George W. Bell

Blue pencilling several eloquent pages, I am here constrained to use the discretion generously given me, by choosing for myself the methods of introducing the scenes of Mr. Oseba’s last discovery.

Hinemoa's Bath

Hinemoa’s Bath, of Legendary Fame

It has been previously mentioned that Leo Bergin had “done newspaper work in New Zealand,” and here seems a proper place to re-refer to this pleasing fact.

Leo notes that, pending a re-arrangement of the stage, there was a brief intermission, and later, that having become weary from strained attention, and drowsy from the soothing pleasures of the occasion, his thoughts flitted back over the silent years, and falling into a half-unconscious reverie, he seized the thread and wove from the thrilling scenes of the past the panorama of a pleasing dream. In his chant, we catch the echoes of a farewell to his native land, and, floating away into aimless realms, he follows the devious path of other days, where vaguely arise the fleeting phantoms of pleasures forever gone.

We know not the mystery of a dream, but in Leo Bergin’s brain the hoary mountains rise, the restless seas moan, and the scenes of ever-enchanting Zelania unroll like a magic scroll. In modest phrase he sings the memories of early wanderings, and that through his mental gleams we may reach a higher appreciation of the unfolding views, I quote his rippling rhymes:—

LEO BERGIN’S REVERIE.

Sweet home, adieu! With vent’rous crew,
I’m sailing o’er the ocean blue.

As on we leap, the eye doth sweep
The curving borders of the deep.

The days glide by, I gaze and sigh,
But nought appears, save sea and sky.

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Behold! there rise, ’neath Southern skies,
Green Isles that greet our glad surprise.

Oh! lovely Isles, where Nature smiles,
And beckons to the “afterwhiles.”

Here fancy drew, from old and new,
To give the soul extended view.

With air so mild, and scenery wild,
The Fates persuaded, led and smiled.

O! craggy peak! O! Earthquakes freak,
Had I but words of you to speak.

Our course we take, through broom and brake,
To view the fern-embroidered lake.

Those lakes, so sweet, at mountain’s feet,
Where weary strangers, strangers meet.

The waters blue, with swift canoe,
We skim, for glimpses weird and new.

We lift the eye to mountain high,
To where the snow-peaks kiss the sky.

O’er gorges deep, where shadows creep,
dark clouds cluster, pause and weep.

In dreamy mood, we pause and brood,
’Midst awe-inspiring solitude.

We list—a roar, that cometh o’er,
From danger scenes we would explore.

For ah! the spell! the geyser’s well,
That hurls the sulphurous fumes from hell;

That flings on high, with thund’rous sigh,
Huge rocks, that smite the cloud-flecked sky.

But list, ye bands from other lands,
This monument of splendor stands,

In South Seas hurled, with flag unfurled,
“The scenic wonder of the world.”

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As here we scan old Nature’s plan,
We seek her last, best work—a man.

Lo! he appears! nor hopes nor fears
Have vexed his soul through all the years.

With haughty pride—nor priest nor guide—
He ruled the land, as warrior tried.

Here chieftain brave, here King and slave,
Their lives to war and foray gave.

Here, dusky maid was ne’er afraid
To join the fray, in copse or glade.

With waving hair, and beauty rare,
Brave hearts these maidens did ensnare.

When beauty wild a chief beguiled,
He gazed in liquid eyes, and smiled.

Love makes amends, and often blends,
Wild warring factions into friends.

But strong the will, with tribesmen’s skill,
The Maori was unconquered still.

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Where Nature, kind, unfolds the mind,
Man is to nobler thoughts inclined.

Though brave, he’s meek; he aids the weak,
And high companionship doth seek.

In social train, by hand and brain,
He wins and holds a vast domain.

He builds a State; ’tis weak or great,
As based on love, or fosters hate.

If Wisdom’s eyes survey the skies,
Before their magic touch arise

Industrial arts, where loyal hearts
May rear and fill commercial marts.

If strong and just, and true to trust,
The coin of Truth can never rust;

And wise men see that none are free,
Save where there’s large equality—

Where Law commands, that sturdy hands,
Shall freely cultivate the lands;

No coward slave, but free and brave,
Shall ever ready be to save.

Thus honest worth, o’er all the earth,
Conditions make, e’en more than birth.

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’Twas said by Fate, these Isles must wait,
The builders of an ideal State.

Then with the breeze, ’cross Southern seas,
The Briton came, with high decrees.

