On the afternoon before it was intended we should sail, a

valedictory party came on board: nine of our particular friends

equipped with gifts and dressed as for a festival. Hoka, the chief

dancer and singer, the greatest dandy of Anaho, and one of the

handsomest young fellows in the world-sullen, showy, dramatic,

light as a feather and strong as an ox--it would have been hard, on

that occasion, to recognise, as he sat there stooped and silent,

his face heavy and grey. It was strange to see the lad so much

affected; stranger still to recognise in his last gift one of the

curios we had refused on the first day, and to know our friend, so

gaily dressed, so plainly moved at our departure, for one of the

half-naked crew that had besieged and insulted us on our arrival:

strangest of all, perhaps, to find, in that carved handle of a fan,

the last of those curiosities of the first day which had now all

been given to us by their possessors--their chief merchandise, for

which they had sought to ransom us as long as we were strangers,

which they pressed on us for nothing as soon as we were friends.

The last visit was not long protracted. One after another they

shook hands and got down into their canoe; when Hoka turned his

back immediately upon the ship, so that we saw his face no more.

Taipi, on the other hand, remained standing and facing us with

gracious valedictory gestures; and when Captain Otis dipped the

ensign, the whole party saluted with their hats. This was the

farewell; the episode of our visit to Anaho was held concluded; and

though the Casco remained nearly forty hours at her moorings, not

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