Go to National Library of New Zealand Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa
Volume 19, 1886

V.—Miscellaneous.

Art. LXII.—Address.

[Delivered before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 30th June, 1886.]

Abstract.

After thanking the members for re-electing him to office, Dr. Hector said that the Society had been very successful during the last year, and the papers read before the Society formed by no means an inconsiderable portion of the contents of the volume. Several very important events which had taken place during the past year had received notice on the part of the members of the Society. One of these was the eclipse of the sun, on the 9th September, 1885, a phenomenon only rarely witnessed from any one particular spot of the earth's surface. A very full account of that eclipse was embodied in the “Transactions.” The outcome of all the observations tended to show that the sun had only a moderate degree of activity at the time of the eclipse, that the scarlet prominences were only moderately developed, and that they were clustered and combined in a very irregular outline. No laminated structures—that is to say, no structures parallel with the sun's surface—were observed; but there were several other minor phenomena. He stated that he had been very fortunate in securing a number of photographic negatives of this eclipse, all of which he had sent Home and lodged with the Royal Society, where they will be preserved and compared with views obtained on future occasions. Another interesting phenomenon was the late occultation of Jupiter and its satellites, under very favourable circumstances for determining whether anything of the nature of an atmosphere surrounds the moon.

An event of considerable importance was the visit of the United States exploring ship “Enterprise,” under Commander Barker. When she left New Zealand she was to make for the coast of South America, and Captain Barker was good enough to consult the speaker as to whether there was any particular course that could be of more use than others for the purpose of taking soundings. He informed the meeting that he had lately

– 462 –

received from Captain Barker the results of the soundings taken, and was able to lay before them a sketch-map showing the form of the Pacific, tinted according to the soundings he had obtained. The first result was that the sea area between New Zealand and the Chatham Islands had a depth of about 1,300 fathoms. The water gradually shoaled, until when close to the Chatham Islands the depth is found to be 160 fathoms, or about the same as in Cook Straits. Immediately beyond the Chathams there was a sudden plunge, just the same as to the west of New Zealand. Deep soundings of 3,000 fathoms were carried to long. 118° W., when the water suddenly shoaled and a great bank was found, on which the depth was determined by a number of soundings shown in the return sent by Captain Barker. Another plunge reached 3,000 fathoms; then the depth shoals to about 1,500 fathoms, at 500 or 600 miles from South America. Near the coast 1,200 fathoms was found, which appears to be the ruling depth of the South Pacific, subject to these great depressions. From New Zealand to the Chatham Islands the bottom is found to be level. From the Chatham Islands, Captain Barker first met with a grey mud, passing into brown mud with minute white shell-sand. Yellowish sand was found in the South Pacific “pot-hole,” after which a brown mud, followed again by grey mud with shells. This information confirmed the views of Professor Hutton, in opposition to the views of Wallace, that in the South Pacific there is a submarine plateau, indicating the former existence of a great continental land connection between South America and Australia.

Dr. Hector next referred to a report which he had made to the Hon. the Minister of Mines, dated the 23rd inst., for full particulars of the observations he had been able to make regarding the recent eruption of Mount Tarawera. He pointed out that the eruption of Ngauruhoe in 1870 was really much more important than the late outburst, though less advertised by sad incidents, for then great lava and steam eruptions continued for a considerable period. Referring to a large geological map, he gave a general sketch of the geology of the district. Omitting the Post-pliocene and newer coastal formations, the whole country, from the sea-level in the neighbourhood of Wanganui, was originally covered by a crust of limestone of Older Pliocene age, that rose up to 4,000 feet on the slopes of the Kaimanawa Range. Under this there was the middle tertiary, or blue papa (or marlstone); but the whole series did not exceed 2,000 or 3,000 feet in thickness, and rested on much older rocks wherever its base had been observed. The crust of limestone presents the same character throughout, from the sea-level to the greatest altitudes. It did not now constitute a continuous sheet, but occurs only in isolated masses that have remained perched on the hill tops. As it is largely composed of shells of huge

– 463 –

oysters of the same species throughout, this limestone must have been deposited in the same depth of water marking the period of the close of the deposit of the great blue papa formation. Since that period this limestone has been inclined by the gradual dome-like upheaval of the central area of the North Island of New Zealand. During this period of upheaval there was no trace whatever of the contemporaneous existence of any of the volcanic rocks that played such an important part in the later history of the district. Thus, it was not until we got on the top of the limestone that we found, near Ruapehu, on its south side, outliers of conglomerate and gravel, showing water-carried material derived from these volcanic rocks; but in the opposite direction, towards the Bay of Plenty, and towards the Thames and Waikato Valleys, or any part of the northern half of the dome, we nowhere find any trace of the marine tertiary rocks. If present, they had been completely smothered by subsequent volcanic deposits. In explanation of this, it may be suggested that all the ejected volcanic matter has, in past times, by a prevailing southerly direction of the wind, been carried to the north, and so smothered the country as to completely obscure the tertiary rocks. Be that as it might, what was found was that the southern flank of this dome was composed of marine tertiary rocks, while the northern is a sloping plateau, superficially composed of volcanic detritus.

Dr. v. Hochstetter, who first examined and gave an account of this district, long ago pointed out that all over this sloping plateau great valleys have been eroded and then filled up again by the products of eruptions, cones have been built up by volcanic matter, and great flows of lava have taken place of an extremely siliceous type, so siliceous that they are barely fusible, along with others which set in a glossy mass called obsidian, or in a vesicular form as pumice stone, which is nothing but glassy lava blown out by steam.

Now, wherever this kind of lava has been accumulated so as to form great volcanic cones, of which you find many instances at Tauhara, Tarawera, Mount Edgecumbe, Ruapehu itself, there has been sooner or later formed a corresponding depression, simply, as v. Hochstetter pointed out long ago, by the local subsidence of the surface over the vacuity from which some part of the ejected matter had been abstracted; and for long after a mild generation of steam was kept up round the basins enclosing the lakes by the expiring energies of the former great volcanic activity. That applies to every part of the country except Ngauruhoe, where there still remains part of the primitive form of volcanic activity, as evidenced in the ejection of actual masses of lava, which forms on cooling into stony rock. Such was the lava exuded in 1870. With that exception, all volcanic action in this district has always

– 464 –

been considered to belong to the solfatara type, as distinguished from the more active form of volcano. The formation of the terraces at the Hot Lakes was due to the action of steam, derived from water heated at a great depth from the earth's surface, forcing its way through the siliceous rocks at a high pressure and temperature, and carrying with it an extract, as it were, of everything soluble in water of very high temperature and pressure. These matters were immediately deposited at the surface, on the water escaping as steam, slowly, and film after film. Extensive deposits of almost pure silica formed in this manner constituted the magnificent terraces at Rotomahana. Now that action, although not always so beautifully exemplified as at Rotomahana, is going on at other points, such as Whakarewarewa, Rotorua, Orakeikorako, Karapiti, Wairakei, Tokano; and no one ever expected that action would suddenly become more violent. It was now the question: were we dealing with any new force, or was this merely a gigantic display of the same force which up to the present time had been exercised in a moderate manner, and, he believed, due to the influence of lavas still retaining their original heat, upon deep-seated strata saturated with underground waters? He was inclined to the latter view, or, in other words, that the phenomenon was due to a sudden accession of hydro-thermal activity, and not a renewed volcanic force.

Tarawera Mountain was a most conspicuous land-mark all over this country, standing up boldly above the other hills in the district, and very similar in appearance to Horohoro, which was the southern termination of the plateau-topped ridge extending from Cape Colville to this point. It was composed of a rock called trachyte breccia, a volcanic rock consisting of mudstone, cementing huge masses of trachyte and porphyry rock, and there was but little doubt that it was of submarine formation, and altogether antecedent to the superficial volcanic rock. v. Hochstetter considered that the Tarawera Mountain also belonged to this older formation. This is not quite correct, because its composition is of different origin. Seen from Tarawera Lake it showed great precipices of columns like those at the Giant's Causeway in Ireland, but composed of obsidian, or unannealed natural glass; and in every respect Tarawera resembles in structure the island called Tuhua, or Mayor's Island, in the Bay of Plenty. Now, it would have been a very different thing if Tarawera had belonged to the older formation, which must have been quiescent for an incalculably greater period than the recent. If we considered it a mountain of the recent formations, it would be much easier to understand how the energy may have given one last dying kick; and that, in the opinion of the speaker, when the matter is fully investigated, would prove to be the source of the whole disaster.

– 465 –

Tarawera Mountain, he continued, stood a little way back from Rotomahana, and consists of three tops—Wahanga, separated from the others by a deep chasm, and two others, Ruawahia and Tarawera proper; but he could not say how the latter came to have separate names. It was at the south foot of Tarawera that Rotomahana was situated, and around this lake a continual outpouring of boiling water was going on, throwing up huge geysers; and enormous deposits had been accumulating round the lake of siliceous matter, which completely sealed any escape other than the immediate geyser vents. He had already stated to the Society many years ago that all these terraces seemed to have the power of building up to about 70 feet; and he recommended it to engineers to think that question out, and see whether any relation can be established between the temperature and an hydraulic head of 70 feet. This was very obvious at Whakarewarewa. The result remains that this action ended in cementing over the surface with 70 feet of hard and heavy siliceous rock. The continual outpouring of this matter from beneath, and the continual action of hot water on the rock, must have absorbed a great deal of heat. That heat was really derived from a remnant of the uncooled lava in the core of the Tarawera Range.

On the 9th of this month (June) we had very stormy weather, and on that day there set in all over this country a complete change of weather. For nine months previous, he had been informed, they had hardly had a shower of rain in the Tarawera District; but on the 9th down came an enormous flood of rain, and a change set in to very wet and cold weather. Another circumstance deserves attention. This year we had had a most unusual arrangement of atmospheric pressure in the Southern Hemisphere. When passing the Equator, on the whole, barometric pressure gradually declines towards the poles. It declines much more rapidly towards the South than towards the North Pole, so that while the barometer averages over 30 at the Equator, in New Zealand it is about 29.8, and a very little way south the usual reading is only 29.2 or 29.3. But for some reason an area of high pressure is generally situated to the N.E., which this year has passed down much nearer to the South Pole. When at the Antipodes Islands, in March, Captain Fairchild found the unprecedented high reading of 30.8, the barometer being in perfectly good order. In consequence of that, there had been a great deal of continued easterly weather in New Zealand. In any case, there were exceptional conditions of weather and atmospheric pressure; and, in connection with this, he mentioned that a difference of an inch in the barometer meant a difference of pressure of nearly one million tons to the square mile.

The earliest trace that he had been able to discover of any

– 466 –

symptoms was reported by Mr. Godfrey, who resides at Tawaite, a whaling-station at the entrance to Tory Channel. At that place the whalers were, as early as 6 p.m. on the evening of the 9th, disturbed by booming noises coming through the earth. They were accustomed to hear the booming of the sea outside Tory Channel, but they were clear that these noises were not of that description. According to their account, these noises did not continue through the night. They afterwards heard the noises like the firing of guns, such as were heard at Nelson, Kaikoura, and even Christchurch and Auckland, at a distance of not less than 200 or 300 miles from the focus at the time, which agrees with what he would have to mention as the first stage of the eruption. A very distinct statement of the event was given to the speaker on the 13th by the Native Interpreter, Mr. Edwards, who resides on Pukeroa Hill, at Ohinemutu, and was fully confirmed by the account given on the same date by Mr. Roche, the Railway Engineer, who was encamped at the edge of the bush above Rotorua, and by the account of Mr. Macdonald, given on the 16th, who witnessed the whole eruption from the Kaingaroa Plains.

At 10 minutes past 2 a.m. the eruption began by the blowing off of the cap of Wahanga. The top seemed to go up as a great mass in fragments, and must have been illuminated, otherwise the spectators could not have seen what they did see. Then followed an up-throw of stones, accompanied by noises, and, about five minutes later, the top blew off Ruawahia, immediately followed by an out-throw of a vast column of steam, charged with stones and dust. Then came an outburst, obliquely, from the south end of Tarawera Mountain proper, right over Rotomahana. Noises and eruptions continued steadily for about two hours, when a most terrific earthquake was experienced. Some pretty severe ones had been previously felt at Wairoa, but, even at as short a distance as Rotorua, no damage was done by earthquakes. But at 4 a.m., or shortly before, there was a vastly heavier shock, the sensation of which was described as just as if you had been running fast and come against a fence. At the same moment a terrific sound rent the air, but it was not of the same clear report-like character as those accompanying the first eruptions, and suddenly an immense cloud, composed of steam and dust, was thrown up, from which lightning issued in all directions. This gigantic cloud sprang up, and then was seized by a kind of gigantic pantings or throbbings, each one accompanied by a fresh access to the volume of steam. The steam formed a flat-topped cloud, which drove right in the direction of Rotorua; and the people of that place who saw it advancing on them, and throwing out lightnings that seemed to touch the water's edge, thought their destruction inevitable. Just at that time a violent hurricane from the S.W. caught the

– 467 –

cloud on its edge, and seemed to make it rear up on end, and arrested its progress. That time agrees with the fall of mud at Wairoa; and no doubt the condensation of the steam, and consequent collapse of the edge, led to the deposit of mud in a moist condition, but as far as known quite cold, upon the unfortunate inhabitants of Wairoa and the surrounding country. After this deposit of mud, a cloud of higher stratum appeared to reach all over the country. The heavier and more damaging kind of dust was driven towards the N.E., the edge being condensed so as to throw down the dust in the form of mud, from Wairoa to Te Puke, in a narrow strip. Away to the east the country was covered in dust, causing darkness from Gisborne to Tauranga until 11 a.m. Above that there was a higher cloud, unaffected by the wind, that appears to have spread out to a distance of 120 miles, depositing a light thin grey dust known as the Tauranga dust. Other kinds of dust were deposited at Opotiki, Hicks Bay, and the East Cape, the latter containing organic matter; and a grey dust also fell inland from Poverty Bay. A very distinct form of the ejected material is the black vesicular mud-stones resembling scoria, thrown out by Mount Hazard, and the great sandy deposit that completely covered the country in the neighbourhood of the focus of eruption.

He then described how, on Sunday, the third day after the eruption, he got to Rotorua, and, immediately on emerging from the bush from Tauranga, came in full view of the eruptions. He was able to count seven distinct points of eruption, while every now and then from three more marked points great outbursts of a reddish-brown character took place. During two clear nights he carefully watched these eruptions from Rotorua with a powerful glass, and never saw any evidence of a reflected glare, or sign of cracks or fissures in the mountain through which molten lava could be seen. The detritus had almost completely smothered the outline of the range, and had nearly filled up the valley between Ruawahia and Wahanga. He obtained a subsequent observation of the range from the opposite side from the Kaingaroa Plains on the seventh day after the eruption. On the top of Ruawahia the cone had greatly increased, with the addition of an outer ring. The most curious thing was that right along the back of the mountain could be seen with the glass a large crack or fissure, running obliquely to a great height on the southern end of the mountain. All along this line little wreaths of steam were escaping. In front of that crack could be seen an enormous terrace of a clear white colour, all the rest being of a mouse-grey colour, except at the extreme top which was brown. No doubt the terrace consisted of pumice sand, that was thrown up and fell perfectly dry and hot.

– 468 –

Another view of Tarawera was obtained from Te Hape-o-Toroa, a hill close to Rotomahana; and here a fissure was seen, as in the above woodcut, to the south end of Tarawera Mountain, ruuning in a S.W. direction. The eastern side of the fissure was tolerably straight, but the view was much obscured by steam. It has the appearance as if part of the mountain, 2,000 feet by 500 by 200 feet, had been blown out. There is quite sound ground between the south end of the fissure and Okaro Lake. The direction of the fissure passes to the west of that lake; and Mr. Park, who examined that part of the field most closely, estimated that not more than three chains of ground separates the original edge of the lake from the point to which the fissure has reached. The fissure is not of the nature of a fault by a downthrow, but is really a row of pit-like craters, having two sides pretty much on a level, the material that occupied the intervening space having been simply blown out. The whole country in the vicinity is covered with the dazzling white sand, which creaks like starch under the foot. It was still quite hot on the fourth or fifth day, and where it has covered old forest trees they were smoking and burning. The valleys were all partially filled up, and the hill-tops covered, as if with terrific snow-drifts. This white sand must have been matter thrown out of the rent that intersected Rotomahana.

At one point the fissure was building a cone of stones thrown out by a volcano. Several craters were throwing stones 800 to 1,000 feet high. One crater, Mount Hazard, was double-

– 469 –

barrelled, having two orifices which alternately spouted out showers of hot water and dark-coloured stones to a height of 700 to 800 feet. These showers sometimes were oblique, and, clashing together, the stones fell on the outside slope of the crater, so that they are building up a miniature cone. This fissure, with its vents, will become an important feature in the district. Of course we have lost the lake and the terraces; and all that was gained was this hideous fissure and the active cones on Tarawera, which, he believed, will soon become dormant, and probably the only marked new feature resulting from the outbreak will be Mount Hazard, and the fissure, that will fill with water and become a lake.

He again repeated that, so far as he was able to see, up to the time when he left, there was no development of lava; and, therefore, if that were the essential feature of a volcanic eruption, there had been no proper eruption, merely a much more gigantic development than usual of great hydro-thermal forces, the conversion of heat and water into steam, and the dispersal, by its agency, through the atmosphere of an immense volume of rock fragments derived from superficial strata.

The study of this wonderful phenomenon fully explained how the rock terraces of the Waikato, which extend into its lateral valleys, have been smothered by pumice and re-excavated. This was formerly difficult to understand; but the whole mystery disappears in the light thrown on the subject by this eruption. The valleys were excavated by running water; but, instead of being filled and protected by great shingle flats, as in the Southern Alps, there had been in former times sudden eruptions of pumice sand, which had filled the valleys, and then the water had, with extraordinary rapidity, re-excavated the terraces down to the original bed-rock. The same applied to the valleys towards the East Coast; so that the cutting of the pumice terraces had nothing to do with the original cutting-out of the rock terraces themselves.

The conclusion to be arrived at was that this eruption was on a very gigantic scale, but was yet a very simple one as far as we know. He had a clear view from every point accessible. The party passed so close to White Island that we were able to see it quite active; in a like manner, Rotorua and other hot springs all showed extra activity, but there is nothing more in this than is usual after a great change in the weather or in barometric pressure. At Tokano there was no change whatever. It is mentioned as if new that there is a lake on Ruapehu, but if they looked at the model of that mountain in the Museum that was made years ago they would observe the very lake. This lake was first described by Messrs. Maxwell and Beetham, and steam is often seen rising from it, as if from a warm pool in cold weather. The fact of its being a lake surrounded by permanent

– 470 –

snow and ice-cliffs, proves that it must be affected by some local hot spring; but Mr. Park, who observed it in January last from the top of Ruapehu, reports that it was then frozen over.

On the 15th of June Ngauruhoe showed no unusual activity, but appeared to be giving out rather less steam than usual. As for an underground connection between the different sources of volcanic energy, the eruption completely disproves it: because had there been any such connection with the outburst of steam from Rotomahana, what would have been the effect on Whakarewarewa? It would have drained the springs there. As it was, there were no signs of any effect on springs a short distance off. On the whole, he saw no ground for anticipating that we should have any renewal of the volcanic energy. It must have been a very long time since the last outbreak, for it is very plain that the terraces would have been destroyed by it. Now, it has been shown that such terraces in America, but of very much smaller dimensions, must have taken at least 1,000 years to form; and it may have taken perhaps ten times as long for the White Terrace. What the exact circumstance may be that has broken in on this period of rest, has still to be suggested.

Art. LXIII.—Economic Antarctic Exploration.

Nearly half a century has elapsed since the Antarctic Expedition, under Sir James Ross, left the shores of England in Her Majesty's ships “Erebus” and “Terror,” and the account of the expedition, written by Sir James, is now so seldom met with that to most of my readers it is probably unknown. In putting down some thoughts suggested by reading Ross's volumes I shall not scruple, therefore, to make free use of notes and extracts taken at the time.

My chief objects in writing are: (1) to consider whether we in New Zealand might not attempt something in the way of Antarctic exploration, combined with whaling; and (2) to provoke others, with fuller information and more access to men and books, to take the matter up and clear the way by showing what the difficulties are that have to be faced, how they may best be overcome, and what advantages we may fairly expect to accrue. I hope, also, by dwelling on some interesting features of the South Polar regions, without, however, pretending to write for scientific men, to draw more attention to Ross's work, as the book seems less known in New Zealand than it ought to be. In his volumes are to be found all that we yet know about

– 471 –

the remarkable land discovered by him to the southward, and named after our reigning sovereign, a land supposed to be a continent, probably larger than Australia, and not very much further away; near enough probably to have a considerable influence on our climate and harvests, in at least the more southern parts of New Zealand. From Stewart Island to Cape Howe, in Australia, the distance is, in round numbers, something less than 1,000 miles, and to the North Cape of Victoria Land a trifle under 1,400 miles, or about the same as the distance by sea from Oamaru to Melbourne. In judging, however, of the effect of Victoria Land on our climate, we must consider not merely the intervening distance and the intensity of cold on its lofty ice-covered mountain ranges, but also, besides other matters, the effect of the numerous icebergs to which it gives birth, and which, with the ocean of fragments known as the “pack,” approach so much nearer to us. I believe it was by indications of the thermometer alone that Captain Cook came to the conclusion that there must be a large extent of land to the southward. The first of two chief reasons given by Lyell for the excess of cold in the higher southern, beyond that found in similar northern, latitudes, is the extent and height of Victoria Land. To a considerable extent this will probably apply to these latitudes.

Though it seems commonly assumed that we have an Antarctic continent, it may be that we shall never know whether the name is correctly applied. Land and ice together may be found possessing continental dimensions; and yet, with regard to much of it, it may be impossible to determine whether it is land or an ice-laden sea, or a group of islands connected by ice.

Ross's voyage was doubtless expensive, far beyond anything we could afford. Indeed, it would be a mistake to compare any exploring work we could do with his three years' voyage, the great scientific object of which was not exploration, but emphatically that of terrestrial magnetism. This involved an extensive series of observations, which necessitated his visiting many parts of the world. Thus it came to pass that though the expedition left England in September, 1839, it was not until fifteen months later that, being in New Zealand waters, he steered a direct course to the southward on the meridian of Campbell Island. He had no steam-power, and even in those days his ships were considered slow sailers; and yet within four weeks he had restored to England the honour of the discovery of the southernmost known land, with its magnificent ranges of mountains, their lofty peaks covered with eternal snow, and their valleys filled with glaciers projecting for miles into the sea and terminating in lofty perpendicular cliffs. Another fortnight sufficed to show the continuity of this land from about 70° to 79° of south

– 472 –

latitude, and for the discovery there of a grand active volcano, which was named by Ross “Mount Erebus,” while its sister mountain, an extinct volcano of somewhat inferior height, was named, after the second ship of the expedition, “Mount Terror.” Mount Erebus, which seems far more energetic in its action than our Tongariro, rises directly from the sea in the form of a regular cone, towering far up into the sky to about the same height as Mount Cook. Red glowing fires were visible at the summit, from whence issued a column of dense smoke, which rose at times to the height of 2,000 feet.

The appearance of this magnificent burning mountain, with its most interesting surroundings, never before and never since seen by mortal eye, must have been a grandly impressive spectacle to all on board of the two vessels, and they would gladly have wintered within sight of it if they had found a suitable place to secure the ships. Had they accomplished this, Sir James Ross might have had the honour of planting the flag of his country on both the north and south magnetic poles, their estimated distance from the latter being only about 160 miles. From Cape Crozier, at the foot of Mount Terror, the vertical icy cliffs of the great barrier stretched away to eastward as far as the eye could reach, while its smooth surface, only once seen from the mast-head over a lower part of the cliff, appeared like an immense plain of frosted silver. This vast unique ice-plain, or mer de glâce, is perhaps the most interesting of Ross's discoveries to the southward. It may, with its surroundings, be the best illustration extant of conditions that prevailed during the well-established glacial period of the Northern Hemisphere, also of the desolation that may be expected to reign in the distant future over all the now pleasant habitable parts of the earth, supposing that after the conflagration foretold in Scripture the planet is allowed, so to speak, to die a natural death. We know little about it—yet enough, however, to whet the curiosity of scientific men, and make them eager to learn more. Ross estimated its thickness at 1,000 feet, and traced the northern edge, a straight perpendicular wall varying in height from about 100 feet to 200 feet, to a distance of 450 miles to the eastward.

Many questions with regard to it suggest themselves readily to the mind—as, What is its extent? Are its dimensions altering? Is it in motion? If in motion, at what rate does it move, and in what direction? Does it rest chiefly on land or on water? Is it fed chiefly by glaciers, or by the snow that falls on its surface? In what manner does it waste away? I do not find such questions discussed by Ross, and the answers to some can only be guessed at in our present state of knowledge. As to the waste, most persons on first turning their thoughts to the subject are apt to think that in a climate of

– 473 –

such extreme rigour there can be no waste by thawing, and that such an ice-plain, or a circumpolar continent, must increase in height by the amount of the yearly snowfall. Let us see what this would lead to! Supposing that no more genial climate has existed there for the short geological period of a quarter of a million years, and that the snowfall increased the height of the ice by only 2 feet yearly, which would be equivalent to less than 23.0 inches of rainfall, a simple calculation will show that by this time the ice would form a stupendous mountain, in comparison with which the huge bulk of the mighty Himalayas would be a trifle—in fact, the ice-mountain would be eighteen times their height. Clearly, then, granting that our theoretic ice-mountain could not sustain its own weight, there must be yearly waste roughly commensurate with yearly nourishment. I think there can be little doubt that the ice-sheet is prevented from increasing in size and advancing towards us chiefly by the northern edge breaking off and floating away in the shape of icebergs, and by the thawing of the undersurface, due to some heat derived from the contiguous land or water, aided by the effects of pressure and friction, and yet that these combined causes would be comparatively powerless to hold it in check without the assistance of oceanic currents.

With regard to the feeding, Ross remarks: “Whether Parry Mountains again take an easterly trending and form the base to which this extraordinary mass of ice is attached must be left for future navigators to determine.” Special interest attaches to Parry Mountains from their being the southernmost land yet discovered. Over the edge of the westerly portion of the barrier their lofty summits could be seen stretching far away to the southward. Although at right angles to the barrier edge, I do not see why they may not form the “base,” without the supposition of an “easterly trending” being necessary. The ice, after descending from their slopes, though pushed off chiefly to the eastward, must surely be sufficiently plastic to spread northwards as well—the greater the resistance to its easterly advance, the more must it be pushed to the northward. Whether the chief nourishment is by glaciers from the Parry Mountains, (supposing that the ice-sheet is connected with no others), or from the snowfall on its own surface, may depend chiefly on the comparative areas of that surface and of the eastern slopes of the range. I am inclined to think that the glaciers play a subordinate though important part.

That motion should be imparted to such a vast mass by ice descending from the mountains may seem hard to credit, especially if we suppose the sheet to rest chiefly on land, and consider the enormous friction where in contact with the rocks below; but perhaps nothing could so efficiently act the part of a lubricant in lessening the friction as interposed water derived

– 474 –

from the thawing of the undersurface of the sheet. Whether supported chiefly by water or by land, (and I think the former supposition much the more probable), we can hardly refuse to believe that glaciers do impart motion, for if they had not the power of making room for themselves on their descent, by squeezing and pushing forward the mass of ice, their channels would become blocked, every hollow would in time be filled, and Parry Mountains, instead of appearing as a noble mountain range, beautiful to the eye, would assume the uninteresting aspect of a huge mound. Probably the ice-plain has attained its maximum thickness under existing climatic conditions, and perhaps an increased snowfall would only cause greater lateral extension.

Those who maintain that there has been a glacial period in the Southern Hemisphere, may picture to themselves the great ice-sheet spreading to these shores, or rather to these latitudes; for if ever there was such a period it must surely have been while yet the shores of New Zealand lay beyond the Campbell and Auckland Islands, else how could those solitary islands be now clothed with a rich and varied flora?

Ross afterwards made the barrier in longitude 160° 27′ W., and latitude 78° 11′ S. He found that its perpendicular cliffs had dwindled down to less than half their height at the foot of Mount Terror, or to about 100 feet. They were seen to diminish gradually to about 80 feet at some 10 miles further to the eastward, but beyond that distance they again rose higher. This fact of their rising again seems to me significant, pointing to a connection with other land to the eastward, or to the north of east, in which direction the face began to trend.

The seas in this high latitude appear to swarm with animal life: whales, seals, and huge penguins are seen in all directions. On Possession Island the penguins actually disputed the rights of the invaders, biting at the legs of the sailors. Innumerable multitudes of those birds covered the ground, and crowded the ledges of the rocks, tier above tier, to the very highest points of the island. Some of the great penguins stood more than half the height of a man, and one was shot that weighed 78lbs. By letting themselves down on their bellies they were able to scuttle along, outstripping a man on the snow.

We can guess by the great beds of guano that generations untold have held undisturbed possession there. Now, however, a fearful danger threatens to thin their ranks in perhaps the near future, for when steam whalers invade their seas, and a ship runs short of coal for the return trip, a few tons of their oily carcases would prove invaluable as fuel. Though the birds themselves may have no commercial value, the large deposit of guano may prove to be of superior quality. Certain bones of other large birds from our southern islands have been exported

– 475 –

in considerable quantities, for the purpose, I am told, of making pipe-stems, but for such a questionable benefit to humanity it seems a shame to kill numbers of unoffending birds.

I do not understand why Ross did not always try to avoid the pack, seeing that going through it involved such loss of time, and so much danger even to his vessels. Their situation at times amongst the rock-like masses of ice, dashing with fearful violence against each other and against the straining ships, was enough to fill the boldest heart with dismay. To ordinary unfortified ships it would have been destruction swift and sudden. For mere exploration or whaling it would surely be always wiser and better to endeavour to skirt the pack, as Ross did on his return journeys. On his second season he went through 1,000 miles of pack, which occupied 56 days, so that when he got through the season was almost over, and after making about 7° more of southing, he deemed it imprudent to remain longer. By then selecting a different route for his return, he got out without having to go through any of the pack, the time occupied in regaining the Antarctic circle from the point of greatest southing being only ten days. One obvious advantage in avoiding the pack when going south would be that, having found the clearest road out, the time required for returning by the same route could be calculated, and so also the time during which it would be safe to remain.

It seems a great pity that when it becomes necessary to go through the pack steam-power could not then be used, in order to shorten, as far as possible, a time of tedious delay and extra risk. It seems so important a matter that I would throw out a crude suggestion, without, however, feeling much confidence in its value. It is that an arrangement might be made so that, on entering the pack and hoisting up the screw-propeller, the steam might still have a certain propelling value, if used on the rocket principle. Two jets of steam, one on each side of the vessel, ought to be well under command, so that either jet could be stopped or reversed at a moment's notice, and in this way they could also be used for steering, in the event of the rudder being carried away—a most serious accident, not uncommon in the pack.

Doubtless, Ross had good reasons for going through the pack, perhaps in connection with the magnetic observations. It is impossible to read the narrative of his voyage without feeling that he must have been eminently fitted for such a command. With his large experience of ice in the Arctic seas—acquired while serving under such experienced commanders as his uncle, Admiral Sir John Ross, and Sir Edward Parry—and his high scientific attainments, he seems to have been also a thorough gentleman, an intrepid sailor, and a conscientious God-fearing man. It is easy to see that he could have accom-

– 476 –

plished ever so much more in the same time, besides running far less risk, if he had had the great advantage of steam-power. Even if he had had smart weatherly vessels, instead of his dull-sailing ones, it would have made a great difference. The expression “wore ships” is of constant occurrence; often he is unable to maintain his ground and is driven to leeward, perhaps with situations of peril. Again and again, when close-hauled, instead of keeping a straight course and passing quickly to windward of a berg, prudence compels him to bear away and lose much ground and valuable time by having to pass it in the “doldrums,” and amongst the loose ice to leeward. It was no small matter to have Dr. (now Sir Joseph) Hooker attached to the expedition; his accounts of the botany of various islands visited are extremely interesting.

In view of the present depression, I can see no way in which we could prudently attempt exploration, except by combining it with steam-whaling. Scotch steam-whalers have won a good name for themselves; but the fishery at home is at present in a bad way, and very few whales have been captured of late. This, then, ought to be a favourable time to arrange to have one or two good moderate-sized steam-whalers brought out. Two would be better than one; for, with the feeling of emulation and mutual support, much better results might be expected from them when amongst ice, either in whaling or exploring work, than from one unsupported vessel. Still, much has been and may be done by one good vessel; and it is worthy of note that the most appalling danger that befell Ross's two ships arose from the fact of there being two in company, as it was occasioned by one of them running into the other. If two captains could be found who by push and industry have got to be owners of the ships they command, they would be the best men to arrange with, our object being to get hold of men who will come to stay. As inducements for them to come out with their ships, it might be necessary to charter them to bring goods and passengers; or it might suffice to offer full freights at current rates. In neither case does it necessarily follow that there would be any expense to the colony before their arrival here. After that they might be paid entirely by results; a moderate bounty, say, for three years, on all bone and oil, could be given at very little real cost to the colony, because the bone and oil bring so much money to the place. Indeed, if their whaling is successful here, they will benefit the place in various ways from the very first. The great point, however, should be to get them to cast in their lot with us as colonists, in the hope that having them here to set an example, and show our people how money is to be made, their ships may form the nucleus of a steam whaling fleet belonging to the colony. To stimulate the captains and crews in the work of exploration, so much might be given for each degree of latitude

– 477 –

that they penetrate to the southward on any meridian beyond the furthest point reached by previous explorers. If it is contemplated to send out a staff of scientific men, such reward would have to be proportionately increased; and it would, of course, be proper to arrange for this from the first, stipulating perhaps that they must, if so required by our Government, consent to allow exploration to take precedence of whaling during three summer months, in any or all of the years during which the bonus is given. Without such stipulation they might object to do exploring work, because if they find that whales are plentiful near our shores it may seem to them that whaling pure and simple would pay better. Whaling need not be quite discontinued during exploration; it might be highly expedient to catch a whale or two in order to eke out coals, for which purpose any of the bones may be used, as they contain a large quantity of inferior oil. Indeed, the capture of a few whales and seals, while causing but little delay, would interest all on board, while the zoologist of the party might then reap his richest harvest. I have a suspicion that the “small fin-backed whale” mentioned by Ross may prove to be the interesting Neobalœna marginata.

