Sunday, May 18th

First Sunday on Quail Island. The boat having been left on the main last night, we could not get away to church, much to my grief. However, I read prayers in the kitchen—probably the first ceremonial of devotion ever performed on this spot of God's earth; while I read, the idea agitated me not a little. Spent a quiet day amongst the shrubbery opposite Rapaki and planted some seeds of bluebell, foxglove, broom, vetchling & poppy—seeds brought from Killinchy, collected by the dear little children there. Dined in our own room by ourselves, and tea ditto; the men in the kitchen. In the evenings we sit all round the fire in the kitchen. Now begins the loneliness of emigration, which we never felt whilst amid the little gossip of the Port.