, for practice on his instrument. He
had a song-book of the Industrial Workers of the World, a syndicalistic
group of American laborers and intellectuals, and in it were scores
of popular airs accompanied by words of dire import to capitalists and
employers. One, to the tune of "Marching through Georgia," threatened
destruction to civilization in the present concept.

"I'm an I. W. W.," said Kelly to me, with a shell of rum in his
hand. "I came here because I got tired o' bein' pinched. Every town
I went to in the United States I denounced the police and the rotten
government, and they throwed me in the calaboose. I never could
get even unlousy. I came here six weeks ago. It's a little bit of
all right."

When Kelly played American or English airs and the Tahitians sang their
native words, he gave the I. W. W. version in English. Some of these
songs were transpositions or parodies of Christian hymns, and one in
particular was his favorite. Apparently he had made it very popular
with the natives of the band, for it vied with the "Himene Tatou
Arearea" in repetition. It was a crude travesty of a hymn much sung
in religious camp-meetings and revivals, of which the proper chorus as
often heard by me in Harry Monroe's mission in the Chicago slums, was:

Hallelujah! Thine the glory! Hallelujah! Amen!
Hallelujah! Thine the glory! revive us again!

Kelly's version was:

Hallelujah! I'm a bum! Hallelujah! Bum again!
Hallelujah! Give us a hand-out! To save us from sin.

He had the stanzas, burlesquing the sacred lines, one of which the
natives especially liked:

Oh, why don't you work, as other men do?
How the hell can we work when there 's no work to do?

None of us had ever heard Kelly's songs, nor had any one but I ever
heard of his industrial organization, and I only vaguely, having
lived so many years out of America or Europe. But they all cheered
enthusiastically except Llewellyn. He was an Anglican by faith or
paternal inheritance, and though he knew nothing of the real hymns,
they being for Dissenters, whom he contemned, he was religious at soul
and objected to making light of religion. He called for the "Himene
Tatou Arearea." He took his pencil and scribbled the translation I
have given.

"This is the rough of it," he said. "To write poetry here is
difficult. When I was at Heidelberg and Paris I often spent nights
writing sonnets. That merely tells the sense of the himene,