A Word from Fiji

A Word from Fiji BY JOHN A. NELSON, JUNIOR, PRESIDENT OF THE S.AMOAN MISSION Forty-eight hours sailing, at twelve knots an h )..., in a north- westerly direction from Samoa will bring one to Suva, the capital of Fiji. No boats go direct to Tonga from Samoa, which neces- sitates my coming to Fiji, where I wait three weeks for a boat to Tonga. I have thus spent six weeks in these islands. Five years and a half ago, when the writer stopped in Suva, the town appeared quite crude and old-fashioned ; today it appar- ently is an up-to-date little city with hustle and bustle on every side, with large buildings of all descriptions being built in the business sections, and all seem to be busy. There are five large A GLIMPSE OF SUVA HARBOR hotels in the town with many boarding and rooming houses. A beautiful two-story stone Carnegie Library decorates the beach side of the road. There the weary sea-voyager finds rest for his eyes and mind, as he sits in an easy chair reading a volume taken from the spotless book-case. One verv noticeable feature of Suva is the good roads found throughout the city limits. The sidewalks are cemented along the main streets, and the roads are excellent for the automobile and motor-cycle. It is amusing to watch the carriages and auto-

1078 IMPROVEMENT ERA mobiles turning the corners of the short, narrow streets on the hill-side. The Fijian Islands are just as picturesque and well vegetated as any others found in the Pacific. At this time of the year (July 29) the days and nights are cool, and one is reminded very much of the climate of the Hawaiian Islands. The gardens are in full bloom, not botanical gardens, or gardens to please the eye alone, but real good vegetable gardens, the kind every American gar- CARNEGIE LIBRARY, SUVA, FIJI dener is accustomed to cultivating. In these are found nearly every variety of vegetable grown in cooler countries. For instance, the carrot, beet, turnip, radish, watermelon, potato, squash, etc., all thrive very well and a beautiful garden is seen growing on every spare plot of ground. The little natives from India are ap- parently the gardeners, and the all-round workmen of the islands. While talking of the advancement the white man is making on Fijian territory, we must not forget the savage-looking Fijian who has practically been driven to other haunts from those he once enjoyed in the now city limits of Suva. The Fijian has been looked upon as a cannibal of the darkest hue, and rightly he has been criticized ; but today he is as quiet and harmless as any of the Polynesian tribes. During the last two weeks I have made a special effort to learn as much as posisble of his character and habits, and I find them to be very much like those of the Samoan and Tongan. This, probably, is due to long years of intercourse with the two brown Islanders. The Tongan is highly respected in Fiji, and in days gone by, many islands of the Fijian group have been ceded to

A WORD FROM FIJI 1079 Tongan chiefs. The Samoan seems to have less to do with his black neighbor. The Fijian has a very dignified bearing, and his form is usu- ally very symmetrical and straight. His black, partly-curly hair stands up like a thick, well-trimmed hedge about his head and neck. He, like the other islanders of the South-seas, dresses in a cloth hanging from the waist, and a shirt. One seldom sees him without this uni- form on, unless the sun is unusually hot, and then he lays aside his shirt. Christianity was brought to Fiji as far back as 1835, by the Methodists, just five years after it was introduced to the Samoans, by the London Mis- sionary Society, in 1830. Since that time the Fijians have gradually been improving, until now they are a fairly well-read people, comparing well with their island friends. No doubt the first missionaries underwent some very try- ing times, as it would be impossible to Christianize immediately the savage heathen. The natives inform me that in those days when a chief died his wife, or wives, were strangled to death and eaten by other chiefs. At the present time the total population of the Fijian group is 137,248. Of these, 87,096 are Fijians ; 3,691 Europeans ; 2,376 half-casts ; 40,286 natives from India ; 305 Chinese, and 3,494 natives of the South Seas, with a few other foreigners mixed in with them. When the time is ripe to preach the gospel to the inhabitants of these islands, I am sure many will accept it, as there are many God-fearing people here. SUVA, FIJI A TYPE OF FIJIAN In the Canyon A smooth expanse far-stretching In to a gentle sloped hill, Whose low brow melts and merges Where horizon dews distill; My gaze o'er the surface lingers, While alone with tight-clasped fingers And heart held cramped in thrall of pain, I sit by the window, lonely, And I see not the smooth scene only, I know the slope to be a broken plain.

1080 IMPROVEMENT ERA Out midway there's a canyon, 'Tween here and yonder line, Where sky so blue, soft-clouded, And the earth's dark hills combine. And now while my gaze skims over The expanse of grass and clover, My thoughts, my heart, are buried deep Adown in that canyon. .There where Even more than Chautauquan peace rare Once reigned. Down there where perfumed zephyrs sweep. Down there a dear home nestled, A home happy, full of love. Down there hearts beat in jrv-throbs, Ah, down there 'twas love, all love. Two hearts down there in the canyon — 'Twas mine and my heart's companion, Ah, he so brave, so strong, so true! No care ever came to sadden, All the world seemed combined to gladden Those days — dear days, bright days, that were so few. We worked, we planned together, Ah, the rainbow hues that gleamed In our life's web fantastic, We would weave it as we dreamed. Our lives' fondest hopes and ideals, The ambitions one's whole soul feels, Were stirred; we worked to make them true. The labor was only started When our lives — his and mine — were parted, And wrecked each hope, each plan, each aim we knew. Just when our hearts beat highest, When our love was at full tide, A call came for my Darling — Came and took him from my side. I thought that he couldn't leave me, And so break my heart and grieve me; I held him fast, my own, my own! But called, he obeyed and left me, Of my soul's very life then bereft me. O God, Thou called — he answered — I'm alone! That's why down in the canyon There is now a home no more. The house still stands, but empty; Our Home-Spirit waits ashore Where he is, across the Great Stream Of Eternity. Bright hopes gleam, For some day There, we'll have our home. Meanwhile I must wait — so lonely — The hours, pregnant with memories only, While the scene spreads o'er the canyon like a dome. Dolores Strebor redmesa, col.