which force their way upwards through the drains to the higher levels of the city. As the reclaimed land becomes more densely populated this evil will be more severely felt, and will most assuredly mark its effect upon the death-rate.

Many hold the opinion that the sewage of 30,000 inhabitants, if allowed to flow into a body of water the size of Wellington Harbour, becomes lost in its immensity, and that no evil result is likely to accrue. When it is considered that the flow of noxious matter is going on continuously at an ever-increasing rate, and that a great portion is deposited upon the bottom of the harbour in front of the city, it will be seen that it can only be a matter of a few years till, with these constantly recurring effects, our beautiful harbour, the chief pride of the citizens, will become a source of annoyance and disgust, instead of a pleasure and delight.

It has been asserted that sea-water rapidly becomes fouled by such discharge into it, especially where nearly landlocked, and consequently not swept by strong currents. As the population increases and other drainage arrangements are carried out, the difficulty of introducing an entirely new system, however meritorious and advantageous, becomes more and more felt, and presents a problem to be solved which, owing to the difficulty attending a satisfactory solution, is naturally shirked by those directing municipal affairs. In older countries, where towns have for many years been sewered upon some system or other (in many cases very unscientific ones), this difficulty has been much felt; notwithstanding which it has had to be faced, consequently the sanitary condition of many towns has been greatly improved. In England, the Rivers Pollution Act has obliged action to be taken in the case of inland towns.

Baldwin Latham, a recognised authority upon sanitary engineering, in his work upon the subject, remarks that “the good that has arisen from the prosecution of sanitary works wherever properly carried out may be taken as the harbinger of better times, when the benefit of sanitary measures will be better understood and more extensively adopted.” Dr. Lyon Playfair, in his address at the Social Science Congress at Glasgow in 1874, gives an example of the gradual improvement in the health of London from the adoption of sanitary measures, when the death-rate fell from 80 per 1,000 during the period 1660–79 to 22·6 per 1,000 in 1871. How much society loses annually from preventible diseases it is impossible to fully estimate, as health is so intimately connected with all the branches of every-day life. If upon no other than economic grounds, it is true economy to spend some little of our earnings in the prosecution of sanitary works.”

I will not weary you by repeating the thousand arguments

in favour of sanitary reform, so much advocated of late years, and relating to which a whole library of literature and statistics has been published. We, no doubt, all agree upon the point that the best arrangements possible should be adopted, but at the same time we do not appreciate heavy taxation, and, above all things, if we have to spend large sums in endeavouring to effect the object in view, we should like to feel that the money is not being squandered in useless and, in many cases, positively injurious works. Nor shall I enter upon the subject of the ultimate disposal of sewage: suffice it to say that it is an open question, considered apart from the drainage itself. The fertilising quality of sewage is of great value, and will eventually be made use of more generally, as in the cities of Adelaide and Christchurch. The application of sewage in that manner opens up an economic question, and it becomes one of pounds, shillings, and pence whether it can be made use of for fertilising land, or with greater advantage to the ratepayers be cast into the sea.

It is well known that for many years the Wellington City Council has contemplated the construction of an efficient sewerage system, to which end a report was obtained from Mr. Climie, in 1877. Mr. W. Clark, M.Inst.C.E., an able sanitary engineer, was also employed to report upon the same subject in 1878, and did so in a comprehensive manner: since that date no further steps appear to have been taken towards the attainment of the object, although the latter gentleman's scheme was, I believe, adopted at the time.

I have no intention of criticizing these various schemes, but will mention that Mr. Clark's estimate amounted to £145,000, the working-expenses to an annual sum of £1,434, and the annual charges, including interest on capital, to £10,154. It is to be inferred that the magnitude of these sums has militated against the prosecution of the work.

One of my objects in bringing the subject of this paper before the members of the society is to advocate a system of drainage for Wellington which not only provides a more efficient one than that adopted, but—what is also a very important point—reduces the present cost to little more than one-half.

The system is based upon scientific principles easily understood when a little explanation is afforded, and is known as “Shone's Hydro-pneumatic System,” Mr. Isaac Shone, civil engineer, of Westminster, being the inventor, and this system during the last few years he has successfully introduced into many towns in England and other parts of the world.

In carrying the system out water-carriage is essential, and this is universally allowed to be the cleanliest and most

effectual means for conveyance if properly designed and constructed. Baldwin Latham says, “It is the best adapted to the requirements of a town-population for effecting the speedy removal of the principal matter liable to decomposition, the storage of which, even for a brief period, near our dwellings may be attended with dangerous consequences.” An efficient and abundant water-supply is therefore necessary, and this the City of Wellington is fortunate in possessing.

By any system the sewers should be entirely free from sewer-gas, the result of fermentation, requiring time to become generated; consequently there must be a rapid and entire discharge of the sewage throughout the whole. In stagnant tide-locked sewers, in those laid with insufficient fall in which solid matters become deposited, and in old wooden or brick drains of faulty construction, this gas is generated in abundance. Ventilation and traps may lessen the danger, but do not remove it.

The Superintendent of Sewers in Boston in a recent report shows that in all sewers there is a constant movement of air in the direction contrary to the grade, the gas flowing upwards through every vent into houses, and through cesspools, thus permeating the atmosphere of dwellings. He proposes to erect a large fan, to be operated by a powerful engine, exhausting the air, and creating a draught in the direction of the exit which shall attain a speed of 3in. per second, thus overcoming the upward movement of the gases. It is evident from the foregoing that the Boston sewers are not constructed according to modern sanitary laws. So important is the subject of ventilation that Baldwin Latham devotes over a hundred pages to it in “Sanitary Engineering.”

In carrying out the ordinary systems of sewerage in low-lying districts ratepayers are subject to three varieties of heavy expenditure—

(1.) Initial, which is the cost of constructing sewers.

(2.) Chronic, being the cost of raising the sewage by pumping.

(3.) Intermittent, being the cost of repairs and freeing the sewers from stoppages—a serious item where the works are of faulty design, and much increased where, in order to obtain the necessary inclination, the sewers have to be placed at great depth.

The “Shone” system greatly lessens the danger, expense, and inconvenience, for reasons which I shall shortly endeavour to explain.

It is generally allowed that the separate system is to be preferred, both on the score of efficiency and cost, especially where sewage must be raised by the expenditure of power. This was, I believe, advocated by both Messrs. Climie and

Clark, though the latter admitted a large proportion of rainfall. In explanation of the term, I may state that only the house-sewage is admitted, the surface-water and ordinary drainage being carried by distinct drains into the natural watercourses, and so to the nearest river or sea, as the case may be. By the adoption of the separate system we are enabled to calculate almost exactly what quantity we have to deal with, as the discharge will closely correspond with the amount of water supplied to the population for domestic purposes, and we are not called upon to provide for an unknown quantity, which must be the case when the rainfall is admitted.

The separate and hydro-pneumatic systems are in no sense interdependent parts of one scheme, the only connection between them being that the cost of the introduction of the “separate” system is very much reduced when compressed air is made use of in ejectors.

The application of compressed air as a transmitting medium has been of late extensively adopted in a variety of ways. There is nothing visionary or unpractical in urging its adoption, for it has been indorsed with the approval of most practical men of our time. Where the burning of town-refuse in a “destructor” furnace is carried out we have the power for compressing the air free of expense. It is a motive-power which, once produced, can be conveyed and divided amongst any number of stations at varying distances with little loss. It is open to question whether the use of air or water can be most economically adopted for the transmission of power. This has been much debated of late. Suffice it to say that for the purpose of transmitting sewage by Shone's system air is alone applicable. The loss from friction in the pipes is much less for air than water, and its compression is now well understood, rapid strides having of late been made in the perfection of the necessary machinery for the purpose.

In properly designing sewers one of the chief objects to be attained is that they shall be self-cleaning—that is, they shall be laid at such inclination as will generate a velocity which will prevent deposit. Where this is not the case they rapidly fail to act, necessitating constant expenditure to free them from obstructions, which is the source of the foul gas so deleterious to the occupants of houses with which they are connected.

Baldwin Latham states that “undoubtedly an open drain is the least injurious form of sewer, provided stagnation is avoided, and that in proportion as the sewers are enclosed the danger to health is increased. The usual remedies are to trap, ventilate, and flush the drains—measures which only succeed in partially remedying a defect that should not exist.”

In flat districts where sufficient fall has not been provided these results are always to be found, and can only be obviated by deep and expensive sewers leading to a pumping-station, or by the adoption of the principle I now advocate.

By pneumatic pressure an artificial head is provided, which forces the contents of the intercepting sewer or pipe at a proper velocity along its whole length, regardless of its inclination, to the outfall. This artificial head takes the place of the natural head upon a gravitation sewer, and gives the requisite velocity to its flow. For example, with an 18in. pipe one mile in length, discharging 318 cubic feet per minute, the velocity of its contents will be 3ft. per second. The fall in a gravitating sewer to bring about this result would be 1 in 350, the height or head necessary to overcome the friction in the pipe being 15.1ft. By Shone's system we force the contents into and along the pipe (which can be laid on the level) at a pressure of 6.553lb. per square inch, that being the equivalent of a head of 15.1ft., the result in both cases being the same.

In the gravitating pipe we must have a natural fall of 15.1ft., and lay it below the hydraulic grade-line at a probably heavy expense. By Shone's system we may have no fall whatever, laying the pipes upon the undulating surface of the ground at the least possible cost. We must, however, supply 318 cubic feet of air at a minimum pressure of 6.553lb. per square inch, with which the sewage is forced into and along the pipe.

If it can be shown that to supply that quantity of air under pressure is less expensive than to gravitate the sewage to a pumping-station, and then lift it to a height corresponding to the loss of head, the pneumatic system must be preferable, even when other results are equal.

We will take the schemes as proposed for draining the low-lying parts of Wellington as an example.

By Clark's scheme the sewage from this area was to be collected by an expensive brick intercepting sewer terminating at a pumping-station where the sewer would be 9ft. below high-water mark. Thence it was to be pumped through a cast-iron main nearly a mile in length to a height of 37ft. above the intercepting sewer, where it would join the sewage flowing by the gravitation sewer which was to drain the higher portions of the city, and would thence flow through a tunnel a mile and a quarter long to the sand-hills near Lyall's Bay.

By the pneumatic system cast-iron mains are substituted for brick intercepting sewers, and are only laid sufficiently below the surface of the ground to keep them out of sight and free from damage. Into this cast-iron main the sewage

from the lower areas is forced, that from the higher areas flowing by gravitation, the branch mains receiving it being carried up to an elevation sufficient to establish a head which will overcome the friction in the mains, thus enabling the whole to flow together to the outfall.

From the Corporation Yard, where the air-compressing station would be placed, the outfall main would be carried along the shore of the harbour and Evans's Bay to the same point on the sand-hills as by Clark's scheme; or, if necessary, to Lyall's Bay.

Mr. Clark, however, dealt with the sewage of a population of 70,000 and a rainfall of 1in. flowing off one-quarter of the area occupied by the city; while I propose to deal with the sewage alone of 50,000, leaving the rainfall to flow off by existing drains, and when the population exceeds 50,000 to extend the system, thereby avoiding the necessity for incurring a heavy present outlay for the benefit of future generations.

The pneumatic system can be readily adapted to the increase of population, wherein lies one of its chief merits: when the necessity arises additional “ejectors” can be introduced, and, by increasing the air-pressure, greater velocity, and therefore greater discharging-power, can be given to the main outfall pipe until it becomes necessary to duplicate it—a work readily done without in any way interfering with the works previously constructed. By Clark's scheme the intercepting sewers and long tunnel can only discharge a certain volume of sewage and rainfall; while to increase their capacity, which must eventually become necessary, means a very heavy outlay. By admitting so large a proportion of the rainfall to the sewers he has enormously increased the first cost and working-expenses of his scheme. It may have been done with the object of flushing the sewers; but I maintain this can be more effectually done by the adoption of automatic flush-tanks at the head of the sewers.

I will now describe the “pneumatic ejector” and its action.

