Isolation.

Norfolk Island’S

Seven Weeks Without a Mail.

From Our Own Correspondent.

Norfolk Is., July 2.

THIS is early July and our sub-tropic winter is upon us. Chill grey days pour suddenly with rain and the strong sea-winds roar ceaselessly through the pine trees. The roads that in summer are ankle-deep in dust are now a welter of splashing mud; cars wear chains as a permanent equipment and poorly-fed horses strain in the shafts of mud-clogged gigs.

To add to the general dullness of life, we are seven weeks without a mail or the sight of a stranger’s face; the "Morinda” having been diverted, on her last return to Sydney, to take up a sailing for one of the other Island steamers that lost or cracked her pro peller. The “Mataram,” bound south from the Solomons, calls in here to morrow for our mail and cargo and her passengers will spend an unexpected few hours on Norfolk; but she brings us nothing in the way of stores and we shall be pretty short of necessities before we sight the “Morinda” again on the morning of July 17.

No Shore Leave.

His Majesty’s ship, “Dunedin,” from the New Zealand Squadron, put in for

a few hours on the morning of June 17, but the men were not allowed ashore on account of a mild outbreak of scarlet fever on the island. So mild are the cases that they are scarcely more serious than chicken-pox, and no single patient has reached anything like a dangerous condition; but in view of the fact that the ship was continuing up to the Islands, and that natives are notoriously susceptible to white men’s ailments, it was considered wiser not to allow any shore leave.

It was disappointing, because a good many of the ship’s complement have re cently joined from Home and this was their first glimpse of what they would imagine to be a tropical island; also, a programme of entertainment had been arranged for them, but there was nothing to be done about it and it is possible that the ship may call again when returning to her home base.

O’Er Muddy Roads.

All roads, muddy though they were, led to the Rawson Hall on the evening of June 19, when an entertainment known to us as a “Cabaret” was held for the funds of one of the golf clubs The weather was appalling and at its very worst between 7 and 9 p.m., but nothing daunts our local society when bent on a good time and, sliding and slipping and skidding, they made their way to the scene of revelry.

Mr. Lucas Pays A Visit.

A recent visitor to Norfolk —leaving, indeed, only by the “Mataram,’’ to morrow—is Mr. Lucas, who was for so many years with Burns, Philp. He started with them as super-cargo in early youth and rose from strength to strength until he sat in remote splen dour, making or wrecking careers with a nod or a shake of his head —accom panied, so it is said, now and again, by a few expressive words. He is mild and tame, now, and excellent company as he sits and tells stories of the good old days in the islands; and we are all sorry to say good-bye to him.

Cyril Leonard Killed.

It was with regret that we heard some weeks ago of the death, after a motor accident, of Mr. Cyril Leonard who, for four years, was private secretary to the Administrator here. He came with Judge Herbert from Papua—where he had spent years in the Public Service — and remained during the entire term of office of Colonel Bennett. Mr.

Leonard was joining his mother, who lives in the Channel Islands and was, presumably, passing through London on his way, when he was knocked down by a car and died in hospital ten days later.