At daybreak we again embarked and proceeded up the river, frequently halting to call at the houses of English planters. Everywhere we heard the same distressing tale of failure and loss: worthless crops, or good crops lost by untoward delays of one sort or another; falling prices and ruined markets, and the sickening sinking of spirit by reason of hope deferred, because annexation had failed to act as a magic wand, at whose mere approach all grievances would be righted, and each man see his own heart’s desire fulfilled. At every house where we halted, we profited by that excellent institution of the colonies, tea at all hours—which we accepted the more readily knowing that we were bidding a long farewell to milk. But the tale of poverty was one which needed no telling, for it was too plainly written on every side, especially in the untidy, uncared-for homes. Of course there are exceptions, and we called at two houses whose gardens bright with scarlet hybiscus and other blossoms were pleasant to behold, and where generous gifts of oranges, from laden trees, were a welcome addition to our stores. It was sunset ere we reached our destination, the village of Delandamanu (_i.e._, the hill on whose top the _damanu_-trees grow), where it was arranged that we should sleep in the church—somewhat a startling idea at first, but one which seemed less unnatural from the fact of the church being just like any other clean, well-matted house; and of course all our food was brought in ready cooked. So we rigged up our tents as usual, and, for once, slept in church with full permission from the parson! In truth we had good reason to rejoice in our position, commanding a very lovely view of shapely mountain-ranges, and of the river winding through rich green country. The church stands on the side of a tiny hill, on the summit of which is the village graveyard. I observe these are almost invariably on hill-tops, generally very secluded, and in beautiful situations. They are often tasteful and well cared for, overshadowed by the mournful casurina or ironwood tree, called in Fijian _noko noko_, and adorned with tall red-leaved shrubs, dracæna, and others. The graves themselves are sometimes conical heaps of red earth, with white sand on the top, sometimes covered with small green pebbles, brought from afar, and sometimes merely edged with tree-fern wood. This one is peculiar, inasmuch as, although the dead are buried horizontally, the external grave slopes with the hill.