From a central station, placed where most convenient, compressed air is forced through small pipes to the various ejectors, which are placed at the lowest point of each subdivision which it is intended to serve. Each ejector-station has its own particular system of pipe-drains leading into it from such subdivision, which, being of comparatively small extent, enables these pipes, even in flat ground, to be laid to proper self-cleansing gradients without burying them at a great depth. A drain-pipe 20 chains in length laid to an inclination of 1 in 250 will, only have a vertical fall of 5·4ft. This fact is one of the important features of this system, long lengths of sewers being

unnecessary, as from preference another ejector-station would be inserted. From the gravitating pipes or sewers the sewage enters the bottom of the ejector, a spherical cast-iron vessel usually holding 350 gallons, and 5ft. in diameter. In the inlet-

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

pipe is a ball-valve which closes to prevent the return of the sewage. Upon the ejector being full (fig. 2) a bell-float actuates an automatic gun-metal valve placed on the top of the apparatus admitting air under pressure, which at once forces the contents through another ball-valve into the outfall main or sealed sewer. When the ejector is empty (fig. 1) the descending cup actuates the valve, releasing the compressed air, upon which the ball-valve in the outlet-pipe closes, while that in the inlet opens, when the sewage enters as before. This action can take place about once a minute, and is perfectly automatic, having been proved to work for several years without attention except an occasional oiling.

The ejectors are placed below the level of the street and are free from all objection; while in practice they are provided

in duplicate, in order to guard against the possibility of stop-page from accident. From the dwelling-house to the ejector the sewage flows uninterruptedly, and upon entering the ejector the sewage is practically done with, no back-flow even of gas being possible. The velocity of 2½ft. per second will convey sewage through a mile of pipes in thirty-five minutes, so that there is no possibility of gas being generated under proper conditions.

The whole apparatus is exceedingly simple, and, having few working-parts, is little liable to damage, and costs equally little for repair. The air-valves are constructed of gun-metal, and occupy but a small space. The ball-valves in the inlet and outlet-pipes are of hardwood, and are found to pass substances such as hair, string, &c., which are a constant source of trouble to the valves of pumping-engines.

One special feature in favour of this system over Mr. Clark's is, that there is no possibility of sea-water finding its way into the main, while with a brick sewer two miles and a third in length, carried to a depth at one end of 9ft. below high-water mark, the sea-water must find its way in through every crevice and crack in the work. This water has to be pumped out, together with the sewage, at the cost of the ratepayers.

It will be readily understood that there is considerable difficulty in introducing an entirely novel system. Its being based upon scientific principles not thoroughly understood by every one, is quite sufficient to warrant unthinking persons in jumping to the conclusion that it is complicated and liable to result in failure; although the experience of the last few years at numerous places where the system has been adopted has resulted in universal satisfaction being given.

Any improvements in sanitation should become of deep interest to the community; and that must be my excuse for taking up so much of your time. Many people shut their eyes to all matters relating to the subject, leaving it to others whose sphere of life is more intimately connected therewith to work out the problems; and it is as well, perhaps, that it is so, or the discussion would be endless, and we should never arrive at the stage for action being taken.

In conclusion, I repeat that were Wellington sewered upon the pneumatic system the sewage would be rapidly, effectually, and inodorously conveyed from the city in a sealed iron main to any outfall deemed desirable. In such main there would be neither manholes nor ventilators to annoy the public. By the exclusion of the rainfall the quantity to be dealt with could be accurately determined, so that to convey that quantity the sizes of the sewers and pipes could be properly adjusted.

about thirty-three miles in length; its greatest breadth is about twenty miles. Passing the eastern side of Wilson's Bay we noticed a few houses scattered about near the shore, and some cattle grazing on the pastures. We steamed through Port Adventure, where the photographer obtained some fine views, and then went on as far as Lord's River, where we anchored. Two boats were lowered: one, manned by the second mate and some sailors, went fishing; the other was in charge of the captain, and this our party accompanied. We pulled up the river, which opens out into numerous pretty little bays. Its banks are low and broken, and densely wooded, mostly with mountain rata (Metrosideros lucida), manuka (Leptospermum scoparium), rimu (Dacrydium cupressinum), and some other shrubs. The scenery was varied and magnificent. We saw a few paradise ducks (Casarca variegata), numbers of grey ducks (Anas superciliosa) and brown ducks (Anas chlorotis); but they were all very shy. Nevertheless, several nearly full-grown young of the latter were caught alive. A small species of weka, not yet described, was caught peeping out between the rocks. Its plumage is rust-red; each feather has a blackish-brown streak in the centre; wings rust-red with black bars; throat yellowish-grey; breast rust-red; abdomen slaty-grey; bill and feet pink, the ridge of the former brown; eyes chestnut-brown. Total length from tip of bill to end of tail, 17in.; wing, 5·5in.; bill, 1·8in.; tarsus, 2in. On the trees overhanging the river numerous shags (Phalacrocorax glaucus and P. varius) were sitting digesting their last meal. Great numbers of kaka parrots (Nestor montana) were flying about warning their mates of our approach, while the bell-birds (Anthornis melanura) and tuis (Prosthemadera novæ-zealandiæ) welcomed us with their melodious whistles. A full-grown young tui was not sufficiently on the alert, for we saw a quail-hawk (Hieracidea novæ-zealandiæ) dart down on it, seize it in his talons, and bear it away to a secluded tree. I shot the hawk while in the act of devouring its victim, and here is the specimen. On returning to the steamer the other boat came alongside laden with fish. Some hapukas weighed 80lb., and there were many trumpeters and rock-cod. The next day found us storm-bound and at anchor off Evening Cove, in the extensive and beautiful harbour of Port Pegasus. Here I noticed the yellow-headed penguin (Eudyptes antipodum), so seldom seen by collectors. They were playing about the boat, and some were in the bush feeding their young, which they had in burrows. On land their movements are very ungainly, being a kind of waddling, or hopping walk. A sailor of the “Stella” shot one, imagining it to be a wallaby! During our stay here we noticed a sea-leopard fishing amongst the kelp a short distance from the

vessel. After a while we shifted to Wilson's Bay, twelve miles to the south, still waiting for the storm to abate. On the 21st January a start was made for the Snares, but owing to the terrible weather outside we had to return to the well-sheltered Port Pegasus. On the 22nd another attempt was made, and at 3 a.m. the Snares came in sight.

These islands lie sixty-two miles S. 22° W. from the south-west end of Stewart Island, and extend four and a half miles in a north-east and south-west direction. The north-east island, which is the largest, is little more than a mile in length by half a mile in width, and rises almost perpendicularly out of the sea to a height of 470ft. There are also several outlying rocks. It is volcanic in structure, according to a paper by Sir James Hector,^* which contains notes on the geology of the whole of the outlying islands to the south of New Zealand. We anchored in 56 fathoms about half a mile from the eastern shore of the island. A boat was lowered, and we rowed to a little cove or boat-harbour. The birds received us with a chorus of deafening noises, swimming round the boat, and looking greatly surprised at such early arrivals. The island is mostly covered with bush, the akeake (Olearia sp.) and kokomuka (Veronica elliptica) being the commonest trees. The soil is moist, and largely mixed with guano. There is a. little fresh-water stream flowing into the cove, but the water has a nasty taste, and is stained with guano. The whole surface is honeycombed with the numerous burrows of the petrels. Each of our party had his work to do. The captain and the sailors turned out two goats; Mr. Dugald, the photographer, took views; Mr. Hibs had to sow tree- and grass-seeds. I followed the birds, and at once saw three strangers—a black tomtit and a swamp-lark, which were common and tame; and a bell-bird, which was rare and shy. Unfortunately I had brought no gun on shore, and there was no time to return for it, so Mr. Bethune and I chased them, and succeeded in obtaining two, one tomtit, and one swamp-lark; both of which I have sent to Dr. Finsch for examination. I have not seen either of these birds before, nor can I find any description of them, so they are probably entirely new. The tomtit was hopping about the lower branches of the trees near the ground, just as the tomtit of the South Island does It differs, however, from it in its plumage, which is entirely black. Its measurements are as follows: Total length from the tip of the bill to the end of the tail, 5·25in.; bill, 0·75in.; tarsus, 0·9in.; tail, 2·45in. The swamp-lark or utick has rust-brown plumage streaked with dark-brown, top of the head darker; wings dark-brown, edged with light-brown; throat

and abdomen yellowish-brown with dark streaks; tail and legs yellowish-brown; bill and eyes dark-brown. Total length from the tip of the bill to the end of the tail, 7in.; primaries, 2in.; tail, 3in.; tarsus, 0·9in. It is different in its habits, plumage, and size from the uticks of the mainland (Sphenæacus punctatus and S. fulvus), which inhabit swamps and deep gullies, where they slip about through the fern or raupo like a mouse, mostly keeping on or near the ground. The utick of the Snares lives in the trees, and its movements are similar to those of the bell-bird, which on this island is darker in plumage than on the mainland. On the cliffs were adult and almost fully-grown young of the molly-mawk, the grey-headed albatross (Diomedea chlororhyncha) and the shy albatross (Diomedea cauta). The nelly, with its full-grown young, busied itself in the water. With them were mutton-birds (Puffinus tristis), diving petrels (Halodroma urinatrix), Cape pigeons (Procellaria capensis), dove petrels (Prion turtur), skua gulls (Lestris parasiticus), and mackerel gulls (Larus scopulinus). Thousands of penguins (Eudyptes pachyrhynchus and E. chrysocomus) were on the rocks, standing like regiments of soldiers. It was amusing to see Captain Fairchild, who delights in such sport, tumbling them into sacks, to be taken on board for museum purposes. Many of the young were still covered with down; those full-fledged had a far brighter plumage than the adults. Some disease was amongst them, for heaps of dead were lying about, and the captain and Mr. Dugald came across a perfect cemetery: thousands were lying rotting among the black sand, and the stench was dreadful. I spent a delightful morning, and could have spent a month among the birds, but, the wind freshening, the call was sounded for us to return to the vessel. We got up anchor, and steamed round the whole of the rocks, closely scanning them for any signs of castaway sailors; but, happily, without result. We then turned away, our menagerie of birds on board bidding farewell in chorus to their mates on shore. These are some of the specimens collected.

The vessel was now pointed towards the Auckland Islands distant about one hundred and fifty miles S. and 5° W. We had very rough weather, westerly winds blowing with almost hurricane force. I had to work under difficulties, for the vessel would occasionally give a violent lurch, throwing me and my tools nearly across the deck, besides giving me a ducking. On the 24th of January we entered the fine harbour of Port Ross, and anchored not far from the abandoned site of Enderby's whaling settlement.

The Auckland Islands are a group consisting of one large island and several smaller ones, and extend over a space of about thirty miles in length by about fifteen in breadth.

They are very hilly and broken, and well watered with many fine streams. The formation is partly granite and volcanic, and partly sedimentary. The lower portions are usually covered with bush, which consists mostly of mountain rata (Metrosideros lucida), which grows to a height of 30ft., and sometimes has a diameter of 2ft. These trees have a very pretty appearance from their dark-green shining leaves. There is also the ivy tree (Panax simplex), the stink-wood (Coprosma fætidissima)—so called from its bad smell when cut—and a close-growing bush very similar to tea-tree. Open places are covered with herbaceous plants of considerable size and great beauty, such as Pleurophyllum speciosum. This is allied to the cotton-plant of the Southern Alps, but is more beautiful. It grows several feet in height, and is covered with clusters of purple flowers. There are two species of Ligusticum which are very prominent. The flowers are pink and white, in dense clusters, and the leaves are green, with sharp-pointed divisions. They are closely allied to the aniseed plant growing in the Southern Alps. Another handsome plant is called golden lily (Anthericum rossi) by the sealers, on account of the bright-yellow blossoms. Upon the hills the chief vegetation is the tussock-grass, among which are a few flowering-plants, the blue, red, and white veronicas being the most abundant. The ground is often very boggy, and in other places we find only barren rocks.

We landed with a load of timber for a boat-shed. Some sea-lions were amusing themselves on the sand, but they walked lazily away on our approach. The shed was quickly put up under the captain's supervision. The noise of the hammers made animal life active. The sea-lions drew nearer, looking on with surprise. Rabbits, which are very numerous, raced about in all directions. Some wild dogs were sneaking about, but would not come close to us. On Enderby Island were several huts made of tussock-grass, bound together with thongs of the sea-lion's hide. These were constructed by the survivors from the wreck of the “Derry Castle.” On the top of the hill was a life-buoy, which they had fixed on a long piece of wood to serve as a signal. After a boat was put into the shed and signboards fixed we steamed up the harbour to the dépôt at Erebus Cove, landing several sheep, and supplying the dépôt with provisions, clothing, matches, tools, &c. Here was the boát in which the survivors from the “Derry Castle” came across from Enderby Island.

