pward. The
leaves are edged with spines. The wood is close, hard, and hollow,
and full of oil. From the pandanus are made posts five or six inches
through. The leaves, four or five feet long, are torn into strips
for making hats, thatch, mats, and canoe sails. They are steeped in
sea-water, and beaten with a mallet to remove the green outer skin,
the residue being white, silken fiber. This is dyed to weave hats and
belts. The aerial roots are crushed to make a tougher fiber for ropes,
baskets, and mats. The fruit is something like a coarse pineapple, and
the blossoms are very fragrant. The ripe fruit is crimson, and strings
like beads into favorite necklaces. The fruit separates into cones,
and one chews the inner end like licorice, while, when dried, the
kernels can be ground into a brown, sweet flour for cakes, a wholesome,
nourishing food, but esteemed only in more barren islands, where fish
and cocoanuts are the principal diet. From the fruit is distilled a
fiery liquor that the early whalers taught the line islanders to drink.

At the isthmus was the only crossing of the belt or, Broom Road, about
Tahiti. One had to choose the left or the right, and we wound to the
right to reach the Maison des Varos. To the left we could have gone to
Tautira, famous as the last stand of the god Oro against the cross,
and still under the chieftaincy of Ori-a-Ori, with whom R.L.S. and
his family lived several months.

The road was a fairy-tale brightly illuminated by plantation,
jungle, and garden, by reef and eyot. The sea lapped gently on sand
as white as the fleecy clouds. Carts of Chinese and Tahitians passed,
carrying their owners and produce. The Chinese said, "Yulanna!" for
"Ia ora na!" and the natives called to us to eat with them in their
near-by homes. But we walked on, saying, "Ua maururu!" "Much obliged!"

M. Butscher had a good-sized, rambling house, with verandas for dining,
and bedrooms for sleep. We found him on his largest table, lying flat
on his back, and contemplating, in the eternal and perplexing way of
the Polynesians. The Daibutsu, the great Buddha of Kamakura, had no
more peaceful, meditative aspect than had the Taravao taverner. He
was long and meager, as dry as a cocoanut from the copra oven, as if
all the juices of his body and soul had been expressed in his years
of cooking the sea-centipedes for which he was celebrated. Tatini
addressed him slowly: "Bocshair, ia ora na!"

He sat up stiffly, and rega