and even more salubrious.  The healthfulness of the whole group is amazing; that of Atuona almost in the nature of a miracle.  In Atuona, a village planted in a shore-side marsh, the houses standing everywhere intermingled with the pools of a taro-garden, we find every condition of tropical danger and discomfort; and yet there are not even mosquitoes—­not even the hateful day-fly of Nuka-hiva—­and fever, and its concomitant, the island fe’efe’e, are unknown.

This is the chief station of the French on the man-eating isle of Hiva-oa.  The sergeant of gendarmerie enjoys the style of the vice-resident, and hoists the French colours over a quite extensive compound.  A Chinaman, a waif from the plantation, keeps a restaurant in the rear quarters of the village; and the mission is well represented by the sister’s school and Brother Michel’s church.  Father Orens, a wonderful octogenarian, his frame scarce bowed, the fire of his eye undimmed, has lived, and trembled, and suffered in this place since 1843.  Again and again, when Moipu had made coco-brandy, he has been driven from his house into the woods.  ‘A mouse that dwelt in a cat’s ear’ had a more easy resting-place; and yet I have never seen a man that bore less mark of years.  He must show us the church, still decorated with the bishop’s artless ornaments of paper—­the last work of industrious old hands, and the last earthly amusement of a man that was much of a hero.  In the sacristy we must see his sacred vessels, and, in particular, a vestment which was a ‘vraie curiosite,’ because it had been given by a gendarme.  To the Protestant there is always something embarrassing in the eagerness with which grown and holy men regard these trifles; but it was touching and pretty to see Orens, his aged eyes shining in his head, display his sacred treasures.

August 26.—­The vale behind the village, narrowing swiftly to a mere ravine, was choked with profitable trees.  A river gushed in the midst.  Overhead, the tall coco-palms made a primary covering; above that, from one wall of the mountain to another, the ravine was roofed with cloud; so that we moved below, amid teeming vegetation, in a covered house of heat.  On either hand, at every hundred yards, instead of the houseless, disembowelling paepaes of Nuka-hiva, populous houses turned out their inhabitants to cry ‘Kaoha!’ to the passers-by.  The road, too, was busy:  strings of girls, fair and foul, as in less favoured countries; men bearing breadfruit; the sisters, with a little guard of pupils; a fellow bestriding a horse—­passed and greeted us continually; and now it was a Chinaman who came to the gate of his flower-yard, and gave us ‘Good-day’ in excellent English; and a little farther on it would be some natives who set us down by the wayside, made us a feast of mummy-apple, and entertained us as we ate with drumming on a tin case.  With all this fine plenty of men and fruit, death is at work here also.  The population,