which only the individual who has mastered the art of living the
unartificial life perceives. When strained of body and seared of mind,
did not the Isle, lovely in lonesomeness, perfumed, sweet in health,
irresistible in mood, console and soothe as naught else could? Shall I
not, therefore, do homage to its profuse and gracious charms and exercise
the rights and privileges of protector?


"When thus I hail the moment flying,
Ah! still delay, thou art so fair!"


Sea, coral reefs, forest, jungle afford never ending pleasure. Look, where
the dolorous sphinx sheds gritty tears because of the boldness of the sun
and the solvency of the disdainful sea. Look, where the jungle clothes
the steep Pacific slope with its palms and overskirt of vines and
creepers! Glossy, formal bird's-nest ferns and irregular mass of
polypodium edged with fawn-coloured, infertile fronds fringe the sea-ward
ending. Orchids, old gold and violet, cling to the rocks with the white
claws of the sea snatching at their toughened roots, and beyond the
extreme verge of ferns and orchids on abrupt sea-scarred boulders are the
stellate shadows of the whorled foliage of the umbrella tree, in varied
pattern, precise and clean cut and in delightful commingling and
confusion. Deep and definite the shadows, offspring of lordly light and
steadfast leaves--not mere insubstantialities, but stars deep sculptured
in the grey rock.

And when an intemperate sprite romps and rollicks, and all the features
of prettiness and repose are distraught under the bluster and lateral
blur of a cyclone, still do I revel in the scene. Does a mother love her