The old fellow was disposed to be garrulous; but being sharp-set, we told him to get breakfast; after which we would hear his anecdotes.

While employed among the calabashes, the strange, antiquated fondness between these old semi-savages was really amusing.

I made no doubt that they were saying to each other, "yes, my love"-- "no, my life," just in the same way that some young couples do, at home.
They gave us a hearty meal; and while we were discussing its merits, they assured us, over and over again, that they expected nothing in return for their attentions; more: we were at liberty to stay as long as we pleased; and as long as we did stay, their house and everything they had was no longer theirs, but ours; still more: they themselves were our slaves--the old lady, to a degree that was altogether superfluous.

This, now, is Tahitian hospitality! Self-immolation upon one's own hearthstone for the benefit of the guest.
The Polynesians carry their hospitality to an amazing extent.

Let a native of Waiurar, the westernmost part of Tahiti, make his appearance as a traveller at Partoowye, the most easterly village of Imeeo; though a perfect stranger, the inhabitants on all sides accost him at their doorways, inviting him to enter, and make himself at home.