words are set apart for his leg, his face, his hair, his belly, his eyelids, his son, his daughter, his wife, his wife’s pregnancy, his wife’s adultery, adultery with his wife, his dwelling, his spear, his comb, his sleep, his dreams, his anger, the mutual anger of several chiefs, his food, his pleasure in eating, the food and eating of his pigeons, his ulcers, his cough, his sickness, his recovery, his death, his being carried on a bier, the exhumation of his bones, and his skull after death.  To address these demigods is quite a branch of knowledge, and he who goes to visit a high chief does well to make sure of the competence of his interpreter.  To complete the picture, the same word signifies the watching of a virgin and the warding of a chief; and the same word means to cherish a chief and to fondle a favourite child.

Men like us, full of memories of feudalism, hear of a man so addressed, so flattered, and we leap at once to the conclusion that he is hereditary and absolute.  Hereditary he is; born of a great family, he must always be a man of mark; but yet his office is elective and (in a weak sense) is held on good behaviour.  Compare the case of a Highland chief:  born one of the great ones of his clan, he was sometimes appointed its chief officer and conventional father; was loved, and respected, and served, and fed, and died for implicitly, if he gave loyalty a chance; and yet if he sufficiently outraged clan sentiment, was liable to deposition.  As to authority, the parallel is not so close.  Doubtless the Samoan chief, if he be popular, wields a great influence; but it is limited.  Important matters are debated in a fono, or native parliament, with its feasting and parade, its endless speeches and polite genealogical allusions.  Debated, I say—­not decided; for even a small minority will often strike a clan or a province impotent.  In the midst of these ineffective councils the chief sits usually silent:  a kind of a gagged audience for village orators.  And the deliverance of the fono seems (for the moment) to be final.  The absolute chiefs of Tahiti and Hawaii were addressed as plain John and Thomas; the chiefs of Samoa are surfeited with lip-honour, but the seat and extent of their actual authority is hard to find.

It is so in the members of the state, and worse in the belly.  The idea of a sovereign pervades the air; the name we have; the thing we are not so sure of.  And the process of election to the chief power is a mystery.  Certain provinces have in their gift certain high titles, or names, as they are called.  These can only be attributed to the descendants of particular lines.  Once granted, each name conveys at once the principality (whatever that be worth) of the province which bestows it, and counts as one suffrage towards the general sovereignty of Samoa.  To be indubitable king, they say, or some of them say,—­I find few in perfect harmony,—­a man should resume five of these names in his own person.  But the