Tropicalities

THE epitaph written by Robert Louis Stevenson for his own grave is known all over the world. But the full beauty of the verse cannot be appreciated until one has heard it sung by the choir of boys at Avatele, which is a sort of secondary school for the sons of chiefs, near Apia, Samoa. The school is just across a valley from the peaked hill where is Stevenson’s grave. The words have been set to music as a requiem, by the Samoan headmaster of a native school* To listen to the words of the master, there on the quiet hillside, within a mile or two of his grave, sung by the people he loved so well, is an experi ence never to be forgotten.—R. W. R. * * * THERE was a new medical officer in Rarotonga (which was nothing new in the old days) and Brown Brother had judged him by native methods and stan dards. Curious to know why the people avoided his really efficient ministratfbns, I asked one old man, and he said.

“I take te pottle. He gif me te vairakau (medicine); red kin’, an’ I no like him ’mell. Put ’im on te grart (grass) and bimeby I look. Grart ’im too dead all b up too mush dead. No good! He killem grart, what bout me? I no want dead. No fear! Heave pottle sea. Pinitsh!

Get one pucketi Maori kin’, all right, sick he gone. Good!” —Te Ruau. « ♦ • TWO young Aucklanders are still living on Sunday Island, a green, pleasant looking, place in the Kermadec group. Their names are Alfred Bacon and Bruce Robertson, and they have been there a year. The Maui Pomare called not long ago, and found them well, and staunchly bearded. They said they have an abundance of goatflesh, fish, vegetables and fruit—they wanted only kerosene and salt —and they are quite happy there, in their extreme isolation. We passed the island on Saturday, June 20, and could see their hut on the north coast. A yacht, far down on the northwest horizon, was just then beating towards the island and it was thought that this carried a couple of men from Sydney, who have been ex pected to join the Aucklanders. A Dr.

Ross, of Sydney, owns 750 acres on Sun day Island.—R.W.R. ♦ * * A SISTER ship of the old Countess of Ranfurly, Government schooner, hav ing been found bottom up in the Hauraki Gulf, a pessimistic Rarotongan shellback prophesied an early demise for the Coun tess, much to the captain’s disgust.

There followed a voyage to Mangaia, with the late Colonel Gudgeon and other very unhappy officials aboard, and a heavy gale en route, during which occu pants of the windward berths had a most unhappy time avoiding decantation to the deck.

The Colonel held out until after day light, and then he made the deck to “see about it”—to find a beaming captain bal ancing on the weather rail, and beaming with joy. Said he: “Morning, Colonel! Take a look at her!

Nowhere to shove another cloth and the old bitch simply WON’T tip over! Tender ship be damned!”

It took some time before the Colonel could gently but firmly get him to under stand that the Government was officially satisfied with the success of the experi ment, but wanted breakfast on an even keel.

To this day, the captain includes in the Colonel’s few demerits the fact that he

did not exhibit proper pride in the ship of which nominally and officially he was temporary “owner!” —Te Ruau. * ♦ * WHEN the late Sir Thomas Henley was visiting Samoa, he hired a native taxi man to drive him around. They passed a church. “That,” said the taxi-man, “is the Mormon Church.” “H’m, h’m, Mor mons, eh?” remarked Sir Thomas, with interest. “So they are here! Tell me, my man, do they practise polygamy here?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” replied the courteous Samoan. “It is every afternoon at four o’clock.” —R.W.R. * * ♦ SOME of the wives of officials who live for a time in Samoa may be excellent housekeepers, but they are not a good ad vertisement for the dignity of officialdom.

Idlers retail with glee, on the beach at Apia, the story of one extremely careful lady who ordered from a trader one pound of cheese. The .trader cut a piece off, and it was slightly overweight. “A little over —it will cost twopence more,” he said. "I asked for a pound, and I want a pound,” snapped the lady. The trader glared.

Then, “Puss, puss, puss,” he called, in an insinuating voice, and his cat came from the back of the store. He shaved the cheese down until it weighed exactly one pound, and fed the bits to his grateful cat.

The lady said nothing; but if looks could kill —! Another woman, wife of a very high official, received from the store a one-pound tin of salmon, instead of the half-pound tin she had ordered. She opened the tin, took out half a pound, and sent the remaining half-pound back to the storekeeper. The same woman ord ered some ham, to be fed to her guests at a party. She sent the ham back next day, with the message: “Please credit my account with this ham. I do not need it, as my guests did not turn up.”—R. W. R.

Lieutenant-Colonel J. S. Gamble, Inspec tor of Constabulary in Fiji, departed from Suva for furlough in England by the Aorangi on June 26.