I lived at the Htel de la Fleur,and Mrs Johnson,the proprietress,had a sad story to tell of lost opportunity.After Stricklands death certain of his effects were sold by auction in the marketplace at Papeete,and she went to it herself because there was among the truck an American stove she wanted.She paid twentyseven francs for it.

　　‘There were a dozen pictures,’she told me,‘but they were unframed,and nobody wanted them.Some of them sold for as much as ten francs,but mostly they went for five or six.Just think,if I had bought them I should be a rich woman now.’

　　But Tiaré Johnson would never under any circumstances have been rich.She could not keep money.The daughter of a native and an English seacaptain settled in Tahiti,when I knew her she was a woman of fifty,who looked older,and of enormous proportions.Tall and extremely stout,she would have been of imposing presence if the great goodnature of her face had not made it impossible for her to express anything but kindliness.Her arms were like legs of mutton,her breasts like giant cabbages;her face,......