But these lovely days spent in softly gliding over the calm, azure depths, bathed in golden sunlight, gazing dreamily down at the indescribable beauties of the living reefs, feasting daintily on abundance of never-cloying fruit, amid scenes of delight hardly to be imagined by the cramped mind of the town dweller; islands, air, and sea all shimmering in an enchanted haze, and silence scarcely broken by the tender ripple of the gently-parted waters before the boat’s steady keel—­though these joys have all been lost to me, and I in “populous city pent” endure the fading years, I would not barter the memory of them for more than I can say, so sweet it is to me.  And, then, our relations with the natives had been so perfectly amicable, so free from anything to regret.  Perhaps this simple statement will raise a cynical smile upon the lips of those who know Tahati, the New Hebrides, and kindred spots with all their savage, bestial orgies of alternate unbridled lust and unnamable cruelty.  Let it be so.  For my part, I rejoice that I have no tale of weeks of drunkenness, of brutal rape, treacherous murder, and almost unthinkable torture to tell.

For of such is the paradise of the beach-comber, and the hell of the clean man.  Not that I have been able to escape it altogether.  When I say that I once shipped, unwittingly, as sailing-master of a little white schooner in Noumea, bound to Apia, finding when too late that she was a “blackbirder”—­“labour vessel,” the wise it call—­nothing more will be needed to convince the initiated that I have moved in the “nine circles” of Polynesia.

Some time before the day fixed for our departure, we were busy storing the gifts so liberally showered upon us by our eager friends.  Hundreds of bunches of bananas, many thousands of oranges, yams, taro, chillies, fowls, and pigs were accumulated, until the ship looked like a huge market-boat.  But we could not persuade any of the natives to ship with us to replace those whoso contract was now expiring.  Samuela and Polly were, after much difficulty, prevailed upon by me to go with us to New Zealand, much to my gratification; but still we were woefully short-handed, At last, seeing that there was no help for it, the skipper decided to run over to Futuna, or Horn Island, where he felt certain of obtaining recruits without any trouble.  He did so most unwillingly, as may well be believed, for the newcomers would need much training, while our present Kanaka auxiliaries were the smartest men in the ship.

The slop-chest was largely drawn upon, to the credit of the crew, who wished in some tangible way to show their appreciation of the unremitting kindness shown them by their dusky friends.  Not a whisper had been uttered by any native as to desire of remuneration for what he had given.  If they expected a return, they certainly exercised great control over themselves in keeping their wishes quiet.  But when they received the clothing, all utterly unsuited to their