The expenses of a cruise to the southward might be further reduced by landing a party of sea-elephant hunters on Macquarie Island, and picking them up with their spoils on the return trip. But unless we are prepared to expend large sums on exploration, and have perhaps naval men and naval discipline, I am strongly of opinion that payment by results, which is the very system to which whalemen are accustomed, would prove to be the most satisfactory plan to all concerned, giving less risk of failure, and of the time of the scientific gentlemen being wasted. Thus, if the chief object during one season is to reach the magnetic pole, let a handsome sum be offered as the reward of success—such sum to be divided in the usual way, so that every sailor on board has a stake in the issue. If they were to get only within a certain distance, but near enough to obtain valuable results, a smaller sum might still be allowed. If they were to succeed in circumnavigating Victoria Land, or in proving its connection with other lands discovered by D'Urville, Ross, Wilkes, and Biscoe, or in finding inhabited land in the Antarctic regions (an interesting possibility), surely no one would grudge them a substantial reward. If they were to find out some practicable way of reaching the surface of the great ice-plain with men and stores, that would open the door to what may turn out to be the most successful method of Antarctic exploration, namely, by means of sledges and dogs. If a list of such definite important objects were to be carefully drawn up, with the assistance perhaps of the President and Council of the Royal Society, or of the Geographical Society, and a certain fair

– 478 –

reward offered for the attainment of each; then, if we have to ask for assistance, it would surely be afforded much more readily if we can show that we have paved or are paving the way, by bringing steam-whalers out here to within a week's steaming of Victoria Land, and that no payment would be made without some corresponding result.

As to the probability of owners of steam-whalers being willing to come to us with their ships, it seems to me that while it would be well worth our while to offer very liberal inducements, if necessary, yet that their prospects here would be so much brighter than at Home, that at the present time very very little encouragement would be needed to induce enterprising men (and we want no other sort) to come and give the place a trial, simply in the hope of permanently bettering their condition. I cannot conceive any better way of getting the steam-whaling industry to take root here than to induce trained men to come and settle amongst us, bringing their whole capital, practical experience, and ships ready equipped for work. Their success here might probably lead others of the same calling to come to us, also with their ships, unless the northern fishery greatly improves.

I do not know that any of the steam whale-ships are owned altogether by their captains; but I believe it is common for the captain to own a considerable share of his vessel. In a matter of such importance, it might be well in such a case for our Government to buy up, in the first instance, part or all of the remaining shares, with the view of after-disposal to some commercial firm in the colony. The vessels that sail from Peterhead average, I believe, at least 500 tons. A vessel that size would probably lower six boats and carry a complement of about fifty men, all told. The value of a good vessel of this class is considerable, but I have been unable to procure exact information on this point. I think the price of “black” oil is about £20 per ton; but the accounts I have received differ. In the way of granting bounties, England has spent millions of money on her whale fisheries; but I gather from Mr. McCulloch's “Commercial Dictionary” that she never took a wiser step for their encouragement than when she was at the pains to induce fishers from Holland to come and settle amongst her people, bringing with them their capital, industry, and skill. “In consequence of this signal encouragement,” he writes, “the whale fishery of England was prosecuted with greater success than at any previous period.”

It seems a reproach to us that, while American whalers have year after year carried away so much wealth from our very doors, we have done so little yet in the way of whaling, although our situation is so superior to theirs. I have conversed with a very intelligent sailor who has served on board a

– 479 –

steam-whaler in the northern seas; and he is convinced that, if a pushing man were to bring a steam-whaler to these waters, he could have no surer road to a fortune. Not only has the northern fishery been unsuccessful of late, but in consequence of that, and of new uses being found for baleen, the value of that article has risen to the extraordinary price of £1,500 per ton. The baleen from our southern “right whale,” commonly known as the black whale, is not so valuable as that from the northern animal; but the difference in value is not great, and, as far as I can learn, it is not owing to the quality being inferior, but only to the average length being less. It has been said that we have two right whales, but I have not heard whalers speak of more than one; and I think Dr. Hector has come to the conclusion that we have but one, the Eubalœna australis. The animal closely resembles the right whale of the North; its capture is more easy than that of the sperm whale, and there seems no reason to suppose that men accustomed to the northern fishery, coming with their ordinary equipments, would find the southern fish less easy of capture than the northern one. Indeed, they would probably be more thoroughly in their element in dealing with our black whale than some southern whalers are who have given their attention almost exclusively to the sperm whale. Mention is often made by Ross, when in the seas to the southward of New Zealand, of numerous whales and seals being in sight. On the way south from Campbell Island, in latitude 63° S., he says, “A great many whales were seen in the afternoon.” At 7.20 p.m. the first icebergs were seen; and, next day, he says, “A great many whales were seen, chiefly of the common black kind, greatly resembling but said to be distinct from the Greenland whale. Sperm as well as hunchbacked whales were also observed. Of the common black species we might have killed any number we pleased; they appeared chiefly to be of unusually large size, and would doubtless yield a great quantity of oil, and were so tame that our ships sailing close past did not seem to disturb them.”

Again, when much further to the eastward, in about lat. 63° S., he says: “We observed a very great number of the largestsized black whales, so tame that they allowed the ships sometimes almost to touch them before they would get out of the way; so that any number of ships might procure a cargo of oil in a short time.” It is to be observed that in both these cases the whales were seen directly on making the ice, and in the same latitude. On Ross's other trip ice was met with sooner, in lat. 58° 30′ S.; but from there to lat. 63° 47′ mention is several times made of numerous whales being seen. Since that time the sperm whale has been chiefly sought after; but now that the value of sperm has fallen, while that of baleen has greatly increased, the black whale will doubtless be more in

– 480 –

request. The average yield of oil from our black whale is about 7 tons, and of baleen about 7 cwt., so that the value of the baleen from each whale would be about £500 sterling.

The advantages of steam-power for either whaling or exploring are so many that it would be tedious to enumerate them; but many of them are obvious. Good smart men will naturally ship in a steam-whaler in preference to another, because there is such constant life and stir; while in the ordinary South Sea whaler there is so much idle time that men are apt to fall into lazy habits. I may mention here one consideration in favour of our undertaking exploration in only some such economical way as that I am advocating. Were an expensive expedition to start now they would go out in utter ignorance of the present state of the ice. Now, we know that the position of the Antarctic pack varies in different years to a surprising extent. As an instance of this, Ross penetrated the pack for about 800 miles in about the 156th meridian of West longitude, and then found himself only about half a degree beyond Cook, who had found open water there. From this it seems not improbable that a succession of severe seasons may bring about conditions so unfavourable to exploration that any attempt would be likely to end in failure, if not in disaster; while several mild seasons in succession might open a road and make success comparatively easy. Steam-whalers belonging to the Colony might work the grounds near home during the colder months; but it would be short-sighted policy to work these grounds all the year round if the black whale abounds in higher latitudes.

If found necessary, some special encouragement might be held out to induce the men to push to the southward during the summer months in quest of the black whale, and from their reports on the state of the ice some judgment might be formed as to whether the time were favourable for exploration and for a scientific staff to go out. A yearly reconnaissance of the ice to the southward might prove very valuable to the farmers of Southland, encouraging them to lay down a good breadth of land in wheat when the ice was at a distance, and warning them to be content with chiefly the hardier sorts of grain when the ice had made any considerable approach to us.

Any scientific staff ought to be accompanied, if possible, by a really good photographer, for good photographs from the weird Antarctic regions would possess an interest for the civilized world. After some experience gained of the ice to the southward, an excursion trip might be attractive to many, and, if advertised beforehand in Europe and America, it seems not unlikely that scientific men there would eagerly embrace such an opportunity of studying glacial phenomena.

If such a field as we possess to the southward for the display

– 481 –

of spirited maritime enterprise had lain as near to Great Britain, we may feel assured that hardy mariners of England and sturdy Dutch navigators would have pushed their way to it hundreds of years ago, even in their small, badly-provisioned ships, destitute of steam-power and of many modern appliances. Verily, it would seem that, though their ships were more frail than ours, their hearts at least were not less stout. Daring spirits, however, are still to be found, many of whom now look with longing eyes towards those mysterious unknown regions, and daring deeds will doubtless yet be chronicled by future historians in connection with Antarctic discovery; but unless we bestir ourselves, and that quickly, it is to be feared that our descendants in New Zealand will not find it recorded that their ancestors took any part in the work; but, on the contrary, that though nearest of civilized peoples to the unexplored ice-continent, and seeming to aim at being the “Great Britain of the South,” they yet remained apathetically in the background and allowed others from a distance to come and do the work, and reap the honour that might have been theirs.

Putting together the facts here stated, I am led to the conclusion that the very first step towards economic Antarctic exploration is, on independent grounds, a highly important step, which it is very desirable to take; that the present time for doing so is opportune; and that, while the expense may prove to be quite trifling, we may yet expect it to lead to the establishment of a hardy and lucrative industry, the importance of which one can scarcely over-estimate. Any additional industry is important, and is a safeguard against times of depression in the future; but the importance of this particular industry being successfully established seems really paramount: for, besides being a source of wealth to the Colony, and besides making the great work of Antarctic exploration a matter within our reach, what better nursery could we have for a race of hardy seamen, on whom our children's children may yet have to rely to fight their battles by sea?

Thus I have sketched the only way, as far as I can see, by which we might manage Antarctic exploration ourselves. If, however, it is decided to send out a thoroughly equipped expedition on the grand scale, for scientific purposes only, then in order to have the best possible guarantee that the work will be done wisely and well, I trust that the Mother Country may be induced to undertake the whole management, selecting trained Arctic explorers, and accepting of assistance from the various Australasian Colonies in the shape of money, and by our provisioning the ships. England might, however, give a more willing and hearty assent if we had even one steam-whaler here, a fit vessel to despatch in quest of the others in case of any untoward event preventing their return.

– 482 –

Art. LXIV.—The Track of a Word.

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 4th August, 1886.]

In seeking to attract attention to the immense geographical district over which a word may be in use, and to the very great periods of time during which a word must necessarily have existed, I would confine myself mainly to a record of the facts concerning it collected by modern science, and leave for discussion the points arising from such record. The word I propose to examine is the Maori noun mata, which means “the eye,” or “face.” This word has been often commented upon as one which maintained itself most purely and with little phonetic variation among the dialects spoken in Polynesia; but I believe that the full significance of its very extraordinary diffusion over a large area of the world's surface has not been sufficiently observed or commented on. We will now, with the aid of a map, pass along a track where this word, sometimes in a form exceedingly pure, sometimes corrupted almost beyond recognition, may be found in the spoken languages of mankind at the present moment.

Leaving New Zealand and moving to the northward, we arrive at the Fijian Group, the natives of which, although not Polynesians, retain in their language many Polynesian words, and these in great purity. Here we find it mata, as in Maori; thence journeying eastward to Samoa, it is mata; at Rarotonga and Mangaia (Cook's and Hervey Islands), it is mata; at Tahiti (Society Islands), mata; at Nukuhiva (Marquesas Islands), mata; at Easter Island, mata; at Hawaii (Sandwich Islands), mata. This course has passed through the principal Polynesian islands, and before proceeding further I must digress for a brief space to notice the dialectical change producing the variant k of the Hawaiian. The change from t to k seems at first sight to be peculiar, and to those who have not made the transference of sounds a specialty of study appears almost impossible. But it is by no means confined to the Polynesian; in many languages far more advanced this letter-change occurs: in the Latin, Basculi and Bastuli, Vectones and Vettones; in Danish, mukke, for English “to mutter,” and laktuk (Latin lactuca), for English “lettuce;” in Greek we find the Doric makes ὅκâ for ὃτε, τζνo03C2 for κζιν03C2; the modern French of low-class Canadians gives mékier for métier, moikié for moitié, according to Professor Max Müller,* on whose choice of this word mata as a text I shall have much to say at a future time; but here it is only necessary

[Footnote] * Müller, “Science of Language,” 2nd series, p. 168.

– 483 –

to remark that in Polynesian the t to k transfer is exceedingly well marked, and that it is, even now, changing and spoiling the Samoan vernacular speech. The real k of the western dialects is, in Hawaiian, Tahitian, and Samoan, either lost altogether, or replaced by a kind of soft catch of the breath; the k which appears in the Hawaiian being the Maori and Tongan t. Thus, the Hawaiian kai is the Maori tai, the sea; the Maori kai, food, being represented by the Hawaiian ai. The Hawaiian kii, a carved image, is the Maori tiki, the medial k being lost, the t replaced by k.

Having thus shown that the change of mata to maka is the regular transfer of sound which should be looked for, I will now resume—the digression having been necessary, as we shall find that the t to k sound is not confined to the language of the Sandwich Islands. Returning to Fiji, we pass westward, first to Rotumah, where “the eye” is matho; then to the New Hebrides, where, among a Papuan population, many colonies of the fairer-skinned race have been planted. Here we find at Malicolo, maitang; at Tikopia, mata. At Santa Cruz, maku is the face; at San Christoval, ma is face; at Vaturana, mata; at New Georgia, mata. In New Ireland, the eye is matak; at Port Praslin, mata; in New Guinea (Triton Bay), matatongo; (Onim) matapatin. We find at Gilolo (Galela), mata. Four dialects of the Celebes give the eye as mata; Borneo (medial, near Labuan), mata. Ceram's seven dialects yield matamo, mata, matacolo, mata, matanina, matara, and matan. Timor gives mata; Savu (S.W. of Timor) is mata; Java = moto; Sumatra, mata, although in South Sumatra matty. The Malay proper is mata; the Dyak is mata. Let us now take a long flight to the westward, to the island of Madagascar. Concerning the Malagasy I shall say little, as it is a well-known fact (whatever may be the origin) that the language possesses very many words akin to the Malay, and which have no representatives on the African coast near at hand. Of these words, one is maso, the eye; the root, mat, having apparently passed through the change (so common in all languages) from hard k to soft c or s, thus: mat, mak, mac, maç, mas (= maso). We will now return to the vicinity of New Caledonia, and pass to the Marianne Islands, where at Guam we get mata; at Chamori, mata; at Ulea, matai; at Satawal, metal. In the Pelew Islands we get the corrupt form muddath; but in the Tagal of the Philippines matá. In Formosa, macha; in the Loo-Choo Islands, mi; and again in Japan, mi. We shall probably trace, as we go on, how this curious variant mi has arisen. The Ainios, or aborigines of Japan, have no representative word; neither have the Coreans, or the Kamschatkans, nor any tribes north of this point.

The Chinese (Canton) have the word as mok, so also the Tonquin gives mok, and Cochin-China mok; but Cambogia has

– 484 –

mat, Pegu = mot, the Ka dialect mot. The word in the Burmese proper is myitsi; and in Aracan myitsi; but the Palaong (S.E. of Bhamo) use metsi. Between the Burmese proper and the Siamese are the Karens, two of whose dialects (Sgau and Pwo) give me; a third closely allied is the Thoung-lhú = may. Taking Muneepoor as a centre, we have the Koreng, mik; Songpu, mhik; Luhuppa, mik; North Tankhul, amicha; Khoibu, mit; Maring, mit; Kapwi, mik; Maram, mik. The Siamese has no cognate word, but it is a very remarkable thing that one of the Siamese (or Thay) tribes which fought its way into Assam, and settled there, has the form pure as the Polynesian, viz., matta. We now pass into Assam through the varieties of Jili; Singpho, mi; Kakhyen, mi; Deoria Chutia, mukuti. In Assam, to the East, are the Mishmi tribes, in one dialect of whose speech (the Mijhu) we find mik; in Central Assam, the Mikir = mek. Of the Naga forms, (among five dialects showing no affinity), the Mithan yields mik; Tablung, mik. Entering Nepaul, one division, the Kirata tribes, (Kirata proper), gives mak; the Limbu, mik; the Lepcha spoken in Sikim yields amik. Among those peoples called the Broken Tribes are Vaya, mek; Chepang, mik; Dhimal, mi; Bodo, mogon; Garo, mikran. The Magars, who inhabit the lower levels of the Himalayan slopes, use mi (in Murmi); so also the Gurung on the higher slopes have mi. The Bramhú, a dialect of a degraded people, gives mik; the Nepaul proper in its purest form being mikha. The Pahri, one of the Broken Tribes, has mighi; but others of these tribes, the Darahi and Kuswar, while using ankhi for “eye,” (of Sanscrit derivation), call the head mud. In Bengal, at Aracan, the dialect used by Moslems, (called Ruinga), uses mata for head; the Hindu dialect, (called Rossawn), uses mustok. In Central India, the Sontal call the eye met, while the word for head with the Pakhya is mauto, and the Tharu is mudi. I am aware of the affinity between the last few words for “head” and the Sanscrit word for “face,” etc., but shall not in this paper touch the subject of the Aryan languages.

We now pass across the Indian frontier into Thibet—the land of the Bhot, or Bhotiya. To the south, near Nepaul, we find that the Serpa word is mik, and in other dialects mi. The rude tribes (called barbarians by Chinese) in the south-east of Thibet use, in the Changlo, ming; in the Gyarung, tai-mek. In Rampur (Milchan) we find mik; while a provincial dialect (Theburskud) has ; and the Sumchu is mi. In the eastern Bhot of the Takyal it is mido; and in the proper Thibetan dialect, as at Ladak, it is written mig, and pronounced mik. If we pass from the Indian frontier, across Afghanistan, to Persia, we find that in Persian mata is the face, and that in Arabic mata is also the face. This, in the widespread speech of the Arab, carries us to the Mediterranean Sea and the Indian

– 485 –

Ocean. I will not pursue the word further to the westward, or open up the great question as to its appearance in the European languages.

We have thus followed mata, the “eye,” or “face,” in its various changes, through almost every possible corruption to which a word is liable, (always excepting the peculiar Semitic formation about radix), and have seen that this word can have entered into, or departed from, the Asiatic mainland by three gateways—viz., 1st, by China and Japan; 2nd, by the Malay Peninsula; 3rd, by the Arabian route, past Madagascar. Some of the languages I have referred to are mere barbarous dialects, of which I have been able to gather about fifty words of each for purposes of comparison; but these share with others, (Burmese dialects, for example, of which I have been able to compare 500 principal words with Polynesian), in that they have no other apparent resemblance except in this most persistent word.

I must not omit to notice one other point before concluding—viz., that the zigzag course we have followed by no means defines the vast area covered even by the modern use of this word. Leaving out the Australians, the Papuans, and most Melanesians to the south; to the north excluding the Tungus languages, the Mongols, Samoyeds, the Turkish forms of Northwest Asia, Finns, Laps, etc.; and also the Dravidian tribes of Southern India: then, (with these exceptions), from Central Asia to the south of New Zealand; from near the shore of Africa to islands near the coast of America, this word has vitality. We trace it in spite of every disguise it assumes, aided by one slight change after another, but with the track still remaining visible. To use an oft-quoted word-example, no one in his senses would compare the French jour (a day), with the Latin dies (a day), unless he could track (either historically or geographically) its changes through dies, diurno, giorno, jour. So no one would compare the Thibetan mi with the Polynesian mata, if it was not that we could trace it step by step at the present hour through mat, mak, mik, mi. But, (an important “but,”) every now and then we have been refreshed on our search by the pure word starting up anew, (as in Northern India, matta), and at the very extremity of our journey by the reversion to the pure mata of Persia and Arabia.

The questions to be considered as resulting from this inquiry are these:—

1.

Did the Polynesians bring this word from the mainland, either by China, Malacca, or the Arabian Gulf? Or,

2.

Did they give the word to the mainland through either of these paths? Or,

3.

Is this word a living sole-survivor (an “apteryx of language”), lingering in districts all over the south of the great Asiatic continent?

– 486 –
4.

If the last be the case, why, against all rules known at present to philologists, should this vital word be shared by the inflected languages of Persia and Arabia, the agglutinative speech of Thibet and Malaysia, and the monosyllabic tongues of China and its islands?

Art. LXV.—Polynesian Folk-lore.
“Hina's Voyage to the Sacred Isle.”

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 8th September, 1886.]

In venturing to commence a paper on the subject of Polynesian Folk-lore from the comparative mythologist's point of view, I do so with great diffidence, as the field is so enormous as to extend itself beyond any mental vision. But in this vast area are mines so rich that some reward is sure to fall to the lot of the diligent worker, however clumsy he may be; and if he is not gifted with the ability to discover truth, he may assist in its elucidation by others. Those who have made it their pleasure and business to collect all the procurable myths and folk-tales of these islands, in a generation from which the knowledge is fast passing away, and dying with its elder men, have done an incalculable service to Science: for the student of a century hence, however earnestly he may seek to gather such traditions, will search in vain for stories, lost, (as the Maori proverb says) “like the losing of the moa;” and, moreover, could such tales be collected, they would be tainted with the suspicion of European influence. Enough has already been done to give us much instructive material to work upon; and I think that the direction to be taken first is to widen the field of Maori legend by lifting it above locality, and by showing that most of the New Zealand stories are not of New Zealand, the Tongan not of Tonga, the Samoan not of Samoa, etc., etc. For this purpose I will first take a fairly representative tradition, that of the “Voyage of Hina to the Sacred Island,”* leaving out those portions of the story which do not perceptibly bear in any way on the main body of the legend.

“Maui had a young sister named Hinauri, who was exceedingly beautiful; she married Irawaru. One day Maui and his brother-in-law went down to the sea to fish. Maui caught not a single fish with his hook, which had no barb to it, but as long as they went on fishing Maui observed that Irawaru continued

[Footnote] * “Polynesian Mythology,” Grey.

– 487 –

catching plenty of fish. So he thought to himself, ‘Well, how is this? How does that fellow catch so many whilst I cannot catch one?’ Just as he thought this, Irawaru had another bite, and up he pulls his line in haste, but it had got entangled with that of Maui, and Maui thinking he felt a fish pulling at his own line, drew it in quite delighted; but when he had hauled up a good deal of it, there were himself and his brother-in-law pulling in their lines in different directions, one drawing the line towards the bow of the canoe, the other towards the stern. Maui, who was already provoked at his own ill-luck, and the good luck of his brother-in-law, now called out quite angrily, ‘Come, let go my line, the fish is on my hook.’ But Irawaru answered, ‘No, it is not, it is on mine.’ Maui again called out very angrily, ‘Come, let go, I tell you it is on mine.’ Irawaru then slacked out his line, and let Maui pull in the fish; and as soon as he had hauled it into the canoe, Maui found that Irawaru was right, and that the fish was on his hook; when Irawaru saw this too, he called out, ‘Come now, let go my line and hook.’ Maui answered him, ‘Cannot you wait a minute, until I get the hook out of the fish.’

“As soon as he got the hook out of the fish's mouth, he looked at it, and saw that it was barbed; Maui, who was already exceedingly wrath with his brother-in-law, on observing this, thought he had no chance with his barbless hook of catching as many fish as his brother-in-law, so he said, ‘Don't you think we had better go on shore now?’ Irawaru answered, ‘Very well, let us return to the land again.’

“So they paddled back towards the land, and when they reached it, and were going to haul the canoe on the beach, Maui said to his brother-in-law, ‘Do you get under the outrigger of the canoe, and lift it up with your back.’ So he got under it, and as soon as he had done so Maui jumped on it, and pressed the whole weight of the canoe down upon him, and almost killed Irawaru. When he was on the point of death, Maui trampled on his body, and lengthened his backbone, and by his enchantments drew it out into the form of a tail, and he transformed Irawaru into a dog. As soon as he had done this, Maui went back to his place of abode, just as if nothing unusual had taken place; and his young sister, who was watching for the return of her husband, as soon as she saw Maui coming, ran to him and asked him, saying, ‘Maui, where is your brother-in-law?’ Maui answered, ‘I left him at the canoe.’ But his young sister said, ‘Why did not you both come home together?’ and Maui answered, ‘He desired me to tell you that he wanted you to go down to the beach to help him carry up the fish: you had better go, therefore; and if you do not see him, just call out; and if he does not answer you, why then call out in this way: Mo-i, mo-i, mo-i.’ Upon learning this, Hinauri hurried

– 488 –

down to the beach as fast as she could, and not seeing her husband, she went about calling out his name, but no answer was made to her; she then called out as Maui had told her, ‘Mo-i, mo-i, mo-i. ‘Then Irawaru, who was running about in the bushes near there in the form of a dog, at once recognised the voice of Hinauri, and answered, ‘Ao! ao! ao! ao-ao-o!’ howling like a dog, and he followed her back to the village, frisking along and wagging his tail with pleasure at seeing her; and from him sprang all dogs, so that he is regarded as their progenitor, and all New Zealanders still call their dogs to them by the words, ‘Moi, moi, moi.’

“Hinauri, when she saw that her husband had been changed into a dog, was quite distracted with grief, and wept bitterly the whole way as she went back to the village; and as soon as ever she got into her house she caught up an enchanted girdle which she had, and ran back to the sea with it, determined to destroy herself by throwing herself into the ocean, so that the dragons and monsters of the deep might devour her. When she reached the sea-shore, she sat down upon the rocks at the water's very edge; and as she sat there she first lamented aloud her cruel fate, and repeated an incantation, and then threw herself into the sea, and the tide swept her off from the shore…. For many months she floated through the sea, and was at last thrown up by the surf on the beach at a place named Wairarawa. She was there found, lying as if dead, upon the sandy shore, by two brothers named Ihuatamai and Ihuwareware. Her body was in many parts overgrown with seaweed and barnacles, from the length of time she had been in the water, but they could still see some traces of her beauty, and pitying the young girl, they lifted her up in their arms and carried her home to their house, and laid her down carefully by the side of a fire, and scraped off very gently the seaweed and barnacles from her body, and thus by degrees restored her. When she had quite recovered, Ihuatamai and Ihuwareware looked upon her with pleasure, and took her as a wife between them both. They then asked her to tell them who she was, and what was her name. This she did not disclose to them, but she changed her name and called herself Ihungarupaea, or the ‘Stranded-log-of-timber.’ After she had lived with these two brothers for a long time, Ihuwareware went to pay a visit to his superior chief, Tinirau, and to relate the adventures which had happened; and when Tinirau heard all that had taken place, he went to bring away the young stranger as a wife for himself, and she was given up to him; but, before she was so given to him, she had conceived a child by Ihuatamai, and when she went to live with Tinirau it was near the time when the child should be born.

“Tinirau took her home with him to his residence on an island called Motutapu: he had two other wives living there;

– 489 –

they were daughters of Mangamanga-i-Atua, and their names were Harataunga and Horotata. Now, when these two women saw the young stranger coming along in their husband's company, as if she was his wife, they could not endure it, and they abused Hinauri on account of her conduct with their husband; at last they proceeded so far as to attempt to strike her and to kill her, and they cursed her bitterly. When they treated her in this manner the heart of Hinauri became gloomy with grief and mortification, so she began to utter incantations against them, and repeated one so powerful that hardly had she finished it when the two women fell flat on the ground, with the soles of their feet projecting upwards, and lay quite dead upon the earth, and her husband was thus left free for her alone. All this time Hinauri was lost to her friends and home, and her younger brother, Mauimua, afterwards called Rupe, could do nothing but think of her; and excessive love for his sister, and sorrow at her departure so harassed him, that he said he could no longer remain at rest but that he must go and seek his sister.

“So he departed upon this undertaking, and visited every place he could think of without missing one of them, yet he could nowhere find his sister; at last Rupe thought he would ascend to the heavens to consult his great ancestor Rehua, who dwelt there at a place called Te Putahi-nui-o-Rehua, and in fulfilment of this design he began his ascent to the heavenly regions. Rupe continued his ascent, seeking everywhere hastily for Rehua; at last he reached a place where people were dwelling, and, when he saw them, he spoke to them, saying ‘Are the heavens above this inhabited?’ and the people dwelling there answered him, ‘They are inhabited.’ And he asked them, ‘Can I reach those heavens?’ and they replied, ‘You cannot reach them; the heavens above these are those the boundaries of which were fixed by Tane.’ But Rupe forced a way up through those heavens, and got above them, and found an inhabited place; and he asked the inhabitants of it, saying, “Are the heavens above these inhabited?’ and the people answered him, ‘They are inhabited.’ And he again asked, ‘Do you think I can reach them?’ and they replied, ‘No, you will not be able to reach them; those heavens were fixed there by Tane.’ Rupe, however, forced a way through those heavens too; and this he continued to do until he reached the tenth heaven, and there he found the abode of Rehua. When Rehua saw a stranger approaching, he went forward and gave him the usual welcome, lamenting over him: Rehua made his lamentation without knowing who the stranger was, but Rupe in his lament made use of prayers by which he enabled Rehua to guess who he was.

“When they had each ended his lamentation, Rehua called to his servants, ‘Light a fire, and get everything ready for

– 490 –

cooking food.’ The slaves soon made the fire burn up brightly, and brought hollow calabashes, all ready to have food placed in them, and laid them down before Rehua. All this time Rupe was wondering whence the food was to come from with which the calabashes which the slaves had brought were to be filled; but presently he observed that Rehua was slowly loosening the thick bands which enveloped his locks around and upon the top of his head; and when his long locks all floated loosely, he shook the dense masses of his hair, and forth from them came flying flocks of the tui birds, which had been nestling there; and as they flew forth, the slaves caught and killed them, and filled the calabashes with them, and took them to the fire, and put them on to cook; and when they were done, they carried them and laid them before Rupe as a present, and then placed them beside him that he might eat, and Rehua requested him to eat food; but Rupe answered him, ‘Nay, but I cannot eat this food; I saw these birds loosened and take wing from thy locks; who would dare to eat food that had rested in thy sacred head?”* For the reasons he thus stated, Rupe feared that man of ancient days; and the calabashes still stood near him untouched. At last Rupe ventured to ask Rehua, saying: ‘O! Rehua, has a confused murmur of voices from the world below reached you upon any subject regarding which I am interested?’ And Rehua answered him: ‘Yes; such a murmuring of distant voices has reached me from the Island of Motutapu, in the world below these.’ When Rupe heard this, he immediately, by his enchantments, changed himself into a pigeon, and took flight downwards towards the Island of Motutapu. On, on he flew, until he reached the island, and the dwelling of Tinirau; and then he alighted right upon the window-sill of his house. Some of Tinirau's people saw him, and exclaimed: ‘Ha! ha! there's a bird; there's a bird;’ whilst some called out, ‘Make haste, spear him; spear him.’ And one threw a spear at him; but he turned it aside with his bill, and it passed on one side of him and struck the piece of wood on which he was sitting, and the spear was broken. Then they saw it was no use to try to spear the bird; so they made a noose, and endeavoured to slip it gently over his head; but he turned his head on one side, and they found that they could not

[Footnote] * The meaning of the birds nestling in and flying from the hair of Rehua is apparently to be understood only by a word preserved in Hawaiian, but lost in Maori: rehua (lehua) being there the ancient name for a forest. We find in “The Chant of Kualii” (Tu-ariki) the following lines:—

“The younger children of the rain,
Are raining on the lehua (forest).”

[Footnote] And perhaps a sister allusion is made to the incident of the slaves catching birds in the hair of Rehua, in the lines:—

“The child catching birds—e—
Reaching up the bird-catching pole on Lehua.”

– 491 –

snare him. His young sister now suspected something; so she said to the people who were trying to kill or snare the bird: ‘Leave the bird quiet for a minute until I look at it.’ And when she had looked well at it she knew it was her brother; so she asked him, saying: ‘What is the cause which has made you thus come here?’ And the pigeon immediately began to open and shut its little bill, as if it was trying to speak. His young sister now called out to Tinirau: ‘Oh, husband; here is your brother-in-law.’ And her husband said in reply: ‘What is his name?’ and she answered, ‘It is my brother Rupe.’ It happened that upon this very day Hinauri's little child was born; then Rupe repeated this form of greeting to his sister, the name of which is ‘Toetoetu’:—

‘Hinauri,
Hinauri is the sister,
And Rupe is her brother,
But how came he here?
Came he by travelling on the earth,
Or came he through the air?
Let your path be through the air.’

“As soon as Rupe had ceased his lamentation of welcome to his sister, she commenced hers, and answered him, saying:—

‘Rupe is the brother,
And Hina is his young sister,
But how came he here?
Came he by travelling on the earth,
Or came he through the air?
Let your path be now upwards through the air
To Rehua.’

“Hardly had his young sister finished repeating this poem before Rupe had caught her up with her new-born baby: in a moment they were gone.”

Thus far the New Zealand story. We will now turn to the sister legend, as told at Mangaia by the Rev. Mr. Gill.* The first reference we find is in the version related at that island concerning the myth of Maui catching the sun in ropes for the purpose of making him go slower, a story which is identical with the New Zealand tale. Here we find it mentioned that when Maui tried cocoanut fibre ropes for his snares they would not hold. He then cut off the hair of his lovely sister Ina-ika, and plaited it into a rope, which had the necessary strength. Here it will be noticed that Maui is called Hina's brother, as in the Maori story. The name “ika’ (fish) is explained by her further adventures. The Mangaian tradition is as follows:—

“The only daughter of Vaitoorunga and Ngaetua is Ina, whose brothers were Tangi-kuku and Rupe. The parents of

[Footnote] * “Myths and Songs.”

