crown its crags with a 'peculiar diadem;' its identification with the image of a poet, who, amid all his fearful errors, had perhaps more than any of the age's bards the power of investing all his career-yea, to every corner which his fierce foot ever touched, or which his genius ever sung—with profound and melancholy interest. We saw the name Byron written in the cloud-characters above us. We saw his genius sadly smiling in those gleams of stray sunshine which gilded the darkness they could not dispel. We found an emblem of his poetry in that flying rack, and of his character in those lowering precipices. We seemed to hear the wail of his restless spirit in the wild sob of the wind, fainting and struggling up under its burden of darkness. Nay, we could fancy that this hill was designed as an eternal monument to his name, and to image all those peculiarities which make that name for ever illustrious. Not the loftiest of his country's poets, he is the most sharply and terribly defined. In magnitude and round completeness, he yields to many-in jagged, abrupt, and passionate projection of his own shadow over the world of literature, to none. The genius of convulsion, a dire attraction, dwells around him, which leads many to hang over, and some to leap down his precipices. Volcanic as he is, the coldness of wintry selfishness too often collects in the hollows of his verse. He loves, too, the cloud and the thick darkness, and comes 'veiling all the lightnings of his song in sorrow.' So, like Byron beside Scott and Wordsworth, does Lochnagar stand in the presence of his neighbour giants, Ben-macDhui, and Ben-y-boord, less lofty, but more fiercely eloquent in its jagged outline, reminding us of the via of the forked lightning, which it seems dumbly to mimic, projecting its cliffs like quenched batteries against earth and heaven, with the cold of snow in its heart, and with a coronet of mist round its gloomy brow. No poet since Homer and Ida has thus, everlastingly, shot his genius into the heart of one great mountain, identifying himself and his song with it. Not Horace with Soracte-not Wordsworth with Helvellyn-not Coleridge with Mont Blanc-not Wilson with the Black Mount-not even Scott with the Eildons-all these are still common property, but Lochnagar is Byron's own-no poet will ever venture to sing it again. In its dread circle none durst walk but he. His allusions to it are not numerous, but its peaks stood often before his eye: a recollection of its grandeur served more to colour his line than the glaciers of the Alps, the cliffs of Jura, or the thunder hills of fear, which he heard in Chimari; even from the mountains of Greece he was carried back to Morven, and Lochnagar, with Ida, looked o'er Troy. and under the guillotine. Had he been born in England, in certain circles, he had perhaps emerged from obscurity in the shape of an actor, the most powerful that ever trod the stage, combining the statuesque figure and sonorous voice of the Kemble family, with the energy, the starts, and bursts and inspired fury of Kean, added to some qualities peculiarly his own. Had he turned his thought to the tuneful art, he had written rugged and fervent verse, containing much of Milton's grandeur, and much of Wordsworth's oracular simplicity. Had he snatched the pencil, he would have wielded it with the savage force of Salvator Rosa, and his conceptions would have partaken now of Blake's fantastic quaintness, and now of Martin's gigantic monotony. Had he lived in the age of chivalry, he would have stood side by side in glorious and well-foughten field with Coeur de Lion himself, and died in the steel harness full gallantly. Had he lived in an age of persecution, he had been either a hardy martyr, leaping into the flames as into his wedding suit, or else a fierce inquisitor, aggravating by his portentous frown, and more portentous squint, the agonies of his victim. Had he been born in Calabria, he had been as picturesque a bandit as ever stood on the point of a rock between a belated painter and the red evening sky, at once an object of irresistible terror and irresistible admiration, leaving the poor artist in doubt whether to take to his pencil or to his heels. But, in whatever part or age of the world he had lived, he must have been an extraordinary man. No mere size, however stupendous, or expression of face, however singular, could have uplifted a common man to the giddy height on which Irving stood for a while, calm and collected as the statue upon its pedestal. It was the correspondence, the reflection of his powers and passions upon his person; independence stalking in his stride, intellect enthroned on his brow, imagination dreaming on his lips, physical energy stringing his frame, and athwart the whole a cross ray, as from Bedlam, shooting in his eye! It was this which excited such curiosity, wonder, awe, rapture, and tears, and made his very enemies, even while abusing, confess his power, and tremble in his presence. It was this which made ladies flock and faint, which divided attention with the theatres, eclipsed the oratory of parliament, drew demireps to hear themselves abused, made Canning's fine countenance flush with pleasure, as if his veins ran