LIFE is a strange compound. Peterkin used to say of it, that it
beat a druggist's shop all to sticks; for, whereas the first is a
compound of good and bad, the other is a horrible compound of all
that is utterly detestable. And indeed the more I consider it the
more I am struck with the strange mixture of good and evil that
exists not only in the material earth but in our own natures. In
our own Coral Island we had experienced every variety of good that
a bountiful Creator could heap on us. Yet on the night of the
storm we had seen how almost, in our case, - and altogether, no
doubt, in the case of others less fortunate - all this good might
be swept away for ever. We had seen the rich fruit-trees waving in
the soft air, the tender herbs shooting upwards under the benign
influence of the bright sun; and, the next day, we had seen these
good and beautiful trees and plants uprooted by the hurricane,
crushed and hurled to the ground in destructive devastation. We
had lived for many months in a clime for the most part so
beautiful, that we had often wondered whether Adam and Eve had
found Eden more sweet; and we had seen the quiet solitudes of our
paradise suddenly broken in upon by ferocious savages, and the
white sands stained with blood and strewed with lifeless forms;
yet, among these cannibals, we had seen many symptoms of a kindly
nature. I pondered these things much, and, while I considered
them, there recurred to my memory those words which I had read in
my Bible, - the works of God are wonderful, and his ways past
finding out.

After these poor savages had left us, we used to hold long and
frequent conversations about them, and I noticed that Peterkin's