AN EVENING IN TAHITI

The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;

With far-heard whisper o'er the sea;
Off shot the spectre bark.

COLERIDGE.

The day had been hot and sultry. From a cloudless sky, the tropical sun shot down, without mercy, his arrows of heat, against which the lightest and most porous headdress, umbrella, roof and shade afforded but inadequate protection. Man and beast were listless, perspiring, careful to make no unnecessary exertion. The green, succulent foliage bowed under the oppressive heat, and even the gayest of the flowers drooped their proud heads in homage to the fierce king of the serene blue sky. The very atmosphere quivered in convulsive movements, and the intense light, reflected from the surface of the sleeping ocean and the white city, dazzled and blinded those who ventured to go out into the streets. The little capital city of Papeete, nestled on the plateau between the harbor and the foot of towering mountains, half hidden among the tropic trees, was at rest; market and streets deserted, business houses closed, and the wharf silent and lifeless. The numerous miserable curs in the streets sought shelter in the shade, lying in a position affording most perfect relaxa

tion, with protruded, blue, saliva-covered tongues, fighting the heat by increasing the respiratory movements to the utmost speed. The numerous half-wild pigs in the streets, with paralyzed tails and relaxed bristles, buried themselves as deeply as possible in the nearest mud-pool, and with eyes closed, submitted passively to the fiery rays of the midday sun. The roaming chickens, from bald chicks a few days old to the ruffled, fatless veterans of questionable age, suspended their search for rare particles of food with which to satisfy their torturing sense of hunger, and simply squatted where the heat overcame them, in the nearest shady place, there to spend the enforced siesta with bills wide open and the dry, blue tongues agitated by the rapid and violent breathing. The birds of the air ceased their frolic; their song was silenced, and they took refuge in trees with thickest foliage. Men, women and children, rich and poor, merchant and laborer, were forced to suspend work and play, and seek, in the shadow of their homes or near-by trees, protection against the onslaught of the burning rays of the sun. Such is the victory of the sun of the tropics. He demands unconditional surrender on the part of every living thing. He knows no compromise, as he is sure of victory as long as his victim is in a favorable strategic position. This was the case on the day of which I speak. As the rays of the sun became more and

more oblique, and the invisible great fan of the land-breeze was set in motion, wafting down from the high mountain peaks a current of cool air, the city woke up from its midday slumber. The sun had lost his fiery power. He was retreating from the field of combat, and approaching in the distance the rim of the placid ocean. The monarch of the day, so near his cool, watery couch, laid aside his mask of fire and smiled upon the vanishing world with a face beaming with happiness and peace.

The sun was set, and Vesper, to supply
His absent beams, had lighted up the sky.

DRYDEN.

It was
an evening bright and still
As ever blush'd on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven, as if naught ill
Could happen in so sweet an hour.

MOORE.

The last act of the retiring monarch of the day revealed his incomparable skill as a painter. He showed discretion in the selection of the time to demonstrate to the best advantage his matchless artistic skill. He chose the evening hour, when the soul is best prepared to take flight from earthly to heavenly things. He waited until man and beast had laid aside the burden and cares of the day, and were in a receptive, contemplative mood to study and appreciate the paintings suspended from the paling blue dome of the sky.

He waited until he could hide himself from view behind the bank of fleecy clouds moving lazily in the same direction. Then he grasped the invisible palette charged with colors and tints of colors unknown to the artists of this world, and seized the mystic, gigantic brush when

The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets is sweeted last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
SHAKESPEARE.

The time for this magic work was short. The moment the passing clouds veiled his face it began. From the very beginning it became apparent that the hidden artist exhibited superhuman skill. The most appreciative and scrutinizing of his admirers felt powerless to comprehend and much more to give a description of the panoramic views which he painted with such rapid succession on the sky, clouds and the dull surface of the dreamy, listless ocean. With intense interest we watched the constantly varying, artistic display, felt keenly the shortcomings of human art, and realized, to the fullest extent, the force and truth of

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray.

BYRON.

All painters place the greatest importance upon a proper background for their pictures in order