lightning,' accelerated in an alarming manner the twitch in Brougham's dusky visage, and elicited from his eye those singular glances, half of envy and half of admiration, which are the truest tokens of applause, and made such men as Hazlitt protest, on returning half squeezed to death from one of his displays, that a monologue from Coleridge, a recitation of one of his own poems from Wordsworth, a burst of puns from From a graphic sketch of a once popular divine Lamb, and a burst of passion from Kean, were not to by Mr Gilfillan we make an extract: The Rev. Edward Irving. We come, in fine, to the greatest of them all, Edward Irving. And first, let us glance at the person of the man. In reference to other literary men, you think, or at least speak, of their appearance last. But so it was of this remarkable man, that most people put his face and figure in the foreground, and spoke of his mental and moral faculties as belonging to them, rather than of them as belonging to the man. In this respect, he bore a strong resemblance to the two heroes of the French Revolution, Mirabeau and Danton. Irving was a Danton spiritualised. Had he been born in France, and subjected to its desecrating influences, and hurled head foremost into the vortex of its revolution, he would, in all probability, have cut some such tremendous figure as the Mirabeau of the Sans-culottes ; he would have laid about him as wildly at the massacres of September, and carried his huge black head as high in the death-cart, be compared to a sermon from Edward Irving. His manner also contributed to the charm. His aspect, wild, yet grave, as of one labouring with some mighty burden; his voice, deep, clear, and with crashes. of power alternating with cadences of softest melody; his action, now graceful as the wave of the rose-bush in the breeze, and now fierce and urgent as the motion of the oak in the hurricane. Then there was the style, curiously uniting the beauties and faults of a sermon of the seventeenth century with the beauties and faults of a parliamentary harangue or magazine article of the nineteenth-quaint as Browne, florid as Taylor, with the bleak wastes which intersect the scattered green spots of Howe, mixed here with sentences involved, clumsy, and cacophonous as the worst of Jeremy Bentham's, and interspersed there with threads from the magic loom of Coleridge. It was a strange amorphous Babylonish dialect, imitative, yet original, rank with a prodigious growth of intertangled beauties and blemishes, inclosing amid wide tracts of jungle little bits of clearest and purest loveliness, and throwing out sudden volcanic bursts of real fire, amid jets of mere smoke and hot and scenery), two volumes, 1859-1862; The Poet's water. It had great passages, but not one finished Journal, a poetical domestic autobiography, 1862; sermon or sentence. It was a thing of shreds, and yet Hannah Thurston, a story of American life, 1863; a web of witchery. It was perpetually stumbling the John Godfrey's Fortunes, a novel, 1864; The least fastidious hearer or reader, and yet drawing both Story of Kennet, a tale of American life, 1866; impetuously on. And then, to make the medley 'thick Colorado, 1867; By-ways of Europe, 1869; &c. and slab,' there was the matter, a grotesque compound, A collective edition of the poems of Bayard including here a panegyric on Burns, and there a fling at Byron; here a plan of future punishment, laid out Taylor was published at Boston in 1864, and a with as much minuteness as if he had been projecting a collective edition of his travels in ten volumes, bridewell, and there a ferocious attack upon the Edin- by Putnam of New York, in 1869. This enterburgh Review; here a glimpse of the gates of the Celes-prising traveller in 1862 was appointed secretary tial City, as if taken from the top of Mount Clear, and to the American legation at the Court of St there a description of the scenery and of the poet of the Petersburg. Lakes; here a pensive retrospect to the days of the Covenant, and there a dig at the heart of Jeremy Bentham; here a ray of prophecy, and there a bit of politics; here a quotation from the Psalms, and there from the Rime of the Anciente Mariner. Such was the strange, yet overwhelming exhibition which our hero made before the gaping, staring, wondering, laughing, listening, weeping, and thrilling multitudes of fashionable, political, and literary London. ' Student Life in Germany.—From ' Views Afoot. Receiving a letter from my cousin one bright December morning, the idea of visiting him struck me, and so, within an hour, B and I were on our way to Heidelberg. It was delightful weather; the air was mild as the early days of spring, the pine forests around wore a softer green, and though the sun was but a hand'sbreadth high, even at noon, it was quite warm on the open road. We stopped for the night at Bensheim; and the next morning was as dark as a cloudy day in the north can be, wearing a heavy gloom I never saw elsewhere. The wind blew the snow down from the summits upon us, but being warm from walking, we did not heed it. The mountains looked higher than in summer, and the old castles more grim and frowning. From the hard roads and freezing wind, my feet became very