For the novel and stirring incidents of travel, we must turn to Mr. Romilly's narrative of his experiences in the Western Pacific. He transports us to a comparatively little known region, and it was his good or ill fortune to come into contact with phases of life which must, it is to be hoped, for ever remain unknown to most of us. Few living men, for instance, have been present at a great feast on human flesh, cannibalism being one of the habits of savage life which is found to yield at the first touch of civilization. In New Ireland, however, Mr. Romilly happened to be present at a sort of state banquet, given in honour of a victory over the enemy. The enemy himself supplied the materials of the repast. The details of the preparation of the horrible food may be read in Mr. Romilly's pages by all who have a curiosity on the subject. Some few particulars concerning a compound called 'Sak-sak' may here be given:-- 'They, [the heads of the victims] were then disposed of in various ways, and when I asked what would be done with them, I was told, "They will go to improve the sak-sak." The natives on the East coast of New Ireland prepare a very excellent composition of sago and cocoa-nut, called sak-sak. I used to buy a supply of this every morning, as it would not keep, for my men. Now it appeared that for the next week or so, a third ingredient would be added to the sak-sak, namely, brains. I need hardly say that for the next two days of my stay I did not taste sak-sak, though my men made no secret of doing so. The flesh in the ovens had to be cooked for three days, or until the tough leaves in which it was wrapped were nearly consumed. When taken out of the ovens the method of eating it is as follows. The head of the eater is thrown back, somewhat after the fashion of an Italian eating macaroni. The leaf is opened at one end, and the contents are pressed into the mouth until they are finished. As Bill, my interpreter put it, "they cookum that fellow three day; by-and-by cookum finish, that fellow all same grease." For days afterwards, when everything is finished, they abstain from washing, lest the memory of the feast should be too fleeting.' Mr. Romilly was informed by the natives that human flesh tastes even better than pork. One is satisfied to take their word for it. In the New Hebrides it appears that the people prefer to eat it dried, or 'jerked.' At present, we are told,