to have twice attempted to precipitate hostilities, once in Savaii, once here in the Tuamasanga.  The fate of the Savaii attempt I never heard; it seems to have been stillborn.  The other passed under my eyes.  A war-party was armed in Apia, and despatched across the island against Mataafa villages, where it was to seize the women and children.  It was absent for some days, engaged in feasting with those whom it went out to fight; and returned at last, innocuous and replete.  In this fortunate though undignified ending we may read the fact that the natives on Laupepa’s side are sometimes more wise than their advisers.  Indeed, for our last twelve months of miraculous peace under what seem to be two rival kings, the credit is due first of all to Mataafa, and second to the half-heartedness, or the forbearance, or both, of the natives in the other camp.  The voice of the two whites has ever been for war.  They have published at least one incendiary proclamation; they have armed and sent into the field at least one Samoan war-party; they have continually besieged captains of war-ships to attack Malie, and the captains of the war-ships have religiously refused.  Thus in the last twelve months our European rulers have drawn a picture of themselves, as bearded like the pard, full of strange oaths, and gesticulating like semaphores; while over against them Mataafa reposes smilingly obstinate, and their own retainers surround them, frowningly inert.  Into the question of motive I refuse to enter; but if we come to war in these islands, and with no fresh occasion, it will be a manufactured war, and one that has been manufactured, against the grain of opinion, by two foreigners.

For the last and worst of the mistakes on the Laupepa side it would be unfair to blame any but the king himself.  Capable both of virtuous resolutions and of fits of apathetic obstinacy, His Majesty is usually the whip-top of competitive advisers; and his conduct is so unstable as to wear at times an appearance of treachery which would surprise himself if he could see it.  Take, for example, the experience of Lieutenant Ulfsparre, late chief of police, and (so to speak) commander of the forces.  His men were under orders for a certain hour; he found himself almost alone at the place of muster, and learned the king had sent the soldiery on errands.  He sought an audience, explained that he was here to implant discipline, that (with this purpose in view) his men could only receive orders through himself, and if that condition were not agreed to and faithfully observed, he must send in his papers.  The king was as usual easily persuaded, the interview passed and ended to the satisfaction of all parties engaged—­and the bargain was kept for one day.  On the day after, the troops were again dispersed as post-runners, and their commander resigned.  With such a sovereign, I repeat, it would be unfair to blame any individual minister for any specific fault.  And yet the