practise harmful arts[1]. In the New Hebrides the healing of the sick belongs in Aurora to the gismana, in Lepers' Island to the tangaloe ngovo, in Pentecost to the mata tawaga, to those, that is to say, who have the knowledge of the songs and charms, believed to have come down from Tagaro himself, by which mana is conveyed and applied. In Aurora those who dream have the larger practice. In Pentecost and Lepers' Island the juice of a very young cocoa-nut, on which the doctor has blown, with a charm muttered or sung, is drunk by the patient or rubbed upon him, and water, with mana imparted to it in the same way, is also used. Sickness is generally supposed to be caused by ghosts, but as the sacred places and objects which may be profaned or lightly used belong to spirits, these are believed often to be angry, and to inflict pain and disease. The power of a spirit is also brought by a charm or curse to harm a man; it is natural, therefore, that in the treatment of the sick recourse should be had to spirits, and above all to Tagaro, rather than to ghosts. The name of Tagaro controls both ghosts and spirits. In Pentecost the doctor will forbid some kind of food to the patient, and when he recovers bring him some of it to eat as a proof that he is well. In both islands women know how to relieve pain. In Pentecost the women use leaves as poultices, and when they take them off profess to take away with them the cause of pain—a snake, a lizard, something from the beach; 'but,' says a native who has undergone the treatment, 'no one sees the thing but the women, and the pain remains.' In Lepers' Island the female practitioner rubs the patient downwards with a bunch of leaves, such as she knows to have the proper qualities, singing and muttering her charms. She will work one day upon the head, and go on working downwards day by day, squeezing and
- ↑ 'They have a nice woman or two on the island (Mota) who are credited with a knowledge of bone-setting. One is a sensible woman, an old friend of mine, so I went for her and set her to work. She pokes and pulls about, and manages to get the bone into its place.'—Rev. J. Palmer. The extreme dislike of natives, of the Banks' Islands at least, to washing when they are sick does not seem to have any superstitious origin; they dread a chill.