– 492 –

Ina were the wealthiest people in the land of Nukutere, boasting, as they did, of a rich breast ornament, abundance of finely braided hair, beautiful white shells worn on the arms, and, more precious than all these, a gorgeous head-dress, ornamented with scarlet and black feathers, with a frontlet of berries of the brightest red. Early one morning the parents for the first time left their home in the care of Ina, the mother charging her to put these treasures out to air; but, should the sun be clouded, be sure to take them back into the house. For Ngaetua knew well that in the bright beams of the sun the arch-thief Ngana would not dare to come; but, if exposed on a lowering cloudy day, the envious foe would not fail to try his luck. In a short time the sun shone brightly, not a cloud could anywhere be seen. The obedient Ina carefully spread out these treasures on a piece of the purest white native cloth. But the arch-foe Ngana was on the watch. Very cautiously did he approach through the neighbouring bushes, in order to get a sight of the much-coveted articles. He forthwith used an incantation, so that the sun became suddenly obscured. Ngana now fearlessly emerged from the thicket, and endeavoured to grab the long-wished-for ornaments. But Ina was too quick in her movements to permit this. Ngana now, with affected humility, begged permission to admire and try on the various ornaments for her to see how he would look in them. Ina was very loth, but, after great persuasion, consented that Ngana should put them on inside the house. To prevent the possibility of his taking away any of these treasures, she closed the doors. The crafty Ngana now arrayed himself in these gorgeous adornments, excepting the head-dress, which Ina still held in her hand. Ngana, by his soft words, at length induced her to give that up too. Thus completely arrayed be began to dance with delight, and contrived to make the entire circuit of the house, careering round and round in hope of seeing some loophole through which he might escape with his spoil. At last he espied a little hole at the gable-end a few inches wide, through which at a single bound he took his flight, and for ever disappeared with the treasures. Ina at first had been delighted with the dancing of her visitor, but was in utter despair as she witnessed his flight, and heard the parting words—

‘Beware of listening to vain words,
O Ina, the fair and well-meaning.’

“Not long afterwards the parents of Ina came back in great haste, for they had seen the arch-thief passing swiftly and proudly through the skies, magnificently attired. A fear crept over them that all was not right with their own treasures. They asked the weeping girl the cause of her tears. She said, ‘Your choicest possessions are gone.’ ‘But is there nothing left?’ demanded the parents. ‘Nothing whatever,’ said the still weeping girl. The enraged mother now broke off a green cocoa-

– 493 –

nut branch, and broke it to pieces on the back of the unfortunate girl. Again and again Ngaetua fetched new cocoanut branches and cruelly beat Ina. The father now took his turn in be labouring the girl, until a divine spirit (manu) entered and took possession of Ina, and in a strange voice ominously said—

‘Most sacred is my person,
Untouched has been my person,
I will go to the Sacred Isle,
That Tinirau alone may strike it.’

“The astonished father desisted; her younger brother Rupe cried over his beloved sister. After a while Ina got up, as if merely to saunter about, but no sooner had she eluded the eyes of her parents than she ran as fast as her legs could carry her to the sandy beach. When nearly there, she fell in with her elder brother Tangikuku, who naturally asked her where she was going. She gave an evasive answer; but, fearing lest he should inform her parents of her flight, she snatched his bamboo fishing-rod, broke it to pieces with her foot, and selected one of the fragments as a knife. She now said to her brother, ‘Put out your tongue.’ In an instant she cut off its tip. Tangikuku vainly essayed to speak; so that Ina was certain that he could not reveal the secret of her sudden departure. She kissed her maimed brother, and pressed on to the shore, where she gazed long and wistfully towards the setting sun, where the Sacred Isle is. Looking about for some means of transit, she noticed at her feet a small fish named the avini. Knowing that all fishes were subjects to the royal Tinirau, she thus addressed the little avini that gazed at the disconsolate girl:—

‘Ah, little fish, art thou a shore-loving avini?
Ah, little fish, art thou an ocean-loving avini?
Come, bear me on thy back
To my royal husband Tinirau,
With him to live and die.’

“The little fish intimated its consent by touching her feet. Ina mounted on its narrow back; but when only half-way to the edge of the reef, unable any longer to bear so unaccustomed a burden, it turned over, and Ina fell into the shallow water. Angry at this wetting, she repeatedly struck the avini: hence the beautiful stripes on the sides of that fish to this day, called ‘Ina's tattooing.’ The disappointed girl returned to the sandy beach to seek for some other means of transit to the Sacred Isle. A fish named the paoro, larger than the avini, approached Ina. The intended bride of the god Tinirau addressed this fish just as she had the little avini; and then mounted on its back, and started a second time on her voyage. But, like its predecessors, the paoro was unable long to endure the burden, and dropping Ina in shallow water sped on its way. Ina struck the paoro in her anger, producing for the first time

– 494 –

those beautiful blue marks which have ever since been the glory of this fish. Ina next tried the api, which was originally white; but for upsetting Ina at the outer edge of the reef was rendered intensely black, to mark her disgust at the third wetting. She now tried the sole, and was successfully borne to the edge of the breakers, where Ina experienced a fourth mishap. Wild with rage, the girl stamped on the head of the unfortunate fish with such energy that the underneath eye was removed to the upper side. Hence it is that, unlike other fish, it is constrained now to swim flatwise, one side of the fish having no eye. At the margin of the ocean a shark came in sight. Addressing the shark in words very like those formerly used, to her great delight the huge fish came to her feet, and Ina mounted triumphantly on its broad back, carrying in her hand two cocoanuts to eat. When half-way on the dangerous voyage to the Sacred Isle, Ina felt very thirsty, and told the shark so. The obedient fish immediately erected its dorsal-fin (rara-tua), on which Ina pierced the eye of one of the nuts. After a time she again asked the shark for help. This time the shark lifted its head, and Ina forthwith cracked the hard shell on its forehead. The shark, smarting from the blow, dived into the depths of the ocean, leaving the girl to float as best she could. From that day there has been a marked protuberance on the forehead of all sharks, called ‘Ina's bump.’ The King of Sharks, named Tekea the Great, now made his appearance. Ina got on his wide back, and continued her voyage. She soon espied what seemed to be eight canoes in a line rapidly approaching her. When near, they proved to be eight sharks resolved to devour Ina. Ina, in agony, cried to her guardian shark, ‘O Tekea; O Tekea!’ ‘What is it?’ inquired the shark. ‘See, the canoes!’ said the girl. ‘How many are they?’ ‘Eight,’ replied Ina. Said her guardian shark, ‘Say to them, Get away, or you will be torn to shreds by Tekea the Great.’ As soon as Ina had uttered those words, the eight monstrous sharks made off. Delivered from this peril, Ina again went on her long voyage to the Sacred Isle. At length the brave girl reached the long sought for island, and Tekea the Great returned to his home in mid-ocean. Upon going ashore, and cautiously surveying her new home, she was astonished at the salt-water pools, full of all sorts of fish, everywhere to be seen. Entering the dwelling of Tinirau, (Innumerable), the lord of all fish, she found one noble fish-preserve inside. But strangely enough the owner was nowhere visible. In another part of the house she was pleased to find a great wooden drum, and sticks for beating it by the side. Wishing to test her skill, she gently beat the drum, and even to her astonishment the sweet notes filled the whole land, and even reached to Pa-enua-kore, (No-land-at-all), where the god Tinirau was staying that day. The king of all

– 495 –

fish returned to his islet-dwelling to discover who was beating his great drum. Ina saw him approaching, and in fear ran to hide herself behind a curtain. Tinirau entered, and found the drum and sticks all right, but for a time could not discover the fair drummer. He left the house, and was on his way back to ‘No-land-at-all,’ when the coy girl, unwilling to lose so noble a husband, again beat the wonderful drum. Tinirau came back and found the blushing girl, who became his cherished wife. Ina now discovered that it was the might of Tinirau that inspired her with a manu, or strange spirit, and then provided for her safety in voyaging to his home in the Sacred Isle. In the course of time Ina gave birth to the famous Koromauariki, commonly called Koro. Besides this boy, she had a girl named Ature. Her younger brother Rupe wished much to see his sister Ina, who had long ago disappeared. Rupe asked a pretty karaurau (a bird of the linnet species) kindly to convey him where Ina lived. The bird consented, and Rupe, entering the linnet, fled over the deep blue ocean in search of the Sacred Isle where his beloved sister had her home. It happened one morning that Ina noticed on a bush near her dwelling a pretty linnet, just such a one as she used to see in her old home. As she complacently gazed upon it, the bird changed into a human form. It was Rupe himself! Great was Ina's delight; but, after a brief stay, Rupe insisted on going back to tell his parents of the welfare of Ina. They were rejoiced to hear of their daughter, for whom they had long grieved. A feast was made, and the finest cloth prepared for Ina and her children. Mother and son now entered the obliging linnets, and, laden with all these good things, flew off over the ocean in search for Ina. Arrived safely at the Sacred Isle, mother and daughter embraced each other tenderly; the past was forgiven. Three whole days were spent in festivities on account of Koro and Ature, the children of Ina. The visitors returned to their home over the sea, and Ina was left happy with Tinirau, the king of all fish.”

The coincidences in these two stories are very remarkable, and are as instructive to students of comparative Mythology as the differences in the two accounts are. First, most of the names agree. In the Cook and Hervey Islands the h is not pronounced. For this reason those islanders have been called “thé cockneys of the Pacific;” Hina becomes Ina, by the regular phonetic loss. Tinirau is the name of the demi-god to whom she flies; Motu-tapu, “the Sacred Isle,” is the name of the island where she finds refuge; and Rupe the name of the affectionate brother who flies to her in the form of a bird. These points are quite sufficient to establish a common origin for the two stories. The main differences are as follows:—Hina is, in the New Zealand story, the sister of Maui-mua and of Maui the Great, the last being known both as Maui-potiki (Maui, the baby) and

– 496 –

Maui-tikitiki-a-Taranga = Maui (born in) the top-knot of Taranga,* their mother being Taranga, and their father Makea-tu-tara. In the Mangaian tale, although elsewhere Ina is called Maui's sister, her parents are styled Vaitooringa and Ngaetua. In Mangaia, Ina has two brothers—Rupe and Tangi-kuku; both Rupe aud Tangi-kuku are pigeon names; Tangi-kuku doubtless meaning “cooing like a dove,” kuku and kukupa being the Maori words for pigeon. Rupe is not a modern Maori word for pigeon; but the form of a pigeon assumed by Rupe sufficiently shows that the pigeon was once known to them by that name, as it still exists in the Samoan lupe, Tahitian rupe, and Tongan lupe—all meaning “pigeon.” The Maoris have lost the incident of “the master-thief;” they assign a different reason for Hina's flight; they make Hina a married woman, instead of a maiden, and have no story of her adventures on her way to Motu-tapu. The Mangaians apparently know nothing about Ina's connection with Irawaru, or of his being changed into a dog; nor about her finding other wives of Tinirau on her arrival in the Sacred Isle; nor of Rupe's visit to Rehua in heaven; and they seem to have missed the meaning of Rupe's name being “pigeon” by giving him the form of a linnet.

There are references in other legends which partially clear up, and partially darken the story. From far-off Nukuhiva, in the Marquesas Islands, comes a tradition as to “The origin of fire”—one of the most widely-spread of the many legends concerning Maui. In this myth, the name of Maui's mother is given as Kui; and although this may not seem to be her proper name, (kui in Maori being a term of address to any old woman, and in Marquesan meaning “mother” generally), yet that it was an especial name of Maui's mother is proved by a Mangaian story, that Kui gave to Tane her daughter Ina (Maui's sister), “Ina who rivals the dawn;” and again by another Mangaian myth, that “the eldest of Kui-the-blind's attractive daughters was named Ina; that Marama (the moon), who from afar had often admired her, became so enamoured of her charms that one night he descended from his place in the heavens to fetch her to be his wife.” But this blind old woman very probably appears

[Footnote] * Maui is the Prometheus who gained fire for men, in all the Pacific legends except that of Samoa. Here the Maui name is unknown, their hero being Ti'i Ti'i, whose mother was Talanga. How completely the comparative method vindicates itself, when we find that Maui was called Tikitiki-a-Taranga, because he was born in Taranga's top-knot—a name incomprehensible in Samoa without our New Zealand story.

[Footnote] † It is perhaps worthy of notice that Hina's house (as described in the Mangaian story) is utterly unlike a Samoan house, which is a large circular structure, like a bee-hive raised upon posts, open all round; mats are let down round the outside or from internal partitions when privacy is required. This is somewhat of evidence that if (as some think) the Mangaians came from Samoa, this part of the story was new.

– 497 –

in another New Zealand tradition—that of Tawhaki. The glorious demi-god Tawhaki, before he ascended to heaven and became the god of thunder and lightning, (his mother was Whatitiri, the thunder, before him), met with the following adventure:—“The fame of Tawhaki's courage in thus destroying the race of the Ponaturi, and a report also of his manly beauty, chanced to reach the ears of a young maiden of the heavenly race who live above in the skies; so one night she descended from the heavens to visit Tawhaki, and to judge for herself whether these reports were true. She found him lying sound asleep, and, after gazing on him for some time, she stole herself to his side and laid herself down by him. He, when disturbed by her, thought it was only some female of this lower world, and slept again; but before dawn the young girl stole away again from his side, and ascended once more to the heavens. In the early morning Tawhaki awoke, and felt all over his sleeping-place with both his hands, but in vain, he could nowhere find the young girl. From that time Tango-tango, the girl of the heavenly race, stole every night to the side of Tawhaki, and lo, in the morning she was gone, until she found that she had conceived a child, who was afterwards named Arahuta; then, full of love for Tawhaki, she disclosed herself fully to him and lived constantly in this world with him, deserting for his sake her friends above; and he discovered that she who had so loved him belonged to the race whose home is in the heavens.” The legend then relates that the husband and wife quarrelled in a very foolish manner over the new baby. We resume:—“Then Tango-tango began to sob and cry bitterly, and at last rose up from her place with her child, and began to take flight towards the sky, but she paused for one minute with one foot resting upon the carved figure at the end of the ridge-pole of the house, above the door. Then Tawhaki rushed forward, and springing up, tried to catch hold of his young wife; but missing her, he entreatingly besought her, ‘Mother of my child, oh return once more to me!’ But she in reply called down to him, ‘No, no, I shall now never return to you again.’ Tawhaki once more called up to her, ‘At least, then, leave me some remembrance of you.’ Then his young wife called down to him, ‘These are my parting words of remembrance to you: Take care that you lay not hold with your hands of the loose root of the creeper, which dropping from aloft, sways to and fro in the air; but rather lay fast hold on that which, hanging down from on high, has again struck its fibres into the earth.’ Then she floated up into the air, and vanished from his sight. Tawhaki remained plunged in grief, for his heart was torn by regrets for his wife and his little girl. One moon had waned after her departure, when Tawhaki, unable longer to endure such sufferings, called out to his younger brother, to

– 498 –

Karihi, saying: ‘Oh, brother, shall we go and search for my little girl?’ And Karihi consented, saying, ‘Yes, let us go.’ … Tawhaki and Karihi then went upon the road, accompanied by only one slave. They at last reached the spot where the ends of the tendrils which hung down from heaven reached the earth, and they there found an old ancestress of theirs, who was quite blind, and whose name was Mata-kerepo (blind-eyes). She was appointed to take care of the tendrils, and she sat at the place where they touched the earth and held the end of one of them in her hands…. Tawhaki then touched both her eyes; and, lo! she was at once restored to sight, and saw quite plainly, and she knew her grandchildren and wept over them.”* Keeping in mind this singular Maori story of the heavenly maiden, let us read a brief legend from Atiu: “It is said that Ina took to her celestial abode a mortal husband. After living happily together for many years she said to him, ‘You are growing old and infirm. Death will soon claim you, for you are a native of earth. This fair home of mine must not be defiled with a corpse. We will therefore embrace and part. Return to earth, and there end your days.’ At this moment Ina caused a beautiful rainbow to span the heavens, by which the disconsolate aged husband descended to earth to die.” The mention of this rainbow connects itself with another myth which relates that the god Tangaloa (Tangaroa) fell in love with Ina, when she was bathing in a stream called Kapu-ue-rangi; hence one name of Ina is “Ina-ani-vai” (Ina-solicited-at-the-fountain). He unfastened his girdle, which mortals call the rainbow, and descended by this dazzling path to earth. Ina gave way to him, and had two children, Tarauri and Turi; both were fair like their parents (Tangaloa has golden hair). In Tahiti, Hina was supposed to have been the first creation of the great Taaroa (Tangaroa), and it was with her help that he made the heavens, earth, and sea. His two sons by her are called Oro-tetefa and Uru-tetefa. From the wife of the eldest of these sons arose the famous Areoi Society, the priest-freemasons of the Eastern Pacific. This Oro, afterwards a great god, was probably the Koro mentioned in Mangaian legend as Hina's son; the Tahitians regularly losing the k in their dialect. The islanders of Niue have an “underworld,” to which the spirits of the dead depart; it is called Maui: but their heaven is the bright “land of Sina,” in the skies, where night comes not, but day is everlasting. The Manahikians, in telling the story of “fishing up the land,” say that Sina, who was the sister of Maui Mua, Maui Loto, and Maui Muli (Maui, first, middle, and last), helped to fasten the great fish-hook: a tradition also believed in Hawaii (Sandwich Islands), where it

[Footnote] * “Polynesian Mythology,” Grey.

– 499 –

was Hina's own bird, the “Alae,” with which the hook was baited:—

“The great fish-hook of Maui,
Manaia-te-Rangi. * * *
The bait was the Alae of Hina,
Let down upon Hawaiki,
The sacred tangle, the painful death,
Seizing upon the foundations of the earth,
Floating it up to the surface of the sea.”

There are many fragments of the tradition to be found in Samoan song and legend. In the genealogy of the primitive gods are several Sinas, the first of whom, “Sina the tropic-bird,” is the wife of Pili, the son of Tangaloa. In one of their love songs it is related that—

“Sina longed to get Maluafiti,
He was her heart's desire, and long she had waited for him.
Maluafiti frowned and would return,
And off he went with his sisters.
Sina cried and screamed, and determined to follow swimming.
The sisters pleaded to save and bring her;
Maluafiti relented not, and she died on the ocean.”

But if this Sina was Sina the Swimmer, the Samoans know another bright Sina, “the woman in the moon.” “Sina (the white) was busy one evening with mallet in hand beating out on a board some of the bark of the paper mulberry, with which to make native cloth. It was during a time of famine. The moon was just rising, and reminded her of a great bread-fruit; looking up to it she said, ‘Why cannot you come down and let my child have a bit of you?’ The moon was indignant at the thought of being eaten, came down forthwith and took her up, child, board, mallet and all. At the full of the moon, young Samoa still looks up and traces the features of Sina.” Hina also finds her way into one of the ancient Deluge legends: as the daughter of Tangaloa she is sent down by her father in the form of a bird, turi (the snipe),* but after flying about for a long time, can find no resting-place—nothing but ocean; so she returns to heaven. Again sent down by Tangaloa, “she observed spray, then lumpy places, then water breaking, then land above the surface, and then a dry place where she could rest. She went back and told her father. He again sent her down; she reported extending surface of land, and then he sent her down with some earth and a creeping plant. The plant grew, and she continued to come down and visit it,” etc. In Hawaii, she seems also to be connected with the Deluge, as Hina-lele, generally called simply Hina; she is the goddess of fishes, and thus compares with the western Hina-ika, the wife of Tinirau, the fish-deity. There are genealogical evidences in Hawaiian legend as to the coincidence between the two Hinas,

[Footnote] * Turi is her son, in a legend above cited.

– 500 –

and reference is made to the story of Tawhaki, mentioning his brother Karihi, his father Hema, and his mother Hina:—

“The rainbow is the path of Tawhaki.
Tawhaki arose, Tawhaki bestirred himself,
Tawhaki passed on, on the floating cloud of Tane.
Perplexed were the eyes of Karihi.
Tawhaki passed on, on the glancing light,
The glancing light on men and canoes.
Above was Hanaiakamalama;
That is the road to seek the father of Tawhaki.”

In a note commenting on this legend, Judge Fornander says: “Hanaiakamalama was the name of Hema's mother Hina. She is said to have been disgusted with her children Puna and Hema, and to have gone up to the moon to live.” This seems to show that, however distorted the legend had grown, Tawhaki's “heavenly maiden” was the Hina of the moon; the Hawaiian “Hanaiakamalama,” reading in Maori as “Hanaiate-marama,” or “Hana-i-a-te-marama,” doubtless originally signifying “Brightness of the moon,” or “Let the moon shine.” Hina's voyage is mentioned in a prayer to Lono (Rongo):—

“My god has assumed the shape of a shark
In the month of Hinaialeele,
May I be saved through my fullness of prayer!
Saved through my health-offering!
Saved through my devotion!
By you, O God!”

The conclusion which seems inevitable in considering this legend, and the broken-up remnants of it existing all over the Pacific, is, that it probably was the property of all the tribes before the separation. It may have travelled from one land to another, from one island to another, but it bears internal evidence of very high antiquity, and of primitive origin. The connection between Maui and Hina, through the old blind Kui and the heavenly race, seems at first sight to be very slight. I believe we must go not only outside New Zealand, but outside Polynesia, for an explanation, which will probably be found in its study as a lunar myth.

Professor Max Müller has already noted the story of Ina, as agreeing with the Greek legend of Tithonos and Eos, and quotes it as a singular coincidence; but I trust to be able to show in a series of papers that there are too many hundreds of such similarities in these folk-lore tales for them to be put aside with any such poor word as “coincidence.” I believe that in science there is no more “coincidence” than there is “chance,” or “luck;” that every idea, like every word, has its proper parentage: though, alas! all the searchings of the wise will long beat in vain in the effort of discovery against that dark blank wall which time and ignorance has built between us and the past. A lesser, but more exasperating, barrier is that of “localization.” Every story is localized; and it seems im-

– 501 –

possible to make men, who have thoroughly imbibed the idea of a tradition being a local one, ever get away from the notion that the incidents happened there, particularly there. In Polynesia, constantly we hear: “It was on that hill my ancester fought the monster;” “It was this island which was hauled up from the bottom of the sea by the fish-hook of Tangaloa or of Maui.” A good example is given at the end of the Mangaian myth: “Mangaia now for the first time emerged to the light of day, and became the centre of the universe. Its central hill was accordingly designated Rangimotia (“the centre of the heavens”). The inhabitants of Mangaia were veritable men and women, as contrasted with the natives of other outlying islands, who were only evil spirits in the guise of humanity.”

This is by no means confined to the Polynesians, it meets investigators everywhere. To take two examples at random: Mr. Kennedy* says that nearly every lake and hill in Ireland has its legend of the encounter of hero and monster; and Mr. Burnell writes: “The localization of the events of the Mahabharata is endless; every few miles, in Southern India, one can find the place where some battle or other event occurred; and so it is also in Java. Such legends, therefore, are absolutely worthless, for they prove no more than that the Mahabharata and Ramayana are or were favourite stories over a large part of the East.” Of course, Mr. Burnell means worthless for fixing locality. Doubtless, dragons no more inhabited the hills of Ireland than they did the New Zealand plain of Kaingaroa; nor could Arjuna or Rama have fought the same battles in Java and in India. But the stories are useful, as showing a common fount of knowledge. Sir George Grey, in his “Polynesian Mythology,” has compared two Maori legends with similar European tales: first, that of the dog of Whakaturia crying out from the belly of his eater, with the tradition of St. Patrick and the stolen sheep; and the other, one of our New Zealand dragon stories, with the dragon poem of Spenser. There can be no collusion here, and no interchange of myths, as between nations whose borders touch each other; the English poet and the Maori “ariki” were more favourably situated than any other persons in the world could be, if we wish to guard against interchange of ideas by personal communication; yet, word for word, line for line, the description of the animal pourtrayed by the one is a transcript of the mythical monster of the other; thus showing how deeply, not only the general idea, but the very details of the ancient marvel had sunk into the spirit of the primitive mind, and evolved similar products after centuries of separation.

In the tiny specimen of Polynesian folk-lore submitted in

[Footnote] * “Fictions of the Irish Celts.”

[Footnote] † “South Indian Palæography.”

[Footnote] ‡ Appendix, New Edition.

– 502 –

this paper, mention has been repeatedly made of incidents supposed to be Aryan, if not exclusively European. Most of us have read the old fairy stories about “swan maidens,” of whom Grimm* says: “Theirs is the power to fly or swim; they love to linger on the sea-shore…. When they bathe in the cooling flood, they lay down on the bank the swan-ring, the swan-shift…. The myth of Volundr we meet with again, in an Old-High-German poem, which puts doves in the place of swans: three doves fly to a fountain, but when they touch ground they turn into maidens.” So Maui stole his mother's feather-dress, and turned himself into a dove or pigeon; and Rupe performs the same feat. Again, the tendrils of the vine hanging from the heavens, and up which Tawhaki climbed, swung down for us also in our childhood's story of Jack and the Bean-stalk. But it is to two of the loveliest legends in classical literature that I wish to compare our shorter myths recited above. The heavenly maiden, coming secretly down to repose by the side of her mortal husband, is Selene, the Moon, stealing to the slumbers of Endymion: she—

“Kisses the closed eyes
Of him, who slumbering lies.”

That the Moon, in the Mangaian myth, should not be a “maiden of heavenly race” but a male deity, is in accordance with a curious “twist” peculiar to Mangaian legends, many of the celebrated Polynesian personages there changing sex. The second story is that of the immortal wife seeing the mortal husband getting grey and old. Those who have read Tennyson's beautiful poem on the old Greek mythus will remember:—

“How can my nature longer mix with thine?
Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold
Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet
On all thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam
Floats up from those dim fields about the homes
Of happy men that have the power to die,
And grassy barrows of the happier dead.
Release me, and restore me to the ground;
Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave;
Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn;
I, earth in earth, forget these empty courts,
And thee returning on thy silver wheels.”

The Polynesian goddess was more kind, in giving the rainbow bridge down which the aged feet might pass back to the world; but this bridge of the rainbow is cherished in Scandinavian mythology as the Bifrost, the rainbow bridge along which the souls of the heroes pass to the breast of Odin.

Hina, or Sina, (the Natives of the extreme North of New Zealand pronounce this word as if written by an Englishman, “Sheenah,”) with the meaning of white or silvery, is found in most Polynesian dialects, and is a part of the moon's name

[Footnote] * “Teutonic Mythology.”

[Footnote] † And probably in our own Teutonic speech as “sheen,” or “shine.”

– 503 –

in many of them. The Marquesan mahina, Tongan mahina, Mangaian maina, Samoan masina, and Hawaiian mahina all mean the moon: and, although in some of these languages (Maori and Tahitian, for example), this word is replaced by marama, yet the Sanscrit words mah, the moon, (√ ma, to measure), and rama, light, white; also, the connection of this word with Rama-Chandra (Moon-Rama), point clearly to a time when “Ma” was the Polynesian (as the Aryan) word for moon, in ma-rama and ma-sina, both phrases signifying “shining,” “bright,” moon, i.e., moonlight. And in those Polynesian dialects where hina does not mean “white” when standing alone, it means “white hair,” (in Maori and Hawaiian), which is explained by the Indian myth that Krishna was the black hair, and Rama the white hair, plucked from the head of Vishnu (as twins of Darkness and Light).

Somewhere in Europe or in Asia the name of Hina, or Sina, must have been cherished as a lunar name, since the sect of the Gnostics called the moon “Sin” (Sina) in their mystical language. In the great Mesopotamian valley the word lingered for ages. Sin, the moon-god, was worshipped by the Assyrians and Babylonians, and probably before the dispossession by those nations of the earlier Accadian people. On one of the Babylonian cylinders the king Nabonidus writes of “Sin, the illuminator of heaven and earth, the strengthener of all;” and in another place we find*: “As the emblem of the Sun-god was the solar orb, the emblem of Sin was the crescent moon.” “Sin was the patron-god of the City of Ur.” But this “Ur of the Chaldees” was named thus because they worshipped there the “bright illuminator;” and the root ur, to shine, is the common property of the world's languages. “Ur signifies light or fire, and is to be found in every dialect of the Celtic.” So in the Hebrew or, to shine, and the Latin uro, to burn; but in none purer than the Maori ura, to glow. It is not an Aryan word only, but an Asiatic word, common to all races springing from the vagina gentium. In the opening verses of the Sanscrit “Hitopadesa,” where Siva is invoked under the name of “Dhurjati,” he is described as yad-murdhni sasinas kala, (literally, “on whose head the moon's sixteenth part,”) meaning crescent-crested. The word sasinas may be akin to the Polynesian Sina, although sasin, moon, is generally derived from sasa, a hare, as though the moon was called “the hare-marked.” Etymologists often alter their opinions as time goes on.

The connection or confusion between the lunar Hina, and Hina the fish-goddess, lies probably in the fact of Hina the swimmer being “Ina the bright, fair one,” and “Ina who rivals

[Footnote] * “Assyria, its Princes, Priests, and People.”—Sayce.

[Footnote] † “Gaelic Etymology.”—Mackay.

– 504 –

the dawn.” Ina being spoken of in one legend as having been given by Kui to Tane may perhaps be referred to the following cause:—Although the great deity Tane was, in Western Polynesia, the father of gods and men, the representative of the male generative power in the universe: and although tane is almost everywhere the common word for “male,” or “husband,” yet in Eastern Polynesia he was regarded as the “light principle,” and stands for “Light” in the ancient Hawaiian Trinity of “Kane, Ku, and Lono,” (“Tane, Tu, and Rongo”). Thus runs the sacred chant:—

“Tane, Lord of Night, Lord the Father,
Tu-te-pako, in the hot heavens,
Great Rongo with the flashing eyes;
Lightning-like lights has the Lord
Established in truth, O Tane, Master-worker,
The Lord Creator of mankind.”

Thus, that Hina, the bright fair one, should become either the bride of Tane, the Light, or of Ma-Rama (moonlight), seems mythologically inevitable, and the entanglement between this Hina and our “silver-footed goddess of the sea” is probably explained.

Art. LXVI.—Notes on Antigone, 2–6.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 5th August, 1886.]

Antigone.

(1.)ῶ κΌνὸ;ν αὐάδελøoν ⌈σμήνζ03C2 καρά

ᾶρ ΌἶσΘ' ὅ τι Zεὺσ τῶν ᾶπ ∮ἰδίπΌυ καρῶν

ὅπ'ΌίΌν Όὐχὶ νῶν ἐτὶ ζωσᾶιν τελεί

ὀνδὲν γαρ ὀυπ' ἀλγεινὸν ὀυπ' ἄτζσ ἄτερ

Όὔτ' ἀισχρὸν Όὔπ' ἄτιμΌν ἐσΘ' ὅπΌίΌν Όὐ

τῶν σῶν τε κἀμων Όὐκ ὄπωπ' ἐγὼ κακῶν

Lines 2–3: ὄ τι–ὅπΌίΌν. If there were ὄ τι without ὅπΌίΌν, or ὅπὅιΌν without ὅ τι, the passage would be quite easy. Several solutions have been proposed of the difficulty,—

α. That it is simply a double interrogation, i.e., “What evil of what sort?” cf. line 1341, ὀυδ' ἔχω ὅπα πὸσ πότερΌν ἴδω.

β. That we should read ὄτι, and that there is a mixture of two constructions, such as—

1.

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

ΌἶσΘ' ὅτι Zεὺσ { πἀν πὅιΌν ὀυ } κακὸν τελεῖ

2.

ΌἶσΘα Zεὺσ ὅπΌῖΌν Όὐ κακὸν τελεῖ

– 505 –

Or, γ. That the oblique form ὅπΌῖΌτ comes quite naturally after the verb ΌῖσΘα, the ὅτι being redundant, cf. O.T., 1401,—

ἆρα μΌυ μέμνζσΘ ὅτι
Όἷ ἕργα δρᾶσα03C2 ὐμῖν εἶτα δεῦῤ ἰων
ὅπὅἰ ἔπρασσΌν ἆυΘι03C2

It has occurred to me that it might perhaps be translated as it stands with ὅτ in two other ways, each of which involves an ellipse of τεγεῖ—

1.

Do you know what evil inherited from œdipus Zeus will bring to pass, and what he will not bring to pass, in the lifetime of us twain? ἆρ ΌἶσΘα ὅ τι Zεὺ03C2 (τελεῖ) τῶν ἅπ' ∮ἰδίπΌυ κακὼν, ὅπΌῖΌν ὀυχι—τελῶἶ, i.e.: Do you know the exact sum of our sorrows? a style of expression that is not at all unusual in Greek.

2.

Do you know what evil inherited from œdipus Zeus will bring to pass that he will not bring to pass in our lifetime? (In this case it might be better to take τελε~ι as present rather than future.)

The latter interpretation seems, perhaps, to suit the context best, since, from the repetition below of the same phrase, ὅπΌῖΌνΌὐ with τῶν σῶν τε κἀμων κακῶν, the pith of Antigone's complaint seems to be that she and her sister had an unfairly large share of this evil inheritance.

Lines 4–5. ἀλγεινὸ, ἀισχρὸν ἄτιμΌν are all words which certainly do not exclude, if they do not actually include, the conception of ἄτζ; whereas with them we find coupled the phrase ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ, which expressly excludes ἄτζ; and yet all have but one verbal phrase Όὐκ ὄπωπα, so that the passage seems to mean “there is nothing baneful and nothing baneless,” etc., “that I have not seen.” No satisfactory reading has been suggested that I know of instead of ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ. As all the MSS. have this reading, it is worth while to try and make something out of it. The following interpretations have been suggested:—

(1.) By Seidler, who takes ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ to signify “without blame” or “guilt”—i.e., undeserved; and the following Όὔτε—ἄυτε to signify ἤ—ἤ, cf. line 1157.

If ἄτζ can be taken in this sense, it seems simple enough; and γὰρ would then be taken as explaining the phrase Tωνἀπ' ∮ἰδίπΌυ κακῶν, while ὀυκ simply duplicates the former negative ὀυ.

(2.) By Hermann, who suggests taking ἐσΘ' ἄπõιΌν ὀυ with ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ, “For neither what is painful nor what is not free from bane (i.e., what is mixed with bane), be it base or dishonourable, have I failed to see.”

ἀισχρὸν and ἄτιμΌν are thus taken parenthetically, as subdivisions of ἄτζ.

