pointed to the badge of blue ribbon, which, though damp and colourless,
remained faithful to my button-hole. I also made signs I was hungry, and
would be glad of something to eat. My gestures, as far as the blue
ribbon went, must have been thrown away, of course, but any one could
understand that I was fainting from hunger. The mistress of the house
called to one of the spinning girls, who rose and went within the door
opening from the platform at the upper end of the room. She presently
returned with an old woman, a housekeeper, as we would say, and obviously
a faithful and familiar servant. After some conversation, of which I was
probably the topic, the old woman hobbled off, laughing. She soon came
back, bringing, to my extreme delight, a basket with cakes and goat
cheese, and some cold pork in a dish.

I ought, perhaps, to say here that, in spite of the luxury of their
appointments, and their extraordinary habit of "eating and drinking all
day to the going down of the sun" (as one of their own poets says), these
islanders are by no means good cooks. I have tasted of more savoury
meats, dressed in coverings of leaves on hot stones, in Maori pahs, or in
New Caledonian villages, than among the comparatively civilized natives
of the country where I now found myself. Among the common people,
especially, there was no notion of hanging or keeping meat. Often have I
seen a man kill a hog on the floor of his house, cut it up, toast it, as
one may say, at the fire, and then offer the grilled and frequently under-
done flesh to his guests. Invariably the guests are obliged to witness
the slaughter of the animal which is to supply their dinner. This
slaughter is performed as a kind of sacrifice; the legs of the beast are
the portions of the gods, and are laid, with bits of fat, upon the
altars. Then chops, or rather kabobs, of meat are hacked off, spitted,
and grilled or roasted at the fire. Consequently all the meat tasted in
this island is actually "meat offered to idols."