r only road. It was one of the first orders
issued by the government of Mulinuu after the coming of the chief
justice, to have the passage cleared. It is the disgrace of Mataafa that
the thing is not yet done.

The village of Malie is the scene of prosperity and peace. In a very
good account of a visit there, published in the _Australasian_, the
writer describes it to be fortified; she must have been deceived by the
appearance of some pig walls on the shore. There is no fortification, no
parade of war. I understand that from one to five hundred fighting men
are always within reach; but I have never seen more than five together
under arms, and these were the king's guard of honour. A Sabbath quiet
broods over the well-weeded green, the picketed horses, the troops of
pigs, the round or oval native dwellings. Of these there are a
surprising number, very fine of their sort: yet more are in the
building; and in the midst a tall house of assembly, by far the greatest
Samoan structure now in these islands, stands about half finished and
already makes a figure in the landscape. No bustle is to be observed,
but the work accomplished testifies to a still activity.

The centre-piece of all is the high chief himself,
Malietoa-Tuiatua-Tuiaana Mataafa, king--or not king--or
king-claimant--of Samoa. All goes to him, all comes from him. Native
deputations bring him gifts and are feasted in return. White travellers,
to their indescribable irritation, are (on his approach) waved from his
path by his armed guards. He summons his dancers by the note of a bugle.
He sits nightly at home before a semicircle of talking-men from many
quarters of the islands, delivering and hearing those ornate and elegant
orations in which the Samoan heart delights. About himself and all his
surroundings there breathes a striking sense of order, tranquillity, and
native plenty. He is of a tall and powerful person, sixty years of age,
white-haired and with a white moustache; his eyes bright and quiet; his
jaw perceptibly underhung, which gives him something of the expression
of a benevolent mastiff; his manners dignified and a thought
insinuating, with an air of a Catholic prelate. He was never married,
and a natural daughter attends upon his guests. Long since he made a vow
of chastity,--"to live as our Lord lived on this earth," and Polynesians
report with bated breath that he has kept it. On all such points, true
to his Catholic training, he is inclined to b