sore, and after limping along in excruciating pain for a league or two, I poured some brandy into my boots, which deadened the wounds so much, that I was enabled to go on in a kind of trot, which I kept up, only stopping ten minutes to dinner, until we reached Heidelberg. But I have not yet recovered from the lameness which followed this performance. He was, in fact, as De Quincey once called him to us, a 'demon of power.' We must not omit, in merest justice, his extraordinary gift of prayer. Some few of his contemporaries might equal him in preaching, but none approached to the very hem of his garment while rapt up into the heaven of devotion. It struck you as the prayer of a great being conversing with God. Your thoughts were transported to Sinai, and you heard Moses speaking with the Majesty on high, under the canopy of darkness, amid the quaking of the solid mountain and the glimmerings of celestial fire; or you thought of Elijah praying in the cave in the intervals of the earthquake, and the fire and the still small voice. The solemnity of the tones convinced you that he was conscious of an unearthly presence, and speaking to it, not to you. The diction and imagery shewed that his faculties were wrought up to their highest pitch, and tasked to their noblest endeavour, in that 'celestial colloquy sublime.' And yet the elaborate intricacies and swelling pomp of his preaching were exchanged for deep simplicity. A profusion of Scripture was used; and never did inspired language better become lips than those of Irving. His public prayers told to those who could interpret their language of many a secret confer-young poet of some note, and president of the 'Palatia' ence with Heaven-they pointed to wrestlings all unseen, and groanings all unheard-they drew aside, involuntarily, the veil of his secret retirements, and let in a light into the sanctuary of the closet itself. Prayers more elegant, and beautiful, and melting, have often been heard; prayers more urgent in their fervid importunity have been uttered once and again (such as those which were sometimes heard with deep awe to proceed from the chamber where the perturbed spirit of Hall was conversing aloud with its Maker till the dawning of the day); but prayers more organ-like and Miltonic, never. The fastidious Canning, when told by Sir James Mackintosh, of Irving praying for a family of orphans as cast upon the fatherhood of God,' was compelled to start, and own the beauty of the expression. BAYARD TAYLOR. An American traveller and miscellaneous writer, BAYARD TAYLOR, a native of Pennsylvania, born in 1825, was apprenticed to a printer, and afterwards devoted himself to literature and foreign travel. His publications are numerous, including Ximena, and other Poems, 1844; Views Afoot, or Europe seen with Knapsack and Staff, 1846; A Voyage to California, &c., 1850; The Lands of the Saracen, 1854; A Visit to India, China, and Japan, 1855; Travels in Greece and Russia, 1859; At Home and Abroad (sketches of life The same evening there was to be a general commers, or meeting of the societies among the students, and I determined not to omit witnessing one of the most interesting and characteristic features of student life. So, borrowing a cap and coat, I looked the student well enough to pass for one of them, although the former article was somewhat of the Philister form. Baader, a Society, having promised to take us to the commers, we met at eight o'clock at an inn frequented by the students, and went to the rendezvous, near the Markt Platz. A confused sound of voices came from the inn, as we drew near, and groups of students were standing around the door. In the entrance-hall we saw the Red Fisherman, one of the most conspicuous characters about the University. He is a small, stout man, with bare neck and breasts, red hair-whence his name-and a strange mixture of roughness and benevolence in his countenance. He has saved many persons, at the risk of his own life, from drowning in the Neckar, and on that account is leniently dealt with by the faculty whenever he is arrested for assisting the students in any of their unlawful proceedings. Entering the room I could scarcely see at first, on account of the smoke that ascended from a hundred pipes. All was noise and confusion. Near the door sat some half-dozen musicians, who were getting their instruments ready for action, and the long room was filled with tables, all of which seemed to be full, yet the students were still pressing in. The tables were covered with great stone jugs and long beerglasses; the students were talking and shouting and of the meeting, found seats for us together, and having drinking. One who appeared to have the arrangement made a slight acquaintance with those sitting next us, we felt more at liberty to witness their proceedings They were all talking in a sociable, friendly way, and I saw no one who appeared to be intoxicated. beer was a weak mixture, which I should think would The make one fall over from its weight, rather than its intoxicating properties. Those sitting near me drank but little, and that principally to make or return compliments. One or two at the other end of the table were more boisterous, and more than one glass