– 506 –

The construction becomes clearer if we neglect the parenthesis, and read: ὀυδὲν γαρ, ὀυτ' ἀλγεινόν, Όὐτ ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ ἐσΘ ὁπõιΌνὀυ, Όὐκ ἄπωπα, “For nothing, neither what is painful nor free from bane what is not, have I failed to see”—i.e., I have seen all kinds of misfortune. The well-known use of ὀυδὲι03C2 ἅστι03C2 ὀυ might be adduced as a parallel for this construction, and is so brought forward in Dr. Jelf's Greek Grammar.

All reverence is due to the mighty name of Hermann. There were giants in scholarship in those days; and, if we ever do see farther than they do, it may be that we are after all dwarfs mounted on the shoulders of giants. With all respect then, be it said, that even when thus ingeniously elucidated, the fact remains that Sophocles has chosen a very awkward way of saying what he meant, by writing ὄυτε ὄτζ03C2 ἐσΘ' ὁπõιΌν ὀυ where, according to the general usage of similar phrases, the ὀυ would be expected to negative ἄπõπα and not ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ; and this when there seems nothing to be gained by it, and in the beginning of a play, too, where such a difficult collocation of words might be more than usually displeasing.

Is it impossible for ἄτζ03C2 ἄτερ to mean, “besides the curse that rests upon us,” (in addition to it), like the Latin “ut omittam,” referring to τῶν ἀπ' ∮ἰδίπΌυ κακῶν. Lines 2–6 might then be translated:—

“Do you know what evil that we inherit from œdipus, aye and what evil we do not inherit, Zeus will fulfil in the lifetime of us twain; for there is nothing, neither what is painful, nor—to say naught of the curse that rests upon us—is there aught of private disgrace or public infamy, that I have not seen in the number of thy woes and mine?”

The word Όὐχι is thus taken to negative τῶν ἀπ' ∮ἰδὰπΌυ κακῶν; and the sense is, “Do you know what misery Zeus is going to spare us, for I know of none—whether inherited from œdipus as a curse, or not—that we have not suffered?” I may remark that ὀυχι in the “Iliad” (Όὐκί) is, I think, invariably used as above—i.e., as the last word in the negative clause of an alternative; e.g., ὅ03C2 τ' ἄιτιΌ03C2, ὅ03C2 τε καὶ Όὐκί, and still oftener ἠὲ καὶ Όυκί, at the end of a line. It is also used in the same way in two out of three places where I have noted it in æschylus. I have not been able to compare other passages in Sophocles or Euripides.

I have not been able to find a similar use of ἄτερ, but there is a similar use of the word χῶρι03C2 in Hdt., i., 93, also “Medea,” 297, and æsch., Sep. c. Th., 25, πυρὸ03C2 δίχα, where δόχα seems to bear the same meaning, according to Hermann himself.

– 507 –

Art. LXVII.—A Note on Latin Place-names.

[Read before the Otago Institute, 12th October, 1886.]

In Livy, xxi., 19, we read, “tum maxime Sagunto excisa;” further on, in xxi., 21, we read, “Sagunto capto.” The first expression is explained per synesin of “urbe” with Saguntum, and the participle is taken in agreement with it. Livy occasionally introduces urbem, vicum, in apposition to the names of towns, in “um.” Hence has arisen a certain perplexity as to the gender of Latin place-names; add to which the influence of Greek place-names, and we have the erroneous statement of our Latin Grammars on this point seemingly justified. But Livy, in using such a sentence as the following (among a host of such instances), ii., 63: “Fusi, in primo proelio hostes, et in urbem Antium, ut tum res erant oputentissimam acti,” is telling us that the enemy fled to Antium—a town of very great wealth, as the times were then—and uses the plainest way of saying what he has to tell us.

In our Latin Grammars, (two books of this year, 1886, are enough to cite), the statement runs substantially thus: “Names of countries, cities, islands, and trees are feminine.” In another Grammar the statement is somewhat guarded: “Most names of cities are feminine.” Here is a qualification of the previous statement; and it is to be hoped that in time the statement will be further attenuated, so as to represent the facts.

What are the facts? In my copy of Madvig's Grammar (third edition, an old book), p. 28, the author says very little about the subject; but adds, “of the words in us the names of towns are feminine. These names are all Greek.” The italics are mine; and the statement is worth noting, because it indicates the natural order of things: that, in the case of one highly-inflected language passing on names into another highly-inflected language the names bear their gender with them. All these Latinized spellings of Greek place-names only go to show that in Greek the names of towns in os are feminine.

But in his “Notes on Latin Word-systems,” published in 1844, this great scholar (who has died since this note was compiled), goes further: “Not a single name of a place in Latin, irrespective of the nature of its termination, is of the feminine gender.” Notwithstanding which dogma of the master, compilers of Latin Grammars for English boys have gone on reiterating the same misleading “rule” with a sort of hidebound obstinacy.

– 508 –

We find place-names declined according to the scheme of the first, second, and third declensions. I am not acquainted with any belonging to the fourth and fifth declensions, and am inclined to think that as geographical names usually belong to rough speech, these somewhat obscure varieties of declension do not contain any place-names.

Taking suffixes in order, we begin with

i.—a, æ.

  • Pola

  • Aquileia

  • Vicetia

  • Ravenna

  • Bononia

  • Mutina

  • Placentia

  • Faesulæ

  • Cremona

  • Brixia

  • Florentia

  • Pisa

  • Cortona

  • Sena

  • Ancona

  • Fidenæ

  • Roma

  • Sinuessa

  • Gaieta

  • Aquilonia

  • Tarracina

  • Ostia

  • Ardea

  • Minturnæ

  • Allifæ

  • Ilerda

  • Corduba

  • Dertosa

  • Cæsaraugusta

  • Sâmârobriva

  • Cannæ

All feminine, as the terminations require.

ii.—ii or i.

  • Corioli

  • Falerii

  • Gabii

  • Veii

  • Puteoli

  • Volci

  • Volsinii

And, by analogy, Pompeii, together with numerous tribal names, of which, in the case of towns, the suffix ii is a survival. These are masculine words.

iii.—um.

  • Patavium

  • Tarvisium

  • Altinum

  • Mediolanum

  • Bergomum

  • Ticinum

  • Comum

  • Arretium

  • Clusium

  • Ariminum

  • Pisaurum

  • Assisium

  • Spoletium

  • Asculum

  • Lanuvium

  • Nomentum

  • Ferentinum

  • Aquinum

  • Arpinum

  • Tusculum

  • Pæstum

  • Venafrum

  • Bovianum

  • Teanum

  • Antium

  • Herculanum

  • Surrentum

  • Salernum

  • Saguntum

  • Casilinum

—with many others. These are all neuter.

iv.—a (of the plural).

  • Susa

  • Arbela

  • Leuctra

  • Bactra

  • Megara

  • Artaxata

  • Tigranocerta

—Greek names, but neuter, as their suffix requires.

v.—us.

  • There are no Latin place-names with this suffix, which is native, however, to Greek, and brings with it its gender; even in the case of variants,—as e.g., Canopus, Isthmus, Orchomenus, Pontus,—names masculine in Greek are masculine in Latin.

– 509 –

vi.—o (gen. -onis).

  • Croto

  • Telo (Martius)

  • Narbo

  • Hippo

  • Frusino

  • Sulmo

  • Olisipo

  • Pompaelo

  • Mago

  • Vesontio

  • Tarrâco

—all masculine, as the suffix requires.

vii.—e.

  • Tergeste

  • Praeneste

  • Caere

  • Reate

  • Bibracte

  • Nepete

  • Soracte

—all neuter, as the suffix requires. (But Arelate, a Greek word of 1st declension, is feminine.)

viii.—ur.

  • Tibur

  • Anxur

—neuter, as the suffix requires. (Anxur, the mountain, is masculine by analogy with the usual gender of the names of mountains.)

ix.—Various suffixes.

  • Gadîr

  • Ierusalem

  • Tuder

  • Illiturgi

  • Asty

  • Pessinous (-nus)

  • Hispal

  • Tunes

—neuter or masculine. (The indeclinable words are neuter.)

In all the cases quoted above we note that the suffix determines the gender of the place-name; the “rule” is not even traceable. There is, e.g., a well-known suffix -onis, and another -inis. The former is masculine, the latter feminine: hence Narbo -onis is masculine (Narbo Martius), and Carthago -inis is feminine (Carthago Nova).

If we follow Latin further afield, the question is further elucidated. In Gaul, the Romans meet with a place-suffix dun (enclosure, wick, or burg). To bring this suffix within the scope of their system they add a neuter suffix, um, and the place-names become neuter: hence we have—

  • Noviodunum

  • Lugdunum

  • Segodunum

  • Verodunum

  • Eburodunum

  • Uxellodunum

  • Camalodunum (Britain)

  • Sorbiodunum (Britain)

And even such hybrids as Augustodunum and Cæsarodunum. All these words are neuter.

But the suffix um, or ium, is freely used to reduce to the Latin scheme a very large number of words found among subject tribes:—

  • Londinium

  • Eburacum

  • Corinium

  • Mancunium

  • Glevum

  • Verulamium

  • Lindum

  • Regulbium

(All in Britain)

  • Turicum

  • Avaricum

  • Aginnum

—besides words like Trajectum, Durotrajectum, and many others, all neuter, as the suffix requires.

– 510 –

What becomes of the “rule”? As Zumpt seems to have felt, it is so overwhelmed with exceptions that mole ruit earum. Having examined three hundred and fifty place-names, found chiefly in the western section of the Orbis Romanus, I am not able to discern any “rule” applicable to the names of towns. But the influence of the “rule” is very great. Even Lewis and Short, s. v., are misled by it. In order to justify Liv., xxi., 19, cited above, they allege that Liv. used Sazuntus. But Saguntum is in good prose the only form used, cf. Mayor on Juv., xv., 114. Poets and writers like Mela and Florus use Sazuntus. Juv., loc. cit., uses Zazynthus, a thinly-veiled form of Zacynthus.

Art. LXVIII.—Transcendental Geometry: Remarks suggested by Mr. Frankland's Paper, “The Non-Euclidian Geometry Vindicated.”*

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 7th October, 1886.]

In the paper referred to, Mr F. W. Frankland implies that the views he advocates are generally accepted by living mathematicians—e.g., on page 59, paragraph 4: “He [Professor Clifford] says, in common with most living mathematicians who have studied this question, that space may be finite”; and again, on page 60, paragraph 6: “To the expression ‘geometers of the Euclidian school’ I take exception, believing that none such are left, in the sense in which Mr. Skey uses the word. The triumph of the non-Euclidian geometry, or, I will say, the ‘general’ geometry, has been complete. I can safely appeal, on this point, to any distinguished member of any Mathematical Society in Europe or America.”

Now, I am quite aware that, if this were an accurate description of the state of mind of most living mathematicians and distinguished members of Mathematical Societies, it would be an extremely rash proceeding on my part to enter into the controversy. One could only gaze in wonder at those superior beings who roamed at large in space of the (n + 1)th degree, while we poor mortals had to be content with three dimensions.

I cannot think that Mr. Frankland is justified in demanding a greater admission than this: that there are (or have been), distinguished mathematicians holding those views, and that Mathematical Societies have, as in duty bound, allowed the discussion of them in their meetings and in their journals.

[Footnote] * “Trans. N.Z. Inst,” vol. xviii., p. 58

– 511 –

I shall not enter into all the questions raised between Mr. Frankland and his critic, Mr. Skey, but content myself with noticing the three most important propositions laid down in the two papers contributed by the former. These are:—

(1.)

That the axioms of geometry may be only approximately true:

(2.)

That the actual properties of space may be somewhat different from those which we are in the habit of ascribing to it:

(3.)

That the extent of space may be a finite number of cubic miles.

If these propositions are sound, the transcendental geometers may be right; if not, the position of the Euclidian geometers, who maintain that space has three dimensions, and three only, remains unassailed.

The subject, of course, has often been discussed, and the argument on the orthodox side is well represented by Stallo, (“Concepts of Modern Physics,”) and Lotze (“Metaphysic”). While acknowledging my obligations to these great writers, each of whom, however, gives only part of the argument, I shall endeavour to state the case in a somewhat different form:—

(1.) “The axioms of geometry may be only approximately true”; or, again, as Mr. Frankland says in another place, “geometry is a physical and experimental science.”

This idea of geometry, though countenanced by John Stuart Mill, is founded upon a serious misconception as to what the subjects are of which geometry treats. The line of reasoning pursued is shortly as follows:—‘Geometry treats, among other things, of straight lines; but straight lines cannot be conceived apart from objects, and nowhere are we acquainted with lines that are more than approximately straight. Therefore geometry is only an approximate science.’ The argument, as Stallo and others have shown, contains its own answer. How do you know that any given line must be only approximately straight, except by reference to some standard? The very phrase “only approximately straight” implies the existence of such a standard in the mind of the person who makes it. When Mr. Frankland speaks of a line on his supposed manifold as having such feeble curvature as hardly to be distinguishable from a Euclidian straight line, he is really implying this standard. In a similar manner it could be shown that we must admit the concepts of a line, a surface, a plane surface, a right angle, a solid, and so on.

In fact, geometry is the science of such standards as this, or rather of such concepts as this. It has been, I think, rightly defined as the science of the concepts of the limits of the modes of extension. It starts with a limited number of concepts, and

– 512 –

upon them builds up, by a process of deduction, all its propositions. In the physical sciences, on the other hand, whatever concepts we start with, we find that our results have continually to be qualified by bringing in new concepts—so that even in our theories a continual process of approximation is going on.

(2.) We now come to the speculation that the actual properties of space may be different from those generally ascribed to it. This really comes to the same thing as saying that there may be points in space whose position we cannot consider by reference to our Euclidian system of geometry of three dimensions. If we show that by our geometry of three dimensions we could consider the position of all possible points in space, then its methods would suffice for the investigation of any possible form of surface or solid; the so-called geodesics, parallel straight lines which meet, and uniplanar non-parallel straight lines which do not meet—all of which are drawn on this wonderful surface to which Mr. Frankland refers—could be brought to reason by considering the corresponding lines on a similar surface of manageable extent. For it must be possible, on the assumption that three-dimension geometry is sufficient, to obtain a surface of small extent similar to any finite surface whatever.

By many of the transcendental geometers this objection is met by the answer, (which is, I believe, the only possible one), that there may be four or more dimensions in space, not three only, as is usually imagined. Now, as Lotze points out, if there be a fourth dimension in the strict sense of the term, it must be of the same kind as the other three—length, breadth, and thickness: otherwise, our use of the word “dimension” is a misnomer; so also is our use of the word “space.” Time, density, thermal capacity, etc., are all excluded from being regarded as corresponding in any real sense to dimensions of space.

We have three concepts of the methods of extension in space, the three dimensions already referred to: the question is, whether space can be such that we cannot completely examine by reference to our three concepts the form and position of a space which is finite.

Let the position of any point of which we are cognizant in three-dimension space be referred to three co-ordinate axes, O X, O Y, O Z, which are mutually at right angles. All points in our space can be so referred, and every point with any finite and real co-ordinates whatever can have its position assigned to it. Let the fourth dimension be referred to an axis O V: O V must bear the same relation to O X and O Y as O Z does, that is, it must be at right angles to each of them. (This follows from the fact that the fourth dimension must be of the same kind as the other three.)

An imaginary being might have the same O X and O Y, but might have O V instead of O Z for his third axis.

– 513 –

In choosing our arbitrary axes, let us suppose we begin by fixing the position of O X. In any given plane through O X there is only one axis, O Y, at right angles to O X. By making the plane revolve about O X, we shall make it coincide in succession with all the planes that can be drawn through O X, and O Y will coincide in succession with all the straight lines that can be drawn perpendicular to O X. Let one of these be chosen for the axis O Y; let it be O Y1. But O Z is also at right angles to O X; therefore it is one of the possible O Y's; so is O V. But there is only one series of possible O Y's; therefore O Z and O V must both be in the same series. Now, the particular O Y which is taken as O Z, must be at right angles to O Y1; so must the particular O Y taken as O V. But in the series of O Y's there is only one straight line which is perpendicular to O Y1. Therefore O Z must be that line; so also must O V. Hence O Z and O V must be identical: the imaginary being's space is identical with ours, and he would be cognizant of no points, or of no properties of space, of which we were not also cognizant.

I am aware that this argument is only the reproduction in mathematical form of the argument from common sense; but the only ground, I think, on which it can be overthrown is, that the fourth dimension is not comparable with the other three—length, breadth, and height, to which we refer our notions of the extension of bodies; that is, it is not a dimension of space at all, in our sense of the term. Not being a dimension of space, it cannot aid us in finding any points in space other than those known to us by our three dimensions.

It has been said, I think, by the authors of “The Unseen Universe,” that though space may be of three dimensions with us, yet at some great distance it may have a higher number of dimensions. But space, as space, must be homogenous; to assert anything else is, as Stallo has shown, to confound space with the matter or with the structures which are in it. To explain the use of the word “structure” here, I proceed to distinguish between two of the meanings attached to the word “space.” So far, there has been no danger of ambiguity. But we cannot go further without distinguishing between what is sometimes called structure-space, and absolute space.

Consider the piece of chalk I hold in my hand: it occupies space; outside it there is space not occupied by the chalk. The space occupied by the chalk, the form of which we identify with the form of the piece of chalk, is what is called structure-space. Other bodies besides the piece of chalk in question are said to occupy space. It is possible, indeed, that no space is empty; but the very fact of our being able to think of it as empty or not empty shows that we have formed a concept of space apart from the structures which are in it. This is absolute space, or the

– 514 –

universe of space. Absolute space, in short, is the sum of all structure-spaces and all potential structure-spaces.

In order to be finite, it must, as the new school admit, return into itself, as the circumference of a circle or the surface of a sphere or spheroid returns into itself. Now, since by our three-dimension geometry (the sufficiency of which has, I trust, been made clear) we can always obtain a figure of small extent similar to any corresponding figure of finite extent; we could, if space were finite, obtain a similar small structure-space which likewise returns into itself. But we cannot—the phrase is meaningless; therefore the universe of space cannot be finite.

The only possible meaning that could logically be given to the statement that the Universe is finite, is that the structure-space occupied by all the bodies subject to the physical conditions known to us is a finite number of cubic miles.* But outside this structure-space, again, there must be space, just as there is space outside my piece of chalk.

It is possible that I may be accused of neglecting the argument upon which Mr. Frankland relies—that, namely, which is based upon the assumption that all the axioms of Euclid are true, except the twelfth; and that the twelfth is not true. That axiom is easily shown to be identical with the modern substitute; the advantage of the latter being, to my mind, the fact that it is at once seen to flow directly from the concept of parallel straight lines; whereas Euclid's 12th needs the 28th proposition before its force can be properly appreciated. I do not know whether it would not be just as easy to approach the subject by assuming as the axiom the second part of Euclid I., 29:—“If a straight line fall upon two parallel straight lines, it shall make the exterior angle equal to the interior and opposite angle on the same side.” This is an immediate consequence, hardly more than a re-statement, of the concept of parallel straight lines (which may be roughly described as straight lines drawn in the same direction).

What Mr. Frankland seems to lose sight of is this: That the notion of parallel straight lines is as truly a concept as is that of a straight line; that the definitions are not and cannot be equivalents for the concepts; they are merely indexes to the nature of the several concepts; and, in like manner, the axioms are indexes of certain concepts so closely related to those pointed to in the definitions as to need no detailed proof.

The inclusion of the twelfth axiom does not make geometry an experimental science. The very question brought as an

[Footnote] *In this, of course, there must be included not merely the space these bodies occupy in a literal sense, but the whole space within the range of which all phenomena connected with them take place.

[Footnote] † Through the same point there cannot be two straight lines, each of which is parallel to a third straight line.

– 515 –

illustration by Mr. Frankland and others will serve to show this. That illustration is as follows:—Vertical lines on the earth's surface were once thought to be parallel; they are now almost universally considered to be inclined to one another. This is a purely physical question, not in pari materiâ with the present. Geometry, as a science of concepts, gives standards to which we may refer physical facts; among its standards are the plane and the sphere; formerly, it was thought that the surface of the earth was nearly a plane; it is now known that it more nearly approaches the sphere, and still more nearly the spheroid. But no standard, no concept of geometry, has been altered by this correction of our physical ideas.

One word more. If the concepts of Euclidian geometry were useless as standards to which to refer actual physical facts, Euclidian geometry would have to go; or if any other geometry gave equally valuable standards, it would have to be admitted by the side of the Euclidian. Otherwise, it must be rejected, however pretty it may be as a playground of the imagination.

Art. LXIX.On “The Whence of the Maori.”

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 14th November, 1886.]

It is with considerable diffidence I venture to bring the following results of an inquiry into the interesting subject of “The Whence of the Maori” before the Institute. In the first place, because several scientific men, far more capable of dealing with the question than I, have discussed it; and their researches have been embodied from time to time in the “Transactions” of the Institute: a fact that in itself endorses their value. In the second place, not being an expert in Maori lore, I shall doubtless merit, by my temerity, the critical displeasure of such authorities as Mr. Colenso, who, more than once, has shown in the pages of the “Transactions” some impatience at what he terms the “neverresting spirit of conjecture” in matters Maori. Yet, why this impatience? Why should conjecture rest? Conjecture, if it lead to nothing, cures itself. Conjecture is a symptom that the imagination is not stagnant; and the imagination, when scientifically controlled, is the great desideratum that has led to the most brilliant discoveries. It may be that the imagination of the specialist will be found just too much loaded with technicalities to render that kind of service on this question; though

– 516 –

equally valuable and not less necessary work will undoubtedly fall to his share in giving the public, or at least the student, the treasures of his knowledge in the shape of facts and criticism.

Mr. Turnbull Thomson's philological papers, read before some of the affiliated Societies of the Institute, on “The Whence of the Maori,” tracing their aboriginal home to Peninsular India, or “Bharata,” first drew my attention seriously to the subject, as I had some acquaintance, as a student, with the religious systems and mythologies of the Hindus: and my comparative study of Maori traditions with these has now led to a discovery of so many analogies and coincidences, that I have been impelled to bring the results of this inquiry before you—for discussion at least. Mr. Thomson's conclusions, as results of philological inquiry, are completely borne out by the supplementary evidence to be adduced from Maori tradition and mythology. My investigations, if correct, establish the following:—

(1.)

That the Maoris, as a race, are of an An-Aryan, or Turanian origin: members of a family of people that once held possession of Peninsular India, or Bharata:

(2.)

That with these is amalgamated an Aryan element, more immediately represented by their priests and chiefs:

(3.)

That the cause that provoked their emigration was the overthrow, generally, of their race by the invading Aryans; large portions of the country having been absorbed among the territories of the superior race.

For information on the Maori part of the subject I am indebted to some of the papers of Mr. Colenso, and of others, published in the “Transactions;” but more particularly to a work, “Te Ika a Maui,” by the late Rev. Richard Taylor. I purpose, in this paper, to confine myself more immediately to the Turanian element of the question, leaving the Aryan element to be more fully dealt with on some future occasion.

The chiefs and priests, and perhaps some of the tribes who retain a more Caucasian cast of features, seem to have Aryan blood in their veins. The Aryans who broke into India called themselves Aryas. The chiefs and tohungas among the Maoris call themselves, as distinguished from the lower ranks, arikis—a name which is perhaps equivalent to “Children of the Aryas.” Both words mean “nobles” or “lords;” the derivation of the name, from a Sanskrit word that refers to the plough, I will notice in my next paper.

The following cosmological poem of the Maoris appears of an order far higher than might have been expected from a people of their position in the ethnological scale; it has all the

– 517 –

metaphysical ring of the Hindu mind. Mr. Taylor calls it “The Hymn of Creation,” and he says of it: “There is a degree of thought perceptible in it which marks a far more advanced state than their present.” This can be easily understood if the Hindu connection be proved:—

First Period—Epoch of Thought.

“From the conception the increase,
From the increase the thought,
From the thought the remembrance,
From the remembrance the consciousness,
From the consciousness the desire.”

Second Period—That of Night.

“The word became fruitful;
It dwelt with the feeble glimmering;
It brought forth night: * * *”

During these periods there was no light—“there were no eyes to the world.”

Third Period—That of Light.

“From the nothing the begetting,
From the nothing the increase,
From the nothing the abundance,
The power of increasing,
The living breath;
It dwelt with the empty space, and produced the atmosphere which is above us,
The atmosphere which floats above the earth;
The great firmament above us, dwelt with the early dawn,
And the Moon sprang forth;
The atmosphere above us dwelt with the heat
And thence proceeded the Sun;
They were thrown up above, as the chief eyes of heaven:
Then the heavens became light,
The early dawn, the early day,
The mid-day. The blaze of the day from the sky.”

Fourth period, land was produced. Fifth period produced the gods. Sixth period, men were produced.

For comparison, I have selected a hymn from Max Müller's “Chips from a German Workshop” to go with it:—

Hindu Hymn.

“Nor Aught nor Nought existed; yon bright sky
Was not, nor heaven's broad woof outstretched above.
What covered all? What sheltered? What concealed?
Was it the water's fathomless abyss?
There was not death—yet there was nought immortal;
There was no confine betwixt day and night;
The only One breathed breathless by itself,
Other than It there nothing since has been.
Darkness there was, and all at first was veiled
In gloom profound—an ocean without light—
The germ that still lay covered in the husk
Burst forth, One Nature, from the fervent heat,

– 518 –

Then first came love upon it, the new Spring
Of mind—yea, poets in their hearts discerned,
Pondering, this bond between created things
And uncreated. Comes this spark from earth
Piercing and all-pervading, or from heaven?
Then seeds were sown, and mighty powers arose—
Nature below, and power and will above—
Who knows the secret? Who proclaimed it here—
Whence, whence this manifold creation sprang?
The gods themselves came later into being—
Who knows from whence this great creation sprang?
He from whom all this great creation came,
Whether his will created or was mute,
The Most High Seer that is in highest heaven,
He knows it—or perchance even he knows not.”

The points of contact will become plain on a slight study; but not only is the matter generally of the subjects similar, but even the manner of the hymns has been retained, in some of hεmore ancient compositions of the Maoris. In some of these older poems a refrain is persisted in, which recalls forcibly the same feature in some Vedic hymns—something like the responses of a litany. Mr. Colenso gives us an invocation of Pani, which it will be well to compare with a hymn or so from the Veda, as translated by Max Müller. This invocation of Pani* was used at the planting of the kumara crop:—

“Oh, Pani! Oh! come hither now; welcome hither!
Fill up my basket, (with seed kumara roots) placed carefully in, one by one;
Pile up loosely my seed-basket to overflowing:
Give hither, and that abundantly!
Open and expanded awaiting (is) my seed basket;
Give hither, and that abundantly!
By the prepared little hillocks in the cultivation is my seed-basket placed;
Give hither, and that abundantly!
According to the spell of Space (is) my seed-basket awaiting;
Give hither, and that abundantly!
By the sides of the borders of the plots (in the) cultivation is my seed-basket placed;
Give hither, and that abundantly!
By (or according to) the proper form of power and influence (or potential power) is my seed-basket placed;
Give hither, and that abundantly!

The following extract (Rig Veda, x. 121) is from the translation by Max Müller:—

“1. In the beginning there arose the golden child—He was the one born Lord of all that is. He established the earth, and this sky.

Who is the God to whom we shall offer the sacrifice?

“2. He who gives life, He who gives strength: whose command all the bright gods revere; whose shadow is immortality, whose shadow is death:

Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

[Footnote] *“Trans. N.Z. Inst.,” vol. xiv., p. 44.

– 519 –

“3. He who through His power is the one King of the breathing and awakening world; He who governs all, man and beast:

Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice?

“4. He whose greatness these snowy mountains, whose greatness the sea proclaims, with the distant river—He whose these regions are, as it were, His two arms:

Who is the God to whom we shall offer our sacrifice ?”

I add a second specimen from the Rev. R. Taylor's work, “Te Ika a Maui,”—“The Spell of Tawaki, on his ascending to Heaven”:—

“Ascend, Tawaki, to the first heaven:
Let the fair sky consent!
Ascend, Tawaki, to the second heaven:
Let the fair sky consent!
Ascend, Tawaki, to the third heaven:
Let the fair sky consent!
Ascend, Tawaki, to the fourth heaven:
Let the fair sky consent!
* * * *
Ascend, Tawaki, to the tenth heaven:
Let the fair sky consent!
Cling, cling, like the lizard, to the ceiling;
Stick, stick close to the side of heaven.”

As I have duplicated the quotation from the Maori, I will balance it by a second from the “Chips.”—“Hymn to Varuna” (Rig Veda, vii., 89):—

“1. Let me not yet, O Varuna, enter into the house of clay:
Have mercy, Almighty, have mercy!
“2. If I go along trembling, like a cloud driven by the wind:
Have mercy, Almighty, have mercy!

“3. Through want of strength, thou strong and bright God, have I done wrong:

Have mercy, Almighty, have mercy!

“4. Thirst came upon the worshipper, though he stood in the midst of the waters:

Have mercy, Almighty, have mercy!

“5. Whenever we men, O! Varuna, commit an offence before the heavenly host, whenever we break the law through thoughtlessness:

Punish us not, O! God, for that offence,.

These analogies, taken with the fact that the Maoris have preserved the very names the Hindus gave such hymns and invocations—viz., gathas, and mantras: gatha, a song, becoming waiata in Maori; and mantra, a spell, becoming maatara, seem to me to point to more than a mere coincidence.

I now come to the more direct evidence. Mr. Turnbull Thomson, in his paper on “Barat, or Barata Fossil Words,”* says:—

“Barat is the Malay traditional and poetical name for Hindustan, and to this day they speak of the angin Barat—that is, the

[Footnote] * “Trans. N.Z. Inst.,” vol. xi., p. 157

– 520 –

westerly, or wind of Barat—as they do of the angin Jawa, that is, the southerly, or wind of Java. Barata, or Bharata, is the ancient term for their country by the natives of Hindustan. In the language of Madagascar, allowing for phonology, precisely the same word is used for the north—viz., avaratra, whose winds wafted commerce from the parent country—viz., South India.” Mr. Thomson had already shown that from Barata there must have been an eastern migration to the Malay Peninsula, and a western one to Madagascar. Mr. Colenso, in his notes to a paper read by him before the Hawke's Bay Institute on “A Charm or Invocation used at the Planting of the Kumara Roots,” (quoted above) comments thus on the following couplet from his translation:—

“And it was divulged abroad by thee
At Wairoti (and) at Wairota.”

He says: “Wairoti and Wairota are the names of two places out of New Zealand (real or mythical) not unfrequently referred to, in this way, in their old poetry and myths, and often in conjunction with Hawaiki.” Now I cannot doubt that, allowing for phonology, Wairota is equivalent to Barata; whilst Wairoti is probably Wairota-iti, or “Little Wairota:” the new land (that proved only a halting-place) named after the old home. The fact of the names being found in what Mr. Colenso has pronounced one of the most ancient of Maori poems, “The Invocation of Pani,” which we have seen in structure resembles some of the Vedic hymns; and the names being connected with Hawaiki, their more immediate though still ancient island home, all strengthen the inference that Wairota is identical with Barata.

That this tradition of Barata is not confined to New Zealand is evidenced in the following extract from a review in the “New Zealand Magazine,” on Dr. F. Müller's work on the Malay race (from the ethnological and linguistic parts of the “Voyage of the Novara”):—

“We believe that in the Samoa and Tonga Islands we have to seek for the original seat of the Polynesians…. The native tradition, however, leads us still farther back. Similarly, as in the eastern insular groups, the name Savaiki describes a land which may be considered as the Eden of the Polynesians, which it surrounds with the poetry of careless childhood. Tradition in Samoa and Tonga preserves the memory of a large island, which is placed in the west, and is regarded as the abode of the departed, and as the point of departure of mankind. The name of this island in Samoan is Pulotu, or Purotu; in Tongan, Bulotu. It is most probable that in this expression the name of the Island of Buro is to be recognised.” It is added, in a note: “The tu in Pulotu is probably

– 521 –

connected with the word tabu (as Tonga-tabu=sacred Tonga), and the expression means nothing more than sacred Buro.”

Now, I think the inference is plain, from the light that the Maori version throws on the Samoan and Tongan tradition, that Wairota or Purotu refers to the original home of the race, that is Barata; while Wairoti, or Little Barata, refers to the Island of Buro, the new home named after the old. The explanation by the reviewer, of the terminal syllable tu, as a contraction or detrital fragment of tapu, is ingenious, but hardly convincing; as it is neither backed by analogy, nor is any reason given why Samoans or Tongans should make tapu into tu; nor is it shown that they do so: the instance of Tongatabu is rather fatal to the view. Moreover, the Maori tradition removes Purotu a stage farther than the Island of Buro; which, according to Maori view, ought to be Puroti, and not Purotu; so then the tapu connection vanishes, for it can hardly be contended that the terminal ti is a contraction of tapu, unless indeed it can be shown that tapu is sometimes tapi.

We then see the evidence points to Havaiki or Savaiki, that is Samoa; Wairoti, the Island of Buro, that is Little Barata; and Wairota or Purotu, that is Barata, as the three former homes of the Maori.

All doubt that the view taken here is the correct one will be set at rest by the following quotation from Mr. Taylor's work*:—

“At Parapara, a small village on the road from Kaitaia to Doubtless Bay, there resided (1840) an intelligent old chief named Hahakai, a tohunga deeply versed in the traditions of the country…. He repeated a list of twenty-six generations from their first coming to this island. The old priest in his first half-dozen names,” says Mr. Taylor, “seems to have gotten among the gods.” These first names are: Tiki, Maui, Po, Maui, Atua, Maea. The last is a Hindu goddess, Maya (or illusion), the physical universe (a mother-goddess). “He stated that their ancestors originally came from three islands, Hawaiki, Matatera, and Wairota; all which lay to the East.”

I think Mr. Taylor has made some slips here. The old priest must have said “all which lay to the West.” This is to be seen by taking them in order: Hawaiki is the land from which they came more immediately to New Zealand. To the West of Hawaiki must have lain their more ancient home, for it is called Mata-tera. This is only an erroneous form of the words Matete-ra, the dying (or dying place) of the Sun, that is the West; and would answer to Wairoti, or Little Wairota, or the Island of Buro. Then Wairota would represent the land still farther west from which they set out, that is Peninsular India, or

[Footnote] * “Te Ika a Maui,” p. 193.

