Wonderfully rested; feel almost fit for to-morrow's dreary
excursion - not that it will be dreary if the weather favour,
but otherwise it will be death; and a native feast, and I
fear I am in for a big one, is a thing I loathe. I wonder if
you can really conceive me as a politician in this extra-
mundane sphere - presiding at public meetings, drafting
proclamations, receiving mis-addressed letters that have been
carried all night through tropical forests? It seems strange
indeed, and to you, who know me really, must seem stranger.
I do not say I am free from the itch of meddling, but God
knows this is no tempting job to meddle in; I smile at
picturesque circumstances like the Misi Mea (MONSIEUR CHOSE
is the exact equivalent) correspondence, but the business as
a whole bores and revolts me. I do nothing and say nothing;
and then a day comes, and I say 'this can go on no longer.'


9.30 P. M.


The wretched native dilatoriness finds me out. News has just
come that we must embark at six to-morrow; I have divided the
night in watches, and hope to be called to-morrow at four and
get under way by five. It is a great chance if it be
managed; but I have given directions and lent my own clock to
the boys, and hope the best. If I get called at four we
shall do it nicely. Good-night; I must turn in.