work--he is to stand aside from life and from his family in dreadful
isolation. These ideas most Polynesians have accepted in appearance, as
they accept other ideas of the whites; in practice, they reduce it to a
farce. I have heard the French resident in the Marquesas in talk with
the French gaoler of Tai-o-hae: "_Eh bien, ou sont vos prisonnieres_?--_Je
crois, mon commandant, qu'elles sont allees quelque part faire une
visite_." And the ladies would be welcome. This is to take the most
savage of Polynesians; take some of the most civilised. In Honolulu,
convicts labour on the highways in piebald clothing, gruesome and
ridiculous; and it is a common sight to see the family of such an one
troop out, about the dinner hour, wreathed with flowers and in their
holiday best, to picnic with their kinsman on the public wayside. The
application of these outlandish penalties, in fact, transfers the
sympathy to the offender. Remember, besides, that the clan system, and
that imperfect idea of justice which is its worst feature, are still
lively in Samoa; that it is held the duty of a judge to favour kinsmen,
of a king to protect his vassals; and the difficulty of getting a
plantation thief first caught, then convicted, and last of all punished,
will appear.

During the early 'eighties, the Germans looked upon this system with
growing irritation. They might see their convict thrust in gaol by the
front door; they could never tell how soon he was enfranchised by the
back; and they need not be the least surprised if they met him, a few
days after, enjoying the delights of a _malanga_. It was a banded
conspiracy, from the king and the vice-king downward, to evade the law
and deprive the Germans of their profits. In 1883, accordingly, the
consul, Dr. Stuebel, extorted a convention on the subject, in terms of
which Samoans convicted of offences against German subjects were to be
confined in a private gaol belonging to the German firm. To Dr. Stuebel