from disease, or pain, or crime, and finally die in peace at the good
old age of a hundred or a hundred and fifty years.

Their voices are so pleasing, and their language is so melodious that I
enjoyed hearing their talk before I understood a word of it. Moreover,
their delightful manners evince a rare delicacy of sentiment and
appreciation of the beautiful in life. We foreigners must have been
objects of the liveliest curiosity to them, yet they never showed it in
their conduct; they never stared at us, or stopped to enquire about us,
but courteously saluted us wherever we went, and left us to make
ourselves at home. We never saw an ugly or unbecoming gesture, and we
never heard a rude, unmannerly word all the time we stayed in Womla.

Some of their public buildings are magnificent; but most of their
private houses are pretty one-storied cottages, each more or less
isolated in a big garden, and beyond earshot of the rest. They are
elegant, not to say fanciful constructions of stone and timber,
generally of an oval shape, or at least with rounded outlines; but
sometimes rambling, and varying much in detail. Everyone seems to follow
his particular bent and taste in the fashion of his home. Many of them
have balconies or verandahs, and also terraces on the roof, where the
inmates can sit and enjoy the surrounding view. They are doorless, and
the outer walls are usually open so that one may see inside; but in
stormy weather they are closed by panels of wood, and a translucent
mineral resembling glass. They are divided into rooms by mats and
curtains, or partitions and screens of wood, which are sometimes
decorated with paintings of inimitable beauty. The ceilings are usually
of carved wood, and the floors inlaid with marbles, corals, and the
richer stones. There are no stuffy carpets on the floors, or hangings on
the walls to collect the dust. The light easy furniture is for the most