walk along the water’s edge, shaded by noble old _mdelo_, _mbaka_, _tavola_, and _eevie_ trees, making a belt of dense cool verdure. In every available corner of the land Mr Leefe is planting thousands of young cocoa-nut trees, which are expected to yield a good return some six years hence, provided no hurricane sweeps the isles. Many planters are now trusting chiefly to their nuts since cotton has so utterly failed. It is sad in so many places to see great tracts of forsaken cotton-fields,[43] with their pods of white soft fluff, which it no longer pays to collect. The cotton-bush bears a lovely pale-yellow flower with a deep claret-coloured centre, precisely similar to that of the _vau_, the common hybiscus, which forms the scrub of the isles, and yields the fibre so largely used by the natives. Curiously enough, an almost identical blossom is borne by a troublesome but beautiful weed which grows profusely in the deserted cotton-fields. A peculiar kind of brilliant beetle swarms in the cotton. The neglected fields are sadly suggestive of the fortunes of their owners. For the invariable history of almost every planter is a tale of trouble and loss,—of large sums of money sunk, and now yielding no return whatever. The varieties in the story are generally whether the crops have been destroyed by hurricanes, or the house and all that it contained was burnt to the ground,—often both in succession.[44]