was overturned upon their legs. Leaves containing the songs for the evening lay at each seat, and at the head, where the president sat, were two swords crossed, with which he occasionally struck upon the table to preserve order. Our president was a fine, romantic-looking young man, dressed in the old German costume-black beaver and plume, and velvet doublet with slashed sleeves. I never saw in any company of young men so many handsome, manly countenances. If their faces were any index of their characters, there were many noble, free souls among them. Nearly opposite to me sat a young poet, whose dark eyes flashed with feeling as he spoke to those near him. After some time passed in talking and drinking together, varied by an occasional air from the musicians, the president beat order with the sword, and the whole company joined in one of their glorious songs, to a melody at the same time joyous and solemn. Swelled by so many manly voices it arose like a hymn of triumph-all other sounds were stilled. Three times during the singing all rose to their feet, clashed their glasses together around the tables and drank to their fatherland, a health and blessing to the patriot, and honour to those who struggle in the cause of freedom. After this song, the same order was continued as before, except that students from the different societies made short speeches, accompanied by some toast or sentiment. One spoke of Germany-predicting that all her dissensions would be overcome, and she would arise at last, like a phoenix, among the nations of Europe; and at the close, gave 'strong, united, regenerated Germany!' Instantly all sprang to their feet, and clashing the glasses together, gave a thundering 'hoch!' This enthusiasm for their country is one of the strongest characteristics of the German students; they have ever been first in the field for her freedom, and on them mainly depends her future redemption. All Cloths were passed around, the tables wiped off, and preparations made to sing the Landsfather, or consecration song. This is one of the most important and solemn of their ceremonies, since by performing it the new students are made burschen, and the bands of brotherhood continually kept fresh and sacred. became still a moment, then commenced the lofty song: Silent bending, each one lending To the solemn tones his ear, Hark, the song of songs is soundingBack from joyful choir resounding, Hear it, German brothers, hear! German, proudly raise it, loudly Singing of your fatherland. Fatherland! thou land of story, To the altars of thy glory Consecrate us, sword in hand! Take the beaker, pleasure seeker, With thy country's drink brimmed o'er ! In thy left the sword is blinking, Pierce it through the cap, while drinking With the first line of the last stanza, the presidents sitting at the head of the table take their glasses in their right hands, and at the third line the sword in their left, at the end striking their glasses together and drinking. In left hand gleaming, thou art beaming, Thus I pierce the cap, while swearing, I a valiant Bursch will be! They clash their swords together till the third line is sung, when each takes his cap, and piercing the point of the sword through the crown, draws it down to the guard. Leaving their caps on the swords, the presidents stand behind the two next students, who go through the same ceremony, receiving the swords at the appropriate time, and giving them back loaded with their caps also. This ceremony is going on at every table at the same time. These two stanzas are repeated for every pair of students, till all have performed it and the presidents have arrived at the bottom of the table, with their swords strung full of caps. Here they exchange swords, while all sing: Come, thou bright sword, now made holy, Heavy with pierced caps to me! Up, ye feast companions! ever reaches it to the student opposite, and they cross their Then each president, taking a cap off his sword, Swords, the ends resting on the two students' heads, while they sing the next stanza: So take it back; thy head I now will cover, Will we, as Brother, greet him- This ceremony was repeated till all the caps were given back, and they then concluded with the follow ing: Rest, the Burschen-feast is over, Hallowed sword, and thou art free! The Landsfather being over, the students were less orderly; the smoking and drinking began again, and we left, as it was already eleven o'clock, glad to breathe the pure cold air. HERMAN MELVILLE. A native of New York, born in 1819, HERMAN MELVILLE was early struck with a passion for the sea, and in his eighteenth year made a voyage as a common sailor from New York to Liverpool. A short experience of this kind usually satisfies youths who dream of the perils and pleasures of a sea life; but Herman Melville liked his rough nautical novitiate, and after his return home sailed in a whaling vessel for the Pacific. This was in 1841. In the following year the vessel arrived at Nukuheva, one of the Marquesa Islands. Those who for the first time visit the South Seas, generally are surprised at the appearance of the islands when beheld from the sea. From the vague accounts we sometimes have of their beauty, many people are apt to