f
white tappa, and the upper part, which was intended to represent a
human head, was embellished with a strip of scarlet cloth of European
manufacture. It required little observation to discover that this
strange object was revered as a god. By the side of the big and lusty
images standing sentinel over the altars of the Hoolah Hoolah ground, it
seemed a mere pigmy in tatters. But appearances all the world over are
deceptive. Little men are sometimes very potent, and rags sometimes
cover very extensive pretensions. In fact, this funny little image was
the 'crack' god of the island; lording it over all the wooden lubbers
who looked so grim and dreadful; its name was Moa Artua*. And it was in
honour of Moa Artua, and for the entertainment of those who believe in
him, that the curious ceremony I am about to describe was observed.

*The word 'Artua', although having some other significations, is in
nearly all the Polynesian dialects used as the general designation of
the gods.

Mehevi and the chieftains of the Ti have just risen from their noontide
slumbers. There are no affairs of state to dispose of; and having eaten
two or three breakfasts in the course of the morning, the magnates of
the valley feel no appetite as yet for dinner. How are their leisure
moments to be occupied? They smoke, they chat, and at last one of their
number makes a proposition to the rest, who joyfully acquiescing, he
darts out of the house, leaps from the pi-pi, and disappears in the
grove. Soon you see him returning with Kolory, who bears the god Moa
Artua in his arms, and carries in one hand a small trough, hollowed out
in the likeness of a canoe. The priest comes along dandling his charge
as if it were a lachrymose infant he was endeavouring to put into a
good humour. Presently entering the Ti, he seats himself on the mats as
composedly as a juggler about to perform his sleight-of-hand tricks; and
with the chiefs disposed in a circle around him, commences his ceremony.
In the first place he gives Moa Artua an affectionate hug, then
caressingly lays him to his breast, and, finally, whispers something in
his ear; the rest of the company listening eagerly for a reply. But
the baby-god is deaf or dumb,--perhaps both, for never a word does, he
utter. At last Kolory speaks a little louder, and soon growing angry,
comes boldly out with what he has to say and bawls to him. He put me in
mind of a choleric fellow, who, after trying in vain to commun