tive savage laboriously piling up his rude cairn of stones, up through the periods of hieroglyphic writings and laborious copying by hand, to the man at the printing press, they portray the onward march of civilization, hand in hand with the growth of literature. We know, moreover, that the nations of the world have benefited it in proportion as they were prepared to disseminate their knowledge, attainments, and achievements to others. For example, let us regard the ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, and Chaldeans. We know that they were highly learned in some of the sciences, astronomy, astrology, medicine, and engineering; particularly is this true of Egyptians. Evidences of their skill in inventions and sciences are not lacking in the ruins of their great cities, in the pyramids, the Sphinx, and their wonderfully embalmed mummies. But of what avail has it been to the nations coming after them to. know that they possessed these acquirements? Their inventions and sciences have been of little use when the means to communicate them and render them valuable were lacking. At the time of their downfall their literature was in merely an embryonic stage. Their means of communication was too limited and crude to keep pace with the progress in other lines, and so when they perished from the earth, their civilization and culture went too, at least so far as it could profit future generations.

Just so it has been with the Chinese. They have had inventions, they have possessed sciences, but what great good has it done, in the broad sense of benefiting the world? None, for they, too, have possessed but a stunted literature. They have clung to the writings of one man, Confucius, to the absolute exclusion of all others. Without a great variety of writers, each expressing his own feelings, opinions, and beliefs, no true literature can exist, and without the opportunity of exchanging views, of opening new vistas of thought to the eager mind, of arousing an investigative and questioning spirit, no true culture can obtain.

On the other hand, when we wish to point out a nation that scattered abroad its own culture and knowledge, that even now has a vast and potent effect on the higher life of the world, we think of Greece, the cradle of the literature of the world. Her culture and her wealth of learning is an open book to him who will read. Greece could bequeath her civilization because she had the means ready at hand, the writings and the literature that were to educate the world. The Greeks can never be forgotten, for they lived to some purpose. But it was not through inventions or sciences, but literature (poetry, prose, and the drama) that they made the world better.

We might multiply these examples, but the purport of all would be the same. A nation must have a great, or at least a sturdy literature, to hold its own in civilization and benefit the world thereby. We know that the Greeks passed their civilization to the Romans, and that they in turn transmitted it to their barbaric Teutonic conquerors, each in turn assimilating and passing onward its knowledge.

But most important of all we know that the second great impetus which the intellectual life of the Middle Ages received, came from the old Greek and Roman literature. Then it was that the humanists rebelled against the petty, soul-crushing scholasticism of the age, and brought forth once more the old classical literature, with its love of the beautiful, its eager delight in nature, and its passion for investigation. Then men's minds once more opened to new thoughts and urgent researches, and became prepared for the great discoveries in the natural world and the geography of the globe, following so soon afterward in the fifteenth century.

From the time of the Renaissance, men's minds have been freed from thraldom. They have gone steadily onward to higher, clearer planes of thought. But it was no invention or science that accomplished their emancipation; it was the revival of learning and the study of Greek and Roman literature that opened men's eyes once more to the beauties of the world.

It was literature that accomplished the Reformation. What the humanists had begun, the reformers finished, and no one knew better than Wycliffe and Huss, Luther and Calvin, how effectually they were spreading the truth when they wrote their mighty works; how many eager minds those writings would reach that were inaccessible to their eloquence.

And so events have gone on from age to age, each merging into the other and contributing its bit to the final sum. We are reaping the benefit of those past ages now. We stand, as I have said, in a mighty age, but I think we have to thank the literature of the world for it more than anything else. The time once was when despots could forbid men writing their opinions and beliefs, or could partially check the literature of a nation. They realized that the greatest danger to their power lay in the educating of the people through the fiery writings of the reformers, whether they were religious, political, or social. But that time is past, and now, thanks to the efforts of those same writers, men are free to do and say as their consciences dictate. But the literature of the world is still standing for the right, is still molding public opinion and leading public thought. The really great literature of the world to-day stands for the good, and that, we know, will ever tend to a higher civilization. And as it has done much for the world, for humanity, for freedom, in the past, so will it do in the future. long as a nation can point to a high and noble literature, it has much to be proud of, much to be thankful for, and greatest of all, much to hope for.

EXPERIENCES, PLEASANT AND OTHERWISE, IN SOUTH

ERN SEAS.-PART III.

BY CHARLES H. LAKE.

UNDAY MORNING dawned bright and clear, and, with the sun, came many of the Saints from Tarona; they had walked the five miles in the cool of the morning, and with them were others from the branch at Faaa, which which was nearer by. At eight o'clock a good sized audience was ready to hear the new missionary, Elder Burton occupying again at ten o'clock. The feast was postponed until after the afternoon prayer-service, and it was well to do so, for spiritual feasts never follow immediately after temporal ones, but if held before, both may be enjoyed. As the spiritual time was much like those of a like nature in America, I will hasten to tell of the temporal feast.

At the close of the meeting we started on a tour of inspection, and were in time to see the native ovens opened. This oven has the appearance of a miniature mound, with steam oozing through the earth. With deft hands the dirt is carefully scraped away, so that little is left to sift down through the layer after layer of leaves, as they are removed, so that when the food is exposed, it is clean and nice, at least none of the dirt from the covering is mixed with it. The food is steamed rather than baked, and the odor is appetizing, but not nearly so much so as it would be if the food were seasoned a little. The natives never add salt nor any other seasoning, even preferring their bread baked without salt. A good sized roast pig tops the pile, surrounded by three or four chickens and several large chunks of corned beef.

"Salt beef?"

Yes, salt beef from New Zealand.

"But we thought you said the natives did not like salt in their food?"

