OF THE SOUTH SEAS 145 



Llewellyn's deep-set eyes under the beetling brows 

 were lighting with new fires. 



His idea of inactivity and drought was sublimated, for 

 the musicians were never still a moment. They played 

 mostly syncopated airs of the United States, popular at 

 the time. All primitive people, or those less advanced 

 in civilization or education, prefer the rag-time*variants 

 of the American negro or his imitators, to so-called good 

 or classical music. It is like simple language, easily un- 

 derstood, and makes a direct appeal to their ears and 

 their passions. It is the slang or argot of music, hot off 

 the griddle for the average man's taste, without com- 

 plexities or stir to musing and melancholy. 



The musicians had drunk much wine and rum, and 

 now wanted only beer. That was the order of their 

 carouse. Beer was expensive at two francs a bottle, and 

 so a conscientious native had been delegated to give it 

 out slowly. He had the barrel containing the quart- 

 bottles between his legs while he sat at the table, and each 

 was doled out only after earnest supplications and much 

 music. 



"Horoa mai te pia!" "More beer!" they implored. 



^'Himene" said the inexorable master of the brew. 



Up came the brass and the accordion, and forth went 

 the inebriated strains. 



Between their draughts of beer — they drank always 

 from the bottles — the Tahitians often recurred to the 

 song of Kelly. Having no g, I, or s among the thirteen 

 letters of their missionary-made alphabet, they pro- 

 nounced the refrain as follows : 



Hahrayrooyah ! I'm a boom! Hahrayrooyah I Boomagay! 

 Hahrayrooyah ! Hizzandow ! To tave ut f ruh tin ! 