On the 25th we steamed up to the head of the harbour known as Sarah's Bosom, putting up signboards to direct shipwrecked sailors to the dépôt. We saw a boat painted blue, also two columns 4ft. high and 1ft. 6in. square, with a flag of cement bearing the inscription, “German Expedition, 1874.”

This marks the place where the transit of Venus was observed by the German scientists. From here we went to Ross Island, where numbers of sea-lions were noticed amusing themselves among the tussock. A boat was lowered, and several of us went on shore to drive the clumsy creatures into a group for Mr. Dugald to photograph. It was a most laughable sight; They tried to escape; but, being stopped by the sailors, squatted on their haunches, moving their heads from side to side, giving discontented growls, and looking at each other with surprise. Some of the males were very large, and had fine manes; the females are lighter in colour and smaller in size. They were plentiful, and I was sorry at not being allowed to procure some for scientific purposes; but on account of the close season the Marine Department would not give permission. The fur-seals are very rare and very shy. They inhabit the more exposed places, and are sometimes found in the caves, of which there are many, but usually empty.

We now steamed round North-west Cape towards the south, passing a most interesting sight—perpendicular cliffs standing boldly out, and appearing as if built of huge blocks of all imaginable shapes, the sea dashing on them, and sending the spray to a great height. On some of these cliffs are waterfalls, the water from which was blown upwards by the force of the wind so as to resemble fountains. From a distance they looked like steam-jets. We sailed inside Disappointment Island—a wild scene. The sea was boiling, breaking over the rocks with tremendous force, and sending the spray in all directions. This is the spot where the “General Grant” is said to have been driven into a cave when wrecked in 1866; but we did not see a cave large enough for any vessel to go into.

We now came round the South Cape of Adam's Island—the wandering albatross sailing along with us in hundreds—and called into North Harbour to put up a signboard; from thence we proceeded to Carnley Harbour, and anchored for the night. On the next day, the 26th January, I landed at 4 a.m., being permitted by the captain to spend the whole day on land. It was a delightful morning: the birds sang, the sea-lions grunted and growled at being disturbed so early; some tried to escape, others just sat on their haunches, showing their white canine teeth, too lazy to leave their lair. My path was at first through thick scrub, then through tussock-grass and over bogs and barren rocks. The birds that I noticed were the bell-bird, the blight-bird, the yellow-breasted tit (Petræca macro-cephala), the ground-lark, the little parrakeet (Platycercus row-leyi), the banded dotterel, and the native snipe (Gallinago aucklandica). (In my account of Port Ross I forgot to mention that I went up a creek, where I saw a number of ducks. I approached them very carefully, and was within a few yards

of shooting-distance, when the captain discharged a gun a little distance away. This disturbed them, and they disappeared. They looked like the grey duck—Anas superciliosa.)

Now, returning to my hill-expedition, I was delighted to be once more among my feathered friends, and spent some hours watching their movements and procuring specimens. All at once I heard the whistle of the “Stella,” and, following down the nearest gully, I saw her steaming up and down the harbour, blowing the fog-horn. It was 2 p.m. I endeavoured to hurry; but my specimens, and the holes, bogs, and dense scrub, made this difficult. During the scramble I fell into a hole. A loud barking growl announced that I had nearly tumbled on the top of a large sea-lion, which had been asleep in it. We both looked surprised. He did not move, but sat up, showing his white canine teeth. I pulled out my sheath-knife, and, keeping my eye on him, scrambled out back-wards, and bade farewell to my new acquaintance. At last I came on a sealer's track, which led me to the water, and a boat took me on board; but there were still more on shore who believed in enjoying the whole time promised by the captain, who had done his work sooner than he had expected. When I unpacked my specimens I found that through this hurry I had lost several, and broken nearly all the eggs that I had collected.

Passing Monument Island, with its peculiar-shaped rocks, we anchored a short distance from where the “Grafton” was wrecked. A boat was sent on shore to examine the remains of the vessel, which are scattered along the shore. Captain Fairchild informed me that not far from here is the best anchorage in the Auckland Islands. We next explored the Sounds of the east coast, some of which cut far into the centre of the island. In Waterfall Inlet the water is so deep that the steamer's jib-boom was among the trees growing on the cliffs when we were taking in water from a beautiful fall. On the cliffs the sooty albatross (Diomedea fuliginosa) was breeding. I also saw six mergansers, and shot two of them; the others concealed themselves among the rocks. Their habits are like those of a duck and not like those of their European allies, which usually escape by diving. Among the other birds seen were the skua gull, the black-backed gull, the mackerel gull, the yellow-billed albatross, the nelly, the Cape pigeon, and the white-headed petrel (Procellaria lesson). I now exhibit the specimens collected on the Auckland Islands.

On the 28th January we arrived at Campbell Island, after a very rough passage. It is 164 miles-from the Auckland Islands in a south-east direction, and is about ten miles from north to south, and eleven from east to west. Its geological formation is partly sedimentary and partly volcanic. It is

very hilly, and the faces of the hills are often dotted over with precipices. The greatest height is 1,866ft. There is plenty of fresh water. We anchored in Preservation Inlet, and were stormbound there. So strongly did it blow that Mr. Neil, the chief officer, who was a kind supporter of mine, on going out in a boat to get some birds that I had shot from the vessel, which had two anchors out, was twice blown away from the vessel by the force of the wind. The higher hills were all snow-clad, and it was bitterly cold, westerly squalls, accompanied by hail, frequently passing over. We divided into two parties—one went up Mount Honey, the other Mount Beeman. I went up the cliffs in search of the sooty albatross; several of which were flying about; but as soon as I had shot one the others disappeared. It breeds in the recesses of the cliffs, and is very difficult to get at. It is not so common on these islands as the wandering albatross; but is certainly the prettiest of the family. The only true land-bird noticed by myself on the island was the blight-bird, which is common everywhere. When the Austrian frigate “Saida” was five hundred miles from New Zealand a flock of these little birds came on board. Herr Ritter von Wolf, the flag-lieutenant, wrote me that they were seen sitting on the rigging, and several were procured. I was informed that the tui and a wingless duck inhabit the island; but I did not see any. Wandering albatrosses were plentiful, sitting on a single egg, nearly hatched. On the cliffs exposed to the ocean thousands of molly-mawks (Diomedea melanophrys and D. chlororhyncha) were breeding. In the water numbers of nellies were swimming about with their full-grown young, which are of a beautiful dark-slate colour. One of the young birds which I saw on shore, when I approached it, walked to meet me, opened its bill, and disgorged a mass of oily matter over me, as if poured from a spout. Its smell was so bad that I had to throw away the clothes I had on. I caught some of the young birds and brought them alive to Wellington; but when I looked for them there I was told by the sailors that they had gone overboard. Cape pigeons were very numerous, and plenty of magellanic shags were fishing with their young. The dépôt at Fuller's Point was supplied with necessaries, some sheep and goats were landed, trees planted, and seeds sown; then we steamed round the island, examining every cove, and sounding as we went along. At North-west Bay there is a remarkable rock, which at a distance looks like a full-rigged ship, but nearer at hand resembles a statue. Sea-lions were very plentiful and very large, but of fur-seals I only saw one. Storms are of almost daily occurrence in these waters, and we rode out one in North-east Bay. On the 31st we left Campbell Island for Antipodes Islands.

On the 1st February it was blowing very hard. The sea was running very high, and the vessel, being light, rolled about like an empty drum. At meals we had to hold on to the table. Sometimes one of the party would roll about in the cabin, plates, dishes cruet-stand, &c., following him. At night the wind fell, and a hazy fog covered the ocean. Being near the Antipodes, the captain went on very cautiously, and at last we sighted the islands, which are about 403 miles north-east from Campbell Island. The group consists of several detached rocks and islets, occupying a space of from four to five miles long by two miles broad. The largest island is about 1,300ft. high, and some of the cliffs rise perpendicularly for 600ft. out of the ocean. There is not much shelter for vessels, the anchorage is deep, and landing bad from the heavy roll of the ocean. Thousands of penguins, of three species (Eudyptes pachyrhynchus, E. chrysocomus, E. filholi), were standing as if glued to the rocks; but on our approach some rolled into the water. We steamed round the whole of the islands, sounding, and looking for castaway sailors. I did not see any seals, and Captain Fairchild informed me that he had never seen them on his previous visits. Wandering albatrosses, sooty albatrosses, molly-mawks, and Cape pigeons were hovering about, and the magellanic shag busied itself in the water. The weather was so bad that several times we had to shift our quarters, keeping steam up the whole time. At last we anchored on the south-east side, under the lee of a rock. Some of us commenced fishing, and caught quantities of a fish resembling blue cod, except in having a greenish-yellow rim round the mouth. Some were fried for dinner, but were exceedingly coarse, tasting like raw mussels. I examined some of them, and found that they were diseased, the flesh being filled with small parasites. After awhile a boat was lowered, provisions were put in for the dépôt, and the remainder of the sheep and goats that we had brought from Invercargill, and we pulled towards the shore. As we got nearer the penguins received us with their chorus of noises. Landing we found to be difficult.

The island is as hilly as the previous ones, and appears to be wholly volcanic. At an elevation of about 600ft. there is a large flat, and on each side of it a mountain. Mount Galloway, the highest, is 1,320ft. I was told by the captain that there is a fresh-water lake on the top, but I had no time to visit it. The vegetation consists of tussock-grass, with some cotton-plants, aniseed, and veronicas intermixed with it, and there is no bush whatever. The tussock-grass all grows in humps, except on the tops of the hills, where it is shorter. There is fresh water, but it is stained with guano. The birds that I observed while on shore were two species of parrakeets;

a ground-lark; the snipe (Gallinago aucklandica); the wandering albatross, which had just commenced to lay; the white-headed petrel (Procellaria lessoni), whose eggs were nearly all hatched. All round the shore the tussock was covered with the egg-shells of the penguins, which the skua gulls had carried there to devour., These birds are so rapacious that if an egg or young bird is left alone they dart down like a hawk and carry it away. I saw a half-grown penguin crawl out of its hiding-place between some rocks, when immediately two of these gulls swooped down and devoured it on the spot, one eating at the neck, the other tearing open the abdomen. The ground-lark and the two parrakeets are entirely different' from any birds found on the mainland or the surrounding islands, both in size, plumage, and habits. The parrakeets are larger and plumper than the New Zealand species, the bill is shorter and thicker, the plumage is brighter, with a peculiar shimmer towards the tips of the feathers. They live in burrows in the ground, and are very difficult to shoot, as they get up almost under your feet, fly a short distance, and then run among the tussocks and hide themselves in the holes. The larger species has the whole of the plumage of the upper parts dark-green, each feather edged with lighter; top of the head and round the bill emerald-green; throat, breast, and abdomen yellowish-green; tail and wings dark-green with yellow edges; primaries indigo-blue; legs and bill bluish-grey, the latter black towards the tip and underneath; eyes red. Length from the tip of the bill to the end of the tail, 13·5in.; bill, 1·25in.; wing, 6in.; primaries, 4·3in.; tail, 4·5in.; tarsus, 1in.; middle toe, 1·35in. They were originally discovered by Captain Fairchild some years ago, when they were plentiful and tame; now they are rare and wild. The other species which I discovered is not mentioned in Buller's or Gould's books. Plumage similar to the preceding, with the exception that the emerald-green round the bill is not so conspicuous, and that the top of the forehead, a streak below the eye, and a patch on each side of the tail-coverts are brownish-red. On the back of the neck the basal half of each feather is yellow. Total length, 12·25in.; bill, 1in.; wing, 5·6in.; primaries, 4·25in.; tail, 4·5in.; tarsus, 0·9; middle toe, 1·15in. The female is smaller in size, duller in plumage, and the red is not so conspicuous. Professor Thomas, Mr. Cheeseman, and I have made a careful examination of this bird, and find that it is new to the New Zealand fauna; so I have taken the liberty of naming it Platycercus hochstetteri, after Arthur von Hochstetter, the son of a sincere friend from whom I received many kindnesses, and who has too soon passed away. I now exhibit a male and female of this new species. I found in their crops grass and various seeds on which they feed.