– 522 –

Bharata, which would doubtless be considered an island by its inhabitants. Its northern boundary being the Vindhya Mountains, they might suppose what lay beyond it was probably the sea, just as the sea bounded their country on its other sides. This old tohunga described the men in the neighbourhood riding on beasts, and having axes with holes in them, through which the handles were thrust, etc.

But it is from Maori mythology that the strongest evidence is to be obtained: for, not only are the names of the most ancient Turanian gods of India retained, and this in but partial disguise, but the old Phallo-pantheistic faith, that preceded both Buddhism and Brahmanism in India, is also enmeshed with their cosmological and other legends. I shall deal with the latter feature first.

In India the Deity was symbolised, even in the earliest days, as a serpent. The snake formed one of the most important figures of Phallo-pantheism—the first philosophical faith of India; since either as a perpendicular, or ringed, it so facilely expressed the male and female principles in Nature; these being also expressed by other figures, suggestive of a like meaning. The snake, the truncated tree, or monolith, alluded to the generative faculty evidenced in Nature, through the instrumentality of the generative organs. Separate from his intention to create, the Deity was conceived as bi-sexed, or hermaphrodite; but in periods of creative or recreative energy, the phallic snake was represented as putting its tail into its mouth, thus picturing the lingham and yoni, (the phallos and umbelichos of the Greek pantheists), the instruments of generation: that is to say, there arose a sexual differentiation in Nature. The Hindus thus looked upon the vital phenomena in creation as a begetting, even from its divine origination. As may be imagined, so sensuous a symbolism could not fail (being but understood in its exoteric bearing by the people at large), to lead to licentiousness; but, in its esoteric and philosophic bearing, this view simply symbolised the marriage of all natural things; a state that Manichæism alone has ever reprobated: Since—

“Nothing in this world is single;
All things, by a law divine, in each other's being mingle.”

Whenever, then, we find traces of this ancient snake and tree-worship, we may be certain the old Hindu philosophy underlies it, whether in Britain, or Central America even.

Now, that there should be no direct reference to the serpent portion of the cult among the Maoris is easily accounted for, as there were no snakes in New Zealand to help to keep up the recollection of the old symbol. Yet, if the antiquity of the rock-paintings found in the South Island be established, the serpent is certainly figured there, in a rude way, among other

– 523 –

exotic representations; and perhaps, after all, Mr. McKenzie Cameron's conjecture, that the Nga Puhi tribes of New Zealand represent the Naga Puhi, or Snake Tribe (or, I should suggest, the snake-worshipping tribes), of India, may be true. The objection raised by Mr. Stack, (and probably Maori scholars will all think with him), that the Maori etymology, and, moreover, the fact that in Maori the adjective or qualifying term never precedes the substantive, both forbid the possibility of such a construction; yet it may be possible that the Nga, or Ngati, which enters into combination with almost every tribal name in New Zealand, represents a titular particle of unknown etymology—a patronymic, perhaps, rather than the plural definite article, in such cases; but, of course, this is a point for linguists to settle. I simply hazard the suggestion, without any knowledge on this head, and I cannot pretend to anything of the kind. I will add, however, that in Mr. Taylor's book (chapter v.) a number of “‘reptile gods’ are mentioned as ranged under Maru.” From their names, I should judge them to be Turanian deities connected with snake-worship; but of this, more anon. There is just one other passage which seems to bear on the snake connection: it is in the cosmogonic hymn already quoted. Mr. Taylor says “in the sixth period, after the creation of the gods in the previous period, the earliest men were formed. That these were of reptilian character seems to be implied in the following descriptive names:—Ngae, Ngaenui, Ngaeroa, Ngaepea, Ngaetuturi, Ngaepepeke.

Supposing Ngae to represent the Hindu Naga, “the snake,” these names become: Snake, Big Snake, Long Snake, Snake like, the Couching (recumbent, or bent) Snake, the Leaping (or erect) Snake. Ngae is one of the names of Kae, in the legend of Tinirau and his whale; and I am satisfied that in his case the significance of the name connects him with the Turanian Snake Tribe, or snake-worshippers. I think on the whole, the evidence, from other legends as well, strengthens the inference that the Naga worship was not unknown to the ancient New Zealanders. The Ngaenui, etc., etc., either describe the phallic-snake, or, if descriptive of a tribe of men, its worshippers. It will be seen later on that the same adjectives, tuturi, pepeke, are applied to another form of the phallic symbol.

The Naga, or phallic-snake, worshipped by the early Turanians in India as a symbol of the Deity, must not be confounded with the cloud-serpent of the Aryan solar mythology, the emblem of darkness—and so evil, and death. The phallic-snake represented the good principle of light, and life, and healing: it was the brazen serpent of Moses; the “agatho daimon” (AγαθΌδαίμων) of the Greeks; the Kneph, or Knuphis, of the Egyptians; and, as I have shown elsewhere, the object of the adoration of the Nephelim of Genesis, a word translated “giants” in

– 524 –

the Authorised Version, but untranslated in the Revised Old Testament. In the forms Naga, Ngae, Kneph, and Nephelim, I believe we have similarly-originated words, alluding to the phallic-snake of the Phallo-pantheistic faith of the people of Turanian India, or Bharata, the Wairota of Maori tradition.

But if the Naga evidence be deemed rather circumstantial than direct, not the slightest doubt can attach to the evidence for the other symbol of the Phallic cult of India—viz., the truncated tree, monolith, or obelisk.

Mr. Taylor says there were two grand orders of gods: the first and most famous were the gods of the night, as night preceded the light, and then followed the gods of the light. Of these the chiefs were Hine-nui-te-po, (“great mother night,”) the grand-parent of the rest. Of the latter, Rangi and Papa (or (Heaven and Earth), were the parents. This conception of heaven and earth being the parents of life belongs both to Aryan and Turanian systems in India. In fact, it simply personifies the union of spirit and matter—the representatives of the male and female principles, the parent snakes from which springs the germ. The Greeks also married Auranos to Gaia in the same way. Mr. Arthur Lillie, in his work on “Buddha and Buddhism,” quotes from the Veda the following passages:—

“May the soft wind waft us a pleasant healing;
May mother Earth and father Heaven convey it to us. * *
We invoke the lord of living beings!”

And adds, “This lord of living beings is the sun;” or, as he in other places of his book terms him, “the solar god-man, the Divine germ, or anthropomorphic Deity, the logos, or demiurge.” The Maoris represented him in the person of Tiki, a name perhaps contracted from potiki = a child. But, to return to the quotations from Mr. Taylor: “The sky with its solid pavement lying upon the earth rendered it fruitless; a few insignificant plants, shrubs, and creeping plants only had room to grow on its surface.” (I would suggest, in parenthesis, that these plants were probably looked on as either hermaphrodite or sexless.) “The offspring of Rangi and Papa were: first the kumara, next the fern-root.” (I shall show later that the kumara and fern-root represent the phallic emblems in the vegetable economy of Nature.) “The first living being produced was Tane, from whom proceeded trees and birds.” What he was they do not seem clearly to know: a god, a man, or a tree. He is also called Tane Mahuta. Mr. Taylor gives a full account of the separation of the heaven from the earth, and its propping by Tane, too lengthy for quotation in full. I select the following passages, however:—

“Alas for Rangi! Alas for Papa! Alas for the power of Tane Mahuta! For him was reserved the propping up. Down went his head below; up went his heels above. Up entirely

– 525 –

went Rangi; down entirely went Papa…. Tane Mahuta is represented as a tree with its head downward and roots upward, and thus trees were supposed formerly to grow…. Tane had six names, each being emblematical of his power:—

“Tane Tuturi=Tane the bending. [If my theory is correct, it would mean recumbent or bent.]
Tane Pepeke=Tane the bowing.
Tane Uetika=Tane straight as a tree.
Tane Ueka=Tane strong as a tree.
Tane-te-Waiora=Tane the person who opened the fountain of living water.
Tane-nui-a-Rangi=The great Tane of heaven.”

In addition to these he is called Tane Mahuta. The last great work which is attributed to him is the opening of the fountain of living water to perpetuate the existence of the sun and moon. The latter, when it wanes, is thought to go to it, and bathing therein to receive a renewed existence. Hence the saying: “Man dies and is no more seen; but the moon dies, and plunging into the living water, springs forth again into life.” Mr. Taylor adds in a note: “The same tradition of the heaven being joined to the earth is found in Tahiti, and that they were only separated by the teva (Draconitum polyphyllum, an insignificant plant), till their god Ruu (the Maori Ru) lifted it up—Na Ruu-i-to-te-rai = Ru did elevate (or raise) the heavens.”

Now, we must put aside the exoteric features; they are mere adjuncts to disguise the true significance: such as the Maori belief that Tane really lifted the heavens from off the earth, or that he was the father of trees and birds; these are mere exoteric features that make the legend. The esoteric features disclosed by a comparative study of the fossil names embedded with Indian mythology, point to an elaborate philosophy as underlying the story. Tane means the male, in Maori, and here stands for the distinguishing organ of the sex, or the phallos, (and thus the truncated tree, ashera, or monolith, as expressed in symbol), that makes generation and regeneration possible, by its! fecundation of the fountains of being or life. The attributive terms, tuturi, pepeke, etc., applied to Tane, form, really, an extremely sensuous but realistic picture of the different functional states of the phallos.

I need hardly urge that this naked exposition of a certain phase in the anatomy of the human mind is not advanced in any spirit of irreverence or wantonness. But, in order to arrive at truth, and to form a correct estimate of the different progressive stages in the physiology of belief, philosophy cannot afford to hesitate, or look coy, in its examina-

– 526 –

tion, however shocking to ordinary view the subject be. That the generative organs should ever have been deemed objects worthy of adoration, and symbols of Deity, seems so marvellous a thing to Europeans that a study of the peculiar phase of mind which led to such a cult has always been approached with a prejudice that has, in very many cases, amounted to a loathing. While, on the one hand, the matter has been viewed as a symptom of the terrible depravity and degeneracy of the originally pure human mind; on the other hand, by others, it has been viewed as marking an infant and sensuous stage of human speech, and human thought. That there is anything occult or esoteric underlying such beliefs as tree-propped heavens, or creation of life on the falling of stones that turn into men, or of serpents talking to women, and suggesting the tasting of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, seems completely ignored. That there may have been a stage in the development of the human intellect when people viewed their surroundings as endued with a life and intelligence similar somewhat to their own, may be true, or may not be true; but certainly this explanation is not true, as applied to the tales that have had their origin among the philosophical Hindus, as most of the tales of the East have had. There is nothing infantile about the story of Tane Mahuta, of the Hindu-taught Maori; in the story of Deucalion raising up men by casting stones behind him, of the Hindu-taught Greek; (for the name of the Phænician Cadmus, and the Cretan Minos, prove their teachers to have been Hindus; Cadmus is one of the Gautamas of India, and Minos is a Manu). Nor is there anything infantile, or even mythical, in the story in Genesis of the temptation and the fall of Adam (whose name is also, as I have proved elsewhere, only a mutilated form of the Benne Guadam, or Benne Kedem, or sons of the East, who migrated from India to Western Asia).

In the first case, as has been shown, it is the Phallic tree, or prop; in the second it is still the phallos, or meteoric stone, in a figure, by its fall impregnating the womb of earth; symbolising the union of spirit and matter. In the third case, we have a concentrated and exoteric account of the Phallopantheistic philosophy, viewed from a Buddhistic standpoint, wherein birth into a material existence, (or “falling into generation,” as it was termed), is viewed as a calamity, hence a fall. The occult symbols of the first philosophical faith of India are employed in the story—viz., the Phallic-serpent, and the Phallic tree of knowledge of good and evil—the truncated tree, or phallos. The Hebrew philosophy very justly starts with this damnatory view of human life that was promulgated in the early philosophies of India: and proceeds to show what more hopeful views were engrafted on the tree of knowledge and

– 527 –

mortality, so as to render it eventually a tree of life and immortality; this being rendered possible by the incarnation of Deity, from time to time, to impart those spiritual lessons that serve to develope man's soul, so as to in time wean it from its material clog or body, and invest it in its spiritual body, or garment of light, which alone can inhabit eternity. All religious teachers of note, such as Adam, Enoch, Noah, and Moses, were deemed to have been partial incarnations of the Divine Spirit, having partaken in no small measure, though not perfectly, of the Divine nature. Thus Adam is, by Matthew the Evangelist, called “the Son of God.” Adam was the first of the Gautamas, the first spiritual father of mankind—not-the first physical—and published the gospel of condemnation, or Proto-Buddhism, in the land of Nod, or India, that Phallo-pantheistic creed that Sakhya Muni, at a much later period, elaborated and reformed. All Eastern writings are more or less of this esoteric nature. Josephus says as much. “Moses,” he says, “wrote some things in a decent allegory.” The very directness in the sensuous bearing of the Maori story, proves that the true exposition is to be found by treating it esoterically. That it is impossible to be mistaken in the exposition here advanced, a short study of the fossil names in the tradition will render evident.

Siva, the great Hindu god of Turanian type, is the deity whose peculiar functions are those of generation and regeneration. He is also called Rudra. It will readily be seen that this name of his is the original of the Maori Ru, and the Tahitian Ruu. In his generative faculty, he is represented under the symbol of the lingham, or phallos; he is then named Maha-deo, or Mahadeva, equivalent to “Magnus-deus:” we have the one form preserved in the Mahuta of the Maori story, and the latter part of the second form—viz., deva, in the teva of the Tahitians. The Greeks called the phallic-tower of the Phænicians mudros; and the Celts of Ireland, who were doubtless connected with Phænician colonists, called their round towers mudhr.* It seems to me impossible to resist such evidence as this, which tallies in every feature, the Maori with its original Hindu. I would repeat that from the fact that such words as tuturi and pepeke are applied to Tane, one form of Phallic symbolism, as also to Ngae, (the hypothetical snake symbol), the inference is strengthened that this phallic view of Ngae is probably correct, and Tane Tuturi = Ngae Tuturi, and Tane Pepeke = Ngae Pepeke; that is, they represent two forms of the same symbol of “tree and serpent-worship.” It has been suggested to me that the Maori word ngarara, which the Natives apply to any reptilian or worm-like creature, may have been similarly understood,

[Footnote] * See Jennings’ “Rosicrucians.”

– 528 –

originally, as applicable to animals that recalled the Naga of India.*

I come now to a group of unmistakably Turanian and Hindu deities; but, before I mention them, or their originals, certain points of complication in both the Maori and Hindu traditions must be explained.

There has been some misplacement of sex in the Maori story, arising probably from the somewhat undefined nature as to sex of the Hindu deities. The female deities are really conceived as rather the energies of their consorts, (the vacti, as it was called, of the male deities), than as having any individuality of their own.

Then, again, there has been a misplacement among the characters themselves; but in this the Maori story seems studiously to have been modelled on the Hindu that preceded it, which in the shape that it has reached us has been considerably modified. The time when the later Hindu accounts were framed was evidently a period of transition. The contests of Aryans and Turanians had resulted in the subjugation of the inferior race. In the interests of peace and conciliation it became the policy of the Aryan priesthood to try and smooth away religious differences as far as possible, by remodelling the Turanian deities somewhat, so as the more easily to adapt them to a companionship with Aryan deities in the Hindu pantheon. Accordingly, Rudra, the Phallic deity, was identified with Siva, the third member of the Brahminic Trinity: his consort Durga, or Kali, also called Uma, took the place of Aditi (space), or Dewaki, the original or celestial mother goddess, Uma being the terrestrial mother-goddess, that is, mother earth: and Krishna, the solar god-man or offspring, was identified with Vishnu, the second member of the Aryan Trinity, as one of his incarnations. The original mythology was distorted to suit an Aryan order of things. Rudra, Uma or Kali, with Krishna, really represent the original Turanian Trinity (personifying, as they do, the male and female principles, with their offspring), of the old Phallopantheistic faith.

That Kali and Krishna are Turanian deities, is plain by the signification of their names, both names meaning “black.” “Whenever there is a relaxation of duty, O son of Bharata,” says Krishna, in the Bhagavat Gitâ, “I then reproduce myself, for the protection of the good and the destruction of the evil.” The state of anarchy that accompanied the Aryan invasions might well provoke such an incarnation; and Hindu ingenuity has been taxed to the extreme, to invent several intricate distortions and substitutions, to prove that Krishna,

[Footnote] * Ngarara may, however, Nga = the, and rara = ribs; as applied to animals who appear to progress by means of, or on, their ribs, in which case, of course, Nga is the plural form of the definite article.

– 529 –

though a dusky deity, is yet of an Aryan connection. He is no longer a son of Kali, the terrestrial mother goddess of Turanian connection, but he is born of Dewaki, earlier known as Aditi (space), the celestial mother goddess of the Aryans; and hence he figures as an Aryan god with a dusky face but Aryan sympathies; an incarnation, with his white twin brother Balarama, of a black and a white hair from the head of Vishnu. Kali or Uma plays her part, but in quite a modified and subordinate character, becoming incarnate at the same time with Krishna in order to be substituted for him, and so suffer a temporal death in his stead, at the hands of the reigning king, his grandfather, who dreaded his advent: being dashed to death in mistake for the infant Krishna, she regained her position as a deity. This substitution of Kali for Krishna shows the close relation that originally existed between her and Krishna; for, being in the original cult mother and son, this very intimate relation had not altogether to be ignored, and was compassed in this roundabout way.

But not only is the descent of Krishna thus distorted: his future career is modified in the same interest. He is, as already said, Aryan in sympathy, and is represented fighting on the side of the Pandavas, or white race, as against the Pandavas, or black race, in the poem of the Mahabarat, an epic commemorating the struggle of two rival families of the great house of Bharat (that, is really, of Aryans and Turanians) for the possession of Peninsular India, or the land of Bharat.

This group of Turanian gods find their counterparts in Maori mythology, with some modifications as indicated. Kali, or Uma, appears as Hema, or Houmea; Krishna as Karihi; and Dewaki, the mother of Krishna, is transformed to Tawaki, a son of Hema (corresponding to Uma, or Kali). According to one story of Hema, or Houmea, her husband's name is Uta, which seems a contraction of Mahuta, a phallic name, as I have shown, and equivalent to the Hindu Maha-deo, a name of Siva, or Rudra, the husband of Uma, or Kali. Now, these fossil-names occurring in the same Maori story, or groups of stories, the persons they represent being all of one family, and answering to a like series of related names of the Turanian deities of India, all point to India as the source whence they were derived. The bearings of the legends, or the stories related of these heroes and heroines, are completely to. be interpreted by the stories related of their Hindu counterparts. The attributes of Hema, or Houmea, are those of Uma, or Kali: Hema, like Uma in some legends, has personal beauty; in others she is a glutton and thief: just as Uma, being the goddess of death and the grave, is propitiated with bloody rites, and is pictured as bloodthirsty in the extreme; for, being “mother earth,” she is at once the womb that bears and the grave that again consumes the fruit of the

– 530 –

womb; and she is, moreover, the patron-goddess of gambling, and of the murdering robber, the Thug. Kali, in her more beautiful bearing, represents Aphrodite, or Nature in its poetic garb. Tawaki is the Aryanised Krishna; his story is that of Krishna: be is the loved of women, and dies the death of the solar godman on the confines of the West, slain at the hands of the powers of darkness, the children of the cloud-serpent of Aryan myth. After a time of sleep, he rises to a new life and immortality, and ascends to heaven, pouring down vengeance on the powers that had formerly injured him.

The prejudice that had impelled the Hindu Aryas to remodel the story of Krishna to favour Aryan proclivities, and to make Krishna (really the offspring of the Turanian Kali) a son of the Aryan goddess Dewaki, seems to have wrought still more powerfully with the Maori arikis, for they belittle Krishna entirely, and transfer his exploits to an unmistakably Aryan hero, with a name modelled on that of the Aryan Dewaki—viz., Tawaki, who opens the way to heaven, whereas Krishna (that is, Karihi of the Maori), not only fails to gain apotheosis, but is condemned to condign punishment for his envy of Tawaki. These deductions will be fully borne out by the following extracts from Mr. Taylor's work; the whole account is too lengthy:—

“Originally men were not aware that Tawaki was a god, until one day he ascended a lofty hill, and some one who was cutting brushwood saw him throw aside his vile garments and clothe himself with the lightning. They then knew he was a god. When Waitiri, or Watitiri, (his grandmother), descended from heaven, the fame of Kaitangata and his bravery reached her. She slew her favourite slave Anonokia, and took out his lungs as an offering for Kaitangata, which, when she came, she presented to him. Kaitangata feared her…. They became man and wife; their firstborn was Punga, afterwards Karihi; and the youngest Hema. Their children were not particularly clean. Kaitangata turned up his nose and said, ‘Hu! the filthy children!’ Waitiri was offended…. Afterwards she returned to heaven; her parting words were: ‘When Punga has children, do not let them follow me.’ She called to Karihi, ‘When you have grown up, do not suffer your children to go and seek me. When my Waka Makanga (my shame) has a child, he may come to me.’ … When Kaitangata returned from the sea, he asked his children, ‘Where is your mother?’ They said, ‘She has gone to heaven, to her dwelling-place.’ Kaitangata inquired, ‘What did she say to you?’ ‘She said that Punga, the anchor of your canoe, was to be my name; that for this here (pointing to his brother) the name was to be Karihi, the sinker of your net; that for our sister, the Waka Makanga (“the shame”) of our mother, for your turning up your nose at our filth,’ They went and showed the paepae to their father.

– 531 –

(The paepae is the jetty or board from which she ascended.) The offspring of Punga and Karihi were the lizard-shark and dog-fish. The child of Hema was Tawaki. The elder brethren took Muri-waka-roto and Kohuhango as their wives. These women were not satisfied with their husbands; they preferred Tawaki. The elder relatives hated him. They said, ‘Let us go to Wai-ranga-tuhi,’ where he had gone to wash. Tawaki prayed—

“Let the morning spring forth; give me my comb, my beautiful comb,
That I may arise and go to the water of Rangatuhi, Rangatuhi.”

“They found their brother there and slew him; after he was dead they returned home. Muri-waka-roto demanded, ‘Where is your younger brother?’ Mango (the shark) said, ‘At the water, combing his hair.’ She waited a long time and then went and called Tawaki—e—. The pukeko (a bird) answered ‘ke.’ She went again and called to Tawaki. The moho (another bird) answered ‘hu.’ She returned home and said, ‘You have killed your brother.’ They confessed they had done so. They inquired if he did not answer her call; she replied the pukeko and the moho were the only things that heard her. ‘No, Tawaki is gone to karakia, and to mix his blood with water-blood, with star-blood, with the blood of what? With the blood of the moon, with the blood of the sun, and the blood of Rangi-Mahuki (fair-sky): this is the flowing of Tawaki's blood, truly the causing his blood to grow that he might be restored to life.’ (The union of these kinds of blood formed life, and thus resuscitated Tawaki.) Tawaki is alive again. He slept soundly on the sea-shore after his resurrection from below, from the Reinga, he sleeps soundly by the sea-side; a great wave appeared, rolling in from afar; that wave came to kill Tawaki, but his ancestor., the kaiaia (the sparrow-hawk) appeared, and cried ‘ke-ke-ke-ke.’ Tawaki arose; he started up from his sleep, he seized a stick, (and casting it), defied the wave; it glanced on one side of the billow which was drifting towards him from afar. Enough! Tawhaki left the shore and went inland. His uncle, Karihi, overtook him; they wept together.

“Afterwards they arrived at the outside (or verge) of heaven, and at the fence which divided it from the earth.” Then follows Karihi's attempt, and Tawaki's successful feat, of climbing up into heaven. Tawaki's inimical spell sent Karihi sliding to earth again; whilst the spell on his own account [quoted in the first part of this paper] took him fairly to heaven.” Mr. Taylor adds, in a note: “It is said Tawaki ascended to heaven by a spider's thread.” “Tawaki succeeded, he reached the sky; he cut off the road by which he ascended. His uncle called to him to turn back, and help him to get up. But he answered from above, ‘No! you all aided in my murder.’ Tawaki then visited his grandmother, and restored by his spells her eyesight. Then

– 532 –

Tawaki went and saw the toka tamiware which stood there. He asked the old woman, ‘What is this?’ Waitiri replied, ‘Do not touch them with your hands; they are your ancestors.’ Then Tawaki stumbled against it; the stone fell down by the sea. Tawaki went crying, ‘You also shall cry, who slew me.’ From that stone that fell commenced the revenge which Tawaki took against his brethren. He drove the shark and the dog-fish from the land, and compelled them henceforth to live in the sea.”

From her name, Tawaki's grandmother Waitiri, or Whatitiri, which means “the thunder,” is probably to be connected with the cloud; and so is probably to be regarded as of the black, or Turanian order; Kaitangata and Anonokia are probably to be classed with the Aryan order, for reasons I hope to fully set forth in a paper on the Aryan element in Maori legend. This is why, probably, Kaitangata treats his dusky children with indignity: “Hu! the filthy children!” In the Maori story, a new name is introduced, Punga. It will be remembered that, in the Hindu version, Krishna has a twin-brother, his white counterpart. In the Maori story, Punga seems a counterpart of Karihi. I am inclined to think that Mr. Taylor has made some mistake in his explanation of the name Punga. Punga, in the north, is an eel-pot, and Karihi would be its sinker; and they are thus, as it were, really one. The exoteric rendering given would then be, “You, Punga, are your father's ‘eel-pot,’ and you, Karihi; you are its ‘sinker;’ and your sister, Whakama-Ranga, is ‘my shame.”’ I cannot help thinking we have here an exoteric allusion to the phallic idea, worked in with the legend. The eel, (which I have reason to believe took the place of the phallic serpent in Maori mythology, as I hope to prove in my next paper), the pot, and its sinkers, would represent the penis, scrotum, and testes of the phallic male emblem; while the female emblem would be represented by Whakama-Ranga, in covert reference to the significance of Uma, the original of Hema, which, I believe, is etymologically connected with the Sanskrit vambha, meaning the womb. I have to hazard this last statement, as I have no means at present of verifying it: I have had to trust to memory in this matter, and may be I am not quite correct in this derivation; but my impression is that it is correct. Thus, we find, not only the names of the Turanian deities preserved, but the principal features of the Phallic faith enmeshed cleverly with the regular lines of the story.

That Punga and Karihi are said to beget lizards, and sharks, and dog-fish, rather confirms the view of their Turanian and reptilian nature (or, rather, the reptilian characteristics of the cult in which they figured). And that they are roughly dealt with at the hands of the arikis, or Aryo-Maori priests, is as might have been expected; for by this time the malific idea of

– 533 –

the Aryan cloud-serpent, or dragon, had been engrafted on that of the Phallic life-serpent, thus obscuring its true significance: hence, Tawaki, who had been recognized as a god from his girding himself with the lightning, is represented as carrying on a vengeful war against these dark, cloudy, or watery powers who had once overcome him, and hurling the “toka tamiware,” (his ancestors, as his grandmother, Whatitiri, the thunder, had termed it), which probably meant a thunderbolt, against them, and forcing them from the original serpentine life on land to the dragon-like life in the sea.

I now come to Tiki and Pani. Tiki is, according to the northern Maoris, the husband of Pani. Huruki is also said to be her husband; but this name, may be more fully Huruki, alluding to the top-knot, which, as Mr. Taylor tells us, adorned a chiefs head, and was called “he tiki;” and therefore Huruki and Tiki may be the same being. Mr. Colenso also gives the name Maui-whare-kino,* as that of her husband; and adds, “this is not the hero who bound the sun and moon.” Yet, from the name, he evidently belongs to the class of solar gods, and this seems to be the case with Tiki, (as will be shown presently), so probably they are one. “Of Tiki,” Mr. Taylor says, “little is preserved: his great work was that of making man, which he is said to have done after his own image. One account states that he took red clay and kneaded it with his own blood, and so formed the eyes and limbs, and then gave the image breath. Another, that man was formed of clay, and the red-ochreous water of swamps; and that Tiki bestowed both his own form and name upon him, calling him Tiki-ahua, or Tiki's likeness. The most prized ornament is an uncouth image of man, formed of green-stone, and worn round the neck as an “Heitiki” image, or remembrance of Tiki. The new-born infant is called ‘he potiki,’ or a gift of Tiki from the Po or Hades; and he adds in a note, ‘The word Tiki, in Nukuhiva, or Tii, in Hawaiian, means an image, according to Rev. Mr. Buddle.”’

From this it is plain that Tiki answers to what Mr. Lillie (as already quoted) terms “the solar god-man, or anthropomorphic Deity, answering to the Logos, or Demiurge, of the Platonists and Gnostics, forming one of several series of Phallo-pantheistic triads or trinities.” Tiki, therefore, corresponds to Krishna and others. We select the following triads from Mr. Lillie's work on Buddhism for comparison. He says, “I have tried to draw a table of this triad idea in the old creeds:—

[Footnote] * Mau-whare-kino= “Maui of the dirty house,” and may allude to a Turanian form of an Aryan-like sun-god, which (as the husband of Pani, the goddess of the earth and agriculture), would be likely, enough.

– 534 –

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

“Father. Mother. Solar Man-God.
“Rig Veda Varuna Aditi Mitra.
Manu Brahm Maya Brahma.
Buddhism Buddha Prajna Sangha.
Dharma
Plato Father Mother, or λΌγΌ03C2
Nurse λΌγΌ03C2
Gnostics Abraxas Sophia Gnosis or Christos.
Babylonia Bel Melissa Tammuz.
China Yn Yâng Taiki.1

To these I will add the following:—*

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Bharata Mahadeo2 Dewaki3 or Krishna.5
Uma4 Krishna.5
Maori Uta, or Hema4 Tawaki,3 or Karihi.5
Mahuta2
Maori Rangi Papa Tiki.1 (?Contracted form of potiki, the child or germ.)

It will be seen that the Chinese, who, it must be born in mind, got their religion from the Hindus, have preserved a name of a solar-god-man almost identical with Tiki—namely, Taiki. I might add that the Buddha Sakhya Muni, who is also a solar god-man, according to the Chinese, was the son of the Queen of Heaven, the “Lily Lady” (after the lotus) of Marichi=ray of light. This name Marichi (ray of light) seems to correspond to the Marikoriko (or twilight) of the Maoris, who is said to be the wife of Tiki. The daughter of Tiki and Marikoriko was called Kauatata, a name that approaches the Esther, or Hadassah, and El-issa, that is Venus, of Western Asia. The particle ka, being a root common to many Turanian tongues, meaning burnt or black, Ka-uatata might then possibly be “black Esther.” The Egyptian root was aka or âga, to burn (consume by heat); Maori ahi=fire, and kapura=fire. The k sound in K-ush means black, and ish is man; Cushite means, therefore, black man. So in Hindu, ka-ua=the crow, that is the black bird—the original, I believe, of the kaaia (sparrow-hawk) that roused up Tawaki, and is called his ancestor, thus betraying his Turanian or dusky origin. So we have in Hindu Kali, and Krishna, both meaning black. But this is by no means the only correspondence between Maori tradition and Western Asiatic antiquities; for the latter have been intimately connected with those of India; but these analogies I have reserved for my next paper, as they connect more with the Aryan portion of the subject.

But if Marikoriko is Tiki's wife, so is (according to the Rarawa Maoris) Pani; perhaps, as Kali is the terrestrial repre-

[Footnote] * By referring to the reference figures in the above table the connection may be more readily traced.

– 535 –

sentative of the celestial Aditi (space), Pani is a terrestrial Marikoriko.* “‘The god Pan,’ says Mr. Kendall to Dr. Waugh, ‘is universally acknowledged. The overflowing of the Nile, and the fertility of the country in consequence, are evidently alluded to in their traditions…. Query.—Are not the Malay and the whole of the South Sea Islanders Egyptians?’ “To which,” says Mr. Colenso, “we reply, When will the spirit of conjecture rest ?” Whether Mr. Kendall alluded to Pani (in the capacity of a female Pan) when he said the god Pan was universally acknowledged in New Zealand, I cannot undertake to say: but Mr. Colenso has told us sufficient about Pani, in his interesting and valuable papers, that I think a lawyer might make out a very fair case for defendant, and prove from Mr. Colenso's own communications that there are several features in the tradition of Pani that connect her with Isis; and this is not to be wondered at, for she is the earth goddess, the Ceres, Isis, Mahadeo or Kali of the New Zealanders; that is, the mother from whose womb the fruits of the earth are derived—a goddess peculiarly the object of devotion to the Turanians, who were emphatically the agriculturists of the ancient world. The Polynesians resemble the Egyptians, just as far as the Egyptians can be shown to be one with the Turanian nations of India. Just as the soil of Egypt, which Isis personified, was fructified by the Nile, so we find from Mr. Colenso's account of Pani, that she, when producing the kumara, enters a river, and gathers the roots with her hands from her person, and fills her baskets for the ovens. This seems to me to allude to a time when the New Zealanders dwelt in a tropical country, when the cultivations were planted after the floods had watered the ground, or were irrigated. In India pâni is water, but whether the Maori goddess derived her name from this, I shall not even conjecture, though the sea as well as the earth was deemed a womb of Nature. Pani may be equal to the Hindu yoni, the female generative organ.

“The kumara,” says Mr. Stack, “and aruhe were the offspring of Huruki and Pani; aruhe (fern-root) was the ariki (lord), because it descended from the back of its parent; while the kumara, having come from the front, was inferior in rank.

“Descend from the back, the great root of Rongi,
Descend from behind, the fern-root;
Descend from the front, the kumara
By Huruki and Pani:
Then it was nourished in the mound,
The mound of Whatapu,
Great mound of Papa,
Great mound of Tauranga;
There was seen the contemptuous behaviour of Tu;
There they were hungered after,” etc., etc.

[Footnote] * Quoted by Mr. Colenso, “Trans. N.Z. Inst.,” vol. xi., p. 77.