picture to themselves enamelled and softly swelling plains, shaded over with delicious groves, and watered by purling brooks, and the entire country but little elevated above the surrounding ocean. The reality is very different; bold rock-bound coasts, with the surf beating high against the lofty cliffs, and broken here and there into deep inlets, which open to the view thickly-wooded valleys, separated by the spurs of mountains clothed with tufted grass, and sweeping down towards the sea from an elevated and furrowed interior, form the principal features of these islands.' Melville and a brother sailor, Toby, disgusted with the caprice and tyranny of the captain, clandestinely left the ship, and falling into the hands of a warlike cannibal-race who inhabit the Typee Valley, were detained for four months. Melville was rescued by the crew of a Sidney whaler, and after some time spent in the Society and Sandwich Islands, he arrived at Boston, in October 1844, having been nearly three years absent from home. The adventurer now settled down in Massachusetts, married, and commenced author. In 1846 appeared Typee: a Peep at Polynesian Life, or Four Months' Residence in a Valley of the Marquesas. The narrative was novel and striking. It was the first account of the natives of those islands by one who had lived familiarly amongst them, and the style of the writer was lively and graphic. Some remarks unfavourable to the missionaries gave offence, but Melville maintained they were based on facts, and protested that he had no feeling of animosity in the matter. The success of Typee soon led to another volume of similar sketches. In 1847 was published Omoo, a Narrative of Adventures in the South Seas. This also enjoyed great popularity. The subsequent works of the author were not so successful; though fresh and vigorous in style, they wanted novelty and continuous interest. These are-Mardi, and a Voyage Thither, 1849; Redburn, his first Voyage, 1849; White Jacket, 1850; Moby Dick, 1851; Pierre, 1852; Israel Potter, 1855; Piazza Tales, 1856; The Confidence Man in Masquerade, 1857. The Refugee, 1865; and a volume of poems, entitled Battle Pieces and Aspects of War, 1866. About 1860, Melville left his farm in Massachusetts and made a voyage The round the world in a whaling vessel. rambling propensity was too strong to be resisted. Scenery of the Marquesas-Valley of Tior. The little space in which some of these clans pass The away their days would seem almost incredible. glen of Tior will furnish a curious illustration of this. The inhabited part is not more than four miles in length, and varies in breadth from half a mile to less than a quarter. The rocky vine-clad cliffs on one side tower almost perpendicularly from their base to the height of at least fifteen hundred feet; while across the vale-in striking contrast to the scenery opposite-grass-grown elevations rise one above another in blooming terraces. Hemmed in by these stupendous barriers, the valley would be altogether shut out from the rest of the world, were it not that it is accessible from the sea at one end, and by a narrow defile at the other. The impression produced upon my mind, when I first visited this beautiful glen, will never be obliterated. noon. I had come from Nukuheva by water in the ship's boat, and when we entered the bay of Tior it was high The heat had been intense, as we had been floating upon the long smooth swell of the ocean, for there was but little wind. The sun's rays had expended all their fury upon us; and to add to our discomfort, we had omitted to supply ourselves with water previous to starting. What with heat and thirst together, I became so impatient to get ashore, that when at last we glided towards it, I stood up in the bow of the boat ready for a spring. As she shot two-thirds of her length high upon the beach, propelled by three or four strong strokes of the oars, I leaped among a parcel of juvenile savages, who stood prepared to give us a kind reception; and with them at my heels, yelling like so many imps, I rushed forward across the open ground in the vicinity of the sea, and plunged, diver fashion, into the recesses of the first grove that offered. What a delightful sensation did I experience! I felt as if floating in some new element, while all sort of gurgling, trickling, liquid sounds fell upon my ear. People may say what they will about the refreshing influences of a cold-water bath, but commend me when in a perspiration to the shade baths of Tior, beneath the cocoa-nut trees, and amidst the cool delightful atmosphere which surrounds them. How shall I describe the scenery that met my eye, as I looked out from this verdant recess! The narrow valley, with its steep and close adjoining sides draperied with vines, and arched overhead with a fretwork of interlacing boughs, nearly hidden from view by masses of leafy verdure, seemed from where I stood like an immense arbour disclosing its vista to the eye, whilst as I advanced it insensibly widened into the loveliest vale eye ever beheld. It so happened that the very day I was in Tior the French admiral, attended by all the boats of his squadron, came down in state from Nukuheva to take formal possession of the place. He