New scenes arose, old wounds they close,
And friendship reigns ’mong ancient foes.

For Maori hate, by skill and—“fate”—
Was merged into the British “State.”

United, free, they now agree
To dwell in peace,—“So mote it be.”

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Then of this man, and if we can,
We’ll follow out his mystic plan.

For wise it seems, e’en in our dreams,
To build, with care, prophetic themes.

Then let us gauge the Seer and Sage,
As pass they o’er Life’s mystic stage.

First, of the dead, it may be said,
While warm of heart and cool of head,

They saw the new, and though but few,
They laid foundations, strong and true,

On which to rear, without a fear,
This temple,—so imposing here.

By words sublime, in prose and rhyme,
They taught, for all-enduring time.

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Then Seddon came, without whose name
This temple were unfinished frame.

But in his care, with graceful air,
The structure rose, with finish fair.

His sturdy stroke the times awoke,
As from Tradition’s rules he broke.

Upon the land he scattered bands,
With willing hearts and sturdy hands.

To those once rent with discontent,
He even-handed Justice sent.

Now o’er the State, nor fear nor hate
Could find companion, small or great.

Look o’er the land, from peak to strand,
There’s happiness on every hand.

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Here Cities rare, exceeding fair,
Zealania boasts, with modest air.

At eve or dawn, we gaze upon
The busy, “blowy” Wellington.

Here, products great for ships await,
And here repose the powers of State.

Here, founding laws, for mighty cause,
The statesman long the session draws.

Here modest worth and homely mirth
Find more respect than rank or birth.

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There’s Auckland, too—’twixt me and you—
A beauty spot, excelled by few.

Round this fair cove, old Nature strove
To show the fickle feats of Jove.

Volcanic smoke in fury broke,
Until the heavens all awoke.

When cleared the skies, there did arise
A seat for earthly Paradise.

At mountains’ feet, where lavas meet,
There Auckland sits, serene and sweet.

With seas afore, just off her door,
Where proud ships ride for evermore.

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We note with care, with Christchurch, there
Are few that safely may compare.

For pride of race, for social grace,
She holds a high and honored place.

’Mid fertile plain of waving grain,
We search for lovelier spot, in vain.

Here, soul and brain; here, maid and swain,
A pure companionship maintain.

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Dunedin stands, on favored lands,
’Twixt mountains high and ocean sands.

On beauty’s spot, the “Canny Scot”
Has cast his ever happy lot.

With taste and skill, from rock to rill,
Dunedin reaches ’long the hill.

With vision free—upon the lee—
Dunedin gazes o’er the sea.

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Full many more, ’tween hill and shore,
Are worthy of the poet’s lore.

Though hard I seek, the words are weak,
Of nobler beauties now to speak.

While cities were, with beauty rare,
Contrived by man, with studied care,

The vale, the glen, the lake, the fen,
Were made by Him who maketh men.

The fields of grain, where honest swain
Earns honest bread, wave not in vain.

For West and East, both man and beast
Await to join Zealania’s feast.

And from all lands, by skilful hands,
White sails are bent for Austral strands.

Here, finest wheat, by many a fleet
Is sent, the foreign marts to meet.

And finest fleece—in war or peace—
They shear, that wealth they may increase.

With choicest meat, both rare and sweet,
In “Merry England,” they compete.

In farm or mine, with food or wine,
To lead the leaders they incline.

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By skill they coil the threads of toil
Around the riches of the soil.

And, for the sake of gain to make,
Great enterprise they undertake.

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Well, far and near, we’ve gathered here,
And all in all it doth appear

That higher goals and nobler souls
Are here, than elsewhere ’tween the poles.

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Now wake, my Muse, do not refuse
To pay “my hostess” honest dues.

For ladies fair, with beauty rare,
Zealania boasts, beyond compare.

And smiles more sweet we’ll never meet
Until we bow at Peter’s feet.

Awake again and listen, when
Beholding strong Zealania’s men.

’Tis writ by Fate, men only great
Could constitute this noble State.

Then sing for all, both great and small,
Each in fit place, that none may fall.

The dreams of seers, the hopes and fears,
Have gathered ’long the silent years,

And on these Isles, with radiant smiles,
Were cast the hoarded “afterwhiles.”

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Zealania fair, thou art the heir
Of all the cries of ancient prayer.

Here sturdy bands, with gen’rous hands,
Are guardians of these favored lands.