– 536 –

“The kumara,” says Colenso,* “is Rongomaraeroa (fame-re-sounding-(in)-long-open courts); the aruhe is Arikinoanoa; they are both children of the Sky and Earth,” (Rangi and Papa), which comes to much the same thing as their being descended from Huruki (Tiki) and Pani. Mr. Colenso gives a translation of the story of the fighting of Tumatauenga with his elder brother Rongomaraeroa (the kumara), in which contest Tumatauenga kills and eats Rongomaraeroa. Tumatauenga is evidently the Tu, “whose contemptuous behaviour, and hungering after the kumara,” are mentioned in the waiata just quoted from Mr. Stack. Mr. Colenso, in his notes on his paper, explains Tumatauenga (“Lord - with - the - fierce - (or - strongly-emotioned) countenance”) as man, who arms himself with weapons, which Mr. Colenso interprets as the koo, the Maori spade, having “two mouths, four eyes, four ears, and four nostrils to its two noses. “The name given to the battle was Moenga-toto (“sleeping in blood,” or “bloody sleep”). He adds: “Tumatauenga's destroying the kumara may indicate—(1.) That man at first did not know how to cultivate and to preserve that valuable root. (2.) That fierce fighting man was an enemy to the quiet cultivator, and cared nothing for the arts of peace.” A remnant of the kumara tribe took refuge in Pani “her stomach (puku) was wholly the storehouse for the kumara, and the kumara plantation was also the stomach of Pani.”

In Mr. Taylor's work, Tumatauenga seems to be another name for Tumatauenga, the third son of Rangi and Papa, and the grand author of evil. He is also (I presume for shortness), designated Tu, the great god of war, in the North, answering to Maru in the South.” Now, Maru seems to answer to Mâra, or Death, the Sagittarius of the Hindu Zodiac. (Of Tu and his family I shall have more to say later, in my next paper). It will be seen from this that another construction than that given by Mr. Colenso is possible. Tumatauenga, (“lord of the fierce countenance,”) who destroys the kumara field, reducing it to “a bloody sleep,” may mean the pestilence of drought in a tropical country, drying up and reddening the kumara crops; and it is just as likely that the koo was modelled with a “Janus-like appearance,” (as Mr. Colenso describes, and conjectures it was made so for some esoteric reason), to meet a Hindu, rather than a Latin, idea, and originally represented the symbolic weapon of the destroyer; just as Yama, the ruler of the Hindu Hades, is represented as attended by his four-eyed hounds. The koo may have taken this shape to commemorate this very contest with the “lord of the fierce countenance;” or it may have been introduced into the story as merely an exoteric feature, when the true significance of the story was forgotten, or on purpose to

[Footnote] * “Trans. N.Z. Inst.” vol. xiv., p. 35.

– 537 –

disguise it. The word koo, the Maori spade, is probably derived from the Hindu khΌdh, (the rhyme with “loathe” gives the pronunciation), which means to dig.

If Tumatauenga is man, he must have lost a good deal of the “fierceness of his countenance” before he had any kumaras to fight: and it is strange that the milder he has grown the bloodier has been the field of struggle, and the wider the devastation; for the more civilized man has become, the more fiercely and ravenously has his poor brother the kumara been attacked and devoured. It seems to me Mr. Colenso's interpretation halts; but Mr. Taylor's account of Tumatauenga, as the great author of evil, sets it running.

In Mr. Colenso's valuable notes on the “Invocation to Pani, on the planting of the Kumara,” one or two other points are noticed that recall Hindu Turanian influence. Mr. Colenso says of the invocation itself: “It is just possible that the kernel of this charm, or invocation of Pani, may be amongst the very oldest known! “and again, “Of the various spells, etc., anciently used in planting the kumara that I have acquired from several tohungs during many years, there are no less than three which contain this direct invocation to Pani; and while the introductory words of those three forms vary a little, the kernel—the invocation itself—is almost literally the same in them all. “He, adds, in a later note on the invocation itself: “Note its great simplicity, its gradations, and its recurring refrain, repeated regularly six times.” It will be plain that Mr. Colenso has not exaggerated either its importance or its interest. Its’ extreme importance will, I trust, be the more thoroughly appreciated, since a comparative study of it with. Hindu antiquities has proved the claim to antiquity put forward for it by Mr. Colenso; and certainly its interest will not be lessened when “its poetical. structure, and its regular fitting and progressive disposition, and its recurring refrain,” point its kinship with the hymns: of the Veda.

The muttering of the charms in the plantations to procure fertility, by the tohungas, reminds Mr. Colenso of similar practices among the Egyptians and Romans at the vernal festivals. But this was a Hindu feature as well as an Egyptian; and from the East it passed in much later times to the West. Mr. Colenso mentions another “strange plan” adopted by the Maoris of the interior to insure the fertility of the soil. The skulls and bones of Tia and his party, who had died at Titiraupenga, near Taupo, were “annually brought out and placed with much ceremony in the kumara plantations, by the margins of the plots, that the plants might become fertile and bear many tubers.” This might be a traditional echo of the Meriah sacrifice, as is still practised by the Khonds, an aboriginal tribe of Turanian India. “The objects of their worship,” says Canon Trevor, in a little book on

– 538 –

India and its missions, “include the moon, the deity of war, and the Hindu goddess Kali. The favourite divinity, however, is the Earth, in the cultivation of which this branch of the Dravidian family has attained to considerable proficiency. In order to induce their god to yield them an abundant harvest, a rite called Meriah is annually performed, which is no other than a human sacrifice. For this purpose children of both sexes are purchased or kidnapped from neighbouring tribes, a foreigner being deemed essential. The intended victims are carefully reared and guarded in villages appointed to this use. At the appointed season a feast is held, with drunken and licentious revellings, for two days, during which the victim is indulged with every sensual gratification. On the third he is brought out, and bound to a stake or tree; and at an appointed signal the savage Khonds rush in with their knives, pick away slices from the yet living body, and hasten to bury them, warm and palpitating, in their fields.”

Mr. Colenso designates the tradition of Tia “a portion of an ancient relation he had from the Maoris of the interior.” The story runs significantly, somewhat: “Tia and his party did not return from Taupo (inland), whither they had gone, to Maketu (on the coast); they all died inland at Titiraupenga, where their bones,” etc.

Perhaps they (if historical) fell victims to a Maori form of Meriah; or, maybe, Tia is only a form of Tiki, the husband of Pani, the goddess of the kumara plantations (or, rather, the personification of the plantations themselves); he would thus represent the solar-god, or male principle, fructifying the female principle: for it can be shown that Tiki is also Siva or Rudra, and Pani is only another name for Uma or Kali, thus manifesting a Phallic connection.

But the most interesting fact mentioned by Mr. Colenso in this connection, is the following: “In conclusion,” adds Mr. Colenso, “another curious superstition relating to Pani, sometimes observed on the harvesting of the crop of kumaras, may also be mentioned. At such seasons, a peculiarly-shaped, abnormal, and rather large kumara root was met with, though by no means frequently, (sometimes not one such in the whole cultivation), this was called ‘Pani's canoe’=Pani's medium, between her and the priest…. It became the peculiar property of the priest, and was set aside to be cooked at a sacred fire as a kind of offering of first-fruits…. such a kumara was chiefly, if not only, to be found when the crop was a very prolific one; this fertility was also taken as another proof of Pani's gracious visit.”

Why, here we have nothing less than the ship of Isis, the female symbol of phallism—the yoni, that is, or boat that carried the first-fruits of the womb of Isis, or Nature, at the

– 539 –

harvest festivals of Egypt. “In its purely symbolical aspect,” says a writer in “Harper's Monthly Magazine,” “the ship is very conspicuous. It is the emblem of wealth, and the hieroglyph of plenty. The earth itself is an ark, containing within itself everything necessary for replenishing the world. And so, in the old mysteries of dead religions, the ship always had an honoured place, being carried in the processions of the priests, either in its own form—an actual ship model—or in some occult symbol of the symbol—a bowl or cup, or shell, or water-flower. So, in the worship of Isis, a ship, sometimes of colossal size, freighted with the first-fruits of the year, was carried by patient kine in a triumphal progress—‘the voyage of Isis’—from shrine to shrine, in the early days of March.” The occult symbols—the ship, bowl or cup, or shell, or water-flower (the lotus lily, that is), all mean the yoni or womb of Nature.

I may add, it attests the tenacity and value of tradition, that it is for this reason rather than for any other that sailors call a ship “she.”* The Kumara, then, or “canoe of Pani,” undoubtedly alludes to the yoni of the Hindu Phallic cult. The word yoni itself is retained in Maori in not exactly the same sense, but in an allied one. The Tahitian for kumara is umara; and Mr. Colenso has shown that in South America the name is umar; perhaps this form, umara, was the original one, and connected this fruit of the earth with Uma or Kali, who, we shall presently see, represents Pani.

The kumara, then, represented the female symbol of the Phallic cult; the aruhe, or fern-root, which was said to descend from the back, as the kumara was said to descend from the front, represents the phallus, in the vegetable economy of nature, just as Tane does in the animal. The Mahomedans of India say they are descended from the backbone of their fathers.

In the “Spell of Paikea” the “skid of Houtaiki” is mentioned. Mr. Colenso explains in his notes that this alludes to the skids on which his canoe was drawn up on shore; “it also meant a barrier that might not be passed, known as ‘te puru o Houtaiki.”’ “The name of Houtaiki often occurs in poetry in connection with that of Houmea,” says Mr. Colenso, and he refers us to the story of Houmea, of which he gives a translation. There the name appears as Uta, and he is the husband of Houmea; that is, Ho-uta is the husband of Ho-umea, and they are the parents of Tu-tawhake, or Tawhaki. I have shown that Tawhake and his mother, Houmea or Hema, and his father, Uta or Mahuta—or, as it would seem, Houta as well—correspond: the first to Krishna, as represented by the name Dewaki; the second to Uma or Kali; and the third to Mahadeo or Siva—the Turanian Trinity—all members of the

[Footnote] * See “Rosicrucians.”

– 540 –

same family, the counterparts in Maori tradition of the earlier Turanian Hindu triad. I have shown that Kali, or Uma, is the terrestrial mother-goddess, the Earth; and, as such, she must represent not only Houmea, or Hema, but Pani, the Maori earth-goddess. So the inference is clear that there is really no difference between Houmea and Pani. Now, the husband of Houmea is Houtaiki, and the husband of Pani is Tiki; and these names of the husbands approach so nearly to each other that they seem merely two forms of the one. So, then, the inference is strengthened, if it be premature to assume it proved. The form Taiki, of the Chinese triad, represents exactly the latter part of Houtaiki of the Maoris; but I have shown that, as the Maori anthropomorphic deity, or direct Creator of man, the Maori Tiki represents the Taiki of the Chinese—as he does also the other solar-god-men of the other triads of Eastern religions. So then, I think, all doubt must be removed from the inference that the Maori Houtaiki, the Chinese Taiki, and the Maori Tiki are names for the same solar deity—the husband of the terrestrial mother-goddess Houmea, or Pani. The skid of Houtaiki therefore refers, in an occult way, to the phallos; and, as barriers that might not be passed, they answer the same purpose as the phallic obelisks that marked the precincts of consecrated or other ground in the East.

There is a curious passage in a paper by Dr. Buller on a bird, the Tieke (Creadion carunculatus), or Saddle-back, which is well worth considering in its bearings on this connection of phallism. “The tieke is regarded,” says Dr. Buller, “as a bird of omen by the Natives of the Bay of Plenty. It is also the mythical bird that is supposed to guard the ancient treasures of the Maoris. According to Maori tradition, among these hidden things is a stone atua…. The Natives state that this species usually places its nest in the hollow of a tree…. A pair is said to be still breeding in the hollow of the famous tree at Omaruteangi, known all over the country as ‘Putatieke.’ “It is added in a note: “Putatieke: a renowned hinau tree in the Urewera country. It is supposed to possess miraculous attributes. Sterile women visit it for the purpose of inducing conception. They clasp the tree in transport, and repeat certain incantations by way of invoking the atua.”

The Egyptian and Greek women used to touch the phallos for a similar purpose; and I think there can be no doubt that a phallic meaning is hidden away in this traditional usage of the Maoris. The name Tieke is sufficiently near the name Tiki to suggest a connection; and the fact that, among the treasures guarded by the Tieke was a stone atua, probably a heitiki or image of Tiki, bears out the suggestion. As Tiki and Pani are shown to be identical in character or function to Uta and Hema, the Maori counterparts of Siva and Kali, the phallic deities of

– 541 –

the Hindus, the drift of the practice of the Maori women becomes intelligible. Putatieke means the hole of the Tieke; and tieke, besides its signification as the name of a bird, is also applied by the Ngapuhi Maoris to the fruit of the kiekie: it is called tieke; as also, from its resemblance, by a more suggestive name, ure, which means the phallos. Patatieke may then, in an occult sense, refer to the phallic images, the lingham and yoni, of Hindu Turanian Phallo-pantheism. The “mythical bird” signification of the Tieke is equally Hindu; it is the “winged Garutmat” of the Veda and the winged disk of the Egyptians; the mystic bird that librates o'er the mundane egg, and fructifies it; the bird symbol of the union of spirit and matter, which therefore answers to the male and female serpent of Phallism.

Now, it appears to me that evidence could hardly be more significant and cumulative for the establishing of the truth of any proposition, than we have here in Maori tradition for the solution of the problem as to the “Whence of the Maori.” The lords many and gods many of Turanian type, of both the Maori and Hindu Pantheon, resolve themselves into a triad, consisting of father, mother, and germ; they are found with similar names—names scarcely altered or disguised in the Maori from their originals in the Hindu. These gods and goddesses, or heroes and heroines, have similar functions, and have similar stories told of them. Then, again, seeing that Maori tradition carries the Maori race back to Wairota, which has been shown to he one with Bharata; seeing that philology confirms this tradition, it is hard to resist the conclusion of the identity of the races, or that their deities occupy identical niches in the one Pantheon.

The Maori features of this study carry some instructive lessons, which it were well for the student of Eastern thought not to overlook. One is, the esoteric and symbolic nature of Eastern legends. It is mere waste of time to credit a philosophical people like the Hindus, (and unsafe even of those with whom they have had at any time contact), with notions that are popularly, though rather unwarrantably, ascribed to children—that inanimate things have, for them, a life similar to their own. Even children do not really believe anything of the kind; they simply amuse themselves with such a view for the time being, just as poets indulge themselves in imagery. This matter, with regard to children, can be tested by at any time taking up the r∘le of the little poets. Do so, and they will very soon open their eyes in astonishment, and laugh at you for your credulity. A case in point, from several that I am personally cognisant of, will make this clear. A little fellow at Russell, about (or little more than) two years old, frightened by the noise of the steamer's fog-horn, clung to his mother. She, to reassure him, said, “Oh, it is only the steamer telling the people to come on

– 542 –

board, quickly, quickly!” “Mamma, steamers can't talk,” was his response; and I believe such cases might be multiplied indefinitely, as often as (with a little tact) we care to test the matter.

Professor Max Müller says something to the effect that with children the chair, or table, or pussy, shares with papa and mamma an equal share of life or intelligence, as the case may be: and on this view comparative mythologists have tabulated an infant age in man's beliefs, when talking wolves or snakes, and such like, were living realities, by which we may gauge the intelligence of the people who told tales about them. Nothing can be more unsafe than this, at all events when applied to tales or traditions that have had their origin in the East.

There is certainly no greater myth than crediting the Hindus with belief in the actual, rather than the symbolical, nature of their myths, as is the fashion among Europeans generally. Their mythology, and therefore that of all Western Asiatics, is symbolical. St. Paul well indicates this principle that underlies all Eastern writings, etc. “The invisible things of Him (God) since the creation are clearly seen, being perceived through the things that are made, even his everlasting power and divinity;” that is, visible things were, in the East, used to express the nature of invisible things; the visible formed the symbol of the invisible. Man has made the mistake, on the one hand, to deem the symbol adequate to this expression; and, on the other hand, the uninitiated (the greater number) have had no just conception of the symbol, a fact which has merged it into the idol: and, moreover, anthropomorphism, which was intended in the East to be modified and corrected by being taken in the symbolic sense, and not to be taken in the actual or obvious sense, by furnishing the Deity with unworthy attributes, led to the corruption of morals and the degeneration of thought. The sooner the symbolic principle is recognised, the sooner will the East yield up its secrets, and its symbols be interpreted: the literal or exoteric signification is a delusion and a snare, as our examination of the Maori legend of Tane testifies. Exoterically, Tane is a tree that pushed up the sky, and propped it; and, in the belief of the uninitiated, he is not only a tree that walks and talks and works, but he begets children, which are other trees, and birds of course, seeing these, lodge in the branches; but esoterically, as we have seen, the legend was built on a philosophical basis, and its authors had a keen insight into the nature and end of things. This is testified to in the analysis of the story, wherein Tane is resolved into the phallos; and this construction is still further borne out by a fact not mentioned in our examination, that one of the wives of Tane is Para-ure, the name of a substance which doubtless Mr. Huxley would pronounce protoplasm, and could prove it so on chemical analysis;

– 543 –

a substance which over and above its chemical and material constituents, contains what physiologists term spermatozoa, that represents a living and fecundating principle.

Another point of importance is the nature of fossil names and words. Native etymology is helpful, just so far as the words are not fossil; but in the case of fossil words the original form of the word has been mimicked in sound, as nearly as possible, by similarly sounding Maori words; the etymology of which native words may, or may not, express the significance of the original. For instance, Mahuta, a name of Tane, is such a fossil name; its Maori etymology may, or may not, express the meaning of its original, Maha-deo, the great god; but its association with the other names, Karihi or Krishna, Tawhaki or Dewaki, Hema or Uma, betrays its origin. The native etymology cannot upset the inference that is to be drawn from this coincidence. In the case of Karihi, which means a kernel, or a sinker of a net, or eel-pot, we find the etymology has only a lateral reference to the original subject, having a phallic significance; but it is not the equivalent of the Hindu name Krishna, which means “the black god.” This idea of blackness, however, may have been originally expressed in the Maori tradition by the introduction of the name of a brother, or counterpart, of Karihi, that is Punga, that being the form of name in the tale as it now stands, (but which may have been originally Pango, or Mangu, which both mean “black” in Maori; Pango may have been a translation into Maori of the Hindu name Krishna, on the framing of the present tale). However, by the slight alteration of the name Pango=black, into Punga=an eel-pot, and the retention of Krishna in the Maori form, Karihi, “the sinker of the eel-pot,” the phallic idea was capable of being in an occult way expressed: and as it was no part of the Aryo-Maori priests’ interest to emphasize an an-aryan feature, as blackness of colour, the change was the more easily effected; and the original Pango=black of the Maori, and the signification of the Krishna of the Hindu, which answered to it, was effectually veiled, only to be understood by the initiate; until the meaning itself became lost, only to be recovered on a comparative study. Similarly, Mangu = the black man, another form of Pango, may have suggested the shark idea; for by a very slight alteration Mangu becomes Mango, “the shark.” A second purpose would be served by the change: the original reptilian, or rather, reptile-worshipping, nature of the cult could, in an occult way, be hinted at: and the effacement of Punga and Karihi, the Turanian brothers, as rivals of the more Aryan Tawhaki, be the more effectually compassed.

The deduction is plain, unless indeed the arguments, analogies, and coincidences brought forward prove altogether erroneous, that in the elucidation of the problem as to the “Whence of the Maori,” the comparative method is the only adequate

– 544 –

means of arriving at a solution. The efforts of Maori scholars, however ingenious, will prove as futile as those of old classical scholars, who strove to elucidate the etymology of the Anglo-Saxon elements in English from a comparison with Greek and Latin. The study of Sanskrit gave the right key to the unlocking of the philological problems of the Aryan nations. Mr. Thomson's happy discovery of the linguistic and ethnological relationship of the Maori races to the aboriginal Turanian races of Peninsular India, or Bharata, forms the key to the solution of this interesting question. Mr. Thomson's examination advanced it to a stage which has been termed (in reference to the government of a State) “practical politics.” All previous theories have seemed to me to lead to nowhere. Maori mythology, though interesting, like all mythologies, needed a key: as to the historical contests of the Maoris, the struggle of the Kilkenny oats patterns the lot. Mr. Thomson's discovery marks a new departure, for it concentrates the study: the rays of diffusion that mark the spread of the Maori race converge to a focal point, Bharata.

With limited means for investigating so important a question, and a slender knowledge of the Maori tongue: were it not that the analogies, etc., between the Maori traditions and the Hindu lay so near the surface, I could not have ventured on the consideration; but the results seem so marked, and final, that I have ventured to bring them before you.

Postscript.

Since writing the above, I have come across the following interesting paragraph in the “New Zealand Magazine,” from an article by Mr. W. H. L. Ranken, on “Mahori Migrations,” which bears out the deductions advanced in my paper. Mr. Ranken says:—

“Their mythology (Samoan) is that of the dawn of civilization, and may contain coincidences with Asiatic or other beliefs, but no more; for instance, a legend of a deluge, which is found everywhere. But they have some traces of serpent-worship, in giving their Pluto a serpentine form. This is more likely imported than indigenous; for the snakes of their isles are few, small, and harmless, most unfit to impress the savage's mind with any powers he would glorify his god with; and there are unmistakable remains of stone worship, as it prevailed in the East, a cultus of the generative principle—the same which extended from Ceylon and India to Persia, Egypt, and Carthage, and which the Persian priest Elagabalus introduced to Rome when he became emperor. There are monoliths in Samoa, and in other isles, used to procure fecundity in animals, to procure rain, and such purposes.”

– 545 –

In my next paper I hope to prove that the resemblance between Polynesian beliefs—such as the Deluge—and Asiatic beliefs is very much more than mere coincidence, and are preeminently attestive of historical contact; the evidence being as strong as any I have placed before you in this paper on the stone and serpent-worship, which Mr. Ranken attests must have been derived from elsewhere. It will be seen that the monoliths are used for exactly the same purpose as the Maoris employ the puta-tieke tree; the practice being a survival of the “cultus of the generative principle,” as indicated. The coincidence theory is too facile an explanation to be trusted, and merely “draws a red-herring across the scent,” and serves to retard investigation. When the “stone worship and serpent symbols” are scattered from Great Britain—by way of Carthage, Egypt, Ceylon, the Pacific Islands—to the ruined cities of Central America, the reading is “historical contact,” not “coincidence.” One race has carried it, the Phænician kna, the Polynesian kanaka, to the former denizens of Turanian India, or Bharata.

The importance of Mr. Turnbull Thomson's theory, that the Maori and other so-called Malayo-Polynesians originally migrated from Bharata, the ancient name for Peninsular India, can hardly be exaggerated; for, as I suggested in the latter end of my paper on this subject, the name kanaka connects the race with the Kna or Phænicians, and Kanaanites. I have elsewhere shown that the Phænicians originally were a Turanian race, inhabiting this very region, whence they migrated to the Mediterranean. Kân (the Biblical Cain), was a name for a Turanian race inhabiting Peninsular India in times preceding, as well as after, what is generally termed the Deluge, a traditional echo of which is preserved in the Hebrew and other eastern writings. Kân is a name of the god Krishna, a deity originally Turanian, as I have tried to show; and the second Buddha was named Kanaka Buddha, a name that connects him with the Turanian Kân, the Phænician Knâ, or Knâs, and the Polynesian kanaka. The racial name is still preserved in Peninsular India, as the Coast of Kanara, and the Karnatic, whence the different lines of migration passed eastward and westward. That Kân is a name of Krishna is evidenced in the name Kânpur (Cawnpore)=the city of Krishnâ and, as further evidence of Krishnâ's Turanian origin, I may mention that at the shrine of Pooree, or Juggernâth, the original Turanian Trinity—Rudra or Siva, Uma or Kali, and Juggernâth or Krishnâ—claim the exclusive devotion of the pilgrims; a fact that points to the intimate relation that I have tried to establish in my paper as existing between them—viz., as the father, mother, and offspring of all Turanian forms of trinities.

– 546 –

The name Maori can also be traced to Turanian India. Mr. W. L. Ranken, in his essay on “Mahori Migrations,” already quoted from, speaking of the name Maori, as applied to themselves by the copper-coloured Polynesians, says: “This name varies with the dialects of the different groups: it is in some Mahoii, in others Maori, and in many Mahori; by the last, the name would be recognised by more members of it than by any other name.” If it might be inferred from this that the original form of the name was Mahori, this approaches so nearly the form Mahari of Southern India—that is, the Mahars or scavenger-caste, as known to Europeans, that I think there can be little doubt that these latter represent, on the Asiatic Continent, a people that has had since aboriginal times a very wide diffusion: on the one hand, peopling the islands of the light-coloured Polynesians; on the other, (and in intimate connection with Phænicians), the northern regions of Africa—the former the Maori, or Mahori, the latter the Mauri (inhabitants of Mauritiania), later known as Moors.

The late Rev. R. Taylor suspected that there was a connection between the names “Maori” and “Moor,” but, in common with others, he imagined that the Maori races represented one or more of the lost tribes of Israel; and thus, the Moor being deemed an Arab, he accounted for racial affinity. For the theory there was some amount of seeming foundation, in the striking similarity of certain customs and traditions. But the true explanation is to be found in the fact that both Hebrew and Maori inherited, equally with the Phænicians, much that is common both to Egypt, Phænicia, Babylonia, and India—that is, Turanian customs and traditions.

Another feature that points the connection of Maori, Egyptian, and Turanian tradition, is the connection of the Atua Potiki (or “child-gods”) of the Maoris with the Ptah of Egypt, and the Pataikos of Phænicia. “The Phænician Pataeki were the children of Phtha, also called children of Sadik. “The Egyptian Ptah=the opener, and was represented as a bow-legged dwarf, or fætus =the Phænician Pataikos, “the Creator of the world, the sun, and moon, out of chaos (ha), or matter (mu).” These quotations from “Chambers’ Encyclopædia” enable me to confirm much that I have advanced about the Maori Tiki, conclusions that I arrived at before I came across this further evidence. Here we have Ptah, Pataikos, and Potiki= the “child or opener of the womb of Nature,” the anthropomorphic Deity or Creator, represented as a bow-legged dwarf, or fætus, a description that exactly describes the heitiki (Ahua-Tiki) of the Maoris, the much-prized greenstone ornament, which is worn round the neck as an image or remembrance of Tiki, and the type of all the images that figure in Maori carvings, and probably explanatory of them; these, moreover, form the only approach to

– 547 –

images found among the Maoris. As Tiki represented the Creator, who is said by Maori tradition to have created man in his own image, as an Ahua-Tiki, or Tiki's likeness, it was just to represent him (Tiki) as an anthropomorphic deity of the form of a fætus. As the Egyptian Ptah, the Pataikos of the Phænicians, created the universe, with man, out of chaos (ha); so the Maori Potiki, or Tiki, creates man, (he potiki, as “a gift of Tiki,”) from the chaos (po). At least this is the rendering of potiki as given by Mr. Taylor. The etymology is, however, possibly, not to be trusted, and fanciful; and at all events only “punningly” strengthens, by an etymological resemblance, the more important fact of an identity of fossil names.

I have already in my paper striven to identify Tiki (the Chinese Taiki) with the anthropomorphic deity corresponding to the third member of a series of Turanian triads; I have also shown that he corresponds in function, and even in some forms in name, with Rudhra (Mahadeo), or Siva of the Aryan triad or Trinity; similarly his wife Pani corresponds, as was shown, to Kali or Uma, the mother-goddess. I had not, at the time of writing my paper, the data to identify the form Pani with any known goddess having a name in any way resembling it. I have since, however, in the Phænician connection, come upon traces of a probable solution, which fits in with or answers all the features of the case. Bearing in mind, then, that Pani is only another name for Umâ or Kali, a mother-goddess, we find a corresponding goddess worshipped in Western Asia by the Phrygians and others, and later by Greeks and Romans, Rhea, the mother of the gods, who is also Kybele, or Kybebe, a goddess of Turanian origin, and corresponding probably to Kali. Ky-bebe is possibly only a form of Kala-bebe=black woman in Hindustani, and equivalent to Kali, which Kybele also resembles. She was emphatically the mother-goddess, and was called Ma or Ammas (mother), which is exactly the Hindustani amma = mother. This is not very far from the idea of Uma, another name of Kali, and corresponding to Hema, or Houmea, or Pani, of the Maoris. Now this cult of a mother-goddess of Western Asia, in common with other features, such as Baal worship, and the phallic worship (already pointed out as common to India, Babylonia, Egypt, and Phænicia), appears again among the Celts in Britain and Ireland. The phallic image of Rudhra, the Maha-deo or phallos, appears in Phænicia and Greece as the mudros, and in Ireland as the muidhir. Now, besides this phallic symbol, the Celtic Irish had a “father-god” and a “mother-goddess. “The father-god was called Dagdha-Mor=Dada Maha, or Maha Dada in Hindustani, that is, “the great-father.” Now as muidhir is equivalent to Maha-deo in Hindustani, the symbol of Rudhra or Siva, that is the phallos, the worship of Daghda-Mor is probably identical with, or closely connected with, the cultus of Maha-deo; the “great-father”

– 548 –

being one with the “great-god” that symbolised generation. Now the wife of Dagdha-Mor (the great-father), was the mothergoddess that gave her name to the River Boyne, Banna; which is just the Maori Pani, also the mother-goddess; and, thus, again, the Phrygian Kybêbê or Kybelê, the Egyptian Isis and the Hindu Kali. The fact that the Maori and the Phænician sprang from the same aboriginal race, the Kna, or Kanaka, and are not of the race of the Hebrew, but of that of the Turanian Cain, fully explains the connection between the Irish goddess Banna, and the Maori Pani.

Thus, from regions the antipodes of one another, fossils from the detritus of historical drift may be taken and compared, and their identity or affinity be determined. Thus, the Mahuta (or phallos) of Maori (Kanaka) tradition is found in its original form in India as Maha-deo, (the home of the Turanian Cain, or Kân, being the Land of Nod = India), and is represented in Phænicia, the new home of the children of Kain, or Kenan—that is, the Knâs, or Kenaanites—in the name mudros; and in Celtic Ireland, where, probably, Phænician colonies intermarried with and civilized the savage Aryans, in the form muidhir. Similarly, the Maori Potiki, the Hindu Batcha, the Egyptian Ptah, and the Phænician Pataikos, or Pataeki, (and perhaps the Greek Bachus and the Chinese Taiki), all refer to the child-god, the anthropomorphic deity, the creator, or demiurge. While I think it may be conceded that the Maori Pani, or Hema, is one with the Hindu Uma, or Kali; the Kybelê, or Kybêbε, called also Ma or Ammas, (that is, the mother-goddess) of Western Asia; the Isis of Egypt, and Banna of the Keltic Irish; and the Ish-tar, or Astarte, of the Phænicians (Ish-tar meaning “black woman”); the “dusk mother,” (Eostre of Northern Europe), the East, from whose womb the Sun-god is born: known among the Maoris as Tawhaki, (or, more properly, Karihi), in India as Krishna, in Egypt as Horus, in Greece as Bachus, or any other sun-god.

With reference to my deductions as to the kumara root being a Phallic symbol, equivalent to the yoni or womb of Nature, a particular form of which (as Mr. Colenso informs us) was designated “Pani's canoe,” I have somewhat further to add, confirmatory of what I advanced on that head. I tried to show the identity of the Maori Pani, the Hindu Kali, and the Egyptian Isis; as also that “Pani's canoe” was one with the Hindu yoni, or womb of Nature, often symbolised as a boat, and thus connected with Kali (the wife of Rudra, who was represented as Mahadeo, or the phallos), and the “Ship of Isis,” and had a common significance. From the fact that a kanaka form of the name kumara was umara, I inferred the possibility of the latter form having been the original one, and thus as possibly connecting it with Uma, one of the names of Kali, I have since learntthat

– 549 –

one of the names of Kali (a name that is given to the extreme point of Peninsular India, that is, Comorin), is Kumari; and Kumari is sufficiently near kumara to clinch the connection that I sought to trace by inference.

I have but to add, in bringing this investigation to a close, (that is to say, the Turanian portion of the subject), that if the conclusions I have advanced are borne out by the facts adduced, any disappointment that the lovers of the Maori, and things Maori, may feel at the identification of the Mahori race with the Mahari, or scavenger caste of India, is amply compensated for by their connection with the Illustrious Phænicians; to whom the ancients owed so much, that even the Greeks thought it no reproach to acknowledge and insist on their own obligations to them.

Art. LXX.Notes on Blasting at Ahuriri Bluff, Napier, in connection with the Construction of the Breakwater.

[Read before the Hawke's Bay Philosophical Institute, 19th April, 1886.]

Plate XXVIII.

The starting-point of the Napier Breakwater being from Ahuriri Bluff, where the sea at high-water washes the base of the cliffs, it was found necessary to make room for the erection of working plant, offices, block yards, and other purposes. To enable this to be done, and also to procure rubble stone for the works, it was decided to blow down the face of the cliff, immediately adjacent to the works. This cliff is over 300 feet in height, and is composed of alternating strata of limestones and sandstones. At a height of 50 feet from high-water, two drives were put into the hill, each 90 feet in length and quite straight, in different directions. These were turned at right angles, and driven 12 feet further, and turned again at right angles to the original direction and driven 8 feet, making double elbows. The mouths of the drives were 3 feet wide by 5 feet high. They were narrowed at the extremity as much as possible, so that a man could just work. The end of the drives led into chambers prepared for the explosives used. The material worked into was a bed of sandstone, moderately soft at first, but gradually becoming harder and more difficult to work, till at last three men in three shifts (a man to a shift) would extend the drive 2 feet only; while, at the start, the same complement of men in the same time could do 5 feet.

