My Tropic Isle | Page 8

a comely, scornful Isle shall we strut and parade?
"You and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's
fashions," for do we not proclaim and justify our own? Are we not
leaders who have no subservient, no flattering imitators, no sycophantic
copyists? The etiquette of our Court finds easy expression, and we
smile decorously on the infringements of casual comers.
Once a steamer anchored boldly in the bay--a pert steamer with a saucy,
off-duty air. Certain circumstances forewarned us of a "formal call." So
that the visit should not partake of an actual surprise a boat containing
ladies and gentlemen was rowed ostentatiously across to land
awkwardly at such a point as would herald the fact and afford a
precious interim in which we were plainly invited to embellish
ourselves--to assume a receptive style of countenance and clothes and
company manners. Careless of dignity, the charitable prelude was lost
upon us. Our self-conscious and considerate visitors dumbly expressed
amazement at their informal reception and our unfestive attire. Yet my
garments were neat, sufficient, and defiantly unsoiled. Had I donned a
full, white suit, with neat tie and Panama hat, and stood even
barefooted on the beach, conspicuous, revealed as a "gentleman" even
from the decks of the defiant steamer, the boat-load would have come
straight to the landing smiling, and chatting, to drop "their ceremonious

manna in the way of starved people." They would have been elated had
I assumed robes of reverence--a uniform indicative of obligation--a
worthy response to their patronage. With compliments expressed in
terms of functionary clothes they had hoped to soothe their vanity.
White cotton and a tinted tie would have been smilingly honoured; and
the mere man was not flattered to perceive that he was less in esteem
than the drapery common to the species. I never will be content to be a
supernumerary to my clothes.
Our visitors reflected not on their intrusion. My precious privacy was
gratuitously violated, and in such circumstances that my holiday
humour was put under restraint for the time being. Though I do profess
love for human nature, for some phases I have but scant respect.
But our house was open. None of the observances of the rites of
hospitality was lacking. Gleams of good humour dispersed the gloom
on the faces of our guests. They had penetrated the thin disguise of
clothes, and it was then that I silently wished in Portia's words that
"God might grant them a fair departure."
Another class of visitor came on a misty morning in a fussy little
launch. After preliminary greetings on the beach he remarked on my
name, presuming that I belonged to a Scotch family.
"A good family, I do not question."
"Oh, yes. A family of excellent and high repute."
"Then, I cannot be any connection, for I am proud to confess that our
family is distinguished--greatly distinguished--by a very bad name. It
comes from Kent. I am a kinsman of a king--the King of the Beggars!"
"Ah! Quite a coincidence. I remarked to my friend as we came up to
your Island: 'If the exile is a descendant of the King of the Beggars, this
is just the kind of life he would be likely to adopt.'"
"Exactly. I am indeed complimented. Blood--the blood of the
vagabond--will tell!"
And my friendly visitor--a man whom the King had delighted to
honour--with whimsical glances at my clothes, which tended to
"sincerity rather then ceremony," strolled along the beach.
If we were disposed to vaunt ourselves, have we not, in this simplicity
and lack of style, the most persuasive of examples?
Indifferent to style, we do indulge in longings--longings pitifully
weak--longings for the preservation of independence toilfully

purchased during the poisonous years of the past. Beside all wishes for
books and pictures and means for music and the thousands of small
things which make for divine discontent, stands a spectre--not grim and
abhorrent and forbidding, but unlovely and stern, indicating that the
least excess of exotic pleasures would so strain our resources that
independence would be threatened. If we were to buy anything beyond
necessities, we might not be certain of gratifying wants, frugal as they
are, without once more being compelled to fight with the beasts at
some Australian Ephesus. Rather than clog our minds with the thought
of such conflict and of fighting with flaccid muscles, dispirited and
almost surely ingloriously, we choose to laugh and be glad of our
liberty, to put summary checks upon arrogant desires for the possession
of hosts of things which would materially add to comforts without
infringing upon pleasures, and find in all serene satisfaction.
We have not yet pawned our future. No sort of tyranny, save that which
is primal, physical, and of the common lot, puts his dirty