The ground-lark of the Antipodes, which was seen hopping about among the tussocks, is similar in its habits to the New Zealand species, but is smaller in size and has a different plumage. Male: Upper surface dark-brown, each feather with a light-brown edge; the outer half of the two outside tail-feathers a cream-colour; throat and breast cream-colour with a few brown streaks; abdomen light pinkish-brown; eyes dark-brown; bill and legs brown. Total length, 7·15in.; bill, 0·75in.; wings, 3·5in.; primaries, 2·75in.; tail, 2·65in.; tarsus, 0·9in.; middle toe, 1in. In the female the upper surface, wings, and tail are like the male, but lighter; throat, breast, and abdomen rusty-yellow, a few oblong brown streaks on the breast; measurements slightly smaller. Professor Thomas and Mr. Cheeseman agree with me in thinking this to be a distinct species, not yet described. I have therefore named it Anthus steindachneri, after Dr. Franz von Steindachner, Privy Counsellor, and Director of the Imperial Museum at Vienna, in recognition of his kindnesses to me.

The Antipodes were visited many years ago; for the second engineer of the “Stella,” Mr. Bethune, picked up a piece of totara board with this inscription: “To the memory of W. Foster, chief officer of the schooner ‘Prince of Denmark,’ who was unfortunately drowned in the Boat Harbour, December 17, 1825.”

After exchanging some of our live-stock, by taking on board fresh penguins and letting others go that we had taken from the Snares, we steamed to the Bounty Islands, distant 110 miles to the north-east. They are a cluster of thirteen rocky islets, covering a space three and a half miles long by one and a half miles broad. They are very much exposed to the surf, and landing is very bad and dangerous. No dépôt has been placed on them. I did not see any vegetation; but they are covered with millions of birds—three species of penguins, the same as on the Antipodes; two species of molly-mawks (Diomedea melanophrys and D. chlororhyncha); and the dove-petrel (Prion turtur). All of these were breeding. The stench from the guano was dreadful, and the noise deafening. There was no space, even of a few feet, free from birds, and I have never before seen such a sight. After a short stay we left for Port Chalmers, 360 miles to the south-west. We experienced our usual rough weather, and just got into port as the wind was freshening to hurricane force.

To summarise, I may say that on the Snares there are three species of birds not found on the mainland—a bell-bird, a tomtit, and a swamp-lark; on the Auckland Islands three—a parrakeet, a snipe, and a merganser; on the Antipodes three—two parrakeets and a ground-lark. The distribution of

vivid picture of all the circumstances. When, as in this case, places are not described in minute detail, it is often a matter of considerable difficulty to identify any particular spot; though this difficulty may often in a great measure be overcome by careful examination of the ground, and close attention to every hint contained in the narrative which may serve as a clue to the identification of the, actual site of any occurrence. This, then, is what it is proposed to attempt in this paper with reference to Captain Cook's visit to Poverty Bay and Tolaga Bay.

It was on Friday, the 6th October, 1769, that the land was first seen from the masthead, bearing west by north, the longitude of the ship having been ascertained to be 180° 55′ W. On Saturday, the 7th October, it fell calm till the afternoon. At 5 p.m. Cook noticed a deep bay, and stood in for it, but when night came he kept plying off and on till daylight. In the morning (Sunday, 8th October) he found himself considerably to leeward of the bay, the wind being at north, and it was not till 4 o'clock in the afternoon that he anchored “on the north-west side of the bay, before the entrance to a small river, … at about half a league from the shore.

“In the evening,” Cook says, “I went on shore, accompanied by Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander, with the pinnace and yawl and a party of men. We landed abreast of the ship, on the east side of the river, which was here about forty yards broad; but, seeing some natives on the west side, whom I wished to speak with, and finding the river not fordable, I ordered the yawl in to carry us over, and left the pinnace at the entrance. When we came near the place where the people were assembled they all ran away; however, we landed, and, leaving four boys to take care of the yawl, we walked up to some huts, which were about two or three hundred yards from the water-side. When we had got some distance from the boat, four men, armed with long lances, rushed out of the woods, and, running up to attack the boat, would certainly have cut her off if the people in the pinnace had not discovered them, and called to the boys to drop down the stream. The boys instantly obeyed, but, being closely pursued by the natives, the cockswain of the pinnace, who had charge of the boats, fired a musket over their heads. At this they stopped and looked round them, but in a few minutes renewed the pursuit, brandishing their lances in a threatening manner. The cockswain then fired a second musket over their heads, but of this they took no notice, and, one of them lifting up his spear to dart it at the boat, another piece was fired, which shot him dead. When he fell the other three stood motionless for some minutes, as if petrified with astonishment. As soon as

they recovered they went back, dragging after them the dead body, which, however, they soon left, that it might not encumber their flight. At the report of the first musket we drew together, having straggled to a little distance from each other, and made the best of our way back to the boat; and, crossing the river, we soon saw the native lying dead upon the ground. Upon examining the body we found that he had been shot through the heart…. We returned immediately to the ship, where we could hear the people on shore talking with great earnestness, and in a very loud tone—probably about what had happened, and what should be done.”

The place of landing was evidently what is now commonly called the boat-harbour, immediately on the south-east side of the mouth of the river, and separated from it by a narrow reef of rocks. From this place Cook and his companions walked about two hundred yards to a sandy point clear of the shelving rocks, as the most convenient place from which to cross over to the point formed by the junction of the Waikanae Creek with the river, where the natives were first seen, who ran away as the strangers approached them. The huts for which they were making when the attack was made upon the boat were probably not far from the north bank of the Waikanae, a short distance above the present signal-station. The four men who attacked the boat are said to have rushed out of the woods on the east side of the river. There are no woods in the neighbourhood now, nor have there been any during the last fifty years; but woods are said by the natives to have existed formerly on the hill-side, within a short distance of high-water mark, which would form a convenient hiding-place for the natives, whence they might observe the movements of the strangers without beiing seen themselves. The four men belonged to the Ngationeone hapu of the tribe called Teitanga-a-Hauiti, and the name of the one who was shot was Te Maro.

On Monday morning, the 9th October, a party of natives was observed at the spot at which they had been seen the previous evening, and Cook determined at once to try to open up friendly intercourse with them. Three boats were ordered, manned with seamen and marines, and with these he proceeded towards the shore. Cook, with three others, landed first from the small boat; but they had not advanced far towards the natives when the latter all started up and showed themselves to be well armed with spears and meres, manifesting at the same time unmistakable signs of hostility. Cook therefore determined to return at once to the boats, and to get the marines landed. This was soon done, and they marched, with a jack carried before them, to a little bank about fifty yards from the water-side. Here they were drawn up, and Cook

again advanced, with Tupaea, Messrs. Banks, Green, and Monkhouse, and Dr. Solander. Tupaea was directed to speak to the natives, and it was soon evident that he could readily make himself understood. After some parleying about twenty or thirty were induced to swim over, most of them, however, bringing their arms with them. All attempts to establish friendly intercourse were vain, as the only object the natives seemed to have in view was to get possession of the arms of the strangers, which, as they could not obtain them by barter, they tried to snatch out of their hands. What followed is best described in Cook's own words. “In a few minutes, Mr. Green happening to turn about, one of them snatched away his hanger, and, retiring to a little distance, waved it round his head with a shout of exultation. The rest now began to be extremely insolent, and we saw more coming to join them from the opposite side of the river: it was therefore become necessary to repress them, and Mr. Banks fired at the man who had taken the hanger with small shot, at the distance of about fifteen yards. When the shot struck him he ceased his cry, but, instead of returning the hanger, continued to flourish it over his head, at the same time slowly retreating to a greater distance. Mr. Monkhouse, seeing this, fired at him with ball, and he instantly dropped. Upon this, the main body, who had retired to a rock in the middle of the river on the first discharge, began to return. Two that were near to the man who had been killed ran up to the body; one seized his weapon of green talc, and the other endeavoured to secure the hanger, which Mr. Monkhouse had but just time to prevent. As all that had retired to the rock were now advancing, three of us discharged our pieces, loaded only with small shot, upon which they swam back for the shore, and we perceived, upon their landing, that two or three of them were wounded. They retired slowly up the country, and we re-embarked in our boats.”

The party of natives thus encountered was not the same as that which had been seen the evening before. According to the Maori tradition, the ship had been seen coming into the bay the day before, and was thought to be a floating island; and this was a party of the Rongowhakaata tribe, who had come from Orakaiapu, a pa just below the junction of the Arai and Waipaoa Rivers, for the express purpose of trying to take possession of the ship, and hence their hostile attitude. The man who seized. Mr. Green's hanger, and lost his life in consequence, was Te Rakau. The landing was effected, as before, at the boat-harbour, and the place where the marines were posted could easily be identified before the whole aspect of the place was changed by the harbour-works which are now in progress. It was a nearly level piece of ground, about one

acre in extent, from 4ft. to 8ft. above the level of highwater mark, and immediately adjoining the spot where the river was crossed on the preceding evening. A part of it may still be recognised between the outer end of the block-yard of the harbour-works and the base of the hill. The rock in the middle of the river which the natives used as a resting-place is known by the natives as Toka-a-Taiau, and, from the way in which it is spoken of by Cook, would seem to have stood higher at that time than it has done now for many years past, and perhaps to have been awash, if not dry, at low water. Till within the last few years its position was always indicated at low water by the rippling of the current, but since it has been partially blasted away with dynamite it has not been so easy to detect it.

Having failed, as above related, to establish any sort of friendly intercourse with the people, Cook proceeded, with his three boats, to examine the bay in search of fresh water, and also with the design, if possible, of surprising some of the natives and getting them on board his ship, that by kind treatment their friendship might be secured, and that by their means an amicable correspondence might be established with their countrymen. Two canoes were seen coming in from the sea, making apparently for the mouth of the Kopututea River, which was then situated much nearer the Turanganui than it is now, and somewhere near where it is shown in the accompanying map (Pl. XXXIII.). One of these canoes was intercepted, but on the approach of the boats the crew, seven in number, began the attack so vigorously with their paddles, with stones, and with other weapons, that the order was given to fire upon them, when four were, unhappily, killed. The other three, who were all young lads, immediately leaped into the water, but were soon captured and taken on board the ship. Their names were Te Haurangi, Ikirangi, and Marukauiti.^* The kind attentions of their captors soon allayed their fears, and they became very sociable, asking and answering many questions with great appearance of pleasure and curiosity. On the following morning (Tuesday, 10th October) they were told, to their great delight, that they were to be put on shore again, but it was not without considerable reluctance that they consented to be left at the place where the boats had landed the day before. An officer and a party of men had already been sent on shore to that spot to cut wood, and Cook afterwards landed at the same place, with the three boys, Mr. Banks,

Dr. Solander, and Tupaea. When they had crossed the river, the boys, after some hesitation, took their leave. Cook and his other companions then crossed the Waikanae at the old ford, a short distance from the mouth, and strolled up the right, or seaward, bank of the creek; hoping to be able to shoot some ducks, four marines being directed to keep abreast of them on the sandy ridge between the creek and the sea, to guard against surprise. After they had advanced about a mile a large body of natives was seen coming rapidly towards them, whereupon they drew together, took to the beach, and hurried back to the boats, the three boys joining them again and claiming their protection. As soon as they had got safely across the river, the natives, all armed, to the number of about two hundred, followed them across the Waikanae to the point. The boys, recognising the body of Te Rakau, which still lay exposed on the beach; went to it, and covered it with some of the clothes which had been given them. Soon after this a single man, unarmed, who proved to be the uncle of Marukauiti, swam over to them, bringing in his hand a green branch, which was taken to be an emblem of peace. After making him a few presents, they left him and returned to the ship, the boys accompanying them. The actions of the natives were closely watched from on board the ship. The man who had swum across to them was seen to perform some peculiar ceremonies over the dead body of Te Rakau, which was afterwards fetched across the river, and carried away on a litter. The boys were landed again in the afternoon, and were seen to go away with the main body, as they returned by the way by which they had come. The Maori tradition states that Ikirangi and his companions had been out fishing, and that in answer to Tupaea's questions they had told him that the ariki, or principal chief of the district, was Te Ratu. This man was chief of the Rongowhakaata tribe, and must have possessed great influence; for afterwards, when coasting along the Bay of Plenty, Cook says, “As far as we had yet coasted this country, from Cape Turnagain, the people acknowledged one chief, whom they called Te Ratu, and to whose residence they pointed in a direction that we thought to be very far inland, but afterwards found to be otherwise.” There are no direct descendants of Te Ratu now living, but the family is represented by the descendants of his brothers. The Maori tradition also mentions a red garment as having been laid upon the body of Te Rakau, to which they gave the name of Te Hinu o Tuhura.

