enclosed the Pray Place; in front, facing towards the sea, a stone of a much greater size, and somewhat hollowed, like a piscina, stood close against the trunk; in front of that again a conical pile of gravel.  In the hollow of what I have called the piscina (though it proved to be a magic seat) lay an offering of green cocoa-nuts; and when you looked up you found the boughs of the tree to be laden with strange fruit:  palm-branches elaborately plaited, and beautiful models of canoes, finished and rigged to the least detail.  The whole had the appearance of a mid-summer and sylvan Christmas-tree al fresco.  Yet we were already well enough acquainted in the Gilberts to recognise it, at the first sight, for a piece of wizardry, or, as they say in the group, of Devil-work.

The plaited palms were what we recognised.  We had seen them before on Apaiang, the most christianised of all these islands; where excellent Mr. Bingham lived and laboured and has left golden memories; whence all the education in the northern Gilberts traces its descent; and where we were boarded by little native Sunday-school misses in clean frocks, with demure faces, and singing hymns as to the manner born.

Our experience of Devil-work at Apaiang had been as follows:- It chanced we were benighted at the house of Captain Tierney.  My wife and I lodged with a Chinaman some half a mile away; and thither Captain Reid and a native boy escorted us by torch-light.  On the way the torch went out, and we took shelter in a small and lonely Christian chapel to rekindle it.  Stuck in the rafters of the chapel was a branch of knotted palm.  ‘What is that?’ I asked.  ’O, that’s Devil-work,’ said the Captain.  ‘And what is Devil-work?’ I inquired.  ’If you like, I’ll show you some when we get to Johnnie’s,’ he replied.  ‘Johnnie’s’ was a quaint little house upon the crest of the beach, raised some three feet on posts, approached by stairs; part walled, part trellised.  Trophies of advertisement-photographs were hung up within for decoration.  There was a table and a recess-bed, in which Mrs. Stevenson slept; while I camped on the matted floor with Johnnie, Mrs. Johnnie, her sister, and the devil’s own regiment of cockroaches.  Hither was summoned an old witch, who looked the part to horror.  The lamp was set on the floor; the crone squatted on the threshold, a green palm-branch in her hand, the light striking full on her aged features and picking out behind her, from the black night, timorous faces of spectators.  Our sorceress began with a chanted incantation; it was in the old tongue, for which I had no interpreter; but ever and again there ran among the crowd outside that laugh which every traveller in the islands learns so soon to recognise,—­the laugh of terror.  Doubtless these half-Christian folk were shocked, these half-heathen folk alarmed.  Chench or Taburik thus invoked, we put our questions; the witch knotted the leaves, here a leaf and there