“Imagine it!  The case of the babies is hard, but its bitterness is a trifle—­less than a trifle—­less than nothing—­compared to what the mother must suffer; and suffer minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, month by month, year by year, without respite, relief, or any abatement of her pain till she dies.

“One woman, Luka Kaaukau, has been living with her leper husband in the settlement for twelve years.  The man has scarcely a joint left, his limbs are only distorted ulcerated stumps, for four years his wife has put every particle of food into his mouth.  He wanted his wife to abandon his wretched carcass long ago, as she herself was sound and well, but Luka said that she was content to remain and wait on the man she loved till the spirit should be freed from its burden.

“I myself have known hard cases enough:—­of a girl, apparently in full health, decorating the church with me at Easter, who before Christmas is taken away as a confirmed leper; of a mother hiding her child in the mountains for years so that not even her dearest friends knew that she had a child alive, that he might not be taken away; of a respectable white man taken away from his wife and family, and compelled to become a dweller in the Leper Settlement, where he is counted dead, even by the insurance companies.”

And one great pity of it all is, that these poor sufferers are innocent.  The leprosy does not come of sins which they committed, but of sins committed by their ancestors, who escaped the curse of leprosy!

Mr. Gowan has made record of a certain very striking circumstance.  Would you expect to find in that awful Leper Settlement a custom worthy to be transplanted to your own country?  They have one such, and it is inexpressibly touching and beautiful.  When death sets open the prison-door of life there, the band salutes the freed soul with a burst of glad music!

CHAPTER IV.

A dozen direct censures are easier to bear than one morganatic compliment. 
                                  —­Pudd’nhead Wilson’s New Calendar.

Sailed from Honolulu.—­From diary: 

Sept. 2.  Flocks of flying fish-slim, shapely, graceful, and intensely white.  With the sun on them they look like a flight of silver fruit-knives.  They are able to fly a hundred yards.

Sept. 3.  In 9 deg. 50’ north latitude, at breakfast.  Approaching the equator on a long slant.  Those of us who have never seen the equator are a good deal excited.  I think I would rather see it than any other thing in the world.  We entered the “doldrums” last night—­variable winds, bursts of rain, intervals of calm, with chopping seas and a wobbly and drunken motion to the ship—­a condition of things findable in other regions sometimes, but present in the doldrums always.  The globe-girdling belt called the doldrums is 20 degrees wide, and the thread called the equator lies along the middle of it.