OF THE SOUTH SEAS 531 



tombstone erected by his frenzied kinsman. I strolled 

 up the Broom road to the Annexe, and past Madame 

 Fanny's restaurant to the garden of the Banque de 

 rindo-Chine, and continued westward to the cemetery. 



It was a lonely spot, that acre of God in these South 

 Seas, for the resting-place of one who had been so alive 

 as that young American. The hours of our last wassail, 

 the bowl of velvet, and my waking by the Pool of 

 Psyche with the mahu and the Dummy beside me, were 

 painted on my brain. 



"There, but for the grace of God, goes John Wes- 

 ley," said the exhorter when he saw a murderer on the 

 way to the gallows. 



Some such dismal thought assailed me as the lofty 

 exotic cypress in the center of the Golgotha met my eye ; 

 the tree of the dead over all the world. I halted to view 

 the expanse of mausoleums and foliage. The rich had 

 built small houses or pagodas to roof their loved 

 from the torrential rains, and, from my distance, only 

 these buildings and the trees could be seen ; but as I was 

 about to cross the road to enter the gate, a figure ap- 

 proached. I drew back, for, of all men, it was Llew- 

 ellyn. He seemed to walk an accustomed course, ob- 

 serving none of the surroundings, and with his head 

 down, and his stick touching the ground like the staff of 

 a blind man. He turned in the entrance and moved up 

 the winding path until he came to a grave. There he 

 stood a few seconds irresolutely, and then stooped be- 

 side the white stone. He leaned over, and appeared to 

 read the inscription. Instantly he turned, and started 

 almost to run, but halted after a few paces, and re- 

 turned to the stone. I saw him put his hand to his 