“The next morning,” Cook says, “Wednesday, 11th, at six o'clock, we weighed and stood away from this unfortunate and inhospitable place, to which I gave the name of Poverty Bay, and which by the natives is called Te Oneroa, or Long

Sand, as it did not afford us a single article that we wanted, except a little wood…. The south-west point of the bay I named Young Nick's Head, after Nicholas Young, the boy who first saw the land.” Thus ended Cook's only visit to this part of New Zealand; but as the ship lay becalmed in the afternoon, a little to the south of Young Nick's Head, several canoes put off, and one, which had followed the ship out of Poverty Bay, came directly alongside. With a little persuasion the four men who formed the crew (one of whom was recognised as one of the hostile party encountered on the Monday) were induced to come on board the ship. Their example was shortly afterwards followed by the rest, and there were soon around the ship no less than seven canoes and about fifty men. About an hour before sunset the canoes all moved off, but three of the men were left on board, and were transshipped on the following morning to a canoe off Table Cape.

After this Cook continued his voyage southward, following the coast as far as Cape Turnagain, whence he returned on the 17th October, with the view of examining the coast to the northward of Poverty Bay. On Friday, the 20th, being prevented by the wind from fetching Tolaga Bay, he anchored about 11 o'clock in another bay, a little to the north, the name given to which by the natives, he says, was Tegado. What Maori name this represents I have been unable to discover. He gives no description by which the bay may be identified, but from Parkinson's journal it is clear that it was Anaura.^* The people were all remarkably friendly, and were found to be acquainted with what had happened at Poverty Bay less than a fortnight before. On the 21st Lieutenant Gore, with a strong party of men, obtained a supply of fresh water, and Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander found many new plants, and shot a few birds.

On Sunday, the 22nd, another start was made, but, the wind being unfavourable for standing to the northward, Cook determined to put into Tolaga Bay (Pl. XXXIII.), some natives having told him of a small cove, a little within the south point of the bay, where fresh water was handy, and where the boats might land without being exposed to a heavy surf. This is the cove which in recent times has always borne the illustrious navigator's name. The natives here were as friendly as those at Tokomaru, and a good supply of wood and water was easily procured. During the eight days' stay at this place

Mr. Banks and Dr. Solander explored the neighbourhood, and were rewarded by the discovery of many more plants new to science. In the course of their rambles they came upon what is described as a very extraordinary natural curiosity. “It was a rock, perforated through its whole substance so as to form a rude but stupendous arch or cavern, opening directly to the sea. This aperture was seventy-five feet long, twenty-seven broad, and five-and-forty high, commanding a view of the bay and of the hills on the other side, which were seen through it, and, opening at once upon the view, produced an effect far superior to any of the contrivances of art.”

There are three small streams of water here, one of which finds its way to the sea through the natural arch above described. The arch (called by the natives “Te Kotore o te Whenua”) pierces the ridge the extremity of which forms the western head of the cove, and is about 400yds. from high-water mark within the cove. The measurements given by Cook do not quite correspond with the present dimensions. The present length is 55ft., the breadth at the narrowest part 24ft. 6in., and the height at the lowest part 23ft. The length has probably been reduced by the falling-away of the cliff at the outer end, at which part also the measurements of the height and breadth given by Cook may have been estimated.

About 30yds. from high-water mark, among some bushes about 20ft. up the side of the same hill as that in which the arch occurs, is what is known as “Cook's well.” This is a small hole, about 10in. in diameter and about 1ft. deep, excavated in the soft rock where a tiny rill trickles down from a small spring a little higher up the hill. This could not have been used in any way for watering the ship, but was probably hollowed out for amusement by some of the boys in the ship's company. That it is not a natural cavity, but that it was made on the occasion of Cook's visit, seems to be satisfactorily shown by the name which the natives have given to it—viz., “Te Wai Keri a Tepaea,” or Tepaea's Well; Tepaea (in which form they have preserved the name of the Tahitian Tupaea) having been thought by them to have been the name of Captain Cook. Various letters have been cut near the little well, but most of them have become very indistinct from the scaling-off of the surface of the rock. It is impossible to assign any date to these, which may all of them be much more modern than 1769.

Maori tradition states that Hinematioro, who was then a young girl, was pointed out to Cook as a young lady of high rank, and that he presented her with beads and other ornaments. Hinematioro was much looked up to in her time by all the tribes along this part of the coast, and her name was known formerly as far north as the Bay of Islands as that of

side of that immense inland lake Wakatipu, their object being the rescue of any sheep which might have been snowed in.

These ranges, along the top, as seen in summer, are mostly run out as narrow as the ridge of a house, the topmost points being more or less perpendicular, and consisting of a yellowish-grey rock, sometimes covered by a minute lichen of a red colour, which will make the rock look a bright red when viewed from a distance; in more accessible places the ranges are rounded, and covered with broken fragments like road-metal, all of corresponding size—in one area large, in another place all much smaller, but always of uniform size. The very steep places seldom hold the snow long, owing to the action of the wind and sun. As a rule it is impossible to travel along the actual ridge, but here and there are places which will allow a passage to the other side of the range.

To return to my story: The two were travelling along, one behind the other, changing places occasionally by the leader falling to the rear, which is requisite in snow-travelling, as the person in advance has the most fatiguing work in breaking down the snow, and so it is advisable to relieve one another in this way. They were near the mountain-top, and moving parallel to the summit, when a crackling noise was heard passing along above them, and almost immediately the surrounding snow, with them on top, commenced to slide downwards, leaving the ground above quite clear from snow. Presently the surface of the moving snow began to undulate and mix up, great newly-made snowballs suddenly consolidating as they rushed down over the surface. They were then knocked down and covered up in darkness, but could feel from painful abrasions that the course was still downward, and lively apprehensions were entertained lest they should be carried over some precipice. Luckily this did not occur. My brother was the first to force a way out from under the snow, and looked about anxiously for his companion. Soon a portion of the snow was seen to be violently agitated, and arms and legs appeared, presently followed by their owner. They were more or less sprained and bruised by rough treatment, and caps and sticks were lost; so they came home with heads tied up in pocket-handkerchiefs, and looked as if they had been engaged in a free fight.

Another avalanche occurred in this manner: I was in chase of some thirty sheep, which were endeavouring to circumvent me by climbing upwards to some steep rocks from which the snow had blown away, and which so looked inviting at a distance, but, of course, were too steep for even a sheep to travel on. I sent my dog after them to head the mob down. He overtook them just below the rocks, turned them, and then I was amazed to see him, with legs stretched out, spinning round and

round in the same place, with the sheep standing below him. Presently the dog ran off upwards, and I then saw the reason of his strange efforts to escape, for the snow had evidently been in the act of parting where the dog had been. Then a great sheet of snow began sliding down, carrying the sheep with it, and shooting into a narrow channel leading down the mountain abreast of the spur on which I stood. On entering the gully the snow began to break up, and at times all the sheep were buried from sight, then several bodies would pop out, disappearing again like porpoises playing at sea, others appearing and disappearing as the whole mass rushed down hill. When the snow came to a stop the sheep commenced to force a way out and shake themselves, and I believe every one came out all right. Of course these sheep were merinos, and so good climbers and very active.

A most wonderful sight was the remains of a very large avalanche at the shady side of Mount Nicholas. I saw it after the bulk of the winter's snow had thawed in the spring on the sunny slopes. Travelling round the back, along the foot of the mountain, which is detached from the main range by small valleys, I came to a large gully which descended the mountain-side. This was at the foot filled up with gigantic snowballs, one on top of another, 30ft. or 40ft. deep, some 6ft. through, others not less than 3ft., all circular, very hard, and distinct one from the other. I went across, stepping from each one as if they had been large boulders, and could hear the water of the creek rushing under them, deep down underneath.

One very severe winter, which was commenced by the most terrible thunderstorm with heavy rain, the thunder being almost continuous, aided by the echoes and vibrations along the mountain-sides, it seemed during the darkness of the night as if half the mountain-sides were coming down in landslips. All this confusion of sound and fierce lightning caused the merino sheep to make upwards through the melting snow left from a previous storm, it being the natural instinct of the mountain-bred sheep to hurry upward when in danger or fear. Consequently, when the heavy rain was succeeded by an unusually heavy fall of snow, several large mobs of sheep which were collected together on the upper parts of the range became completely blocked in by the snow. They by trampling consolidated the snow under foot to a thin sheet of ice, and so made an enclosure with solid walls of snow some 8ft. high. One large mob of about fifteen hundred were trapped in this way at the head-waters of the Afton Creek, on the south-west side of Lake Wakatipu. The snow, being in the form of dry crystal cubes, had no adhesion on the surface, so the cold dry winds which succeeded the storm blew

From this the Duke of Devonshire's and Lord de Tabley's sheep appear identical—white spotted with black; two straight or slightly-curved upright horns, and two smaller horns bent back round the ears and pointed under them to the front; wool scant and inferior; known to have been at Tabley two hundred years.

Sir H. Dryden's sheep, with similar markings, but probably with only one pair of horns, twisted spirally as in the merino; wool of fair quantity and quality; in the neighbourhood of Canons Ashby over sixty years.

In the zoological collection at the Royal Park, Melbourne, some fifteen years ago, I saw a ewe having short dark shining red hair, having drooping ears and no horns, also a larger sheep with long brick-coloured wool, which I supposed to be a son of the ewe by a white-woolled ram; probably Chinese.

In England, the late celebrated novelist, Mayne Reid, had a flock which he describes as black with white face and white tip to the tail, without horns, which he called Jacob's sheep. He got the originals from a travelling mob, and had no knowledge where they were bred. He tried one season to show as a curiosity at the Royal Agricultural Show, but was not allowed, as “they were not a known breed.” Afterwards he, being indignant at their rejection, wrote a letter to the Times about them. A supposed portrait of one was given in the Live-stock Journal, but it was coloured in black and white patches. They were said to breed true.

“Shetland Sheep.—At the last Royal Agricultural Show was a pen of five miniature ewes of jet-black colour, which were a great attraction to the visitors.”—Live-stock Journal.

Darwin, in “Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication,” speaks of a famous breed of black sheep at Karakool, Turkistan, with a valuable fleece of lustrous black wool. The wool was said to deteriorate when the animals were removed elsewhere.^*

Dr. Randal, in “American Sheep Husbandry,” in describing the early attempts to introduce the merino sheep from Spain to America, says, “The several small lots first imported were allowed to die out, not being fancied at that time; but the very first, which with difficulty were obtained through the influence of the American Ambassador to Spain, when they arrived in 1803, were all black.” I think five or seven were the number landed. This was either a swindle in picking a few black sheep from a white flock, or indicated a black merino flock existing at that time.

It is very remarkable that, writers, in trying to trace the origin of the merino sheep, always imagine them to be of

English origin, for they are prevented from looking to North Africa owing to the heat of the climate causing sheep in that country to have a covering of hair; otherwise it would be supposed the Moors introduced them from Barbary.

On the other hand, these spotted sheep; the Herdwicks, on the Cumberland fells, with curled horns; the Cheviots, on the Border Hills, a polled race; and the sheep of the Shetlands, of very diminutive size, are all supposed to come from Spain, the popular tradition being that they are survivors from the wreck of the Spanish Armada, in the time of Queen Elizabeth. That crews from one or more of these vessels escaped to the Shetlands there seems to be good evidence; also, that these shipwrecked people taught the natives, with whom they intermarried, a particular secret in the art of weaving and dyeing woollen goods, which I believe is a speciality to this day.

Quoting from the “Technical Educator:” “Beautiful black lamd-skins are imported from the Crimea, and still more rich and glossy, with a short fur, from Astracan.”

Most people are under the belief that flocks of sheep are necessarily white, but no doubt, if the matter were properly investigated, a number of pure breeds of coloured sheep would be found inhabiting out-of-the-way places.

Youatt says, “There is reason to believe that sheep in their early domesticated condition were brown or dingy black: during the classical period the sheep of Spain are described by several ancient authors as being black, red, or tawny.”

