GENTLE SAVAGES.* HERE is a book which might have been

written forty years ago. Yet so strong a grip has it upon the reader that its pages might be the impressions of yesterday; so strong a grip have its scenes upon its author that, writing as an old man, still here and there he drops into the present tense, forgetful that he is copying from a note-book. Tangweera is the record of a boyhood spent among the Mosquito Indians of Central America, and it has been compiled from mem- oranda made by the author, as boon companion of the young Mosquito King of 1841, and arranged by him in 1899 in New Zealand.

Tangweera (Straight-hair, a name distinguishing the Mosquito Indians from the half-breed Sambos) begins with a chapter interesting as a really comprehensive history of the Mosquito territory up to its cession to Honduras in 1859. But the reader is attracted by different means in the second and succeeding chapters, and is led through so delightful a series of tales of birds and beasts and men, adventures by land and water, and pictures of tropical scenery, that he cannot help but share Mr. Bell's enthusiasm, and wonders whether there could be a more fascinating life for a healthy boy than that which Mr. Bell himself led among "the gentle savages."

The book is not, it may be conceded, from every point of view perfect. It is possible that the author's recollections, or rather notes, as to the Mosquito language may prove valuable as material to be added to the researches of Professor Brinton and M. Lucien Adam. But the appendix dealing with the Mosquito language is, as a fact, only an amateur contribution to the history of the tongues of American Indians, and probably Mr. Bell is wrong when he traces the Mosquito language to a Carib source. Yet the love-song and the dirge, written down on the spot forty years ago, are very interesting. Again, the natural history of the book is not that of a Darwin. The exact scientist, seeking for technical terms, divisions, subdivisions, and • Tangweera: Life and Adventures among Gentle Savages. By 0. Napier Bell. London; Edward Arnold. [163.1 synopses, will be disappointed. There are scarce half-a-dozen Latin names in the book, and of these Cetus pat uellas (p. 202) probably should read Cebus littuellvs. Rather this is the natural history of a boy with clear eyes and scant Latin. Thus on p. 233 we are given nine species of Mosquito Coast bees. They are called nasma Bikes, nasma tara, wuckihra, toolung, slaha, and so on, much as your schoolboy prefers the name Clouded Yellow to Colias Edusa. Yet we readily agree with Mr. Bell when he says in his preface that "it is in my experience that not every boy has such a love of Nature, such a reverent awe of the great untrodden forests, or takes such an interest in the birds, beasts, insects, and plants as I did." True, in one passage he misuses a term. In speaking (p. 215) of the bush partridge he says:—" When wounded the meek, gentle!sub- mission of this bird would touch the heart of any one not a sportsman. Without a cry or a struggle it patiently awaits the termination of its sufferings, and when its head falls on the hand in death it seems to have died with forgiveness in its heart." That is a picture which will appeal to every man who has ever shot a partridge; but the word " sportsman " surely should connote one who feels such things as deeply as any man. Here is a quotation, however, showing the author at

his best :—

"‘ Whene'er I take my walks abroad' in the bush to look at such beasts and birds as will trust me with their presence, I generally have' (note the tense) a quiet interview with a dear

little bird called by the Indians twee. I summon him by whistling his cry: he seldom fails to attend, and we mutually inspect each other. It comes singly or in pairs, and must be fond of company, as it comes quite up to my feet, looking around for the one it supposes to be replying to its call. It is a con- sequential little bird, and evidently studies deportment in all its actions. In walking, it raises its foot quite up to its body with its toes shut up, then makes a long stride, reminding one of little boys playing at marching. It is heard a long way off re- plying to my call, and presently appears striding along in its methodical way, now and then making a little hop, and stopping occasionally to stand upright, cry and listen. If I am dressed in white, or make a movement, it keeps at a safe distance, parading round and looking up in an inquiring manner; but if I close the interview by rushing forward, it flies off with a cleek, cleek, cleek,' and no whistling will bring it back."

Or take this description of an incident in a Twaka village :—

" Presently a beautiful tame curassow walked up to me with perfect confidence, and began to rub its silky black head against my hand, pecking at my wrist buttons, biding its head up my trouser-leg, pulling at my clothes to attract attention, and utter- ing all the while its plaintive, insinuating cry."

Or this, relating to a pet quash (coati) :— "The quash eats everything it can get—birds, lizards, grubs,

fruit, berries, plantains, sugar-cane and maize The hunters brought me a young one they had caught, and as there were always men in the camp on sick leave, they petted and reared the little creature. I never in my life saw such an inquisitive, fearless, impudent, amiable, and quarrelsome little beast as this was. It trotted about the huts as if it had never been accustomed to anywhere else ; jumped into your lap and curled up to sleep without the slightest hesitation. If you treated it well, it would be most loving, playing with your hand, poking its long nose up your sleeve or into your pockets, and running all over you as if you belonged to it; but if you attempted to put it away before it chose to go, it would quarrel at once, snarl and bite, and twist its nose from side to side with the most impudent defiance. It followed us like a puppy, but not for the same reason as a puppy, which loves and depends on its owner : not a bit of it—the little quash followed us to see what was doing and what was to be got. If the men set their food down it would take possession at once, and a fearful row would take place before it could be dispossessed. It was every- where and into everything ; singed its little toes by walking through the wood ashes, when, instead of running away, it shrieked with rage, and began to dig and scatter the ashes in its ungovernable anger ; then it rushed up a man's back to sit on his shoulder and lick its sore toes. It would get into the barrel of salt pork and smear its paws and nose with grease and in that condition jump on your face when you were sound

and insist on lying down there. He would persist in coming at all hours of the night to have a nap, and nothing would satisfy him unless he crawled under the men's coverings and up against their naked skins, where he was by no means careful with his sharp little claws, but to get rid of him meant nothing else than a stand-up fight. Every one was fond of him, and every one voted him to be a most unmitigated nuisance."

One might multiply such quotations, but these will serve as examples. Mr. Bell has given us a charming book, and one of absorbing interest to naturalists, sportsmen, ethnologists, and to many of us who are none of these, yet once were boys. Not that the book is entirely devoted to adventure by river and plantation and Indian village. There are graver pages.

Mr. Bell is no advocate of the missionary. He has no sym- pathy with the "proselytising person" who would raise the savage's ideas to a knowledge of revealed truth :—

" You should no more try to do this to the simple savage," he says stoutly, "than you should try to teach a little child the mysteries of regeneration and predestination. To God a thousand years are as one day, and it is more pleasing to Him to see the simple mind of the savage groping its way to a knowledge of Himself through the first steps of idols and fetishes than mumbling the formula of a highly developed religion which he cannot possibly understand."

In fact, if not in so many words, Mr. Bell accuses the missionary of a blind interference in the scheme of creation. That is by no means the final word on the missionary

question, but at the same time it represents dimly and crudely a feeling which ought to be present in the minds of the missionary, and is, we believe, present in the minds of the

most successful. The best missionary is he who is most patient. But it is not by religious or ethnological dis-

cussions that Tan gweera chiefly lays siege to the affections of its reader ; it is rather by its author's deep and trans- parent love for all that was notable and beautiful in the once

untrodden forests of Central America.