een seriously
indisposed; he had a large quantity: was supposed at the period of
our visit to be in Sydney, or after gold in California, but, with
his ubiquitous propensities, may have been in both places. Captain
Bob, of the Calaboosa, was "muckee-moi," so was Father Murphy, all
under the sod. Charming Mrs. Bell had taken to hard drink, _before_
Mr. Melville's rencontre, and may have been slightly elevated on
that occasion. H. M. _ci-devant_ Consul, Mr. Wilson, was in the
like vinous state, and occupied his leisure in the pursuit of
shells at the Navigator Islands. Shorty was still devoting his
talents to the culture of potatoes at Aimeo, and strongly suspected
of shooting his neighbor's cattle.

CHAPTER XLIX.

The rain fell in torrents the day succeeding our arrival, and it was not
until Sunday that I had courage to set foot on shore: then I went solus,
and jumping on the beach, two minutes' walk found me in the Broom Road,
a broad lane running nearly the entire circuit of Tahiti, within a
stone's throw of the surf-locked lagoons, shaded like a bower by
magnificent trees and undergrowth, that hang their drooping, green arms
in grateful coolness, to shield the traveller from the heat of tropical
suns. Notwithstanding mud from recent rains, the roads and lateral paths
were thronged with natives: I was surprised to find them so much
superior in physical mould and beauty to those of other islands we had
visited. The men were well proportioned, and some with a noble bearing;
the women were very tall, scarcely one less than five feet eight; many
of the young girls were exquisitely shaped, with small hands and feet.
Moreover, they had borrowed a nicer taste in dress from the French, and
their gowns and bonnets were very becomingly worn.

I splashed and trudged about the Broom Road until evening, and then,
following the tide of population, entered the well laid out grounds of
the gubernatorial mansion. The lawns and alleys were crowded with
natives, officers and soldiers, listening to the evening music; this
over, I devoted the evening wandering from cafe to cafe, and wondering
if I were in France or Tahiti. Lights were gleaming from every little
auberge and cabaret of the town--the tables within covered with pipes
and bottles of red wine--soldiers were drinking and chanting favorite
songs of Beranger; and one inebriated sapper, meeting me in the road,
placed b