he whole
island, and the shores rise steeply out of the sea; only a few huge
lava blocks form a base, on which the swell breaks and foams. When
we reached the island, this swell was so heavy as to render landing
almost impossible. All we could do was to take the employe aboard and
return home. I was very sorry to have to give up my visit to Meralava,
as the natives, though all christianized, have preserved more of
their old ways than those of other islands, owing to their infrequent
intercourse with civilization. For the same reason, the population is
quite large; but every time a ship has landed an epidemic goes through
the island, the germs of which appear to be brought by the vessels,
and the natives evidently have very small powers of resistance. We
may here observe on a small scale what has taken place all over the
archipelago in the degeneration and decimation of the aborigines.

The people of Meralava live on taro, which they grow in terraced
fields, the water being obtained from holes in the rocks, and on
cocoa-nuts, of which the island yields a fair supply.

The following day we started for Ureparapara, also a volcanic island,
with an enormous crater, one side of which has fallen in; because,
as the natives say, a great fish knocked against it. The sea has
penetrated into the interior of the crater, forming a lovely bay, so
that ships now lie at anchor where formerly the lava boiled and roared.

In consequence of the frequent intercourse with whites, the population
is scanty. There is hardly a level patch, except the small strip at
the base of the slope and the great reef outside. Here, too, we had
difficulty in landing, but in the evening we found an ideal anchorage
inside the bay. The water was scarcely ruffled, and little wavelets
splashed on the shore, where mangrove thickets spread their bright
foliage. Huge trees bent over the water, protecting the straw roofs
of a little village. In the deep shade some natives were squatting
round fires, and close by some large outrigger-canoes lay on the
beach. On three sides the steep wooded slopes of the former crater's
walls rise up to a sharply dented ridge, and it all looks like a
quiet Alpine lake, so that one involuntarily listens for the sound
of cow-bells. Instead, there is the call of pigeons, and the dull
thunder of the breakers outside.

We took a holiday in this charming bay; and though the joys of
picnicking were not new to us, the roasting of some pig