Darwin remarks, “In the Tarentino the inhabitants keep black sheep alone, because the Hypericum crispum abounds there, and this plant does not injure the black sheep, but kills the white ones in about a fortnight's time.”

“A so-called Spanish ram, which had two small black spots on the sides, when mated with seven Southdown ewes, produced thirteen lambs all perfectly black.”—Mr. Wilmot, “Quarterly Review,” 1849.

“The Rev. W. Darwin Fox believes that this ram belonged to a breed which he has himself kept, and which is always spotted black and white, and he finds that Leicester sheep crossed by rams of this breed always produced black lambs. He has recrossed these crossed sheep with pure white Leicesters during three successive generations, but always with the same result. Mr. Fox was told by the friend from whom the spotted breed was procured, that he likewise had gone on for six or seven generations crossing with white sheep, but still black lambs were invariably produced.”—“Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication.”

Returning to the spotted sheep: On breeding the Tabley and Canons Ashby sheep together, a change in the character of the horns is mentioned, but the colour of the wool seems

book of nature is laid open before us. In its most legible pages we may read—on the faces of the cliffs and on the terraces, in the steep or gentle slope of the valley towards the river, and in the character and condition of the soil—the half-hidden history of the past.

For years past my duties took me into every part of the Waikato's basins from its source to the sea, and I had an excellent opportunity to study its topography.

These notes refer to a comparatively recent period, when the surface-configuration of the country was very much as we find it now, and not to the geological ages of the past, during which the country rose gradually out of the sea and our river-valleys were first formed. Only the salient points of the subject can be touched in a short paper. The changes in the course of the Waikato seem to have been four in number, a long space of time intervening between each of them. The first took place at the Wai-o-tapu Valley, twenty miles below Taupo. The Wai-o-tapu has evidently been a large river-valley. It is, in fact, a continuation of that above, through which the Waikato River takes its course from Taupo. The direction and configuration of the valley lead to the conclusion that the Waikato River once flowed through it to the sea. From some cause its course was impeded: the waters were thrown back into the valleys above, which they occupied in the form of a serpentine lake or a lake-like river, with many arms spreading in between the spurs of the ranges. Round Taupo, Ngautuku, and other hills between Atiamuri and Taupo, may be seen the old lake-beds filled up with alluvial deposits. In the valleys between the hills immense beds of pumice and sand, sometimes 200ft. in depth, are seen in level plains through which the streams have worn their channels deep down to the bed-rock, disclosing stratified layers of drift, pumice, and light sands, enclosing the trunks of trees and carbonised wood. The worn, shore-like sides which surround these pumice-beds, cliffs of tufaceous rock often plainly water-worn, and the stratified character of the deposit, leave but little doubt that a large area in this part of the Waikato Valley was occupied by a lake. The waters found their next outlet through the ranges between Whakamaru and Titirau-penga.

The elevation of the outlet was at first about 300ft. above the present bed: gradually it was worn deeper through the barriers, and the waters of the lake drained off, each successive stage in the process of lowering being indicated by a well-marked regular terrace round the south end of the gorge and the lake-basins in the valley above. These terraces are of immense proportions, and range fully 200ft. above the present river-bed.

In the valley of the Waikato, near Atiamuri, where the Rotorua and Taupo Road crosses the river, a most excellent example of the terrace-formation, and of the wonderful power of the river in denuding its valley, may be seen. The height of the Waikato is 1,200ft. above the sea at its exit from Taupo Lake, where its outflow is 16,300 gallons per second—that is to say, about 3,500 tons of water passes through its channel every minute; it has therefore as much energy to expend in denudation as would be required to lift this mass of water 1,200ft. above the sea. Naturally, in its highest reaches, where the gradients are steepest, most of the dynamic forces are expended, and therefore here are shown the greatest examples of surface-denudation.

There are evidences that the upper portion at least of the Patetere Valley, including the Tokoroa Plains, was once occupied by a lake. The stratified pumice-beds and the remains of horizontal terraces which are to be seen there indicate this. It may be that the Waikato River for a time flowed into the Patetere by the Mangaharakeke Valley, to the eastward of the Whakamaru Range; but of this there is not sufficient evidence. We have no well-defined river-bed which the Waikato might occupy, and I think it more than probable that the Tokoroa Lake was not formed by the Waikato River. I may here mention a somewhat strange tradition which was mentioned to me by the Assistant Surveyor-General as having been related to him by Mr. Lawry: That the Waikato River formerly ran into the sea near Tauranga; and that in the course of ages it changed its course and ran out into the Hauraki Gulf; and then, again, after a further lapse of time, it ran across by Tuakau and Mauku, and then into the Manukau Harbour; and thence into the sea at the mouth of the Wairoa River. It is strange what could give rise to this tradition. I do not think the Maoris are speculative in their deductions, and they would be unlikely to draw conclusions of this kind without something more than the surface-configuration of the land to guide them. However, it is not at all probable that the Waikato River flowed through Tokoroa. The lake owed its origin to other causes, and was drained by the Waikato River through the Kopokorahi Stream.

The whole surface-configuration of the Patetere Valley bears evidence of the immense effects of sub-aerial denudation. Tokoroa Plain is 1,220ft. above the sea; the fall from there to Matamata is pretty regular, and amounts to 1,050ft., being at the rate of about 26ft. to the mile: it is easy to imagine what the effects of denudation would be in a country with such an incline, and covered with loose materials, as we find the Patetere was. These effects are shown in the many deep water courses which furrow the valleys for miles. Most of these are

now dry. They are bordered with high water-worn cliffs of tufa, showing that they were once the beds of powerful streams. Two of the principal streams of the Patetere flow into the Waikato; the others, following the natural slope of the valley, find their way to the Hauraki Gulf.

The next remarkable change in the course of the Waikato, and that which was attended by the most serious results in the great middle basin, is that which took place at Piarere, about fourteen miles above Cambridge. Any one travelling the road from Cambridge to Oxford could scarcely fail to remark the well-defined broad valley, bordered by steep cliffs, which runs in a north-east direction by Hinuera towards Matamata. There is little doubt that the Waikato River once flowed down this naturally-sloping valley, and thence to the sea at the Hauraki Gulf. But from some cause it again left its old bed, and, turning to the westward, passed through the gorge between Maungatautari and Hinuera Ranges for six miles, and debouched into the great middle basin at Cambridge. Here, again, we have the same sequence of events recorded that took place at Whakamaru—the river formed a sinuous lake in the valleys above, extending backwards for a distance of eight miles, and covering the Waipa Plains, which were evidently the bed of a lake. We find the remains of a deep alluvial deposit, chiefly of light pumice-sands, which filled the valleys running in between the spurs in level plains. Through these, again, the streams in wearing out their deep channels exposed the strata of river-gravel, pumice-sand, and detritus, including large trunks of trees. This deposit fills the valley at Paeroa, where the Auckland Agricultural Company's homestead at Cranston is situated: it runs into the valleys between the ridges, varying in depth from 120ft. downwards. Following down the old river-bed towards Matamata, the deposit thins out like a wedge, and finally almost disappears four or five miles from the present river-bed.

The river, in working its channel deeper through the barriers in the Maungatautari Gorge, gradually drained off the waters of the lake, leaving behind, in the valley above, eight rows of terraces, which fringe the river on either side, indicating each a different stage in the lowering of the bed.

The height of the land through the gorge which the river now traversed was certainly over 200ft. above the present river-bed, and through this to the bed-rock the river has eroded its channel. We have now arrived at an area in the Waikato's basins where the facts to be recorded are of a perplexing and recondite character. The broad plain in central Waikato known as the “Waikato middle basin” has an area of five hundred square miles. We find an alluvial deposit all over the lower areas of this valley: in places it is 150ft. in depth. The

character of this deposit is unmistakable, as seen in the “washed-out” gullies so numerous all over the valley: the deposit is clearly stratified; it is made up mainly of rounded particles of pumice, interstratified with layers of clay and rhyolite sands, and enclosing the trunks of trees placed horizontally. That these deposits were brought down by the Waikato River seems unquestionable—pumice-drifts are not found in the valleys of any other rivers which flow into the Waikato middle basin; but how they came to be laid as we now find them is, in my opinion, the most interesting physiographical question which we have to deal with. Reference to the map (Pl. XXXIV.) will show the surface-height of the land at Cambridge to be 220ft. above the sea; at Hamilton it is 120ft.; at Ngaroto, 125ft.; at Morrinsville, 82ft.; and at Taupiri only 39ft. Now, we find the alluvial deposits have been carried by the Waikato waters to the Rotorangi swamps, eight miles almost in a southerly direction from Cambridge, whilst the natural fall of the country is in the direction of Taupiri, and over 7ft. to the mile. Dr. Hochstetter says of the middle basin: “The geological features of the basin are these: The lowest bed consists of layers of clay and sand, with bituminous shale, which, in some places, encloses trunks of trees changed to [ unclear: ] nite; the shale passes into argillaceous shale, containing numerous fossil plants; these and similar strata point to the fact that the whole middle Waikato basin was but recently a shallow bay of the sea, at the bottom and on the margin of which these layers were formed.”

If this be so, as the land rose and the sea receded a channel or channels would be left in the estuary, and through these channels the rivers and streams of the valley would naturally continue to flow into the Hauraki Gulf. We find, however, the places where the old estuarine channels might have been are filled with the fluviatile deposits, placed in such stratified form that they could only have been laid down by the action of very slowly-moving water in a lake or the sea. The depths of these deposits vary considerably: in the Rukihia Swamp, between Hamilton and Ohaupo, they are from 50ft. to 70ft.; in the Piako Swamp, from 40ft. to 60ft.; at Hamilton, from 40ft. to 70ft.; and in the neighbourhood of Taupiri, the lowest point in the basin, it is a remarkable fact that the deposit is lightest. Beneath these deposits in several parts of the valley the ancient land-surface can be seen. In the Waikato River, near Hamilton, are standing several trunks of maire trees, which appear to be standing as they grew. In several of the “washed-out” gullies the same may be observed—the trunks of trees lying horizontally and some standing erect on the old surface.

The most interesting example of this character, because

of the most recent occurrence, is that shown on Mr. E. B. Walker's property at Mona Vale, four miles south-west from Cambridge (Pl. XXXV.). A drain was cut about a mile in length through a neck of dry land, to drain the Mona Vale Swamp into a dry gully which led to the Waikato River. During a heavy flood some years ago a scour was started in this drain, which soon formed a gully from 60ft. to 70ft. in depth and in some places several chains across. At the bottom of this gully the ancient land-surface was exposed to view. It consists of a stiff, brown, marly-looking soil, apparently of excellent quality. The trunks of many trees are lying on the old land-surface, and some were found to be standing, with their roots penetrating the old soil, as they grew. The present land-surface is perfectly level, whilst the ancient surface is found at various depths from 30ft. to 60ft., showing the old contour of the land. The timber found here seemed in tolerably good preservation. This is suggestive of a very interesting thought: that, if the country was inhabited previous to this submergence, some relics of the animals or men who lived in it might come to light some day on the old land-surface.

Characteristic of the middle Waikato basin are the numerous funnel-shaped holes to be seen everywhere throughout the alluvial deposits. They were formed by the subterranean or soil waters in passing along beneath the surface of the earth. They create small caverns, and, finally, underground streams, which draw away the loose material from the surface, and frequently form symmetrical funnel-shaped holes—the “potholes” of the settlers. Probably the water, being charged with carbonic acid, was thus enabled to dissolve some of the river-gravel through which it passes, and by degrees to become a small running stream.

Now; it seems very evident that these deposits in the middle Waikato basin could never have been laid in the bed of a lake nor by the waters of the Waikato at all with the levels of the land as we now find them. The lake would have four outlets—one at Morrinsville, one at Hapukohe, one at Matahura, and one at Taupiri, all 100ft. below the level of the bed of the lake in the centre; therefore the waters would not be impounded to place the deposits. Neither is the action of the sea admissible: the character of the deposits, the mode of their distribution, and the levels of the valley as they now stand, preclude this, the western side of the basin being lower than the eastern side, where the estuary would have its outlet. To local movement, or oscillation in the level of the land within the basin, it would seem we must attribute the phenomena. The Waikato, on debouching through the Maungatautari Gorge, would probably occupy

about 350 square miles of the low areas in the middle basin, in the form of a broad shallow lake dotted with numerous islands, which are now the clay hills and ridges of the valley. At that time the land to the east, north, and western sides of the basin stood higher than it now does—sufficiently so to enclose the waters of the shallow lake: then were the alluvial deposits of the valley laid down, and subsequently a tilt or oscillation in the surface-level of the valley took place, emptying the lake.