Then hail thee thrice—let this suffice,
Thou art Creation’s Paradise.

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Oh! float away—like mist in May,
Or rainbow tints ’mid ocean spray.

“I wake to sense—please, no offence,—
Forgive my drowsy indolence.”

Well, indeed that is pretty; but let us down from Leo’s fancies to Mr. Oseba’s facts, and while I shall strive to retain a seasoning of Mr. Oseba’s richness, time and the love of ease whisper persuasively of the virtues of the blue pencil.

With more animated eloquence, Mr. Oseba resumed his oration. “The audience,” says Leo Bergin, “gave the most profound attention.”

“Knowledge,” said Mr. Oseba, “is a priceless treasure, but,” with a smile he continued, “many a good story has been spoiled by over-inquisitiveness. Poetic fancy suffers from flirtations with cause and conscience. Unless inquiry has been thorough, my children, it is wiser, in most cases, to note impressions than to assume to record facts, so I shall give you but a ‘bird’s-eye’ view of these enchanting isles, with the characters as they appeared before the visual camera when I made my observations.

“Had I gone fossicking among the weary ones of Zelania, I should doubtless have found many excellent people who, in some phase of the inquiry, would have questioned the correctness of my conclusions. I might have heard some sighs, amid the almost universal joy—some smiles with the general congratulations, and some discordant groans mingled with the generous applause—but where there is not sufficient diversity of interest to produce mental friction, there is more danger from decomposition than from revolution.

“Yes, I incline to think had I stood on the corner and listened I would have met some well-to-do gentlemen who disliked the land tax; some business men who disliked the labor laws; some farmers, who wanted a free ride and no rent; some patriotic men who failed to admire many of ‘Richard’s’ taking ways. I might also have found healthy gentlemen from ‘Home’ who, though their conditions were bettered by coming, have little love for ‘the colonials,’ and who, by virtue of their unwillingness to grasp the true situation, regard every statement of a fact as an extravagance, and every forward movement as a revolution. Then, I should have felt it necessary to inquire how much of such criticism was due to private interest, to defeated ambition, to party or factional prejudice, or to differences in opinion as to who would best grace the conspicuous chair.

“For this I had neither time nor inclination. Man can equivocate, can even lie, ’tis said, but visible conditions never deceive an observing stranger, and when I considered the brief history of that country and compared its early social and political policy with the present free, happy and prosperous situation, I had little care to banquet with private grievance or public criticism.

“I was concerned, not in the salaries of the public servants, but in the character of the public conscience; not in who, for the time being, guided the ship of state, but how the passengers and the crew were being brought to their destination.

“On a lonely elevation, far removed from the murmuring crowd, I levelled my glass, and, without sampling the fluids from which the stage actors drew their inspiration, I noted my ‘impressions.’ They were favorable, and if I’m guilty of nothing worse than failing to note the faults of those chosen by themselves as ringmasters of the performance, I feel that the Zelanians will not regret my having ‘discovered them.’

“As the beauties of Zelania so far transcend the powers of the painter’s brush and the poet’s metaphor, I pay her homage of my admiration, in modest speech.”

IN SILENT WONDER.

“In scenic wonders, these playful Isles present a peculiar series of thrilling charms, which seem to satisfy best the yearnings of those who have visited other lands.

“In geography, Zelania is beautifully isolated, as every beach is washed by more than a thousand miles of sea. Its borders are so erratic, so indented by bays, harbors, and inlets, that its shore-lines are over 4,000 miles in extent, and, in altitude, it reaches from the sea-shore to the clouds.

“Configuratively, it is milder than a dream, and topographically, it presents a most romantic and pleasing aspect. In scenic beauty, the Isles of Greece, the Lakes of Ireland, or the ‘Vales of Cashmere’ do not surpass it, and in the awe-inspiring wildness of its mountain grandeur, it rivals the noblest of Norway or Alaskan scenes.

“In bold magnificence, the glacial glories of the Swiss Alps are tame comparisons, and its geysers, its boiling lakes, its roaring vents from subterranean fires, its hundreds of spouting caldrons, its grottos and waterfalls, could not be surpassed, if all the rest of Oliffa’s wonders were brought together and placed on exhibition—such a congerie of curiosities has Nature thrown in young Zelania’s lap.