The first drive put in was for a charge of blasting-powder, consisting of eight tons (2,000lb. to the ton). The inside dimen-

– 550 –

sions of the chamber were 6 feet 6 inches cube, containing about 275 cubic feet of space. It was carefully match-lined with well seasoned timber. The powder used consisted half of English make, and half Colonial, made at Dunedin. The filling in of the chamber was an anxious piece of work: the barrels and boxes in which the powder was contained were opened at the mouth of the mine, and the contents were emptied into specially-constructed wooden buckets, bound with brass. The men were not allowed to have matches in their possession, and had to go in the mine without boots; and every other precaution was taken, so that there was not the least chance that a spark could be generated anywhere in the mine. The only lights allowed were one in each elbow, consisting of bull's-eye lanterns in recesses let into the rock. When the chamber had been half-filled, the igniting charge, consisting of a pound canister of fine gunpowder, was placed in the centre of the chamber; and from it were led two lighting-trains—one of gunpowder, in a train for a flash, the other of Rickford's slow-fuse; both of these were encased in timber. To sit on four or five tons of loose powder, while fixing the igniting-charge and the lighting-trains, gives one a peculiar sensation, which is greatly enhanced by the fiery purplish-red glint from the facets of the powder, reflecting the meagre light of the bull's-eye lantern 10 feet off, giving it the appearance of being on the point of explosion. When the chamber had been filled, the opening was timbered up, and a dry stone wall was built against the timber, all interstices being filled with fine material well rammed. This was continued to the first elbow; the corner being very carefully built, as well as the next elbow. The space between the two elbows had an intermediate stone wall, the rest of the space being filled in with loose material, well rammed. The main drive was then filled in to about half-way to the mouth with loose material, and a wall of stone every 10 feet. The two trains of fuse and gunpowder were carefully adjusted before the filling in began: and, on reaching the end of the filling-in, were extended 24 feet further, both with fuses.

The mine was fired on 8th March. Both fuses were lighted, and in 12 minutes the explosion occurred. This showed that the flash, or powder-train, had fired the mine. The fuse of 24 feet would occupy about 12 minutes to reach the powder-train, which would connect with the powder-chamber almost instantaneously.

As observed from one side, it appeared as if the face and brow of the hill rose slightly, accompanied by a slight report; opened out, apparently in strips; stood still for a moment, as if undecided whether to fall back or over—then immediately it went over with an immense crash and rumble, with occasional other minor rumbles, caused by the fall of overhanging material,

– 551 –

which could not be seen on account of the great cloud of dust that had arisen. The material that fell into the sea caused a small wave of about 5 feet high to roll off the shore.

The estimated amount of spoil thrown down was 52,000 cubic yards, equal to about 87,000 tons in weight; the work effected was therefore about 12,180 times the weight of powder used, the result being better than given in Professor Rankin's work on engineering, where the average effective work is set down at about 10,000 times.

The cost of this blast was:—

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Blasting powder £526
Mining and tamping 141
Timber and carpentry 13
Total £680

Each cubic yard displaced, therefore, cost rather over 3d., equal to each ton a little less than 2d.

The shock of the blast was felt nearly all over Napier, much more in some localities than in others, irrespective of distance. Where it was most felt it resembled a sharp earthquake shock.

The second mine was charged with two tons (4,000lbs.) of Nobel's dynamite, and was fired on the 2nd April. The chamber was 5 feet long, 3 feet 6 inches wide, and 5 feet high. No timber or other lining was used, and the dynamite was packed in its paper wrappers. Two trains of fuse were attached to detonators, embedded in dynamite cartridges, and a few detonators were placed in the adjacent cartridges. The fuses were led away from the mine in timber casing to near the mouth of the drive, which was tamped up in the manner described for the powder blast. Dynamite being a very safe explosive to handle, the precautions taken for the powder blast were not enforced, and the workmen were able to go about in their boots and to use naked lights, and no feeling of uneasiness prevailed as when charging the powder mine. The length of the fuses were 72 feet each; and the mine fired in a little over half an hour after they were lighted.

In both cases the explosive chambers were situated 85 feet from the face of the cliff.

The effect of this latter blast was wonderful—its action extended far away behind the blast: the hill opened obliquely from the blasting point; the face of the cliff rose, spread out like a fan opening, and without any hesitation came down with a thundering crash, followed by a low rumbling and a great cloud of dust. There was but a small report, and very little overhanging material left. Immediately above where the charge had been fired a regular funnel had been scooped up to the top, by the pent-up vapours seeking an outlet.

– 552 –

The estimated amount of rock displaced was 151,000 cubic yards, equal to about 252,000 tons.

The cost of this blast was:—

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Dynamite £500
Mining and tamping 140
£640

Each cubic yard displaced, therefore, cost a little over 1d., equal to each ton at .6 of a penny.

The effective work of the dynamite amounted to lifting over 140,000 times its own weight, and did proportionately twelve times the work that the powder did.

The shock of this blast did not appear to be so much felt as the other; and in many places it was not noticeable, where the shock of the powder blast had been felt.

Art. LXXI.The Aryo-Semitic Maori.

[Read before the Nelson Philosophical Society, 1st November, 1886.]

In the last volume of the “Transactions of the N.Z. Institute,” vol. xviii., there is a paper by Mr. E. Tregear, entitled “The Maori in Asia.” On reading it, I found it referred to and might be called a continuation of a previous work, by the same author, called “The Aryan Maori.”* The latter I had not then seen, but at once procured and read it; and it would be saying little to say that I found both full of interest and novelty: indeed, to me, but very little used to philological inquiries, Mr. Tregear's methods and his results were alike startling.

His main thesis is: that the Maori race is of the same family stock as the Indo-European, or Aryan, races; that the Maori language is a more ancient form of the common language spoken before their dispersion by the common progenitors of all these races; and that the main proof of this lies—I was going to say embedded in, but really, on the very surface of, the Maori language itself, and is educible upon a comparison of the Maori vocabulary with the vocabularies of those languages hitherto exclusively called Aryan.

[Footnote] * “The Aryan Maori,” by E. Tregear (Wellington, N.Z., 1885).

[Footnote] † It is proper, though to those of you who know me quite unnecessary, to say, in the beginning, that I have not the least claim to be called a Maori scholar; the utmost I can claim is that I have been a student of the language, as opportunity offered, for a long time; though for how long, looking at results, I would rather not say.

– 553 –

The magnitude of Mr. Tregear's undertaking will be apparent when you remember that, though many have tried, no one, in the opinion of some at least of the greatest living philologists, has hitherto been able to bridge the chasm which separates the Aryan from the Polynesian languages, any more than that between the Aryan and the Semitic; indeed, if I understand Professor Whitney rightly, in his opinion, and that of others, with the means at present available it cannot be done.

And, evidently, Mr. Tregear is fully conscious that he is undertaking a great task. It is not one, but all the learned men of Europe he hopes to set right. Speaking of Dr. Latham's view, “that the Polynesian languages show a thoroughly insular or oceanic character,” he says: “It is this mistake, made by all the other European scientists also, which it is my endeavour to correct.” And he enters upon the work with a corresponding confidence; indeed, it is not likely that, without unusual courage, he would ever have undertaken such a task, much less have carried it through. “I will now,” he says,* “proceed to state certain facts, on which I have such reliance that I feel positively assured, if any one will take the trouble to follow my reasoning, he will share my convictions before he reaches the end of this small work, however incredulous he may be at the outset.” What these convictions are, he states at the end of his Introduction, distinctly, and with considerable force; without any of that unpleasant hesitancy which so often characterizes men of science dealing with questions of remote antiquity. He says:—

“I now proceed to assert—

“Positively,

  • “1. That the Maori is an Aryan.

  • “2. That his language and traditions prove him to be the descendant of a pastoral people, afterwards warlike and migratory.

  • “3. That his language has preserved, in an almost inconceivable purity, the speech of his Aryan forefathers, and compared with which the Greek and Latin tongues are mere corruptions.

  • “4. That this language has embalmed the memory of animals, implements, &c., the actual sight of which has been lost to the Maori for centuries.

“Probably,

  • “1. That he left India about 4,000 years ago.

  • “2. That he has been in New Zealand almost as long as that time.

“To prove these bold assertions is my task in the following chapters.”

[Footnote] * “The Aryan Maori,” p. 5.

– 554 –

I ought perhaps here to confess that, on first reading this, I was not only a little incredulous, but I even doubted whether Mr. Tregear was altogether in earnest. I saw, however, I must be wrong, on noticing that “The Aryan Maori” came from the Government Printing Office, and that “The Maori in Asia” not only appeared in the “Transactions,” but was there awarded the place of honour; a sufficient sign that the learned editors of our only scientific journal deemed it at least a serious contribution to science: this, of course, was more than enough for me.

Mr. Tregear distributes his proofs under several headings: Language, Animals and Customs, Mythology, Time of Migration, Esoteric Language, and others; but it is on language and its evidence that he mainly relies: it is his linguistic method, including his method of exegesis, which is at once his peculiarity and his strength, and it is to this that I wish to call your attention.

“It does not follow,” he says, “because two peoples have (even many) words in common that they are closely connected by descent…. But if there be two nations, all whose vital words come of the same stock, then there are two nations whose ancestors were brothers.”

But how to find out the identity of these vital words? that is evidently the fundamental question lying at the root of the whole inquiry.

Unfortunately Mr. Tregear does not, as some do, begin by enunciating and discussing his method, but, with just a hint of its nature, leaves his reader to discover it by its use. After mentioning, and illustrating by an example or two, some of the difficulties of the etymologist with the European languages, he says: “These examples are as shadows of what the student of European tongues must look for. My task is an easier and more delightful one: the reader will be able to follow the derivations with ease and pleasure.” It is this method, or faculty, of easy derivation and of not less easy interpretation, which enables Mr. Tregear not only to charm his readers by the way, but, after a remarkably short time spent upon the road, to bring them a very long distance from where they started.

In his two works he compares a very large number of Maori words with those of Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, English, and other Aryan languages: unfortunately, as I have said, the principles guiding him in so doing are not explicitly laid down, but the following, I think, are among them:—

1. Reduce the given words, as nearly as is easily practicable, to a common alphabet; then pair any two which have a more or less similar appearance or sound, and a more or less similar meaning; and then treat the components of each pair so formed as derived one from the other, or as both derived from some third form, and, in either case, as giving evidence that the languages from which they have been taken are cognate.

– 555 –

2. Comparison may be made between word and word, or between a part of one word and part of another; or a monosyllabic root in one language, Sanskrit for instance, may be compared with a single syllable in a Maori word; and this syllable may be taken in any part of the word: one syllable, for instance, and that the less permanent, of an apparently dissyllabic root, as Sanskrit, tu (to grow), and Maori, tupu (to grow), of which there is a common variant with the same meaning, tipu; or in an apparently non-radical part, as Sanskrit ma (measure), and Maori mataki (inspect); or it may be made up of parts of two syllables, an apparently non-radical prefix being joined to the first letter of the root, as Sanskrit gon-e (an angle), Maori kon-oni (crooked), noni being the radical, and capable of separate use (and cf. tanoni).

3. If the word to be compared has letters or combinations of letters which the Maori has not, the Maori pronunciation of the word, (as nearly as a Maori can manage it), may be taken as the basis of comparison. But this pronunciation need not always be that which apparently an ordinary Maori would give, nor always uniform. Hence, for instance, Sanskrit ve may be pronounced in three different ways, according to the different words it is compared with, i.e., as we, whe, or whi; and so Sanskrit siv will not be pronounced hiwi, or hiui, but hui, or even tui, if the last should happen to be the word for comparison. This seems a new and useful extension of the law of attraction or assimilation.

4. Comparison may be made with words in the most suitable period of their life-history: a word from the Vedas, or a word of current English, may alike be compared with a current Maori word, and an identity declared “upon the view.” This, it will be observed, does not ignore the historic method, but subordinates it.

5. It is not necessary to discuss, or to state the laws (if any) which govern phonetic change as between Maori and the several compared languages: such laws, if existing, must be considered of a very general and elastic character. Hence, for instance, while Sans. k and Gothic k, according to Grimm's law, have not the same etymological value, Maori k, though quite distinctive, may represent them both; and so with other letters and other languages. Again, Sans. d, dh, l, and r, may all be represented by Maori r; whilst some of these (d and dh), as well as t, and even s and ch, will, upon occasion, stand for Maori t: on the other hand, as I have said, Sans. v will represent both the simple and the aspirated Maori w.

6. It is not necessary to discuss the possibly difficult but certainly interesting question in phonology: how the copious, and in many points much stronger, alphabets of the Aryans were evolved from an alphabet at once as scanty and as definite as the Maori.

– 556 –

7. Nor is it necessary to make any systematic critical examination of the structure of Maori words, so as to distinguish between radical and non-radical—perhaps formative—parts, and ascertain their respective functions:

8. Nor to inquire as to the relative and absolute permanence and the etymological value (1) of the several Maori vowels, and (2) of the consonants; nor as to the rules which govern their occasional interchange:

9. Nor to compare inter se the existing Maori dialects, differing greatly as some do—the Moriori, for instance, and the Rarawa—from the commoner types; nor the language of to-day with such older fragments as exist: so as to ascertain whether, in the language itself, there is any evidence that it has changed, or is changing, and, if so, in what way.

10. Nor to compare the Maori with the other island languages, in order to ascertain, as far as is possible, the archaic forms of the whole group; and whether all the differences observable can be legitimately treated as divergences on the part of the other languages from the true type preserved unaltered in the Maori.

It is evident that these rules, positive and negative, (nowhere, as I have said, explicitly stated, but, as I think, necessarily to be inferred), relieve the etymologist of infinite labour and care, and allow him to proceed with equal freedom and confidence: if he is not altogether lege solutus, it may, I think, be said that he is left free to treat each word upon its own merits; or, to put it in a slightly different form, the slow plodding of the method of investigation—the following of footsteps often obscurely visible, if visible at all—is superseded by direct vision. Mr. Tregear may therefore fairly claim that his method should be called “the method of insight,” and that philology, in his hands, has been raised to the dignity of an intuitional science.

It would be impossible by a few extracts to do justice to the long lists of words, more or less similar in appearance and meaning, which Mr. Tregear has industriously collected: they must be seen to be fully appreciated. Many of the pairs, indeed, if standing alone, might not have been thought very well matched. The Sanskrit Twachtrei, the thunder god, for instance, does not seem particularly like Maori whatitiri; nor is Dhori, the bull, very like the Maori prefix tara, thought by Mr. Tregear to mean bull; while if Hindustani tat, darling, is the same as the Maori te tau o te ate, it must surely be in a state of advanced phonetic decay. On the other hand, many are so much alike that Mr. Tregear, without, so far as appears, any other evidence, is able to pronounce them identical. “The Maori word taura, a rope,” he says, “is pure taurus, a bull; roping, or tethering, the bull being the Aryan first use of a rope.” Again, “This word pare, a band for the hair, is derived

– 557 –

from pareho, the head; and this pareho is only our English word ‘brow,’ the forehead. We see this word in two forms in Maori; the Scottish word brae means the brow of a hill, shortened [i.e., I presume the Scottish word is shortened,] in Maori into rae, the forehead, or a headland; again, it [the Scottish word] is lengthened out into pareho, the head.” Here you will see that Mr. Tregear's method enables him at a glance to connect two Maori words by one Scotch one—a result which might have taken the slow historic method an indefinite, perhaps an infinite, time to accomplish. Again, Mr. Tregear says the Maori karapiti, grapple, is [English] grapple; Maori tangai, the bark, is English tan (for dyeing), and tannin; Maori hae, to hate, is (French) häir, and (English) hate; Maori kiri, the hide, is (English) curry, to dress hides; and so on, through a long list.

But Mr. Tregear is, in my opinion, undoubtedly at his best in discovering and describing the Aryan animals known to the Maoris 4,000 years ago, and now only preserved as fossils in their language.

“Knowing,” he says, “that the Maoris were strangers to the sight of certain animals until these were introduced by the Europeans, I resolved to try and find if there was any proof in the verbal composition by which I could trace if they had once been familiar with them.” He looks in the Maori language for what he calls “graft-words,” words like our “lion-hearted,” in which the name of an animal is a component part. He says: “I took the frog as my first subject. There was no Maori word for it, nor an Aryan word until I tried Sanskrit.

“Sanskrit, bheki, the frog. He was [in Maori]:—

Peke, leaping over.
Pepeke, drawing up his arms and legs.
Tupeke, jumping up.
Hupeke, bending his arms and legs.
Peki, chirping or twittering.
Peke, all gone, without exception.”

He adds: “This was the frog—there could be no doubt of it.” In these six words, then, lies the whole evidence that the Maoris once knew the frog: you will observe that, cogent as the proof is, it is still more compendious. Yet, if I might suggest, and not seem to be gilding refined gold, there is one word more wanted to complete the picture—that is, hikupeke. Now, hiku, you may remember, is the tail of a fish or reptile; peke, we have just seen, is the frog: hikupeke, therefore, must be literally “frog's tail.” But what is the modern meaning of the word? You will see in Williams's Dictionary that it is “to be shortened, so as not to hang down low.” Could you have a more exact or picturesque description of a frog's tail?

– 558 –

He goes on to say: “Encouraged by this I tried the cow. I found kaupare, ‘to turn in a different direction,’ and was struck by its resemblance to (Sans.) go-pala, a herdsman. I looked at kahu, the surface, and found it illustrated by the example, ‘kahu o te rangi.’ At once I recognized the old familiar expression, ‘Cow of heaven,’ a sentence to be met with in every work concerning the Aryans.” A little further on he says, (tracing the natural history of the cow, and its relation to man, in the Maori Dictionary): “The cow was kahui, in herds; kahurangi, unsettled (‘sky-cow,’ moving about like clouds); kakahu, clothes for him (his dress was leather); kauhoa, a litter, (‘cow-friend,’ so they used cattle to ride on); kahupapa, a bridge (a bridge was a ‘flat cow’ on which he crossed streams); kauika, it lay in a heap;” etc.

But though the Maoris used a Sanskrit name for their cow, they “once knew the bull by a word like the Latin taurus, a bull. Tara, he had courage; tarahono, he lay in a heap; [this lying in a heap seems to have been a habit of the Aryan cattle, perhaps peculiar to them]; tararau, he made a loud noise; tararua, he had two points or peaks (horns); tarawai, he broke the horizon line [?]; tareha, he was red; taru, he ate grass; taruke, they lay dead in numbers;” etc. “But well as they knew him by this name, they knew him best,” Mr. Tregear says, “as Latin bos, the bull.” [Hence, as Maori po = Latin bos:] “Pohaka, he ripped up; ponini, was red; powhiri, he whisked his tail;” and others. I will only give one other, but that ought not to be omitted. “There is,” says Mr. Tregear, “a good test-word here—a word so short that we have no extra letters hiding the roots—the word poa. Poa means ‘to allure by bait,’ in modern Maori. If, as I believe, po means bull (bos), then we have only a left. In Sanskrit, aj is to go, or drive, represented by Maori a, to urge or drive. If ‘urge-bull’ is the old word for enticing, alluring by bait, what was it? An Aryan word, the Greek poa, grass, is the exact word. That was what they coaxed the bull with; and in after centuries, when they had forgotten grass as pasture, (only knowing it as weeds), and the animals which fed on it, the old ‘bull-coax’ graft-word was kept for ‘alluring by bait.”’*

I will only now mention one or two other animals, and that briefly, though I am sorry to omit any; for it would well repay the curious to watch whilst, under Mr. Tregear's guidance, the whole Aryan menagerie files out of this ancient, but heretofore unsuspected, Noah's Ark—the Maori language.

The tiger is one of the two animals which have perhaps most severely tried Mr. Tregear's method; but it, too, is subdued and

[Footnote] * I may remark, in the sotto voce of a note, that, according to Liddell and Scott, the Epic form of poa (poie) had one of those inconvenient “extra letters,” besides a different termination.

– 559 –

led out. Mr. Tregear takes as his starting-point the Greek tigris, and he gives as the Maori pronunciation of this, tahika; in this, out of consideration for his reader, he is giving the result, without the difficult intermediate steps which led up to it. It is, I believe, agreed that the Greek iota was sounded like the continental (or Maori) i. If, therefore, a Maori were set to pronounce tigris, he would (or should), I think, say tikiri, or tikirihi, according to the prominence given to the final s. This, however, would embarrass the etymologist, putting him altogether on the wrong track. But there is another, and much more widely known Aryan word for the same animal, our own word “tiger.” Now, if a Maori were set to pronounce the latter, he would certainly say taika, or tahika; which, therefore, (since tigris = tiger in sense, and tiger= tahika in sense and sound), Mr. Tregear legitimately takes as the basis of comparison. He then shows how: Taheke, “he was quick;” tahekeheke, “he was striped;” taheke, “he came down like a torrent;” tahere, “he was ensnared;” and, most desirable if unexpected consummation, tahere, “he hung himself.” It would be historically as well as zoologically interesting to know whether this last statement is to be taken in a special or, as seems to be intended, in a general sense; whether, that is, the practice of suicide was as universal a characteristic of the Aryan tiger as the being striped, or the coming down like a torrent.

The last I will speak of is one which equally, if not in a greater degree, shows the power of Mr. Tregear's method. It is the horse: and he discovers and identifies it by means of a single Maori word, a verb of general meaning; or, as he puts it: “The horse is mentioned but once, and that not as Greek hippos but Latin equus (early pronunciation ekus). The Maori word is eke, to mount a horse; although they had lost the animal, they kept the meaning of this.” Of course, during the interval when they had no horses—by the theory for about 4,000 years—they had to use this verb in a quite general sense for getting upon anything, as on to a mountain, or into a canoe; indeed, the canoe itself was said to eke when it touched the beach—but this only makes the discovery of its secret the more remarkable. And the discovery is not only of interest linguistically, but as showing—can we say, to demonstration?—that the primitive Aryan was a horseman. The Greeks of the time of Homer, I believe, had lost the habit, if not the art, of riding.

Now, in the conclusion of “The Aryan Maori,” Mr. Tregear puts his reader into this dilemma: “The man,” he says, “who has read this book, if not ossified by prejudice, is a man convinced, and a future fellow-labourer.” With only these alternatives before me, I much prefer to be convinced; and so I tender my services, such as they are.

In the first place, then, I will venture to supply two or three

– 560 –

of the more obvious omissions in Mr. Tregear's application of his method.

There are some words in the Maori language which not only throw light upon the old Aryan ways of life and habits of looking at things, but satisfactorily explain some of the commonest, and yet most obscure, expressions in modern Aryan languages—our own especially. Most of us in early youth have been complimented by our elders, perhaps more than once, on having found “a mare's nest:” a singular expression, the force of which we soon learned to appreciate, but the true origin of which, I venture to think, has not hitherto been disclosed. Now, as you are aware, a common Maori word for a nest is kowhanga: What is the etymology of this? Ko, in composition, as Mr. Tregear has taught us, means “cow;” whanga means “to lie in wait,” or say “to lie waiting;” hence kowhanga, a nest, was originally the place where the cow left its young one waiting for it; that is, was the cow's nest. But there is another common word for nest, owhanga. Now, the sheep appears in Maori as o, (allied, Mr. Tregear says, to the Greek ois), by similar reasoning, therefore, owhanga is seen to be “the sheep's nest.” I have not yet found the exact word for a horse's or mare's nest; but who, with these other examples before him, will doubt that it once existed, and only became ridiculous in an age which had forgotten its etymology?

There is another word still more interesting, for it not only explains another common but obscure West Aryan saying, but is proof of an important fact which Mr. Tregear seems to have overlooked—that the Maoris, after first visiting New Zealand, returned to their ancient home before settling here. The saying explained is: “a cock-and-a-bull story;” and the word which explains it is kakapo. This last word is, as you know, the name of a large ground-parrot, now only found in the bush on the west coast of this island. Its name was hitherto thought to signify “night parrot,” in accordance with its nocturnal habits—a satisfactory explanation till the new method revealed the truth. For kaka, it appears, is the Sanskrit form of our word “cock;” po is “a bull:” kakapo, therefore, will mean “the bull-like kaka, or cock.” But the Aryan bull was not so much physically large as morally terrible; and hence, under its Maori name, was, as Mr. Tregear points out, the etymon of our English word “Bo-gey, the demon of darkness.” Now, remembering this, and coupling with it the saying I have quoted, what does this word kakapo reveal, even to the amateur philologist? First, there become visible the adventurous few of those primeval navigators peering into the gloomy recesses of the New Zealand forest, and there for the first time seeing in the dusk this strange bird: not flying, but uncannily marching; not cracking nuts, or eating fruits like a reasonable parrot, but nibbling the grass and herbage like a

– 561 –

quadruped;* “grunting while so doing, if satisfied,” or “uttering a discordant shriek, if irritated;” big naturally, but looking far bigger in the uncertain light; in all ways most impressive to the primitive imagination. Then our voyagers are seen, returning to the family home in Asia; and when they relate there all they have seen, and how, among other strange and wonderful things, there was a kaka-po, “a cock just like a bull,” what wonder if those who had stayed at home, including our Teutonic ancestors, received the narrative with incredulity and ridicule, and so took with them to the West the dim remembrance of this first story about “a Cock and a Bull,” as the very type of a traveller's tale.

Again, whence does our well-known venomous spider get its name, katipo? This might be taken to mean “biting in the night,” perhaps “biting secretly,” the latter, curiously enough, an exact translation of its generic name. But as a graft-word it might not only mean “bite the bull,” a thing many little animals might do, but “stop the bull,” the very acme of power to an Aryan mind.

Mr. Tregear has pointed out with striking effect that the syllable nga in several Maori words, (ngarara, kapenga, etc.), really stands for naga, “the great serpent” or “crocodile” of the first inhabitants of India; from which, indeed, the latter took their name. The naga seems to have played a very important part in the early history of the Aryans, and hardly less so in the development of Mr. Tregear's theory. But though, as I have said, he has shown us in several cases how nga should be naga, he has omitted some important applications of his own rule. Take, for instance, Maori ngaru, a wave: read it as naga-ru, and its meaning is obvious. Ru is “to shake;” naga-ru, therefore, is the great (sea) serpent shaking himself, and so ruffling the water. But even in the ocean there is one greater than this marine naga. You will remember that the Maori Neptune is called Tangaroa. Why? A mere Maori scholar, I think, would not be able to say: but if you take nga as being naga, it becomes transparent. Ta is “to dash down,” nga is “naga,” roa, “long, great:” Tanagaroa, then, is “he who dashed down (overcame) the great sea serpent.” Could you wish for a sea-god a more appropriate name?

Again, Mr. Tregear cites the proverb, “He koanga tangata tahi, he ngahuru puta noa,” which he translates literally, “At planting, single-handed: at harvest, all around.” Now, as commonly understood, ko is a Maori implement, the analogue of the

[Footnote] * See Buller's “Birds of New Zealand,” p. 31, etc. It is not meant that it would not eat fruit if it could get it, but that it takes its commonest food by “grazing”—the term actually used in loc. cit.

[Footnote] † Lathrodectus. See Thorell, “On European Spiders,” p. 95.

– 562 –

spade; hence, koanga, “digging, planting:” but to Mr. Tregear ko, of course, means “cow.” Ngahuru, again, means “ten,’ and here, as commonly understood, “autumn, or harvest time,” (i.e., the tenth month from May or June, the beginning of their year). But Mr. Tregear says: “Huru is exactly the Gothic ulu, the English wool; the word as now used by the Maoris being applied to the hair of an animal, the feathers of a bird, etc., only because they had lost the sheep. Ngahuru, ‘the wools,’ (plural nga), was the sheep harvest, the shearing.” And he proposes the new reading of the proverb: “At cow-herding, one man; at sheep-shearing, many.” But ngahuru, “the wools,” used absolutely, is not a happy phrase, whether in Maori or English. Suppose, however, we take nga in its natural sense of naga, how is it then? Naga being a serpent, or crocodile, nagahuru would mean “snake's wool,” or “crocodile's wool;” and the proverb would run: “At cow-herding, one man; at crocodile-shearing, many.” And who could blame those simple people, if they did come in numbers to see that sight?

A philological Philistine, an unbeliever in the naga theory, might well object that if a Maori tried to say “naga” he would not say “nga”, but “naka,” and that therefore the word, if found at all in Maori, should be found in the latter form. If the justice of this criticism were admitted, the theory would suffer the loss of some most serviceable etymologies, but it would I hope, still survive. For, not only does the word naka appear in Hawaiian, and there mean “trembling, afraid,” but there is in Williams's Dictionary a word disregarded by Mr. Tregear, and that is nakahi, and its meaning is “a serpent.” I am quite aware that even Maoris would assert this was not a Maori word; but seeing that without it the nagas might be driven from New Zealand, just as they were getting established, and a most interesting theory suffer an irreparable loss, could not the new philology, which seems well inclined to adapt itself to the needs of its votaries, be induced to interfere, and to declare it to be an ancient Maori word? For supposing, even, it could be shown that some missionary or other Englishman had, as he thought, introduced the word to represent the English “snake,” what would that have been but reminding our Maori brothers of a word they once knew well but had forgotten?*

[Footnote] * After I had written this, I found that Fornander, (“The Polynesian Race,” iii. p. 244), actually connects the Hawaiian naka with Saxon snaca, a snake; O. H. German sneccho, a snail; and Sanscrit naga, a serpent. In Hawaiian the Maori k disappears, ng becomes n, and t is represented by k: hence Hawaiian naka = Maori ngata, a form not so easily connected with snaca, etc. Evidently, an etymologist who has at command both these forms and feels at liberty, without discussing their relative age and stability, to use the one most suited to the occasion, possesses an instrument of great power.

– 563 –

I hope it will not be thought presumptuous if I suggest that, though Mr. Tregear shows not less than the usual boldness of a pioneer, he yet seems unreasonably timid in the limits he sets to the application of his own method. “It has,” he says, “been asserted lately that the Maoris are children of Abraham. They will have to alter almost every important word in their language before it can be claimed that they are of Semitic parentage. Mauris or Moors they are not.” I should have agreed with him before I had seen his method in use: but I am confident that he has supplied the means of proving that he has altogether under-estimated its power.

I have not a word to say against the Aryan affinity of the Maori or his language. It has been more than once pointed out, and, indeed, is obvious, that if we believe in the original unity of the human race, it is reasonable to suppose, or at least unreasonable to deny, the original unity of human language. But this is a far-reaching argument, and encourages us to look in all directions for our kin. I therefore propose, with the help of Mr. Tregear's method, to show, not that the Maoris are not Aryan, but that they are also Semitic—i.e., Mauri. If I fail, it must be set down to my own incompetence, and not to the insufficiency of the method.

As a first step, then, I would venture to say a few words on the name “Maori,” which (for the purposes of this paper) I would submit should be Mauri.

The word “Maori” is, confessedly, not a noun or a proper name, but an adjective. The Natives are not Maoris, as we call them, but tangata Maori, “Maori people,” as I have been reminded by them, more than once. The word when applied to men is commonly translated “native;” on the other hand, wai maori has to be translated “fresh water.” The same word in Hawaiian, maoli, is said to mean “indigenous,” but also “real, true, genuine.” The latter seems to be the fundamental, or very nearly the fundamental, meaning in both languages. As Dr. Codrington says, in his most instructive work on “The Melanesian Languages” (p. 82): “When a native says that he is a man, he means that he is a man and not a ghost; not that he is a man and not a beast…. There is in the [Mota] language ta-maur, ‘live man,’ as opposed to ta-mate, ‘dead man,’ or ‘ghost;’ no doubt the Fate and Sesake word ta-moli = ta-maur…. In Saa, mauri is ‘to live.”’* The word maori, also, it seems, was used in this way to distinguish the living from the dead man, and the real man from the fabulous or fictitious beings in human shape, such as the Patupaiarehe, the so-called fairies.

[Footnote] * See Dr. Shortland's “Maori Religion and Mythology,” pp. 46, 47; a work full of valuable information, but all too short.

[Footnote] † In the Motuan, (of New Guinea), mauri is “life,” and “living.”

– 564 –

It is consonant with this that Europeans were often, at first sight (and even afterwards), taken for spirits, or beings from another world. Captain Cook, as is well known, was even thought by the Hawaiians to be their god Lono (Maori Rongo). We have, then: maori, maoli, moli (cf. Chatham Islands Moriori), maur, and mauri, all used in substantially the same sense; and this sense—of the word maori as well as of the others—seems to be, “living, not dead,” and so “real, not fictitious;” and it is only a slight extension of the latter meaning to apply it to useful fresh water (wai maori), as opposed to useless sea water (wai tai). Tangata, I presume, originally meant the same as tangata maori, just as wai still commonly means the same as wai maori: the adjective in each case being only added to distinguish the real thing from its spurious rival. And here I may note that Max Müller (Lect. ii., 320) thinks the Latin mare, and other West Aryan names for the sea, meant “dead, barren water” (the French eau morte), as opposed to the living water (l'eau vive) of the running streams.

It seems, therefore, not unreasonable to conclude, provisionally, that Maori and Mauri are variants of one and the same word: which is the more ancient? In New Zealand, Mauri is, commonly at least, a noun, and is said to be “the heart, the seat of (some of) the emotions”—perhaps, rather, the seat of life, spirit, anima; and in this connection may be mentioned a word which looks like the root of it, uri, now used for offspring and, it seems, for other blood relations. Now, it is remarkable that, according to a very high authority, the first man in the Maori cosmogony was called to life with the formula, “Tihe, mauri ora!”—“Sneeze, living Mauri!” Hence, whatever the speaker may have intended by “Mauri,” is it not obviously more ancient than “Maori,” and by far the most appropriate name for primitive man? And if we find an ancient Semitic people known by this very name, are we not entitled to conclude—at least for this evening—not only that they are close kin to, but are indeed the progenitors of, the Maoris?

I will now, to borrow a phrase of Mr. Tregear's, introduce you to two sister tongues, Maori and Arabic; merely premising that I thought if I chose for comparison a language of which I knew only the transliterated alphabet, the power of the method would be the more signally displayed. I need not remind you that, though at one time it was fashionable to derive all human speech from a Semitic source, since the rise of comparative philology the Semitic “roots” were thought too peculiar and too stubborn to allow themselves to be satisfactorily allied with those of any other family. But this difficulty may be left for European philologists; “my task,” as Mr. Tregear said of his own, “is an easier and more delghtful one: you will be able to follow the derivations with ease and pleasure.”