The almost direct course of the Waikato River from Cambridge to Ngaruawahia, and the absence of a wide river-valley, may be taken as indicating the rapid formation of the riverbed. In a flat alluvial valley we should naturally expect to find a winding river and a broad valley, instead of which we find that the Waikato River has cut its course almost straight in a north-westerly direction until it is stopped by the Hakarimata Ranges, along the base of which it flows in a northerly direction to Taupiri.

Mr. James Stewart, in his paper on “Evidences of Recent Change in the Elevation of the Waikato District,”^* shows proof of subsidence as follows: “The proofs of subsidence we at present adduce are two. The first lies in the sunken forest in Lower Waikato: thus we find at a distance of forty-five or fifty miles from the sea the remains of an ancient forest, the trunks of whose trees are standing as they grew. They are found as snags where their roots are of a certainty far below the level of high water in the ocean.” These trees, of course, could never have grown in that position.

Again, Mr. Stewart shows that the cylinders of the railway-bridge at Ngaruawahia are sunk several feet below low-water mark in the Auckland Harbour, and at this depth river-pebbles and shingle were found, indicating an ancient river-bed, which must of course have been higher than it now is to allow the river to flow to the sea. The same evidence was found in sinking the cylinders for the Hamilton railway-bridge, alluvium and river-gravel being found in a position considerably below the level of the water in the ocean.

In a section of a bore for coal at the Huntly coal-mines, large gravel was found at 94ft. below the surface, or about 60ft. below sea-level; pumice was found at 32ft. below sea-level. In the valleys of the lower basin of the Waikato trunks of large trees are to be found in positions where their roots would certainly be below sea-level. On the clay hills in the swamps near Rangiriri, water-worn blocks of pumice are to be seen deposited in little depressions and on small terraces 20ft. or 30ft. above the level of the swamps—positions to which only the

waters of the lake could take them. Underneath the trig. station at Pukeotoka, near Miranda, a large mass of boulders, rounded and water-worn, is found 200ft. above the neighbouring valley, through which the head-waters of the Maramarua River flow: these boulders evidently mark an old river-bed of a time when the country was 200ft. lower than it now is.

The facts above quoted, whilst they prove first depression and subsequent elevation of the land, do not, of course, show that either movement was partial or local. This is always most difficult to prove, although it is well known and an admitted fact that earth-movements are variable—here a depression, there an elevation; and the complicated forms of our stratified rocks very clearly show it.

The surface-configuration of the central Waikato basin, especially on its western side, would appear to show evidences of local subsidence. The spurs on the eastern side of the Hakarimata Range, looking southwards from Taupiri by Ngaruawahia, bear, I think, the appearance of a scarp along their base. It would be interesting to ascertain whether the Taupiri Gorge itself marks a line of fault; but a close examination of the strata on either side would be necessary for this purpose.

There is little doubt that the waters of the middle basin had their outlet by Hangawera-Hapuakohe Valley, and also through the Waitakaruru Valley for a time; subsequently they flowed through Matahura into Waikare Lake and the lower basin, and finally the Waikato drained them through the Taupiri Gorge. Remnants of the old lakes still remain in the lakelets, lagoons, and lake-like swamps which occupy the depressed areas in the valley, and many of them are fast drying up.

An interesting feature in the lower Waikato basin is the deep, wide valley which lies on the western side of the Hopuakohe Ranges. The Matahura and Wangamarino Rivers rise in it. Their head-waters are separated by a low saddle, one flowing to the north and west, and the other to the south. This valley did not, evidently, owe its origin to the streams which now occupy it: it was a great river-valley in the past, and possibly the course of the Waipa when the Waikato River discharged itself into the Hauraki Gulf.

There is no trace of pumice—the characteristic of the Waikato's alluvium—to be found in this valley. Its outlet was at Pukorokoro, into the Hauraki Gulf. The low saddle which separates the waters of the Maramarua from those of the Pukorokoro is not, I think, more than 60ft. above the level of the sea.

In the foregoing notes I have endeavoured to give some of the evidences of the changes which have taken place in the

Waikato basins. The cause of the changes is a physiographical question of great interest. There can be little doubt that the lakes which are seen to have occupied the lower areas in each basin successively were caused by the impounding of the waters of the river. By what was the impounding caused? It seems to me to be accounted for by either of two causes—the damming-up of the old river-bed or oscillations in the level of the land. We have ample evidence that at least a very large portion of the North Island has been submerged, and again rose above the sea. Speaking of the changes of level at the Thames Captain Hutton says, “It would thus appear that when the alluvium, full of boulders, found on top of the hill near Shortland was forming, the land was 1,000ft. lower than at present; that it then gradually rose until it was at least 100ft. higher than now; and at that time the Thames ran further north than Shortland. The land then sank 10ft. or 12ft. lower than now, and subsequently has again risen to its present level.” Now, if these movements of elevation and depression were uniform throughout the island, when the land was 1,000ft. lower than it now is very little of the North Island was above the sea, only the high country in the interior, with our other high hills, appearing as islands off the coast.

Mr. Percy Smith has shown us very clearly that elevation has been the latest movement. A very clear case of an elevation of at least 15ft. is shown by him to have occurred in recent times at Miranda, in the Hauraki Gulf, and the settlers there are of opinion that the land on the flat referred to by Mr. Smith continues to rise gradually. One settler informed me that he was enabled to sink a drain 1ft. lower than he originally sank it, twelve years ago, and he feels convinced the tide does not now rise in the drain within a foot of its former height. We may now imagine the land (having sunk) again gradually and uniformly rising from the sea. The Waikato River may have occupied the bed it now does before the submergence. We should then expect its old valley to be filled with the detritus and alluvial materials. In the subsequent elevation the river might have first found its way to the sea on the east coast, through the Waiotapu Valley. As the land rose gradually and uniformly, the river would erode its bed deeper into the loose materials, and we might imagine, as the high land to the eastward came above the sea, its elevation being greater than the low valleys in the upper basins, the water to be impounded and a lake formed until such time as the river, having resumed its old course, by degrees removed the detritus which filled it, and so emptied the lake. If we still imagine the same to have occurred at Hinuera, where the second change took

place, the Waikato would for a time flow through the Hinuera Valley, but subsequently would resume its former course into the middle basin, when surface-denudation had washed the detritus from the old bed. But, as we have before seen, the events in the great middle basin cannot be accounted for without the hypothesis of local oscillation in the level of the land. On the other hand, if we can believe that gradual general elevation has been going on, and that it was accompanied by local movements on a smaller scale, it would be easy to account for the Waikato's changes. If, for instance, the axis of upheaval was along the main range in a southeast direction, from Te Aroha to Rotorua (which seems probable), with a slight anticline to the westward, we should find the Waikato first filling all its valleys as a lake, through elevation to the eastward, and the water seeking a new outlet in the lowest or weakest point in the gorges to the west.

That the movements in the earth's crust are complicated—here an upheaval, there a depression, faults, crushing, and corrugation of the rocks on the surface, the efforts of the earth's crust to adapt itself to the form of the cooling nucleus—seems to be the doctrine of our wisest geologists; but whether these movements are applicable to areas so small as those we have been describing is a matter of conjecture. Charles Darwin, whilst contemplating great events in South America, came to the conclusion that to volcanic action must be attributed the force by which mountain-chains are elevated; and that the efforts of the earth's crust and the contracting nucleus to conform themselves to one another by deforming the spheroid, counteracted by the earth's rotation acting to maintain the spheroidal form, cause most of our volcanic phenomena. Elie de Beaumont, the great apostle of secular refrigeration, defines these volcanic phenomena as “a struggle between the deformation of the spheroid by the loss of internal heat and volume, and the earth's rotation, which constantly tends to cause it to revert to the true spheroidal figure.”

Mr. W. L. Green says, in his work “Vestiges of the Molten Globe,” published last year, “When we find, in one short experience, that Chili and its Cordillera can be jerked up several hundred feet at one stroke, we may well be careful how we limit the magnitude of such catastrophes in all past time.” It is in reference to these great changes of surface-configuration, so copiously noted elsewhere in the world, and to which sources of information New Zealand might contribute a good deal, that I hope these notes may be of some interest. If the conclusions I have drawn are not satisfactory, the simple facts recorded will still remain independently, as

together, and after discussing the question in all its phases (and you know how many phases a Maori can get on a question) they decided to ask how much food each chief could supply, and the one who could give most was to have the honour of being made a poor man for the rest of his days.

So they set to work and they dug holes in this flat. These holes were dug in straight lines, each hole about 2ft. across and about 1½ft. deep, and shaped somewhat like a “kopa maori.” They then called on the chiefs to see who could fill most holes with food. They set all their people to work: some caught tunas, some pukekos, some kukupas, some kakas; others laid up punishment for themselves in the world to come by slaughtering those pretty little creatures the tuis; others, again, who would make a fortune at home whenever rat-terrier trials are fashionable, went in quest of the kiore. All, or nearly all, returned laden, and more holes were dug and filled; but with no better result than before: each pa was upsides with the other, and when there was nothing left to catch they had to think out some other scheme.

On the side of one of the hills, called Nga Tore Atua, and just below the earthworks of the pa, were two large blocks of limestone, each about 7ft. or 8ft. square: it was decided that these two blocks should be undermined by men appointed by the opposing chiefs, and, whichever stone rolled the furthest across the flat, the people of that stone should be the victors. So they went to work again, and down came one block, which rolled itself a good distance out across the plain, and no one thought that could be beaten; but presently away went the other, and, being, perhaps, better situated than the first stone, it travelled off at a great rate, and rolled and tumbled until it came within a few feet of the creek, at which place it stands to this day. Both stones are there to be seen. Perhaps it is all a myth; but down on the flat all the holes still exist, and one can see where the stones have rolled from.

On the sites of these two old pas fire has done its work until nothing now remains except the deep trench that surrounded one—and a deep one it must have been when the pa was in fighting-trim. Of the other pa one sees the burnt stubs of palisading showing above the surface, but, above all, amongst these are two old heart-of-totara poles, say, 12in. in diameter, and 12ft. to 14ft. high. They stand out in bold relief, sound at heart, but showing much signs of wear. How long they have stood thus no pakeha knoweth—they have been so for many, many years. If they had eyes to see and tongues to relate, what tales they could tell us! what scenes they have witnessed! what cruelties practised! They stood there when this valley was alive with people, and they stand there still.

In the expression of thought, either in prose or poetry, and particularly in the latter, much depends on the dress. The measure and cadence should be in harmony with the subject. The narrative style of the ballad is altogether unlike the narrative passages of the epic, not only in measure, but in language. Certain artifices of style, alliterative and otherwise, are well known. In a passage so familiar as to be almost hackneyed Pope has shown how, even without changing the measure, the sentiment may be emphasized by the sound of the words:—

'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar;
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line, too, labours, and the words move slow;
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Essay on Criticism.

The effect of this passage is chiefly produced by the choice of consonants; the “labouring lines” being burdened with those uncouth clusters of consonantal sounds which are so difficult to the foreigner, and oftentimes by no means easy to the native. But in the works of the modern masters of English verse there are much more subtle devices than this—so refined as almost to defy analysis. In the skilful use of merely imitative words and measures Tennyson is preeminent. The ripple and dash of his poem, “The Brook,” and the celebrated imitation of the “horse's hoofs as they canter and canter away,” in the “Northern Farmer,” are cases in point.

Much has been written on the subject of imitative words, and there is no doubt that (as in the passage just quoted from Pope) they impart a degree of force and vivid expression to both verse and prose. But imitative words are the crudest and most imperfect form of language. It is the child who has not attained the full power of speech who talks of the “moo” and the “bow-wow;” and poetry or oratory which mainly relies on imitative expression for effect is as false in art as “descriptive music” of the “Battle of Prague” order, which gives realistic imitations of cannonading and the “groans of the wounded.”

