BOOKS.

IN MR. STEVENSON'S SAMOA,- IT would be idle to deny that the chief interest of Miss Fraser's book is the connection which its title implies, and that its main attraction for the reader will not be in the description of the Samoan islands, charmingly written though that description is, but in the account which the author is able to give of the personality of a greatly loved English author and of the surroundings of the last years of his courageous life. And yet there is much in Miss Fraser's little book that should have earned for it a favourable notice, even had it not treated of a topic which, just now, is very near to the heart of English people. If, as it would seem, this is the author's first essay in literature, she may well be congratulated upon possessing some of the most necessary qualifications for her enterprise. She has a quick eye not only for the beauty of nature but also for the character of man ; and while she succeeds in painting the first for us in language which is always admirably simple and direct, she describes the second with a pleasant and very pretty humour. The beauty of the South Seas is not easily to be recorded in words especially when addressing an audience that knows not the glories of cloudless skies, or the luxuriant splendour of tropical foliage. Still, the picture that the author gives of her first glimpse of Samoa is worthy of quotation :—

"After several weeks of delightful cruising in the Pacific, visiting beautiful tropical islands, one morning the sun rose like a ball of fire, flooding the world with a golden lustre, and out of the ocean, regal in its colouring of purple and gold in the early light, we saw, far away in the distance, the rugged outline of the

Samoan or Navigator Islands Savaii, Upolu, and Tutuila, rise out of the sea to an altitude of from four to five thousand feet, the great undulating slopes of the mountains densely clothed with forest, which in many places crowns the very topmost ridges and waves clear against the blue sky, while round the base innumerable coral bays gleam white in the fierce light. By the time the sun was high in the heavens, blazing down on our white decks where the pitch bubbled in the seams, we were skirting along the coast of Upolu ; and on the beach could be seen clusters of little brown houses, made of palm leaves, and dark-coloured natives skimming over the waves in outrigged canoes, fishing, or wading about with spears in their hands,—a favourite method of catching fish, in which they are experts."

In the clear water of the lagoons one may watch " droves of tiny fish with parrot•bills, and others like iridescent jewels sparkling in the sun's rays as they flashed through the sub- marine coral forest." Lining the shore is the little settlement of traders' houses, known as "the beach" in South Sea parlance. Inland, the road leads through the forest to the mountains :-

" The luxuriant tropical foliage on either side, and the gorgeous birds that hovered over the great trumpet-shaped flowers and twittered quaint little songs from the branches of wild orange- trees and cocoa-nut palms, added to the enchantment. Scarlet and black honey-eaters flashed through the dark green foliage, green and yellow jaos chattered in their almost human voice, and blue kingfishers crossed our path at every few steps. As soon as the beach was left behind, the natives we met were courteous and charming. They all greeted us with smiles and

the salutation of Talofa ! ' which signifies love to you!' ' Good day to you! '"

Of the natives, Miss Fraser and the lady who accompanied her were fated to see a good deal, without, however, in the least losing the good impression that they first received. The Stevensons, who at once extended the hand of friendship to these two unprotected strangers, were eager to prove that their Paradise was not unworthily inhabited, and under their auspices an introduction to Samoan native life was as pleasant as it was complete. The author gives a delightful description of the birthday feast at which the native chieftains hastened to do honour to their white friend "Tusitala," the "teller of tales," whose ready advice and practical sympathy had never failed them at the time of need. The novelist himself, wreathed like the rest of the guests with heavy garlands of sweet-scented • In Stevenson's Samoa, By Marie Fraser. London: Smith, Bider, and Co.

flowers, presided over a banquet which was Homeric in ita generous spread, while his native friends, who formed the majority of the company, vied with each other in the ceremonious courtesy and light-hearted gaiety with which they strove to make the strangers at home. One can well understand the strong hold that both Samoa and its people took upon the imagination and the affections of Mr.