– 565 –

I need only further remind you that Arabic b, g, and l represent Maori p, k, and r; while d will stand for Maori r or t; and s, commonly, for h.*

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Arabic. Maori.
Ard (pl. aradi), earth, ground Ara, road
m-ara, cultivated ground

Hence the very word “Aryan” appears of Semitic origin.

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

awi, to go to, to reside awhi, to draw near
bab, a gate, a door papa, a sliding door
bahr, the sea para and its compounds (post)
bakbak, noise as of water from bottle or pipe pakipaki, to clap together, as the hands, or two waves meeting
pake, crackle, emit a sharp sound
baki, firm pake, obstinate
baraghit, a flea puruhi, a flea

This shows how long this little creature has been man's companion.

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

bu, a father pu, a skilled or wise person
ba-kara, a cow or ox kara-rehe, a quadruped (and see post)
bu-k, horn, musical instrument pu, general name for wind instruments, as pu-torino, a flute
darab, drub, thump; this is English drub
gild, the skin kiri, the skin

These two are well connected by Torres Island gilit, the skin, which is more related to the one it is less like.

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

hubs, a prison; (Eng.) nabs, he hopu, catch
catches; (Lat.) habere, hold
hak, to rub hakihaki, the itch
haka, tell whaka, reply to; whaki, reveal
hatab, firewood hatepe, cut in two, as a tree
tata, to split firewood, etc.
harir, silk hara-reke, flax; hari, carry; here, tie
har, sultry hana, glow, give forth heat; hot
hara-m, illegal hara, offence
hawa, sound, voice hawa-ta, mutter
haw-a, wind hau, wind
kaba, sullen kawa, bitter
kabih, deformed kapi, covered up
kadah, flint kara, basaltic stone
kahr, force kaha, strength, power
kahhar, powerful kaha, strong, powerful

[Footnote] * For the convenience of the reader, I have marked off with hyphens the parts of words material for my purpose.

– 566 –

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Arabic. Maori.
kali, ground covered with herbage kari, an isolated wood; to dig
kahweh, coffee kawa, bitter
kawakawa, a pepper tree (Piper excelsum)

Mr. Tregear says “the Maoris had not learnt to drink kava,” the common Polynesian intoxicant, prepared from the root or leaves of a pepper tree, P. methysticum. If not, why did they call this New Zealand pepper tree by the old name? Moreover, the Rev. R. Taylor, a man who possessed a great deal of curious knowledge respecting the Maoris, is satisfied they carried on the manufacture of kava (or kawa) in New Zealand, and that this appears in the names of certain places, such as Kawaranga, and says that they still chew the root as medicine. In Arabia, we are told, kahweh, or coffee, (the primitive Maurikava,”) was looked on as an intoxicant, and as such prohibited by the Koran. It is not surprising that the prohibition was vain, if, as is evident, its use dated from primeval times.

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Arabic. Maori.
kalab, insanity karapa, squinting; often, it is said, connected with cerebral disease
ka-mar, the moon marama, the moon
ka-nun, place for fire ka, burn; tu-nu, roast
karar, conclusion, determination kara, secret plan, conspiracy
karrabe, a large flagon karaha, calabash with wide brim
kari-m, generous ha-kari, a gift
katkatat, laughing loud katakata, laughing often
kata,* cut koti, cut
katakutakuta,* cut to pieces kotikoti, cut to pieces
katr, dropping, as water kato, flow, as a river
khata, a mistake kata, to laugh
khatt, mark or line drawn au-kati, the celebrated boundary line drawn by the King Natives
khati, a snner kati, don't!
khudud, cheeks ngutu, lips
kh-alik, creator ariki, chief
kulah, a cap kura, a head ornament
l-ahi-b, flame ahi, fire
lama, shining rama, a torch
ma, water ma, (in comp.) a branch of a stream

[Footnote] * A final guttural being untransliterable is omitted.

– 567 –

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Arabic. Maori.
maraka, gravy mara, prepared by steeping in water
mad, flow (of the tide) mate, moving slowly as the tide
mabhuh, hoarse mapu, to pant, to whiz
malih, beautiful, agreeable mari-e, quiet, gentle; hu-mari-e, beautiful
m-alik, a king ariki, a chief
malu-kut, omnipotence maru, power, authority
marrih, the planet Mars maru, the planet Mars*
marrih, iron mari-pi, a knife
maram, intention, purpose marama, clear in mind
mat, to die mate, to die
mawt, death (Lat.) mors (mort-) death
na, our na matou, ours; nana, his
nuksan, injury nuka, deceive
rah, go rara, go in shoals
dar, ramble ko-rara, go in different directions
ma-rara, spread about
hara, come
ra-s, the head, head man ra-e, forehead, headland
ra-ngatira, chief
rakha, the pleasures of life rakaraka, to scratch

The pleasures of a primitive people are necessarily simple.

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

rami, throw rami, squeeze
sa-dik, true ka tika, it is true
salih, honest hari, to feel or show gladness

It speaks well for the morality of the pristine Mauri that they had substantially the same word for honesty and happiness.

sakat, to fall taka, to fall
sakil, heavy, oppressed with sleep hakiri, hear or feel indistinctly
sana, light, splendour hana, glowing, warm
tabut, a coffin tapu, as from touching a dead body
tadwir, causing to turn in a circle tawhiri, to whirl round
tahkik, truth (by metathesis) tika, truth
taklidi, imitative takariri (with whaka), vexatious (as by imitating or mocking)
takht, a bed takoto, to lie down
tahnit, burying with odours tanu, to bury
tahrik, provocation taritari, to provoke
takai, wrapper, covering
takkayah, pillow takaia, wrapped or rolled up

[Footnote] * See “Te Ika a Maui,” second edition, p. 138.

– 568 –

[The section below cannot be correctly rendered as it contains complex formatting. See the image of the page for a more accurate rendering.]

Arabic. Maori.
tal, an eminence, high ground tara, a peak
takalluf, inconvenience takarure, to be listless
taraf, flap, anything dangling tarawa, hung up, dangling
tarakhi, proceeding slowly tarakihi, a cicala; anyone who has watched this insect will know how slowly it proceeds
tanin, a sharp sound tangi, cry, make a sound
tannin, a large serpent taniwha, a monstrous reptile
tawali, continuation, succession tawari, almost broken off
tawariwari, bending from side to side
tawb, a great gun tau, report of a gun
tawhim, giving what is desired to eat tawhi, food
tawhe-d, unity awhi, embrace
turak, forsake, forego turaki, throw or push down
tut, a mulberry tutu, a shrub with mulberry-coloured fruit
tuwani, delay, slowness tuwhana, urge, incite
warak, leaf of a tree or book wharangi, a broad-leaved shrub; the leaf of a book
wa-kt, time, season w-a, time, season
wata-d, stake, paling ti-watawata, a palisade*

This list might, of course, be indefinitely extended, but these are enough. I will, however, take two or three of them a little more in detail.

Mr. Tregear says he has traced the word ariki, chief, “in every Aryan tongue”—a most creditable feat, apart from its intrinsic difficulty, seeing that there are said to be some forty of these languages living, and some twenty of them dead. He gives, however, only four or five examples:—“In Gaelic it is ardrigh, high king; in old Slavonic, zary; in Greek, arke, chief, archon, a chief magistrate; in English archangel, arch deacon, (arke-diaconos*) from the Greek.” Now, ardrigh, zary, and archon may no doubt be considered like ariki, but not more like, I think, than Arabic Kh-alik, creator, and M-alik, a king, especially if, as is required in Maori, you vocalize the final k: while if you

[Footnote] * This I understand to be its meaning in the Whakaaraara pa, the chant of the sentinel to keep the garrison alert:—

“Tenei te pa,
Tenei te tiwatawata
Tenei te aka te houhia nei
Ko roto ko au, e, e, e!

[Footnote] “Here is the fortress, here is the palisading, and here the creeper that binds it, whilst inside am I!”

[Footnote] Archdeacon Williams gives tiwata, but without assigning a meaning.

[Footnote] † This, I think, is not the ordinary spelling of this word.

– 569 –

want the very word itself (l, as often, being substituted for r) you will find it in the Agáwi of Abyssinia—a language which is at least claimed as Semitic, and in which a chief is called aliki.

Next, I will take the Arabic bahr, “the sea.” This word evidently points to a primitive Mauri form, para; and it is precisely the latter which appears in many modern Maori “graftwords” descriptive of or relating to the sea: Parauri, “it was dark-coloured;” pararahi, “it was spread out flat;” but was liable to parará, “sudden and violent gusts of wind;” when it showed on its surface parahi, “steep slopes;” and, parare, “made a great noise.” It not only appears in the names of fishes, and of the sperm whale (paraoa), but even in that of food itself, pararé, and paraparahanga; while the simple form duplicated, parapara, meant the “first-fruits of fish,” and (consequently?) “a sacred place.” A flood was, not inappropriately, called parawhenua, “sea (on) land.”

But there is a still more important word of this group, strangely overlooked by Mr. Tregear when discussing the meaning of Bharata, the ancient name for India—and that is Parata. Now, who or what was Parata? One of the highest authorities we have on these matters, Mr. John White, says: “The Maoris account for the tides in the following manner: There is, in the deepest part of the ocean, a god, son of Tangaroa, called Parata, who is such a monster that he only breathes twice in twenty-four hours; when he inhales his breath it is ebb-tide, and when he exhales his breath it is flood-tide.”* And it is he who also causes the whirlpool, which the Maoris call “Te waha o te Parata,” or “Te korokoro o te Parata”—“the mouth (or throat) of Te Parata.” He was, therefore, the ocean—at least in its aspects of power—personified, or rather, deified. Now, remembering this, and that the ancient Mauri must certainly have been an eminently seafaring race—or their descendants would not now be found in islands as far apart as Madagascar, Hawaii, and New Zealand—it would surely not be surprising that, on arriving by sea in India, they should have given to that country the name of the deity whose power they had often experienced, and called it Parata, since corrupted into Bharata.

I have shown that Mr. Tregear points out and developes with surprising effect the “graft-words” which he finds in Maori relating to cattle, especially those containing kau and ko, meaning “cow,” and po and tara, “bull.”

The more ancient word, however, for cattle, appears to be kar or kara, preserved in the Arabic ba-kara, “cow or ox”; in

[Footnote] * “Lectures on Maori Customs,” i., p. 10.

[Footnote] † See, for the latter expression, Sir G. Grey's most valuable work on “Polynesian Mythology,” second edition, part ii., p. 74.

– 570 –

Maori as kara-rehe, “quadruped,” and in many others given below; and, though a good deal mutilated in English, still in its essential part both in sound and spelling preserved for us in “calf.”

A little while since, no one would have thought of looking in the Maori language for a life-history of those ancient cattle, but a competent method can discover and reveal it. Let us first take this word kara as meaning “cow:” then, karawa, she became a dam (lit. “cow-mother”); and, afraid of losing her calf, karangata, remained silent when called; but karaua, “the old man” (cow-herd), with kararehe, his dog (lit. “cow-beast”) karapoti, “surrounded (and caught) her;” and karatiti “fastened her with pegs,” i.e., tethered her; whereupon, karangi, she “became restless,” and karangaranga “bellowed frequently.”

Then, taking it as meaning oxen: karamuimui, they “were in swarms,” and fed upon karamu and karangu, the “cow-trees” of the settlers; but karapiti, they were “fastened side by side,” (i.e., “were yoked together,” an important fact) and karawhiu, “the whirling thing” (lit. “cattle-whip,”) being applied, they showed karawarawa, “weals or stripe-marks;” finally, karapipiti, they were laid “side by side,” karahu, in “an oven;” and karakape, “hot coals and stones being taken up with two sticks,” kakara, they became very “savory.”

Of the other cattle-words, I will only mention one, karaha, “a wide-mouthed calabash,” which, coming from the same root, shows that their first drinking vessels were of leather.

All this is of great interest, especially as showing that the ancient Mauri used their cattle for draught purposes, and made free use of their flesh for food; and, therefore, that we have here evidence of their language and customs long anterior to the Aryan worship of the cow. And this fact confirms the opinion of most philologists that any common origin of the Aryan and Semitic languages must be of the most remote antiquity.

The rhinoceros, kar-kand, we may assume, is named from the same root; like the horse, “it is only mentioned once in Maori.” Mr. Tregear rightly claims, as an epithet of the bull, the word tararua, “the two-horned;” he will, I am sure, willingly concede that taratahi, “the one-horned,” could apply to nothing but the rhinoceros.

I will only here refer to one other word, the Arabic tannin, “a great serpent,” the same in origin as the Maori taniwha, “a great water monster.” Mr. Tregear, I am glad to say, has already recognized the Aryo-Semitic nature of the taniwha, by connecting it on the one hand with the Sanskrit tan, “stretched out,” and on the other with the Hebrew Leviathan. By the introduction of the great Arabian serpent, the happy family is now complete.

– 571 –

These, then, are my contributions, such as they are, towards the wider application of Mr. Tregear's method. In return, I hope I may ask that he will furnish his followers with better means than they yet have of answering objections which unbelievers are sure to make. Some will insist, and with a good deal of authority on their side, that the primary test of relationship in languages is in their grammars, and not in their vocabularies. Others will require more evidence of relationship in vocabulary than the mere juxtaposition in opposite columns of series of words more or less similar.

On the latter point, I confess, after what I had been doing myself, I felt a good deal uneasy on reading the following passages in Professor Whitney's “Life and Growth of Language,” pp. 267 and 312:—“The changes of linguistic usage are all the time separating in appearance what really belongs together: bishop and évêque are historically one word; so are eye and auge; so are I and je and ik and egón and aham; though not one of them has an audible element which is found in any other. And then the same changes are bringing together what really belongs apart; the Latin locus, and Sanskrit lokas, ‘place, room,’ have really nothing to do with one another, though so nearly identical and in closely related languages; likewise Greek holos, and English whole, and so on. We may take the English language (as too many do) and compare it with every unrelated dialect in existence, and find a liberal list of apparent correspondences, which, then, a little study of the English words will prove unreal and fallacious…. The whole process of linguistic research begins in and depends upon etymology, the tracing out of the histories of individual words and elements…. On accuracy in etymological processes, then, depends the success of the whole; and the perfecting of the methods of etymologizing is what especially distinguishes the new linguistic science from the old. The old worked upon the same basis on which the new now works—namely, on the tracing of resemblances or analogies between words in regard to form and meaning. But the former was hopelessly superficial. It was guided by surface likenesses, without regard to essential diversity which might underlie them—as if the naturalist were to compare and class together green leaves, green wings of insects, green paper, and green laminæ of minerals; it was heedless of the source whence its material came: it did not, in short, command its subject sufficiently to have a method. A wider knowledge of facts, and a consequent better comprehension of their relations, changed all this. Especially the separation of languages into families, with their divisions and subdivisions, the recognition of non-relationships and relationships, and degrees of relationship, effected the great revolution by changing the principles on which the probable value of

– 572 –

particular evidences is estimated. It was seen that, whereas a close verbal resemblance between two nearly related tongues has the balance of probabilities in its favour, one between only distantly related tongues, or those regarded as unrelated, has the probabilities against it…. There are, in short, two fundamental rules, under the government of which all comparative processes must be carried on:—(1.) Comparisons must have in view established lines of genetic connection; and (2) the comparer must be thoroughly and equally versed in the materials of both sides of the comparison. For want of regard to them, men are even yet filling volumes with linguistic rubbish, drawing wide and worthless conclusions from unsound and insufficient premises.”

It is, I suppose, undeniable that the principles here laid down are thoroughly sound. The concluding language is strong, but not too strong where it applies; and we ought to be put in a position to show that it does not apply to what I have called the new, but ought to have called the newest, method.

And it is not only the charge of “insufficient premises” we may have to meet. For it may be further objected that, while in many cases the evidence is insufficient or altogether wanting, in many others what evidence there is tends in the wrong direction.

Take, for instance, the statement already quoted: “The Maori kiri, ‘the hide,’ is English curry, ‘to dress hides.”’ The identity, I presume, is declared upon such similarity as there is between them on the surface; what is the evidence against it? Kiri, “the skin,” is a very widely-spread, and therefore ancient, Polynesian and Melanesian word. What is “curry”? According to Skeat, following Littré, it is from old French con-roi, “gear, preparation;” a hybrid word, made by prefixing con (= Lat. cum) to old French roi, order; but this roi is itself of Scandinavian origin, from Danish rede, “order,” or “to set in order.” It forms the second part of the word ar-ray: to “curry favour” is a corruption of to “curry favel,” to rub down, or get ready a horse, of which favel was an old name. Now, if kiri was an original Maori word, whilst curry was coined in Europe within historic times, it is evident that their identity can only be by virtue of some extension of the doctrine of “pre-established harmony” well worth elucidation.

Again, Maori rawhi, “to seize,” and rawe, “snatch,” are coupled with old English ravin, “to obtain by violence,” and raven, “a greedy bird.” But, according to Littré and others, ravin comes from Latin rapina, whilst raven, Max Müller says, is from Sanskrit root RU (a general word for sounds of all kinds); so that, it would seem, if we looked to find through the Sanskrit a Maori relative for the raven, it should be not rawe or rawhi, but ruru, “the little owl.” If, on the other hand, we were to

– 573 –

follow Skeat, who derives raven from a root KRAP, also expressive of sound, we should have to give up the ruru; but, with the initial k, we should be still farther than before from the others.

I have mentioned that Mr. Tregear says “the Maori taura, a rope, is pure taurus, a bull;” but he seems to have overlooked the fact that taura itself occurs in Latin, and as a feminine form: I have even heard of its being translated “a female bull.” The translation involves difficulties of its own, but is valuable as suggesting a possible relationship with the extreme West Aryan or Irish “bulls.” I will only add that the Greek and Latin forms of the word, tauros and taurus, seem, according to Skeat, and Liddell and Scott, to have lost an initial s, the root being STU; so that, in this respect, the English word steer, which is from the same root, is the older.

Again, the Maori taitea, “fearful, timid,” is coupled with (Gr.) deido, I fear. But it will be said, and I think truly, that taitea is really two words, tai and tea, (each of which enters freely into composition with many others), and that in any case its obvious meaning is its original meaning, “the white part” (i.e., the sapwood) of a tree; as in the proverb, “Ruia te taitea, kia tu ko taikaka anake,” or shortly, “Ruia taitea, waiho taikaka”—“Throw away the sap, that the heart only may be left,” i.e., “Put the common people out of it, and let chiefs only take part.” The meaning is the same, but the verbal antithesis is more obvious, if taikura, “the red (or brown) part,” is substituted for taikaka. I may add that kaikea in Hawaiian is the same word, and has the same meaning of “sap-wood,” from its whiteness. It seems reasonable, therefore, to suppose that if the dark-coloured, durable heart of the tree represented the competent man, or chief, the light-coloured perishable sap would represent incompetence in various forms, including certainly timidity. If taitea is to be etymologically connected with deido, the root of which is DI, it should, I presume, be through this root. But which half of the composite taitea are we to connect with it? Remembering the compounds of each, the choice is evidently embarrassing.*

Again, Sanskrit dubdha, “doubt,” is compared with Maori tupua, which, as an adjective, Archdeacon Williams translates “strange,” and Mr. Tregear adds, without giving his authority, “uncertain.” Does its use as a substantive help to connect it with “doubt”? It means demon, or taniwha, i.e., a water monster. And it is to be noted that the word appears also as tipua,

[Footnote] * It might be thought that tea, “light-coloured,” would naturally connect itself with fear, but, on the principle that a good horse cannot be of a bad colour, the akatea, the “white (barked) creeper,” is from its durability taken as an emblem of strength and excellence, e.g., “Rangitihi te upoko i takaia ki te akatea.”

– 574 –

and in that form makes the distinctive part in the name of the well-known southern lake, the so-called Whakatipu (not to mention the still more favoured “Wakatip!”) which, as was long since pointed out, (by Dr. Shortland, I believe), should be Whakatipua, i.e., Whangatipua, “the creek (or lake) of the monster,” an appropriate name, as he, I think, suggests, in the days of canoe navigation.

“Another most interesting word,” says Mr. Tregear, “reo, ‘speech or language,’ has its exact equivalent in the Greek rheo. Rheo meant ‘to flow swiftly:’ as a river word we find it in the Rhine, Rhone, etc.; in New Zealand we find it as re-re, ‘a waterfall.’ But there was another meaning for rheo, that of ‘speaking quickly.’ From the Anglo-Saxon form, reord, came our English word ‘to read’; so that two English words (‘read’ and ‘rhetoric’) have Maori brotherhood through reo, ‘speech.”’ But, according to Liddell and Scott, rheo, “flow,” is from root SRU, whence our word “stream,” the s being lost in Greek and Latin: while rheo, say, and “rhetoric,” (or, rather, the latter, for the former is a supposed word), is from root ER or VER, whence also apparently, or from a nearly allied root, come Latin verbum, and our “word;” “read,” on the other hand, according to Skeat, is from the root RADH. If this is so, our poor reo, being equally related to them all, will surely be left in the midst of these three roots, SRU, VER, and RADH—a reo nanu; a “much mixed,” and (perhaps in a somewhat new sense) “confused” reo—like a donkey between three equally tempting, but far apart, bundles of hay.

I will only take one more word, and that as illustrating the difference between “the method of insight” and “the method of investigation.” The word is the Maori rakau, a tree. It is treated by Mr. Tregear in this way: “Sanskrit, ruhk (Pali rukkho), a tree, Maori rakau, a tree”—and that is all: the reader is supplied with that amount of objective information, the rest he is by the theory expected to supply himself. Dr. Codrington also has occasion to treat of the same word. He shows that it is composed of two roots RA and KAU, and he traces these through a large number of island languages, which his investigations have shown to be related.* The latter, KAU, he says, appears in 28 out of the 33 words given by Mr. Wallace for the Malay Archipelago; and in 37 out of 40 of his own Melanesian list. It is therefore most widely spread, and of extreme antiquity. The form varies remarkably, from kayu, hayu, kasu, hazu, kau, hau, kai, ngai, down to ai and ei, and even, Dr. Codrington believes, to ie—a very long way from the beginning,

[Footnote] * “Melanesian Languages,” p. 95. I hope it will not be thought presumptuous in an outsider to express the opinion that this work will mark an epoch in Polynesian philology, by showing the fundamental relation between the Polynesian and Melanesian languages.

– 575 –

but by appreciable steps. He adds: “It must be observed that in many words this [root kau] is compounded with some other, as Maori rakau, Santa Maria regai, the Mota tangae, the Duke of York diwai, San Cristoval hasie, Nengone sere-ie, Ambrym and Ceram liye, and lyeii. In the case of some of these, the natives who use them are well aware they are compound words. Thus, in Mota, mol is a native orange, and properly describes the thorn; tan-mol is the trunk and body of the tree; tan ngae is the tree regarded in the same way, ngae being the tree and tan the bulk of it. The Santa Maria people explain regai in the same way—re is the bulk, ngai the tree. Thus, the Maori rakau is explained.”*

If you look at the amount of labour implied in Dr. Codrington's treatment of this one word, you will agree that the one defect of the method of investigation lies in its not being “delightfully easy.”

In conclusion, I should like to make a practical suggestion, with little, if anything, that is new in it, and yet one that ought to be constantly repeated. It is clear that—whether Mr. Tregear's method is held to be scientifically sound, and therefore deserving of far wider application, or to need radical remodelling before it should be applied at all—it can, in regard to the Maori language, be as successfully applied by those who are not in New Zealand as by those who are, and in a hundred years as now: we might be deferring the good day, yet it would be only deferred. But there is one thing which, if not done now—within a very few years—and by us in New Zealand, will never be done at all—I mean the getting upon record all that is as yet unrecorded of the Maoris, their history, life and language. The race, I trust, will survive as long as ours, or at least until it becomes merged in ours, but the peculiar knowledge of the race is perishing every day; the old men die, and there are hardly any, perhaps none, instructed as they were to take their place. This is no doubt inevitable, from the contact of the great majority of them with us and our ways. Think only of the difference in their habits of life and of thought, even of language, implied in their ability to buy such things as steel tools, clothing, and lucifer matches, instead of having to supply their place by their own peculiar skill and industry. Again, the spread of Christianity, of course, discredited and then practically abolished

[Footnote] * I would ask: Is the likeness between the San Cristoval hasie, and Maori and Hawaiian wahie, “firewood,” only accidental? If not, and Dr. Codrington's series in ie is continuous with the other, there are apparently in Maori two forms of the same word as wide apart as wahie and rakau.

[Footnote] † The forthcoming work of Mr. John White—his magnum opus, I feel sure I may say—should leave little to be desired on this branch of the subject.

– 576 –

their priests—“a professionally learned class”—and all the learning, the ceremonies and formulæ, connected with their so-called religion, with the tapu and witchcraft, with war, and with almost all the ordinary occupations of life, exist now in the memory of comparatively few. In short, all that constituted the differentia of the Maori people—that which, as expressed in speech and life, distinguished them from all other peoples—is surely and rapidly passing away. It is not in the least likely that this peculiar knowledge will be handed on as of old, except in fragments here and there; and the only sure way of preserving such parts as are not already on record, is by an immediate and systematic search.

Take only the question of vocabulary. Archdeacon Williams' Dictionary (a work for which every student of Maori must be grateful, and to which throughout this paper I have been largely indebted) contains, on a rough estimate, about 7,000 words; Andrews' Hawaiian Dictionary contains about 15,500 words. Now, there is no reason to suppose either that the whole of the Hawaiian words are in Andrews' work, or that the Maori language is less copious than the Hawaiian. In this department alone, therefore, making all allowances, there is an immense work to be done; and it will take many helpers, working for a long time, to do it effectively.

I would, therefore, particularly ask whether some organized effort in this direction is not possible?—some organization for bringing into relation with each other all who are interested in the matter, and are, in any way, qualified to help? Whether this could best be done through the Societies, who might appoint “Maori Committees,” or by a separate organization having its head-quarters, say, at Auckland or Wellington, but in any case with local branches, and with corresponding members wherever there are Maoris to be found—I would not presume to say. But, looking from an ethnologic and linguistic standpoint, there is a great work yet to be done, and there is yet the opportunity, and I believe the means, of doing it, if those who are competent will only take the matter up.

– 577 –

Art. LXXII.—Kahikatea as a Building Timber.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 18th October, 1886.]

In a paper read before this Institute by Mr. E. Bartley, on “The Building Timbers of Auckland,” and printed in the last volume of “Transactions,” a somewhat one-sided reference is made to kahikatea, and a very low estimate of its value as a building timber is given. As I have had during the past fifteen years excellent opportunities of observing the capabilities of the kahikatea of the Thames Valley, I propose placing before you such facts as will, I believe, give a more just appreciation of its merits.

The kahikatea of the Thames grows upon low-lying, wet ground, but whether it is better or worse than that which grows upon high and dry land, I am not in a position to say, as I have had no experience of the latter. I may here state that I have not been able to obtain any satisfactory reasons for supposing that there is any material difference in the two kinds, or that that growing on dry ground is any more durable than that which is found in the swamps. There are two marked features noticeable in kahikatea trees, as will be seen from the sections of two trees which I have here. The one is quite white all through, while the other shows very plainly the yellow heart, and the outer white, or sap part. The heart is much harder, and contains seams of gum near the centre. In the Thames forests the latter kind is by far the most abundant, the white kind being comparatively rare. The heart in kahikatea is proportionately much less than in kauri, totara, or rimu, and is irregular in form. Logs newly felled are so heavy that many of them barely float, and about 10 per cent. will sink; but, when cut into boards, and dried, the timber is reduced in weight fully 30 per cent. Sawn kahikatea presents a nice appearance. It is clean, and generally straight-grained, and, when dressed and polished, looks well in ceilings and for other indoor purposes. It takes a greater strain to break it than kauri, and does not shrink end-ways. Apart from the question of its durability, it is otherwise equal to any of our other timbers used for building purposes.

It is, however, more particularly to its durability that I desire to call attention, knowing that this is one of the first requisites of a building timber. For eighteen years the kahikatea of the Thames has been used in considerable quantities in building, but before the first sawmill was started several houses were built of kahikatea, sawn by hand. One of these houses is situated at Te Puke, and was built in 1850 by the late Mr. Thorpe, one of the first European residents of Ohinemuri. I

– 578 –

have here a piece of board taken from the original building, which is in a good state of preservation. Here, also, is a section cut from the wall of one of the first seven cottages built at Turua, where the first steam sawmill on the Thames River was erected in 1868. It shows a portion of the ground plate, studs, braces, and weather-boards. You will notice that the stud has the bark on one corner, showing that it is sap-wood. These houses are eighteen years old, and the specimen I show is a fair representation of the state of preservation in which they all are. It has never had a coat of paint; in fact, only one of these houses has been painted, and the only parts which have been renewed are the verandahs and the heart of kauri shingles which covered them. I show you, also, a split kahikatea shingle taken from the roof of a house erected in 1872, which has stood the weather for fourteen years, the average life of heart of kauri shingles.

I could produce numerous other instances, from buildings at the Thames and elsewhere, of the weather-enduring qualities of Thames kahikatea; but these are shown as cases of severe trial, and I claim that the record will compare favourably with that of any other of our local building timbers under like conditions. I know that cases have been recorded where portions of buildings have gone to decay in four or five years, and I do not doubt the truth of the statement; but what does that prove?

I have here a piece of 9in. x 4in. heart of kauri joist, and a piece of flooring of the same timber, which were taken from the floor of a room in one of the public buildings in Auckland. This floor had only been laid six years, but it was so completely rotten that it had to be entirely renewed. I could cite other similar instances which have come under my notice; but would they prove that heart of kauri is almost worthless, when used for joists or flooring? Certainly not. I doubt if even kahikatea could have lasted any longer under the same conditions. Investigation into the circumstances will show that it would be absurd to suppose that any timber would have lasted long in such a place, being exposed to the dampness of the ground, which was within a few inches, and so completely enclosed that there was not the slightest chance of ventilation.

This is but one instance of the unfair treatment which our timbers are constantly receiving at the hands of sawmillers, architects, and builders. The logs are cut up at the mills, and, before the boards have had, in many cases, even a week to dry, they are hurried into their places in the building, painted, or papered, just because the contractor has only a few weeks to complete the work, or he will incur pains and penalties. Imagine the close, musty, fusty atmosphere the timber in the walls of such a house is subjected to, and say if it is any wonder it rots, or that fungoid growths and boring beetles are developed.

– 579 –

The use of unseasoned timber for building purposes is one of the most fruitful sources of decay. This is especially the case where kahikatea is used. It should be thoroughly dry before being used, and protected from dampness after the building is erected. The logs should not be allowed to lie long after being felled before they are sawn, and when sawn the timber should be carefully stacked and filletted for drying. To allow the logs to lie in the bush for any length of time, or the boards to be stacked close together in a heap, is certain, to my mind, to develope those germs which afterwards bring forth fruit in premature decay, or the successful attack of the larvæ of a small boring beetle.

It is in the liability to attack from this pest that the chief objection to kahikatea lies. I have had but few opportunities of noticing the habits of these insects, or of arriving at satisfactory conclusions as to the circumstances which favour their attack. I consider, however, the heart less liable to attack than the sap, and some pieces seem much more enticing than others of the same class. I noticed in an old building at Shortland, which was being pulled down last week, that one stud was completely destroyed, while only a few of the others had been touched. The weatherboards were quite sound and good, although the house was one of the oldest, and had but little care. Dampness and seclusion, if not necessary, are certainly favourable conditions for their operations.

The plan of building so general here is well calculated to assist these insects in their work. There is the strictest seclusion in the space between the weather-boards and the lining, while the latter is papered over, thus affording the utmost security to carry on the work of destruction. I prefer, where kahikatea is used for lining, that dressed timber should be employed; paper being unnecessary, the lining will not be so readily attacked. In Canterbury and Otago, where kahikatea is more used than in any other part of New Zealand, the dressed half-inch lining is sold in large quantities; while in Queensland, which now buys a large quantity of kahikatea, the wooden houses are generally built with single walls, the weather-boards being of the kind known as “rustic,” and dressed and beaded on the inside. The frame-work is also dressed, and the partitions are of inch boards, planed, tongued and grooved, and beaded on both sides. This is done so that no harbour will be afforded for the white ant, and other noxious insects which abound there. I think a building so constructed would enjoy perfect immunity from the attack of what I may here call the kahikatea beetle; but as our climate necessitates houses with double walls, the obligation is laid upon us of discovering some simple yet certain remedy for this evil. I shall be glad of assistance from gentlemen of scientific and practical skill in this

– 580 –

work, which, considering the extent of our kahikatea forests, is worthy of earnest attention.

Until this discovery has been made, let me urge every person about to build with kahikatea to use only seasoned timber; and here I would say that it takes a much longer time to season timber than most people suppose. Under the most favourable circumstances I do not consider that timber should be used until it has had six months' drying. Do not be in too great a hurry to paint a new house. Great injury is often done to timber by painting it before it is even half-dry. I consider, unless the timber is quite dry, that a building should have six months' exposure to the weather before it is painted.

I have used kahikatea for such purposes as fencing, planking bridges, and furniture, with good result. For fencing and planking the heart only should be used. I have several articles of furniture which are, so far as I can judge, as good, and likely to be as durable, as if they had been made of any other timber in the country.

In conclusion, while I have no desire to place too high a value upon kahikatea, I am anxious that it should take rank in accordance with its merits; and as it is a fact that those districts which have used it the most, and for the longest time, still continue to use it in preference to second-class kauri at the same price, I think it is entitled to take rank before the latter. In this opinion I know that some of the most experienced builders of Auckland, and I believe all at the Thames, concur. The rapidity with which our kauri forests are disappearing will ere long compel those who now affect to despise kahikatea to turn their attention to it as a substitute; and when, by the aid of science and experience, we are able to shield it from the attack of the aforesaid beetle, I feel convinced that it will prove itself no unworthy successor of that illustrious inhabitant of our Auckland forests.