In one very odd dance, a queer, fluttering creature, with a huge fan in each hand to represent wings, kept dancing round and round a covey of cowering children, whom he bowled over, two at a time. Then, as they lay prone, he fanned them to life again, and so drove them along to join the orchestra. This is supposed to be a bird of prey providing for her young, and of a species unknown in Fiji! Somewhat similar is a dance in which half the men are armed with spears, the other half carry large fans of palm-leaf, or of native cloth stretched on a wooden frame, and adorned with blue and white streamers. At the end of each movement every dancer holds his fan high above his head with simultaneous action, uttering a wild, high-pitched war-cry. After an intricate dance, in which extraordinary feats of agility are displayed, these two companies form into separate lines and have a sham fight. Again and again the whole regiment of spearmen fall flat on the ground, as if all slain simultaneously, and the others, bending over them, fan them assiduously till life is restored, and they once more spring to their feet. This is a particularly pretty dance: no carefully studied ballet could be more effective. Another, which is particularly characteristic, is a club-dance, in which half the men present are armed with war-clubs of very varied and curious forms, while the others carry long and beautifully carved spears. Sometimes each man carries a spear in one hand and a club in the other; and often, I regret to say, a number of common muskets replace the old clubs, and look strangely out of keeping with the barbaric surroundings. On festivals such as these, many of the clubs are as carefully decorated as their owners. Coloured strips of _pandanus_ leaf or fibre-plaiting are wound around them, adorned with fringe-like tufts; some are rather coarsely touched up with scarlet or blue paint, which happily soon rubs off. These war-parties always advance slowly, attitudinising and swinging from side to side. Gradually they become more animated, brandish their spears and clubs, go through all manner of evolutions, keeping such perfect time that each line of warriors seems to move like one man—every hand and foot moving in unison. The speed and action go on increasing till each individual dancer seems to be performing the closing movements of a Highland fling or a sailor’s hornpipe, but with far more varied postures. At some of the larger gatherings, from two to three hundred dancers will join in the _méké_, and as they are generally the picked men of the district, the scene is the more effective. In every dance there is a leader, who by word and example regulates the time for every change in the figures. This post of honour is often awarded to a very small boy, son of the chief; and you cannot think how pretty it is to see all these splendid fellows moving like clock-work in obedience to the slightest