sisted strongly
upon the probability of his becoming a Tahitian Rizzio. But a necessary
preliminary to the realisation of these day-dreams, was a presentation
at court, and that was difficult to obtain. Once before Queen Pomaree,
they doubted not but she, with Napoleonic sagacity, would discern their
merits, and forthwith make Typee her admiral, and Long Ghost
inspector-general of hospitals. But they lacked an introduction. The
proper course, according to the practice of travelling nobodies,
desirous of intruding their plebeianism into a foreign court, would have
been to apply to their ambassadors. Unfortunately Deputy-Consul Wilson,
the only person at hand of a diplomatic character, was by no means
disposed to act as master of the ceremonies to the insurgents of the
Julia. And their costume, it must be confessed, scarcely qualified them
to appear at levee or drawing-room. A short time previously, their
ragged and variegated garb had given them much the look of a brace of
Polynesian Robert Macaires. Typee had made himself a new frock out of
two old ones, a blue and a red, the irregular mingling of the colours
producing a pleasing parrot-like effect; a tattered shirt of printed
calico was twisted round his head, turban-fashion, the sleeves dangling
behind, and bullock's-hide sandals protected his feet. The doctor was
still more fantastical in his attire. He sported a _roora_, a garment
similar to the South American poncho, a sort of mantle or blanket, with
a hole in the centre, through which the head passes. This simple article
of apparel, which in the doctor's case was of coarse brown tappa, fell
in folds around his angular carcass, and in conjunction with a
broad-brimmed hat of Panama grass, gave him the aspect of a decayed
grandee. Thus clad, the two friends arrived in the neighbourhood of the
royal residence, and there were fortunate enough to fall in with Mrs
Po-Po, a benevolent Tahitian matron, who provided them with clean frocks
and trousers, such as sailors wear, and in all respects was as good as a
mother to them. Her husband, Jeremiah Po-Po, a man of substance and
consideration, made them welcome in his house, fed and fostered them,
without hope of fee or recompense. A little of this generous hospitality
was owing to the hypocrisy of that villain, Long Ghost, who, finding his
entertainers devoutly disposed, muttered a "Grace before Meat" over the
succulent little porkers, baked _a la facon de Barbarie_ in the gro