he has singled out with the skill of a collector, and planted in the soil of his original baseness.  He has been accused and acquitted of a treacherous murder; and has since boastfully owned it, which inclines me to suppose him innocent.  His daughter is defaced by his erroneous cruelty, for it was his wife he had intended to disfigure, and in the darkness of the night and the frenzy of coco-brandy, fastened on the wrong victim.  The wife has since fled and harbours in the bush with natives; and the husband still demands from deaf ears her forcible restoration.  The best of his business is to make natives drink, and then advance the money for the fine upon a lucrative mortgage.  ‘Respect for whites’ is the man’s word:  ’What is the matter with this island is the want of respect for whites.’  On his way to Butaritari, while I was there, he spied his wife in the bush with certain natives and made a dash to capture her; whereupon one of her companions drew a knife and the husband retreated:  ‘Do you call that proper respect for whites?’ he cried.  At an early stage of the acquaintance we proved our respect for his kind of white by forbidding him our enclosure under pain of death.  Thenceforth he lingered often in the neighbourhood with I knew not what sense of envy or design of mischief; his white, handsome face (which I beheld with loathing) looked in upon us at all hours across the fence; and once, from a safe distance, he avenged himself by shouting a recondite island insult, to us quite inoffensive, on his English lips incredibly incongruous.

Our enclosure, round which this composite of degradations wandered, was of some extent.  In one corner was a trellis with a long table of rough boards.  Here the Fourth of July feast had been held not long before with memorable consequences, yet to be set forth; here we took our meals; here entertained to a dinner the king and notables of Makin.  In the midst was the house, with a verandah front and back, and three is rooms within.  In the verandah we slung our man-of-war hammocks, worked there by day, and slept at night.  Within were beds, chairs, a round table, a fine hanging lamp, and portraits of the royal family of Hawaii.  Queen Victoria proves nothing; Kalakaua and Mrs. Bishop are diagnostic; and the truth is we were the stealthy tenants of the parsonage.  On the day of our arrival Maka was away; faithless trustees unlocked his doors; and the dear rigorous man, the sworn foe of liquor and tobacco, returned to find his verandah littered with cigarettes and his parlour horrible with bottles.  He made but one condition—­on the round table, which he used in the celebration of the sacraments, he begged us to refrain from setting liquor; in all else he bowed to the accomplished fact, refused rent, retired across the way into a native house, and, plying in his boat, beat the remotest quarters of the isle for provender.  He found us pigs--I could not fancy where—­no other pigs were visible; he brought us fowls and taro; when we gave our feast to the monarch and gentry, it was he who supplied the wherewithal, he who superintended the cooking, he who asked grace at table, and when the king’s health was proposed, he also started the cheering with an English hip-hip-hip.  There was never a more fortunate conception; the heart of the fatted king exulted in his bosom at the sound.