a, I think, I very nearly understood. A fierce and
savage old man took the solo part. He sang of the birth of a prince,
and how he was tenderly rocked in his mother's arms; of his boyhood,
when he excelled his fellows in swimming, climbing, and all athletic
sports; of his youth, when he went out to sea in his boat and fished; of
his manhood, when he married a wife who cradled a son of his own in her
arms. Then came the alarm of war, and a great battle, of which for a
time the issue was doubtful; but the hero conquered, as he always does,
and with a tremendous burst of the victors the piece closed. There were
also comic pieces, which caused great amusement. During one, an old man
behind me clutched me by the arm, shook his finger in my face with a
roguish smile, and said something with a chuckle, which I took to be the
equivalent of 'O, you women, you women; it is true of you all!' I fear
it was not complimentary. At no time was there the least sign of the
ugly indecency of the eastern islands. All was poetry pure and simple.
The music itself was as complex as our own, though constructed on an
entirely different basis; once or twice I was startled by a bit of
something very like the best English sacred music, but it was only for
an instant. At last there was a longer pause, and this time the dancers
were all on their feet. As the drama went on the interest grew. The
performers appealed to each other, to the audience, to the heaven above;
they took counsel with each other, the conspirators drew together in a
knot; it was just an opera, the drums coming in at proper intervals, the
tenor, baritone, and bass all where they should be--except that the
voices were all of the same calibre. A woman once sang from the back row
with a very fine contralto voice spoilt by being made artificially
nasal; I notice all the women affect that unpleasantness. At one time a
boy of angelic beauty was the soloist; and at another a child of six or
eight, doubtless an infant phenomenon being trained, was placed in the
centre. The little fellow was desperately frightened and embarrassed at
first, but towards the close warmed up to his work and showed much
dramatic talent. The changing expressions on the faces of the dancers
were so speaking that it seemed a great stupidity not to understand
them."

Our neighbour at this performance, Karaiti, somewhat favours his
Butaritarian majesty in shape and feature, being like him portly,
bearded, and Orient