THE MINISTER OF POLICE.

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selves. The two Cabinet Ministers, Kubu, the Minister of Police, and Josateki Tonga Veikune, the Paymaster,

now appointed Auditor-General in his absence, had returned from their mission to Vavau and the Niuas to

announce the change of Ministry. We therefore summoned our first Cabinet Council.

It was held in the Parliament House, a large wooden building furnished with pews and a long table. At one end was a faded crimson daïs surmounted with the royal arms here the king sits when he opens Parliament. We took our seats round the table, Tukuaho, as President, sitting at one end, and Mataka, with his shorthand notebook, at the other. Let me describe my colleagues.

Asibeli Kubu, the Minister of Police, is a short, dark little man of about thirty, with a stiff moustache, and erect rebellious black hair. He is full of restless energy, impulsive and boyish, full of loyalty to Tukuaho, and of devotion to his administration. His mother is Lavinia, who would be Tui Tonga fefine if such dignities existed nowadays; and his father is Inoke Fotu, a Judge of Vavau, a chief of the second rank. By his mother, therefore, Kubu is a great chief. He began his official career as a Police Magistrate under the Baker régime, and got himself into sad disgrace by not convicting to order. Being a creature of impulse, and not endowed with calculating tact, our Minister of Police is safer under discipline than when left to his own judg ment. To-day he is dressed in a suit of flannel pyjamas with quasimilitary braid facings, his head is covered with an embroidered smoking-cap with a tassel, and his feet are bare.

Sateki.

Josateki, or Sateki as he is universally known, is a dif

THE LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE.

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ferent stamp of man. A chief of the third rank in Vavau, he was selected by Mr Baker as his Paymaster and Assistant Premier because of his implicit obedience to orders and his power of silence. In person he is erect and slim, with grizzled hair and beard, and fine features deeply wrinkled. He lives only for his work: he is an official first and a man afterwards, a very rare quality for a native, to whom, as a rule, sustained purpose is

unknown. We are not yet sure of Sateki. He is said to be hurt at my appointment as Assistant Premier, a post which, till now, he has nominally filled. If we once win him over we need not fear that he will desert us, but as he will not talk, and has never been known to laugh, he is difficult to conciliate.

Then there was Ahomee (day of dancing), the Lord Chief-Justice, a white-haired old gentleman, one of the first converts, and a great pillar of the Church in days gone by, but now very deaf of ear and dull of understanding. The Minister of Finance, Junia Mafileo, the king's nephew, had not yet arrived, and Tukuaho, as President,

G

called upon Mataka to open the proceedings. The first business was to read a letter from Mr Campbell tendering his resignation as Assistant Minister of Finance because his chief does not come to his office, and no business can be transacted in the old gentleman's absence. The Lord Chief Justice now fell asleep, and we passed to other matters while Mr Goschen was being sent for. We had granted tea and sugar to the policemen on duty, and were deep in the discussion of the advantages of subsidising a mail service when he arrived. He is a careworn-looking old gentleman with very round eyes, classic features, and a beautiful set of false teeth, which in moments of excitement snap to and remain obstinately closed. When this happens he continues his remarks over his upper jaw, with a hissing noise like an angry snake. His hair stands up in scanty grey bristles half an inch long all over his bullet head. Though the thermometer registers 85°, he is dressed in a thick double-breasted ulster, thrown open to display a checked Crimean shirt and trousers, and an enormous pair of lawn-tennis shoes. At the desire of the Premier I rise and read Campbell's letter of resignation. The Auditor-General pokes up the Chief-Justice, who, waking suddenly, under the impression that a motion is being put, holds his right hand aloft, and babbles of tea and sugar, the last question but one before the meeting. The Premier with due solemnity says that there is a grave accusation against the Minister of Finance. As all eyes are fixed upon the unconscious Goschen, it gradually dawns upon him that he is being attacked, and his round eyes gape in startled surprise.

What is it?" he asks, blankly.

AN EMPTY OFFICIAL.

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You are to attend your office every day," says Tungi, with emphasis.

Goschen springs to his feet in a state of frenzied emotion.

"I know," he cries, "I have not been to my office for a week. And why? Because I am alone in the world. You talk of work; well, I have been at workmy work is to fill my stomach" (he clutches the organ in question with both hands). His eyes roll, his false teeth shut with a snap, and he hisses over

them, "I have no wife, no sons, no daughters.

Who is to fill my stomach for me? Why," he cried, as the whole piteousness of the situation thrust itself upon him, "it's empty now. Order me to do what you will and I will do it, but only feed me." He sat down choked with his impassioned burst of eloquence. The Premier suggested that a convict should be told off to catch fish for the Minister, and dig his yams. This was a straw to the drowning financier. me a prisoner, two prisoners, or even three to feed me, but I think that it will want four: feed me, and I will sit in my office all day." It was eventually decided that Goschen should attend his office on alternate days, and

"Feed me, and I will sit in my office all day."

"Yes," he cried, "give