“When Nature made Oliffa, my children, she nourished a sly intent to show her skill when in the flower of training. With this in view, as she deftly moulded other lands and tempered them from her laboratory, she tossed aside the choice bits of material, and took notes on ‘effect.’ Then, after finishing the rest, and ‘behold it was very good,’ with a glance to the gallery gods, she said, ‘Now look at me!’

Waimangu Geyser.—Semiquiescent.

“Then, like the sculptor who has many models for one figure—one from which to copy [Pg 120]
[Pg 121]
[Pg 122]
[Pg 123]the most perfect arm, one the hand, another the knee, and still another for the foot—so, she, selecting from the most perfect of all her former works, improved on each, and in her happiest mood she fashioned Zelania, and anchored it in these southern seas. Then she smiled, and—took a siesta.”

“Geologically,” said Oseba, “Zelania is an ancient pile of dirt, but here all the games that frisky Nature played in her boisterous youth, before ‘Atlantus’ sank from the Ocean bosom, before the Mediterranean burst through the Pillars of Hercules, before the sun and winds drank the waters from the Sahara, and possibly before great Chimborazo was, she still keeps on the stage for the edification or the terror of gods and men.”

“At Rotorua, that trysting place of fairies and fiends, man may play with Nature as did the deities of old with the daughters of men; while at Waimangu, the mightiest geyser on the globe, one may safely stand within a few yards’ distance and behold a scene of thrilling awe that banishes all consciousness—save that of dread and power.

“To stand near the verge and behold this acre of dark world as it is hurled a thousand feet into the air, is worth a trip round this little globe. Language gives but a faint gleam of human passion, and every effort to describe this scene brings but a pathetic consciousness of human frailty. Beholding this mighty convulsion, even the thoughtless stand motionless and mute, and as Milton is dead, Waimangu will never be described in words.

“The countless mountain lakes, the wild fiords—from whose deep recesses one but rarely sees the sun—the shady solitudes, so painfully still that one shudders with a chilling sense of loneliness, and the easily-approached glaciers and waterfalls—many with a plunge of over a thousand feet, that amaze the Alpine traveller—thrill and fill the beholder with astonishment.

“But for one who enjoys the gun and the rod, there are such tempting opportunities for the diversion of the attention, that the imagination finds ready relaxation, and thus the body and mind gain vigor as the scenes and the days pass by.

“Then, Zelania’s wonders may be visited with ease, comfort, and perfect safety. Her furies are on their good behaviour, and save on the borders of her terrors, her aspects are as serene as heaven’s azure sky. Her mountains are rarely disturbed by the ravings of Pluto, her great geysers are forcible, but not dangerously erratic, and her boiling springs are so amiable that they may be studied and safely observed at short range.

“That Nature rather recklessly managed this country in early geological times is abundantly evident, but save the activity of the geysers and boiling lakes—which play for the amusement of visitors—and the occasional listing when some great personage steps too close to the edge, terra has been satisfactorily firma ever since the present managers were commissioned in the early ’90’s.

“In every natural feature, this is a country of boundless variety. In climate, it varies from Finland to Italy; and in production, by intelligent transplanting, most of the necessities of civilised life are here.”

Here the notes say the poetess Vauline inquired whether Mr. Oseba had not minutely described some of these marvellous scenes in his report. With reverential mien, the sage replied:—

“No, my children, to attempt this, were to profane the gift and the giver of speech. Only one who beholds these wonders can appreciate them. When confronted, the grandeur of the infinite may be felt by a sensitive soul, but through an interpreter all attempts fail. Beholding one scene, I uncovered and bowed my head in silence.[A] Words! they were meaningless.”

Yes, and I will help Mr. Oseba out, for I have observed these things, and I have read somewhere how some sort “rush in” where even the angels incline to hesitate.

A DIGRESSION.

“Now, my children,” said Oseba, “permit me to make a few observations based upon my study among the Outeroos, which will apply to the country under review.

“Remember, all terms expressing quality—such as good and evil, right and wrong, truth and error—are relative, and, as affecting men, the definition to each individual depends upon his environment. As a fact, the rules expressing these ideas are largely fictions established by society for its own purpose, but, in their general application, they must be allowed considerable latitude.

