So Ethel is well on in music, but infinitely prefers out-of-doors occupations, and the companionship of all the living creatures, each of whom is a personal acquaintance—the poultry, the goats, the very pigs, whose name is legion. They live in a large pen by themselves near the sea, but are allowed to roam at large through the bush. At a given hour their supply of cocoa-nuts is carried to their pen, and a wooden _lali_ (drum) is struck to summon them, when they assemble with a rush. They are hideously tame, and come running up to meet any members of the family who may pass in that direction, and gambol cheerfully round them. But one of the principal daily cares is that of attending to a great army of silk-worms, which have to be fed six times a-day: that means going out six times to gather fresh mulberry-leaves, each of which must be carefully dried. Then the trays have to be cleaned, the eggs examined, the newly-hatched worms carefully separated and placed on leaves to begin their new life. The cocoons have to be attended to, and guarded from the attacks of insects; in short, rearing silk-worms on this scale is a task requiring as much care and patience as any human nursery. This industry is an altogether new experiment in Fiji, where it might no doubt succeed, but for what will, I fear, prove an insuperable obstacle—namely, the price of labour here, as compared with that in the silk-growing districts of China. Here the whole work is at present done by Mrs Leefe and Ethel, as none of their people are sufficiently trustworthy to be trained as assistants. So you see the life of a planter’s wife leaves small time for idle day-dreams or novel-reading! It needs a brave heart, and abundant courage and perseverance, to say nothing of physical strength, to fulfil such daily tasks.