One memorable day, casually glancing at the mainland, I saw on the beach
something moving at astonishing speed. Whereupon the telescope was
brought to bear, and to my dismay revealed, actually and without fiction,
a practical spring cart, drawn by a real horse at a trot, which horse was
driven (as far as the telescope was credible) by a man! Over four years
have elapsed since I saw any wheeled vehicle other than my own
barrow--the speed of which is sedate (for I am a sedate and determined
man, and refuse to be flurried by my own barrow). Nervousness and
excitement began to play. Thank the propitious stars, two miles and more
of mighty ocean separated me from the furious car. Otherwise, who may
say? I might in my confusion have been unable to avoid disaster. This
place is becoming thrilling. Let me move farther from the rush and
bewilderment of traffic. Let me flee to some more secluded scene, where
my sight, unsoiled hitherto by motor-car, may for ever preserve most
excellent virginity. I have since made inquiries, and have been assured
that the nerve-shocking juggernaut of the opposite beach is
palsied--liable, indeed, to dissolution at any moment. When the collapse
occurs I propose to venture across to inspect the remains and renew
youthful memories of the species of conveyance to which it belonged.

How do we spend our day? How fill up the blank spaces? Goats are to be
milked', fowls to be fed, dough to be kneaded, breakfast to be prepared,
firewood to be cut, house to be looked after. Most of the substantial
improvements have long since been finished, but there is no place but has
to be kept in repair. One day, a week practically, is bestowed on the
steamer. All odd moments and every evening are devoted to books.

During the cool season, when day tides range low, hours are passed on the
coral reef, as often as conscience permits, in contemplation of the life