“A country is good or bad, as it offers or withholds opportunity for earning a livelihood, and for the development of the mental faculties by the application of reasonable efforts; and a government is good or bad, as it withholds or encourages such opportunities and aspirations. ‘When the wise rule, the people rejoice’—even in the barren districts. It is a matter—well, it is a matter—largely of ‘grey matter.’ As a rule, Nature has not been niggard in the distribution of her blessings. And, as a rule, the term good or bad, when applied to a country, applies less to the soil than to the society. It is college versus cannon, or inquiry versus credulity. Under a reign of benign justice, from a barren soil may arise an earthly paradise, while bigotry, war, and oppression will make a hell of the fairest valley.

“The subject, my children, always bears the image of the law, the expression of custom, and customs are established by cunning for the rule of credulity. By custom, one is born the owner of many broad acres; and by custom, ten thousand toil without enjoying, that one may enjoy without toil. But Nature usually lends herself freely to man’s designs. In a vast monotonous country, despotism is a usual system of government, Nature suggesting no change; the leader becomes the chief, the chief becomes the monarch, the monarch becomes a despot, and the despot a god.

“On the contrary, in a smaller country with diversified aspects, indented shore-lines and water-front, scaleable mountains and erratic climate, Nature suggests—change. A holy discontent appears, the despot becomes a constitutional monarch, a parliament serves the people, a cabinet advises the king; and then, as mountains suggest liberty and seas adventure, distant colonies, in which custom and precedent are ignored, are established on lines in harmony with environing conditions.

“Human liberty, my children, rarely gains a victory in an old, wealthy, populous and well-established country or government. Society, under such conditions, becomes conservative; the rulers love power, the cunning want no change, the wealthy are satisfied, and the people, being adjusted to the changeless conditions, are ‘loyal’ and contented.

“Further, every defeat of despotism, every entrenchment upon the ‘divine’ territory, every victory of human liberty, has been due to the restless inhabitants of the water-front; and remember, for all the progressive movements of all the ages, and for what the centuries call modern civilisation, the world is indebted to colonial enterprise, conspicuously led by Phoenicia, Greece, and modern Britain.”

BACK TO ZELANIA.

“But let us, my children,” Oseba continued, “return to Zelania, Nature’s choicest, last, and most successful effort, and to where these principles apply. In her geographical situation, her configuration, her soil and climate, she offers man everything to toughen the fibre, to quicken the perception, and to strengthen the imagination.

“She has the climate, the fertility, the production, the picturesqueness of Greece, and all in greater variety.”

Oseba here led his audience into a most interesting inquiry regarding climatic influence in the development of a people. He said man was a part of, and strongly allied to, Nature, and that he could not escape the influence of his environment.

In interior tropical regions Nature puts a black skin and black hair on her people, and, as a joke, she usually flattens the nose. In vast interior and warm regions, the complexion are tawny, with black or tawny hair and oblique eyes, that shunt the direct rays of light.

“Then, too,” he says, “island or sea-shore people are lighter in color than those of the interior, and not only is the complexion of man, but his physical proportions, stature and temperament, modified by climatic conditions. In interior countries men gradually assume a type—they are lithe, and rather small of stature, and so alike that they seem cast in the same mould; while those living on islands along the water-front, or among the mountains, are more sturdy, they vary more in build, size and deftness, and they are mentally more inquisitive, venturesome, impetuous and brave.”

He said that by far the most sturdy, virile, impulsive and enterprising people on Oliffa inhabited the British Isles. Of course, the race had much to do with modern movements, but the earlier climatic conditions of the country produced the racial distinctions.

“By the rule of Nature, then,” he continued, “Zelania, with the proper stock to begin with, in complexion, form, feature, temperament, and mental endowments, should produce the finest type of man and womanhood on the planet.”

He compared the Maoris with the aboriginals of interior Australia, and said both were modified by their environment.

Here Leo Bergin remarked that Mr. Oseba was certainly greatly taken and impressed by his “colonial” experience. However, it is not improbable that while travelling in New Zealand Mr. Oseba received sufficient courtesies to impress him deeply with the matchless hospitality of the people.

“But, enough,” says Leo Bergin, “my master is worthy of my whole attention,” and the notes run:—

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“But let me return, my children, and pick up the theme of Zelania, for in her—with my tours over her romantic islands—I found balm for all my earlier disappointments.

“Zelania has certainly not worried her soul in life-producing efforts. In botany, she is not rich in species; in mammals she is more allied to South America, over six thousand miles distant, than to Australia, but twelve hundred miles, justifying my conviction that this paragon of beauty was an after-thought of the creative power.

