Of course, I am wholly modern in sentiment,
and think nothing more noble than to publish people's
private affairs at so much a line. They like it, and
if they don't they ought to. But a still small voice
keeps telling me they will not like it always, and
perhaps not always stand it. Memory besides supplies
me with the face of a pressman (in the sacred phrase)
who proved altogether too modern for one of his
neighbours, and
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
--nos proecedens--
as it were, marshalling us our way. I am in no haste
to be that man's successor. Carthew has a record as "a
clane shot," and for some years Samoa will be good
enough for me.
We agreed to separate, accordingly; but he took me on
board in his own boat with the hardwood fittings, and
entertained me on the way with an account of his late
visit to Butaritari, whither he had gone on an errand
for Carthew, to see how Topelius was getting along,
and, if necessary, to give him a helping hand. But
Topelius was in great force, and had patronised and--
well--out-manoeuvred him.
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