Stevenson, and how thoroughly his appreciation was re- ciprocated by the Samoans themselves. His intense love of beauty and colour was every day satisfied by surroundings

which beggared even his powers of description, and his romantic fancy must have found endless suggestion in the

wild graces of character, the unfettered passions, and the natural nobility of an unspoilt people. On the other hand, the Samoans themselves seem to have been quick to recog- nise that it was no common man who had come to live among them. Unlike other white men who visited their shores, he had no private ends to serve, and sought their friendship for nothing but friendship's sake. So great was the respect with which he inspired them, that even the most distant chieftains would send deputations to confer with him on matters of State policy. We are not surprised to learn that he always showed a touching anxiety to save his native friends from the corrupting influences of civilisation, and to assist, as

far as he could, in the preservation of their natural simplicity and innocence. His horror of European dress upon a native is amusingly illustrated by a story which Miss Fraser relates, as

to the manner in which he was used to dispose of his own old clothes to prevent their falling into the hands of his servants.

The garments were buried secretly, and as the natives, like all other children, were quick to scent a mystery in the air and eager to discover it, the solemn rites could not be carried out without elaborate, and sometimes ludicrous, precautions. This feeling on his part was not solely dictated by his artistic sense, or his natural dislike of unreal and

artificial modesty. As the author says, it showed a true kind- ness and solicitude for the natives themselves :—" When they take to European dress their lunge become affected, as they have no idea of guarding against cold. Should they get wet, it is very easy to change their lava-lava ; but European clothes are much too elaborate for a Samoan to take off simply because they happen to be damp, whereas the rain runs off

their well-oiled bodies, doing them no harm." The position of women in Samoa is very different from that which is generally

found among uncivilised races. If she toils or spins, it is for her own good pleasure, for no native would be so unmannerly as to expect his wife to be a helpmate in his labours. The innate chivalry of the Samoan is exemplified in a story which the author relates, a propos of the "tapo" (surely a word con- nected with the well-known "taboo"), the maiden who is chosen as the luck—or Mascotte one might call her—of a

tribe or village :-

" In time of war it is the tapo's duty to lead on to combat the warriors of her village, and she is often in the thick of the skirmishing ; but should she be wounded or killed, it is a pure accident, as the Samoans have the greatest horror of hurting a woman in anyway, and would not even injure their enemy's tapo. There is a story told of how, during the war which was carried on in Upolu for a considerable time, five or six years ago, two armies had met and were drawn up, blazing into each other's lines, when a native woman appeared with a cow she wished to place in safety. The entire firing was immediately suspended on both sides till she and her charge had crossed the lines, and were completely out of harm's way. The women could rely so thoroughly on the gallantry of their countrymen that they had no fear during the fighting, and would take food to their husbands and brothers at any time, and pass through the ranks of the warriors of the belligerent army with perfect impunity ; as long as the daylight lasted, and they could be easily seen, they were quite safe."

There is another and less pleasant side to Samoan life upon which the author is silent ; and rightly so, for after all it has

nothing to do with the Samoa in which Stevenson lived. Other writers—Stevenson himself has touched upon it—have described the life of " the beach " and the ruinous invasion of civilised vices. In his retreat at Vailima, the novelist seems to have held aloof from the struggles and intrigues of the half-European colony, while he manfully did his best to stem the flood of changes they were bringing upon the

country. The mountain-top upon which he lies looks over a land which owes him nothing but the wisest affection and the most constant service. As the author's ship sped homewards from Samoa, "Upolu gradually sank into the blue ocean, and the last we saw was the peak of -Pala. where the mighty

g-nius and kindly man now lies at rest among his beloved Samoans." A kindly man, indeed, but not a mighty genius. That is a phrase which must be reserved for the giants of literature, of whom Stevenson was not one. His exact place in the roll of honour has yet to be found, and only time, we think, can be the judge. Our sense of his loss is yet too lively for a just appreciation of his value. Time will do him justice,—perhaps will even raise him to a rank nearer to that of the giants than the rank in which we are disposed to place him now. Time also may bring about a change in the order of popularity in which his books are now held, and may rescue from a most undeserved neglect what was perhaps the best romance he ever wrote, The Black Arrow. The comparative unpopularity of this book among his warmest admirers is matter of no little wonder to us. Surely in no other of his works is the "eternal child" of the author's nature more manifest ; or is there to be found a sketch of character more swift and sure in outline than his unhistorical portrait of Richard " Crookback."