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MORNING ON THE BEACH--THE THREE LETTERS.
The clouds were all fled, the beauty of the tropic day was spread upon Papeete; and the wall of breaking seas upon the reef, and the palms upon the islet, already trembled in the heat.

A French man-of-war was going out, homeward bound; she lay in the middle distance of the port, an ant heap for activity.

In the night a schooner had come in, and now lay far out, hard by the passage; and the yellow flag, the emblem of pestilence, flew on her.

From up the coast, a long procession of canoes headed round the point and towards the market, bright as a scarf with the many-coloured clothing of the natives and the piles of fruit.