I surely say that, and in doing so only repeat their own words to me. I am unable to account for this seeming contradiction, but I do know that when any of the stores open a barrel of salt beef or salmon, it is soon sold out, and I also know that they do not salt their bread, fresh fish, meat, chicken, or anything else they may be cooking. Account for it if you can, I can not; to me it is but another paradox.

Another oven held about a bushel of plantains, sweet potatoes, and poi; the plantain is a fruit in the shape of the banana, but thicker and shorter, and when ripe has a reddish color. When cooked, they are very nice eating, just a hint of resin in the taste, but not at all disagreeable. They do not grow in the lowlands, but in the valleys of the mountains. The piece "de resistance," however, is "poi." The name is pronounced the same as the stage Irishman is supposed to say pie, "poi," but in no other way does it resemble that product of the culinary art. I hardly know how to describe it, but when made by an expert, cooked to a turn, and

you have not inspected too closely the conditions under which it was made, it always "tastes like more," to use an American slang phrase: but the same as with our pie, "there is poi, and there is poi." The kind that best suits my palate is made with maniota pia and bananas.

"What is maniota pia?"

I do not know the English' name for maniota, but it is a long, hard root, that when boiled, tastes somewhat like sweet potato; but to make pia, it must be scraped raw, strained through a cloth, into water, and allowed to settle; when the water is poured off the sediment is dried, so that it is like fine flour.

The pia is also used for starch, but when intended for that purpose it is generally made from an inferior quality of maniota, or from taro. A little pia, some nice ripe bananas, brown sugar, with a little cocoanut milk, are all mixed together, tied in small bundles with leaves, and it is ready for the oven. When served with cocoanut milk for sauce, it is delicious, but, like. English plum pudding, it is productive of vivid dreams.

"What is cocoanut milk?"

My, how inquisitive you are; but I will try and satisfy your curiosity, and tell you how to make some for yourselves. It is an excellent substitute for cow's milk, which God in his wisdom has provided for the inhabitants of these little coral islands, where a cow would find poor picking, and where her milk would sour in a few hours. We find that it can be used for most anything for which we would use cow's milk, being excellent for making piecrusts, biscuits, griddle-cakes, etc., etc. It is made by taking the ripe cocoanut, such as we can buy at the grocers in America, shredding the meat very fine, pouring the water that was inside over it, then squeezing through a cloth until all the milk is out of it: a jelly press would prove very convenient, and if no better way is had to grate the nut, put it through a fine meat chopper. Try it. At last all was in readiness, and the call was "Haere mai, tamaa.” (Come and eat.) You should have seen that crowd; two rows dep all around the large feast-house, and the center filled with food in hand-made wooden bowls, some of which were large enough for canoes, and of about the same shape.

Our table was at one end of the center, spread with a clean, white sheet, and filled with enough food for ten hungry men. Having blessed the food, the committee chosen for that purpose, began the distribution. Fresh, green banana leaves had been spread upon the ground, to serve as table-cloth, and in lieu of dishes. Each committee-man dragged his bowl of food around, dishing out a double handful in front of each man, and by the time each variety of food had been passed around, you may imagine what a liberal supply each one had. My appetite was whetted for most anything, but my teeth were not good enough for india-rubber chicken, so I tried a piece of roast pig, with little better success; they had been placed too near the top of the oven and were not half done. Food had been brought for us from a Chinese cook-house, and with "poi"

to top off with, we enjoyed the feast fully as well as the rest, who had eaten so liberally of the native food.

What had we for drink? The purest of distilled water, served in the "original package," another wise provision God in his infinite wisdom has made for man in this climate, I speak of the watercocoanut. When young, the nut has but little meat, but is filled nearly to bursting with water, always cool; the outer husk being a perfect non-conductor of heat and cold, keeps the water cool and refreshing, no matter how hot the sun. The older the nut, the sweeter the water, and the less, until when ripe the hollow space in the center is but half filled, and very sweet.

We had but fairly begun eating, when I noticed the men beginning to leave the building; those first to leave had cleared away all the food in front of them, but a few, whose capacity was not great enough, were tying the remainder in their table-cloth; the chickens and dogs were picking up the crumbs, and soon the table was spread again for the women. In this country, while the white missionary's wife is looked upon as the equal of any man, the native woman is the equal of no man. It has only been a short time since they were not allowed to take part in any of the meetings. At the present rate of progress, however, another generation will see conditions the reverse of what they formerly were, as it seems likely to be in all other parts of the world as well. We men folks must awake and prevent any such results, not by curtailing any of the privileges of the weaker (?) sex, but by making better use of our own while we have them.

We stepped outside the feast-house and enjoyed the beautiful view of old ocean, until sunset. You have all read of the beauties of sunset in the tropics; we have witnessed many of them that beggar description, they must be seen to be realized and appreciated.

Those living at a distance have started for home, having feasted both the inward and outward man, but the feast we had just ended, certainly left the heaviest impression, if not the most lasting. There seems to be no hour of the Sabbath day that is suitable for feasting the outward man; if held in the early part of the day, the remaining services will have a dull and sleepy audience; if delayed until the appetite is too keen, the good effect of the preceding meetings is lost.

What then?

Shall we cease to eat on the Sabbath day? Certainly not, unless it be with the spirit of fasting; but our services should be so arranged that we could eat regularly and moderately.

Monday morning we were to visit the new branch at Faaa, so an early start was made, that we might climb the long hill before the sun was too high in the heavens. This branch is composed of refugees from the storm-swept low islands of the Puamotu group, who had made a bargain to purchase about two hundred and fifty acres of land on the mountain side, fully expecting that Bishop Kelley would pay for it, and consequently were taking life easy; no un