“In mammals she has but a little rat—a poor little weakling that has not yet been tamed or learned to board with the people—and two little half-developed bats. Of reptiles, there are a few lazy lizards, but whether some ‘Patrick’ or ‘Denis’ had banished them, I could not say; but snakes, there are none.”

He said there were some land birds, but as there were no animals to “make them afraid,” the more indolent of them had lost their wings and their natural characteristics had changed.

The moa was probably—some time ago—a pretty respectable bird, but there being no danger from which to “flee” and no long flights to procure food, it cast off its wings and strutted about until its bones became as heavy as those of a reindeer, and it stretched up its head until it stood twelve feet high. But having no cares nor anxieties, no fears nor ambition, it failed to develop “grey matter,” so when the Maori came it “surrendered,” and, having taken off its flesh as well as its wings, it is now resting in the museums. Without the rod or the bun, there seems to be no effort, and without effort there seems to be little progress with any created thing.

THE MAORIS “DISCOVERED.”

As Oseba evidently meant to proceed upon his discourse in some predesigned order, he here gave some interesting attention to the Maoris, the natives—or, so-called, aboriginals—of New Zealand.

The orator, in his inimitable manner, described the Maoris with amusing detail. He calls them a fine race of romantic savages, whose physique had undoubtedly been greatly improved by the winning smiles of Zelania’s climate and general aspects; for ’tis said they have been loafing around there for 500 years. “A large, heavy, dark brown people are these Maoris, who, in their own picturesque costume, often looked gracefully noble. Brave and ferocious while untamed, they are usually amiable and indolent when subjected to civilising influences.”

Many of the young women were very pretty, and the children were quick in wit and movement. He did not think that tattooing the under lips of the women had really improved their beauty. Many of the half-castes were very intelligent, and not a few had made excellent reputations, in politics and other “professions.” Many of them, too, had a sublime gift of “gab,” and this trait is shared—even by the men.

Intellectually the Maoris were, Oseba thought, superior to any other tamed savage; but, like other barbarians, when touched by civilisation, they learned and accepted the vices more readily than the virtues. This was noticeable in all civilising movements. Oseba remarked that it was often observed among the Outeroos when speaking of such people, that the “Christian vices” killed them.

“This,” he says, “was natural, for while it takes time to teach the ‘brethren’ the real advantages to be derived from the practices of Christian virtue, the ‘Christian vices’ yield ‘immediate returns.’ ‘Thou shalt not steal’ to a savage produces a peculiarly disagreeable confusion of ideas, and the advantages are not readily apparent, but two drinks of whisky rarely failed to impress. This is a custom peculiar to ‘Christian culture’ that is ‘taking.’

“To judge by the conspicuous exhibitions of artistic effort and the countless displays by the photo fiend in many of Zelania’s towns, a stranger would conclude that the Maoris were the ‘superior’ and dominant race, though there are but a little over 43,000 in the whole country, mostly on the north or warmer island, and it is said they are about stationary in numbers and in morals.”

He told his audience that these Maoris, when originally discovered, were a stalwart, brave and rather superior race of savages; that war was the only argument that appealed to their perverted consciences, and he quoted an admiring New Zealand poet to prove the “amiable” heroism of the Maori “ladies.”

“Yes, the Maori women were brave, very brave, but, my children, in all Zelania there was not a mouse.

“Of these Maoris, there are several tribes,” he says, “who, when free from the meddlesome ‘white man’s yoke,’ are usually engaged in slaying and stewing each other, and, besides carving with their greenstone cleavers their cooked brethren and their own faces, they practised much in wood-carving. In this, while the workmanship is fair, there is a manifest lack of a sense of proportion, that amuses the connoisseur as it delighted the amateur in art.

“Like the more common, or at least more numerous and more pretentious white fellow-citizen, these Maoris go to church some, and to school, and to the drink-shop and to jail, but as the Maoris have a little creed of their own, they don’t go to church very much. But if the Maori goes less to church, to school, and to Parliament, he also goes less to jail and to the hotel than his more pretentious white British fellow-citizen.