remained in the valley about two hours, during which time he had a ceremonious interview with the king. The patriarch-sovereign of Tior was a man very far advanced in years; but though age had bowed his form and rendered him almost decrepid, his gigantic frame retained all its original magnitude and grandeur of appearance. He advanced slowly and with evident pain, assisting his tottering steps with the heavy warspear he held in his hand, and attended by a group of gray-bearded chiefs, on one of whom he occasionally leaned for support. The admiral came forward with head uncovered and extended hand, while the old king saluted him by a stately flourish of his weapon. The next moment they stood side by side, these two extremes of the social scale-the polished, splendid Frenchman, and the poor tattooed savage. They were both tall and noble-looking men; but in other respects how strikingly contrasted! Du Petit Thouars exhibited upon his person all the paraphernalia of his naval rank. He wore a richly decorated admiral's frock-coat, a laced chapeau bras, and upon his breast were a variety of ribbons and orders; while the simple islander, with the exception of a slight cincture about his loins, appeared in all the nakedness of nature. At what an immeasurable distance, thought I, are these two beings removed from each other. In the one is shewn the result of long centuries of progressive civilisation and refinement, which have gradually converted the mere creature into the semblance of all that is elevated and grand; while the other, after the lapse of the same period, has not advanced one step in the career of improvement. Yet, after all,' quoth I to myself, 'insensible as he is to a thousand wants, and removed from harassing cares, may not the savage be the happier of the two?' Such were the thoughts that arose in my mind as I gazed upon the novel spectacle before me. In truth it was an impressive one, and little likely to be effaced. I can recall even now with vivid distinctness every feature of the scene. The umbrageous shades where the interview took place-the glorious tropical vegetation around-the picturesque grouping of the mingled throng of soldiery and natives-and even the golden-hued bunch of bananas that I held in my hand at the time, and of which I occasionally partook while making the aforesaid philosophical reflections. First Interview with the Natives. It was now evening, and by the dim light we could just discern the savage countenances around us, gleaming with wild curiosity and wonder; the naked forms and tattooed limbs of brawny warriors, with here and there the slighter figures of young girls, all engaged in a perfect storm of conversation, of which we were of course the one only theme; whilst our recent guides were fully occupied in answering the innumerable questions which every one put to them. Nothing can exceed the fierce gesticulation of these people when animated in conversation, and on this occasion they gave loose to all their natural vivacity, shouting and dancing about in a manner that well-nigh intimidated us. promised the matter with him at the word 'Tommo;' and by that name I went during the entire period of my stay in the valley. The same proceeding was gone through with Toby, whose mellifluous appellation was more easily caught. An exchange of names is equivalent to a ratification of good-will and amity among these simple people; and as we were aware of this fact, we were delighted that it had taken place on the present occasion. Reclining upon our mats, we now held a kind of levee, giving audience to successive troops of the natives, who introduced themselves to us by pronouncing their respective names, and retired in high good humour on receiving ours in return. During this ceremony the greatest merriment prevailed, nearly every announcefresh sally of gaiety, which induced me to believe that some of them at least were innocently diverting the company at our expense, by bestowing upon themselves a string of absurd titles, of the humour of which we were of course entirely ignorant. Close to where we lay, squatting upon their haunches, were some eight or ten noble-looking chiefs—for such they subsequently proved to be-who, more reserved than the rest, regarded us with a fixed and stern attention, which not a little discomposed our equanimity.ment on the part of the islanders being followed by a One of them in particular, who appeared to be the highest in rank, placed himself directly facing me; looking at me with a rigidity of aspect under which I absolutely quailed. He never once opened his lips, but maintained his severe expression of countenance, without turning his face aside for a single moment. Never before had I been subjected to so strange and steady a glance; it revealed nothing of the mind of the savage, but it appeared to be reading my own. After undergoing this scrutiny till I grew absolutely nervous, with a view of diverting it if possible, and conciliating the good opinion of the warrior, I took some tobacco from the bosom of my frock and offered it to him. He quietly rejected the proffered gift, and, without speaking, motioned me to return it to its place. In my previous intercourse with the natives of Nukuheva and Tior, I had found that the present of a small piece of tobacco would have rendered any of them devoted to my service. Was this act of the chief a token of his enmity? Typee or Happar? I asked within myself. I started, for at the same moment this identical question was asked by the strange being before me. I turned to Toby; the flickering light of a native taper shewed me his countenance pale with trepidation at this fatal question. I paused for a second, and I know not by what impulse it was that I answered "Typee.' The piece of dusky statuary nodded in approval, and then murmured 'Mortarkee!' 