In Figi the disposition to quarrel and fight is no less rife than in Samoa. A very trifling matter constitutes a _casus belli_, and their forces are gathered by the _taga_, a kind of review. Of these there is a series,--one at every place where the army stops on its way to the scene of action. If any part of Figian warfare has interest, it is this, and to the parties engaged it is doubtless glorious. They defy an enemy that is far away, and boast of what they will do on a day which has not yet come, and all this in the midst of their friends. The boasting is distinct from, though associated with, the _taga_, which means “ready” or “on the move,” namely, for challenging. The challenging is called _bole-bole_, and the ceremony, when complete, is as follows:--If the head of the party of allies just arrived is a great chief, his approach is hailed with a general shout. Taking the lead, he conducts his followers to a large open space, where the chief to whose help he comes waits with his men. Forthwith, shouts of respect are exchanged by the two companies. Presently a man, who is supposed to represent the enemy, stands forth and cries out, “Cut up! cut up! the temple receives;” intimating probably that the enemy will certainly be cut up, cooked, and offered to the gods. Then follow those who _bole_ or challenge. First comes the leader, and then others, singly at the beginning, but afterwards in companies of six, or ten, or twenty. It is impossible to tell all that is said when many are speaking at once; but there is no lack of bragging, if single challengers may he taken as specimens. One man runs up to the chief, brandishes his club, and exclaims, “Sir, do you know me? Your enemies soon will.” Another, darting forward, says, “See this hatchet! how clean! To-morrow it will be bathed in blood!” One cries out, “This is my club!--the club that never yet was false!” The next, “This army moves to-morrow; then you shall eat dead men till you are surfeited!” A man striking the ground violently with his club, boasts, “I cause the earth to tremble; it is I who meet the enemy to-morrow!” “See,” exclaims another, “I hold a musket and a battle-axe; if the musket miss fire the hatchet will not!” A fine young man stepped quietly towards a king, and, holding a pole used as an anchor for a canoe, says, “See, sire, the anchor of Natewa (the name of the locality threatened); I will do thus with it,” and he breaks the pole across his knee. A man swinging a ponderous club says, “This club is a defence: a shade from the heat of the sun and the cold of the rain.” Glancing at the chief, he adds, “You may come under it.” A fiery youth runs up as though breathless, crying out, “I long to be gone; I am impatient.” One of the same kind says, “Ah! ah! these boasters are deceivers; I only am a true man in the battle; you shall find me so.” These great swelling words are listened to with mingled laughter and applause. Although the