of the meteorological column in The Courier, who would be instructed to
give Mr. Osgood every help, especially as the occultation of Venus was
near. Men do not send letters by post in a new country when personal
communication is possible, and John Osgood was asked by his father to go
to Rahway. When John wished for the name of this rare official, the
astronomer's letter was handed over with a sarcastic request that the
name might be deciphered; but the son was not more of an antiquary than
his father, and he had to leave without it. He rode to the coast, and
there took a passing steamer to Rahway. From the sea Rahway looked a
tropical paradise. The bright green palisades of mangrove on the right
crowded down to the water's edge; on the left was the luxuriance of a
tropical jungle; in the centre was an are of opal shore fringed with
cocoa-palms, and beyond the sea a handful of white dwellings. Behind was
a sweeping monotony of verdure stretching back into the great valley of
the Popri, and over all the heavy languor of the South.

But the beauty was a delusion. When John Osgood's small boat swept up
the sands on the white crest of a league-long roller, how different was
the scene! He saw a group of dilapidated huts, a tavern called The
Angel's Rest, a blackfellow's hut, and the bareness of three Government
offices, all built on piles, that the white ants should not humble them
suddenly to the dust; a fever-making mangrove swamp, black at the base as
the filthiest moat, and tenanted by reptiles; feeble palms, and a sickly
breath creeping from the jungle to mingle with the heavy scent of the
last consignment of augar from the Popri valley. It brought him to a
melancholy standstill, disturbed at last by Gongi touching him on the arm
and pointing towards the post-office. His language to Gongi was strong;
he called the place by names that were not polite; and even on the
threshold of the official domain said that the Devil would have his last
big muster there. But from that instant his glibness declined. The