'Mortarkee,' said I, without further hesitation-Typee Mortarkee.' What a transition ! The dark figures around us leaped to their feet, clapped their hands in transport, and shouted again and again the talismanic syllables, the utterance of which appeared to have settled everything. When this commotion had a little subsided, the principal chief squatted once more before me, and throwing himself into a sudden rage, poured forth a string of philippics, which I was at no loss to understand, from the frequent recurrence of the word Happar, as being directed against the natives of the adjoining valley. In all these denunciations my companion and I acquiesced, while we extolled the character of the warlike Typees. To be sure our panegyrics were somewhat laconic, consisting in the repetition of that name, united with the potent adjective 'mortarkee.' But this was sufficient, and served to conciliate the good-will of the natives, with whom our congeniality of sentiment on this point did more towards inspiring a friendly feeling than anything else that could have happened. At last the wrath of the chief evaporated, and in a few moments he was as placid as ever. Laying his hand upon his breast, he now gave me to understand that his name was 'Mehevi,' and that, in return, he wished me to communicate my appellation. I hesitated for an instant, thinking that it might be difficult for him to pronounce my real name, and then with the most praiseworthy intentions intimated that I was known as 'Tom.' But I could not have made a worse selection; the chief could not master it: Tommo,' 'Tomma,' 'Tommee,' everything but plain 'Tom.' As he persisted in garnishing the word with an additional syllable, I com98 All this occupied about an hour, when the throng having a little diminished, I turned to Mehevi and gave him to understand that we were in need of food and sleep. Immediately the attentive chief addressed a few words to one of the crowd, who disappeared, and returned in a few moments with a calabash of 'poeepoee,' and two or three young cocoa-nuts stripped of their husks, and with their shells partly broken. We both of us forthwith placed one of these natural goblets to our lips, and drained it in a moment of the refreshing draught it contained. The poee-poee was then placed before us, and even famished as I was, I paused to consider in what manner to convey it to my mouth. This staple article of food among the Marquese islanders is manufactured from the produce of the breadfruit tree. It somewhat resembles in its plastic nature our bookbinders' paste, is of a yellow colour, and somewhat tart to the taste. Such was the dish, the merits of which I was now eager to discuss. I eyed it wistfully for a moment, and then unable any longer to stand on ceremony, plunged my hand into the yielding mass, and to the boisterous mirth of the natives drew it forth laden with the poeepoee, which adhered in lengthy strings to every finger. So stubborn was its consistency, that in conveying my heavily-freighted hand to my mouth, the connecting links almost raised the calabash from the mats on which it had been placed. This display of awkwardness-in which, by-the-bye, Toby kept me company-convulsed the by-standers with uncontrollable laughter. As soon as their merriment had somewhat subsided, Mehevi, motioning us to be attentive, dipped the forefinger of his right hand in the dish, and giving it a rapid and scientific twirl, drew it out coated smoothly with the preparation. With a second peculiar flourish he prevented the poee-poee from dropping to the ground as he raised it to his mouth, into which the finger was inserted and drawn forth perfectly free from any adhesive matter. This performance was evidently intended for our instruction; so I again essayed the feat on the principles inculcated, but with very ill success. A starving man, however, little heeds conventional proprieties, especially on a South-Sea Island, and accordingly Toby and I partook of the dish after our own clumsy fashion, beplastering our faces all over with the glutinous compound, and daubing our hands nearly to the wrist. This kind of food is by no means disagreeable to the palate of a European, though at first the mode of eating it may be. For my own part, after the lapse of a few days I became accustomed to its singular flavour, and grew remarkably fond of it. So much for the first course; several other dishes followed it, some of which were positively delicious. We concluded our banquet by tossing off the contents of two more young cocoa-nuts, after which we regaled ourselves with the soothing fumes of tobacco, inhaled 721 |