en of the South, and tempted
them by proscribing things innocent, but there is no telling: nothing but
strictness seemed a sufficient protection from the foul rites of
idolatry, and all that his judgment or devotion could devise for these
people Williams and his fellows did.

The Samoan group of islands was one of those where the people showed the
most intelligence. They were already great cultivators of the toilette.
A Samoan beau glistened from the head to the hips with sweet-scented oil,
and was tastefully tattooed from the hips to the knees; he wore a bandage
of red leaves oiled and shining, a head-dress formed of a pearly disk of
nautilus-shell, and a string of small white shells round each arm. His
lady was not tattooed, but spotted all over, and when in full attire,
wore a beautiful white silky mat at her waist, a wreath of sweet flowers
round her head, rows of large blue beads round her neck, and the upper
part of her person was tinged with turmeric rouge.

These Samoans, though they deified many animals, had no temples, idols,
priests, nor sacrifices, and thus were more than usually amenable to
Christian ideas; and on Mr. Williams's second visit to the island, he had
a numerous congregation, but so arranged that he could hardly keep his
countenance. Some had their long hair greased and stiffened into
separate locks, standing erect like quills upon the fretful porcupine;
while others wore it cultivated into one huge bush, stiffened with coral
line, diversified with turmeric. Indeed, there is no rest for such heads
as these--none of their wearers dares to sleep without a little stool to
support his neck, so as not to crush his _chevelure_ against the ground.

These fine gentlemen had a readiness and intelligence about them that
warmed to the first rays of light. They listened eagerly, and their
attachment to the missionary was expressed in a song sung in what they
called a "heavenly dance" of the ladies in his honour, when he had
remained with them long enough to plant the good seed of a growing
church.

"Let us talk of Viriamu,
Let cocoa-nuts glow in peace for months;
When strong the east winds blow, our hearts forget him not.
Let us greatly love the Christian land of the great white chief.
All victors are we now, for we all have one God.
No food is sacred now. All kinds of fish we catch and eat,
Even the sting-ray.

The birds are crying for Viriamu,
H