A Delightful Book!

By A. J. Vogan

IN my long-past journalistic days, I wrote many reviews of new books. But I do not remember one that wrapped itself around my heart and spirit as one just to hand from the well-known Rev. C. W.

Whonsbon-Aston, entitled Levuka Days, and published by the S. P. Christian Know ledge, of Northumberland Avenue, London.

Perhaps what delighted me chiefly in this bright and cheerful little book, is the vein of real wit, and intelligent fun that per meates its solid and scientific bed-rock of local history, and informative truths of an Anglican missionary-priest’s work in out of-the-way places.

For example: “One Christmas they sang, ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing,’ in Fijian to a Tongan tune. I think the tune owed much of its inspiration to ‘There’s a Tavern in the Town;’ but it was effective.”

Again, apropos of the weird fatalism that causes Islands folk sometimes to go away into the bush, to sit down and die quietly, he tells the story of the famous “Queen of Sud-Est,” one of whose labourers told her one night: “Me werry sick; I go die t’night!” Mrs. Mahony’s reply was: “If you do, I’ll give you the biggest hiding you’ve ever had in your life.” And the “boy” changed his mind.

The biographer is the recording angel of these days! We may be brilliant, am bitious, and important: and it seems hard to imagine how the poor world will get along without us when we have departed this sphere for our particular “Purple Cloud.” But in a year or two after our decease, we will be perfectly forgotten!

Save in the case of some writer like the Rev. Whonsbon-Aston coming along, and immortalising our good works in letters of printers’ ink.

If the reader wants Romance, with a capital “R.” it is there, on page 55. And the ghosts of the Old Pioneers are raised for our teaching. Such men as William E.

Floyd, “the apostle of the Anglican Com munion in the Western Pacific,” are well worth remembering in times like to-day!

He had to face, alone, a wild and turbulent white public, containing übiquitous pub licans, and that hideous object-lesson, the de-civilized white-man —who, by licentious ness, alcohol, and absence of authority, had sunk far lower in the human-scale than the worst type of “untutored savage.”

I heartily congratulate the reverend author of Levuka Days; and I feel grate ful to him for having told this cheerful tale of dear old Levuka which, although situated on one of the most interesting and lovely islands in the Pacific, remains un advertised by the shipping folk, and almost unknown to the tourist.