“The Maoris are picturesque, especially at the more popular tourist resorts, where their presence lends a particularly charming romance to the occasion. The emotional tourist—especially if a young gentleman from ‘Home’—who is safely piloted by the alert, polite, and loquacious ‘Maggie’ among the roaring and exploding geysers of that charming compromise between awe-inspiring beauty and terror, that unpreached sermon, that unsung song, that unwritten poem, that section of hell in an earthly paradise, Rotorua, in whose weird precincts are seen and heard and smelled, at close range, the seething fires of ‘Pluto’s dread abode,’ he will cherish a generous respect for Maori hospitality forever. Under Maggie’s watchful guidance, the most unsophisticated tourist could safely approach the yawning mouth of these boiling caldrons without endangering life or health or appetite; though, unless one heeds the cautious guide, the boot soles are in danger of shrinking, and in these sulphurous regions ‘kuss words’ flow from pious lips.

“Nature,” Oseba argued, “was a unity and is consistent. She ignores individuals, and strives, oblivious to time, for universals. No created thing ever escapes the influence of environment. But Nature carries out her works with the instruments at hand. Whence came these Maoris is a guess, but as in character, stature, proportion, personal bearing, and mental possibilities, no other savage on the globe compares with them, they must have been sufficiently long in Zelania to have become modified by, and made to conform to, the luring conditions of that wonderful country.”

But I must continue:—

As there were no indigenous grains or tameable animals, and as no people ever worked out a civilisation without the assistance of tameable animals, the Maori could only remain a savage, but the climate and general aspect of Nature, the peculiar environing conditions, gave him the noblest soul and most fertile intellect ever housed in the brain of a barbarian. The conduct of the Maoris in defence of their country, considering the relative conditions of the contending forces, found no parallel in history or romance.

They had all the cunning and duplicity of the Greek, the stubborn courage of the ancient Briton, and the stoical disdain for death of the North American Indian. While in the whirligig of the great world’s doings a contest between the most skilful of all warriors and a few small tribes of savages, in so remote a country, could excite no very great interest among the far-away nations, to the watchful student of events there were few pages of history more interesting than the Maori wars in Zelania.

Socially, the Maori was of a peculiar mould. A communist in property, he was an aristocrat by nature, and in his soul there was a haughty exuberance of spirit that rendered tribal discipline difficult, and domestic peace precarious. In war, the Maori was brave; in diplomacy, shrewd; in council, a born orator.

The Maori remained a savage in Zelania because there was nothing to tame him, but in his nature there was the diamond, and, by a little grinding, its brilliancy always burst forth. His native environment had given him everything of a superior mould but the final touch. I quote:—

“Already from the grim huts of these late savages have come forth the orator, the lawyer, the statesman, and the successful business man. ‘From the cannibal feast to the Cabinet,’ is almost true of the Maori.

“The fate of the Maoris?

“Well, my children, I don’t know, but the grafting of civilisation on such a stock may work wonders, and to study these most picturesque of all the sons of Nature, is worth a journey around this little world.

“It is most interesting,” continued Oseba, “to study the aboriginals of any country, and it is pathetic to observe their gradual retirement from the earth’s fair face; but the Maori—the handsome, haughty, aristocratic and eloquent Maori—is as different from all other uncivilised races as his enchanting island home is different from all other countries on the surface of Oliffa.

“If bare-handed Nature in Zelania, with no animals for the chase, none for herds or for servants of industry, and practically no grain or fruit, could spank the savage, common to other lands into this shape, what may it not do for civilised man, who brings with him all the aids of all the ages?”

Oseba explained that before he called on Zelania he had visited every other country on Oliffa, and had studied the “inferior” races carefully, but the Maoris stood solitary and alone. All others lacked physical fibre and mental stamina, and for them to remain in contact with the superior races meant many generations for doubtful growth, or a few generations for extinction.

But the Maoris had now attained full manhood. They were “different” from the whites, and this was more proper than to say they were very much “inferior.” They had enjoyed none of the advantages of outside communication, no aid from tameable animals, no experiences by the chase, no traditions of industrial art, during probably more than five hundred years. Yet the Maori seems to have attained to a surprising degree a fairly full mental and physical stature. He has eloquence, perception, inquisitiveness and acquisitiveness. He has everything but—civilisation. He has the soul, but it needs tuning; the material, but it needs shaking-up and seasoning. The magic touch of a newer, a higher inspiration is needed, and that is being injected into his awakening consciousness by a benign social sentiment.

“To-day,” said Oseba, “the Zelania Maori, as seen in his grotesque works of art, in his struggle for wild independence, in his weird religious ceremony, in his common avocations as toiler, professional man or politician, is the most picturesque human being on the planet, and his presence in Zelania gives a seasoning of romance to be studied and enjoyed in no other land.”

[Pg 136]
[Pg 137]