rip 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.(4) 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.

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 dangling 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 communicate a secret to a
deaf man, all at once flies into a passion and screams it out so that
every one may hear. Still Moa Artua remains as quiet as ever, and Kolory,
seemingly losing his temper, fetches him a box over the head, strips him
of his tappa and r