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and got rid of my friend； myself composed and smiling still；
he white and shaking like an aspen。 He could explain
everything； I said it did not interest me。 He said he had
enemies； I said nothing was more likely。 He said he was
calumniated； with all my heart； said I； but there are so many
liars； that I find it safer to believe them。 He said； in
justice to himself； he must explain： God forbid I should
interfere with you； said I； with the same factitious grin；
but it can change nothing。 So I kept my temper； rid myself
of an unfaithful servant； found a method of conducting
similar interviews in the future； and fell in my own liking。
One thing more： I learned a fresh tolerance for the dead …；
he too had learned … perhaps had invented … the trick of this
manner； God knows what weakness； what instability of feeling；
lay beneath。 CE QUE C'EST QUE DE NOUS！ poor human nature；
that at past forty I must adjust this hateful mask for the
first time； and rejoice to find it effective； that the effort
of maintaining an external smile should confuse and embitter
a man's soul。
To…day I have not weeded； I have written instead from six
till eleven； from twelve till two； with the interruption of
the interview aforesaid； a damned letter is written for the
third time； I dread to read it； for I dare not give it a
fourth chance … unless it be very bad indeed。 Now I write
you from my mosquito curtain； to the song of saws and planes
and hammers； and wood clumping on the floor above； in a day
of heavenly brightness； a bird twittering near by； my eye；
through the open door； commanding green meads； two or three
forest trees casting their boughs against the sky； a forest…
clad mountain…side beyond； and close in by the door…jamb a
nick of the blue Pacific。 It is March in England； bleak
March； and I lie here with the great sliding doors wide open
in an undershirt and p'jama trousers； and melt in the closure
of mosquito bars； and burn to be out in the breeze。 A few
torn clouds … not white； the sun has tinged them a warm pink
… swim in heaven。 In which blessed and fair day； I have to
make faces and speak bitter words to a man … who has deceived
me； it is true … but who is poor； and older than I； and a
kind of a gentleman too。 On the whole； I prefer the massacre
of weeds。
SUNDAY。
When I had done talking to you yesterday； I played on my pipe
till the conch sounded； then went over to the old house for
dinner； and had scarce risen from table ere I was submerged
with visitors。 The first of these despatched； I spent the
rest of the evening going over the Samoan translation of my
BOTTLE IMP with Claxton the missionary； then to bed； but
being upset； I suppose； by these interruptions； and having
gone all day without my weeding； not to sleep。 For hours I
lay awake and heard the rain fall； and saw faint； far…away
lightning over the sea； and wrote you long letters which I
scorn to reproduce。 This morning Paul was unusually early；
the dawn had scarce begun when he appeared with the tray and
lit my candle； and I had breakfasted and read （with
indescribable sinkings） the whole of yesterday's work before
the sun had risen。 Then I sat and thought； and sat and
better thought。 It was not good enough； nor good； it was as
slack as journalism； but not so inspired； it was excellent
stuff misused； and the defects stood gross on it like humps
upon a camel。 But could I； in my present disposition； do
much more with it？ in my present pressure for time； were I
not better employed doing another one about as ill； than
making this some thousandth fraction better？ Yes； I thought；
and tried the new one； and behold； I could do nothing： my
head swims； words do not come to me； nor phrases； and I
accepted defeat； packed up my traps； and turned to
communicate the failure to my esteemed correspondent。 I
think it possible I overworked yesterday。 Well； we'll see
to…morrow … perhaps try again later。 It is indeed the hope
of trying later that keeps me writing to you。 If I take to
my pipe； I know myself … all is over for the morning。
Hurray； I'll correct proofs！
PAGO…PAGO； WEDNESDAY。
After I finished on Sunday I passed a miserable day； went out
weeding； but could not find peace。 I do not like to steal my
dinner； unless I have given myself a holiday in a canonical
manner； and weeding after all is only fun； the amount of its
utility small； and the thing capable of being done faster and
nearly as well by a hired boy。 In the evening Sewall came up
（American consul） and proposed to take me on a malaga； which
I accepted。 Monday I rode down to Apia； was nearly all day
fighting about drafts and money； the silver problem does not
touch you； but it is （in a strange and I hope passing phase）
making my situation difficult in Apia。 About eleven； the
flags were all half…masted； it was old Captain Hamilton
（Samesoni the natives called him） who had passed away。 In
the evening I walked round to the U。S。 Consulate； it was a
lovely night with a full moon； and as I got round to the hot
corner of Matautu I heard hymns in front。 The balcony of the
dead man's house was full of women singing； Mary （the widow；
a native） sat on a chair by the doorstep； and I was set
beside her on a bench； and next to Paul the carpenter； as I
sat down I had a glimpse of the old captain； who lay in a
sheet on his own table。 After the hymn was over； a native
pastor made a speech which lasted a long while； the light
poured out of the door and windows； the girls were sitting
clustered at my feet； it was choking hot。 After the speech
was ended； Mary carried me within； the captain's hands were
folded on his bosom； his face and head were composed； he
looked as if he might speak at any moment； I have never seen
this kind of waxwork so express or more venerable； and when I
went away； I was conscious of a certain envy for the man who
was out of the battle。 All night it ran in my head； and the
next day when we sighted Tutuila； and ran into this beautiful
land…locked loch of Pago Pago （whence I write）； Captain
Hamilton's folded hands and quiet face said a great deal more
to me than the scenery。
I am living here in a trader's house； we have a good table；
Sewall doing things in style； and I hope to benefit by the
change； and possibly get more stuff for Letters。 In the
meanwhile； I am seized quite MAL…A…PROPOS with desire to
write a story； THE BLOODY WEDDING； founded on fact … very
possibly true； being an attempt to read a murder case … not
yet months old； in this very place and house where I now
write。 The indiscretion is what stops me； but if I keep on
feeling as I feel just now it will have to be written。 Three
Star Nettison； Kit Nettison； Field the Sailor； these are the
main characters： old Nettison； and the captain of the man of