TAHITI. 
T 75 
“ A dell ’mid lawny hills, 
Which the wild sea-murmur fills, 
V And soft sunshine, and the sound 
Of old forests echoing round, 
And the light and smell divine 
Of all flowers that breathe and shine.” 
A few miles on this side of Papeuriri, the road passes through an old cotton plantation 
which, since the death of its enterprising founder, Captain Stewart, has been allowed to lie 
waste. The ground was still dotted here and there with cotton-plants displaying their 
white tufts. The attempt to introduce the cultivation of this plant into Tahiti seemingly failed, 
although both soil and climate were in its favour, partly owing to the difficulties of establishing 
such a branch of industry in a remote island of the Pacific, partly through local jealousies. 
The traders who first gain a footing in a newly-opened country enjoy for some time the 
exclusive privilege of barter with the natives, which to some extent is the legitimate reward 
of their enterprise ; but they are liable to look upon every project of a new-comer, however 
beneficial it may prove in the end to the whole community, as an attempt to invade their 
rights, and to lessen the social and political influence they have acquired. Captain Stewart, to 
secure the number of labourers required for his plantation, had imported natives from the 
neighbouring Hervey Islands, and their deserted huts still stood on the roadside. The extensive 
stores, offices, and dwelling-houses, neatly and substantially built, covered a large space of 
ground, but all were closed up and in the first stage of decay. 
After a five hours’ drive through groves of bananas, oranges, citrons, cocoa palms, and 
bread-fruit trees, we arrived at Papeuriri, whose chief, Tere, and his amiable wife, gave 
us a very hospitable reception. Our host was a fine, portly, middle-aged man, of 
commanding yet genial countenance. He was dressed in modern Tahitian style—wide-awake 
hat, loose jacket, and kilt or short petticoat of a bright pattern. His spouse, evidently his 
junior by some years, was attired in a white gown, her black tresses flowing gracefully over 
her shoulders. Both were unremitting in their endeavours to secure the comfort of their 
guests; and the incidents of this short but interesting visit come back to the memory as 
amongst the most pleasant recollections of our wanderings. 
On the lawn in front of Tere’s house was a large structure built to accommodate an 
assembly of several hundred persons—a sort of town-hall or meeting-house, partly shown in 
the sketch on next page. In the course of the afternoon a public meeting was held; but as 
the day was fine, the men attending it, to the number of some fifteen or twenty, sat down 
in the shade of the broad leaves of the bread-fruit trees, which formed the avenue to Tere’s 
house. Each speaker, as he rose, uncovered, and then proceeded to address the chief, 
who stood in the verandah, at one end of which sat his secretary, taking notes. Their 
manner of speaking was energetic, yet marked by a quiet natural dignity. Unlike the 
even flow of our European orators, who generally deliver speeches prepared beforehand 
in a more or less mechanical manner, their discourse consisted of short sentences separated 
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