All will admit that in true music—in such a composition, for example, as Beethoven's “Moonlight Sonata”—there are subtleties appealing to the emotions immeasurably beyond anything of the superficial “descriptive” order. The whole composition was suggested by the moonlight streaming through

a window: it would not suggest the same concrete idea to a hearer, but it could not fail, when interpreted by a skilled hand, to awaken a train of feelings parallel to those which inspired the composer—of calm, of meditative repose, and, again, of high aspiration and triumphant hope and trust. To dissect the composition chord by chord and note by note in order to discover its secret charm would be a vain task. The intuitive perceptions of the master could not fail—the sentiment is there, though it defy analysis.

Still, the notes of the musical scale have been thus analysed, and their mental effect in relation to the key-note approximately determined.^* According as one or the other tone or group of sympathetic tones predominate, the character of the composition is lively or sad, melancholy or triumphant. The process of analysis is by no means easy, as the individual characters of the tones may be indefinitely qualified by their order of succession, their modulations and harmonies, the relative stress which is placed upon them, and even by the general time of the composition.

It is my object in the present paper to show that similar mental effects are produced by the vowel-sounds of the language, and that their qualities are modified in a parallel manner by succession and emphasis, and to some extent by the consonants with which they are associated. This being admitted, it follows that we have in language an inherent element of expression, both mental and musical, far more subtle than any mere trick of imitative or alliterative words, and, though in itself but an external quality of poetry or oratory, yet possessing an importance fully equal to that of measure or cadence.

I have met with the statement, which my own observation confirms, that there is what may be called a “gamut” of vowels, differing slightly in pitch with each individual, and differing markedly in the case of varying languages and dialects. It is the vowel-sounds (or, more correctly, the vowel-pitch) of a foreign tongue that the learner has the greatest difficulty in acquiring. The ordinary Englishman attempting to imitate the speech of a Scotsman, an Irishman, or a German, contents himself with exaggerating a few of the characteristic peculiarities, and the imitation is a failure; while the genuine dialect will be betrayed by a single monosyllable. This can only be accounted for by the difference of “pitch,” which extends throughout the vocal scale.

Swedenborg—whose marvellous insight in almost every

branch of natural science is gradually becoming better appreciated—says that consonants are the essentials of speech; and that vowel-sounds—which are the only sounds the inferior animals utter—have a reference or correspondence to the affections. Much may be said in support of both these propositions.

In the earlier historic ages the Semitic tongues were written and read (as our own language is to-day, habitually, by shorthand writers) without vowels. But it is a singular fact that the subtler shades of meaning in the old Hebrew and kindred dialects were indicated by the unwritten vowels, and that the reader, according to his understanding of the text, would vary even to occasionally reversing the meaning.

It is to the vowel-sounds that language owes its beauty and expression; and in considering their mental effect we have first to divide them into two classes, the long and the short—every long and full vowel having its corresponding clipped and shortened form. It is only upon the vowels that we can dwell, either in speech or song, and, what is more important still, only upon the long vowels. The short sounds are always curt, brief, and abridged. And the first observation I would make is, that—

In dignified, stately, and solemn composition, the long vowels predominate, especially in the accented syllables.

In trivial, light, and burlesque composition, the short vowel-sounds predominate, even in the accented syllables—sometimes to the almost entire exclusion of the long vowels.

As a specimen of dignified composition, take the opening lines of our great English epic:—

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe—–

Here all the line-endings, and nearly all the accented syllables, fall on long vowels. Let us now take a rhymed poem by one of the masters of English verse:—

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me,

And again,—

Hark how the sacred calm that breathes around
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease,
In still small accents whispering from the ground
A grateful earnest of eternal peace.

And so on throughout the composition. But observe the selection of vowels in “A Long Story,” a nonsensical poem by the same author:—

The words too eager to unriddle,
The poet felt a strange disorder—
Transparent birdlime formed the middle,
And chains invisible the border.

The godhead would have backed his quarrel,
But, with a blush on recollection,
Owned that his quiver and his laurel
'Gainst four such eyes was no protection.

Each of these stanzas contains thirty-six syllables. In the first all the vowels are short except five; in the second, all except one! And the loose swing of the measure is quite in keeping.

Let us quote Cowper:—

Would I had fall'n upon those happier days
That poets celebrate, those golden times,
And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings,
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.
Winter Evening.

Here, again, the long vowels have the great predominance; but turn to any stanza of “John Gilpin,” by the same writer, and the short vowels will be found to characterize the whole composition.

It is scarcely necessary further to multiply examples; but I cannot refrain from noting two of the finest of modern hymns—Lyte's

Abide with me,—fast falls the eventide,

and Newman's

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom.

Tennyson's poem of “The Brook,” already referred to, is a marvel of imitative language. The dash and ripple of the measure is unparalleled in English verse. Sustained notes would be out of keeping with the character of the piece, and accordingly we find a most surprising preponderance of short vowels. At the same time they are managed with such consummate skill that the effect of pettiness and triviality, so noticeable in the examples already quoted, is nowhere to be found throughout the poem.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river—
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

In these two stanzas there is scarcely a long vowel. Contrast with this the same writer's

Home they brought her warrior dead,

and his

Break, break, break,
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!

Note the long vowel thrice repeated in the first line, like the opening chords of the “Dead March.” The second line is even more remarkable. With just one short vowel, like a grace-note, cutting it off from the first line, it contains the extraordinary number of six consecutive long vowels.

Thus I have shown that in the mere selection of long and short vowels (apart from the other qualities of composition) there is produced a definite mental effect. And we have no more reason to deride the old lady who “found much comfort in that beautiful word ‘Mesopotamia’”—which is mysterious, sonorous, and full of long vowels—than to ridicule the musical enthusiast who is “elevated” or “consoled” by the subtle and far-reaching power of a musical composition. We derive much of our delight in fine poetry from a precisely similar cause.

It would be interesting to follow this inquiry as regards the predominating vowel-sound in English. Those who use a phonetic system of spelling could supply this information. The preponderating use of the symbol e in our ordinary writing has no real significance; for not only has it five different powers, but it is extensively used as a modifying character in diphthongs, besides, in its capacity of silent final, merely indicating the lengthening of a vowel.

Before proceeding to the second part of my task—an endeavour to define the characteristic effect of certain vowels—I would advance two more propositions, following as a natural corollary to those already laid down.

There is a distinct affinity between the long vowels and words relating to the higher emotions and intellectual qualities.

The short vowels, on the other hand, characterize words referring to the lower propensities; to such as embody trivial and frivolous ideas; and to the language of cant and slang, abuse and vituperation. And, further,—

That each vowel, long or short, has its own specific mental effect.

Beginning at one extreme of the vocal scale, I take first the long a in far. This sound is the first in all alphabets, and is the highest and finest in mental effect. It is pre-eminently the vowel of dignity—of meditative, serious, and melancholy composition. This quality has been freely (though doubtless intuitively) made use of in poetic composition. The sound is duplicated with fine effect in a well-known line by Wordsworth,—

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart.

And in the Authorised Version of the Scriptures—the grandest piece of musical prose composition in the English language—

we have a finer illustration still, where the vowel is thrice repeated, in the manner of a crescendo:—

Underneath are the everlasting arms.—Deut. xxxiii. 37.

This vowel, which contributes more than any other to dignity in composition, is in marked contrast to the short a in fat, to which I shall hereafter more particularly refer. Hence the practice—which is, or was, fashionable in America, and of which we have all met with examples—of entirely eliminating this sound, and substituting the short a, is a serious degradation of the language. Were there no distinctions in mental effect a change like this would be immaterial; but we know that it is of real significance. When we hear any one speak of the lăst, of an ănser for answer, or of păstors and măsters, we are conscious of affectation and effeminacy on the part of the speaker. Compare the doubled long a in taskmaster with the doubled short vowel in rapscallion, and note the contrast. This long vowel a is the predominant and characteristic sound in the Maori language, and is generally the vowel selected for the long-drawn note in their songs and chants.

The full o is marked by a bold and resolute quality; involving also the ideas of vastness, mystery, and solemnity. We have it in such words as the open ocean, audit meets us in the roll of its foaming waves. It is the key-note of words like bold, noble, rover, roam, foeman; and its minor undertone comes in in words like dole, moan, and woe. Gold, which, related to gules, was commonly pronounced “good” a century ago, has fallen into this category—partly, no doubt, on account of its spelling, but, I am inclined to think, partly also from a perception of the vowel-quality of the o. In dignity and gravity this sound is second only to the a in far, and is bolder, fuller, and more open in quality.

Fuller still is the broad a in fall. This is one of the vowels that has a definite meaning in the form of a monosyllable, and that word—awe—fairly indicates its quality. It is the vowel of sublimity, a sound entering largely into hymns and the loftier kinds of poetical composition, and appeals to the faculty of “veneration.” As a familiar instance of the free use of this sound, and its characteristic effect, may be cited the popular hymn of praise, “Crown Him Lord of all.”

The long e is the vowel of brightness and clearness, “sweetness and light”—giving its distinctive character to words like free and glee. It is the vowel of the sea (by no means synonymous with “ocean”) and its deeps, of the creek, the stream, the mountain peak and valley steep, the mead, the tree, and the passing breeze. It glitters in the sheen of steel, and chills us in the freezing sleet. In the early spring and through the summer it is the note of Nature, meeting us everywhere

in the song of birds and in the piercing and reedy notes cricket and cicada.

The long a in fate I cannot at present more precisely define than to note that it is characteristic of many words associated with the qualities of firmness and stability.

I pass on now to the short vowels.

Triviality is indicated by the short i. We have abundance of instances: pretty, fribble, dibble, quibble, nibble, fiddle, higgle, giggle, snigger, flicker, flipper, flippant, tipple, slipshod, milksop, silly, swill, sip, snip, nit, nip, jig, prig, tiff, whiff, and nearly the whole class of affixed diminutives. Impudent is vulgarly transformed to “impident,” thus unconsciously doubling the characteristic vowel.

The short a wholly lacks the dignity of the long and full sound of the vowel. A whole string of vituperative epithets owe a portion of their sting to the offensive quality of this vowel: slattern, drab, hag, harridan, for example, and the extremely objectionable blackguard, in its present wide range of substantive, adjective, and verb. In qualities we have an unpleasant list: clammy, flabby, scabby, haggard, scrannel; in verbs, to nag and to haggle.

Lastly, I come to the short u, which can boast of a whole vocabulary of contempt and opprobrium—contempt, however, being the ruling characteristic. First we have a small menagerie of unpleasant animals of low degree, whose names are applied freely to humanity: grub, slug, bug, and skunk, for example. The same vowel characterizes mud, muck, puddle, slush, and sludge, a painful swelling called mumps, and an unpleasant internal disorder vulgarly called mulligrubs (again note the doubling of the characteristic vowel). In the same category may be found a whole collection of terms indicative of various degrees of stupidity—to blunder, to muddle, to mull; a muff, duffer, and the expressive Scottish term (to which I know of no English equivalent)—a sumph. To funk is a slang term expressive of cowardice. Objectionable qualities of character are indicated by a long list of similar words, and the vocabulary of slang would be poor indeed without this characteristic vowel. A disagreeable woman is an old frump; a man is an old buffer, hunks, or curmudgeon. He is frequently in the dumps, is gruff, grudging, grumbling, grumpy, sulky, sullen, and readily huffed: he may also be smug, and bumptious. We should feel uncomfortable if in a lonely spot we found ourselves followed by a hulking fellow, armed with cudgel or bludgeon. The contemptuous quality of the vowel seems to be emphasized by the consonant g and the compound dg; for, in addition to words already quoted, we have budge, fudge, drudge, dudgeon, gudgeon. Applied to a female we have slut and hussy (the latter corrupted from the honourable word

“housewife”). A cur of doubtful pedigree is a mongrel. I need make no apology here for introducing a number of slang expressions, as these forcibly illustrate the point. In several striking instances the original vowel has been exchanged for the low vowel of contempt: as cuss for “curse,” bust for “burst,” and buss for the French “baiser.” In vituperative slang a countenance becomes an ugly mug, an ear a lug, a prison a jug, and a pugilist a pug. And this little group suggests to me one of the most vividly-descriptive stanzas in that magnificent old poem “The Faery Queen,” where a monosyllable of this class is brought in with striking effect. The Red Cross Knight meets with the foul monster Error in her den, surrounded by her misshapen brood—

And as she lay upon the dirty ground
Her huge long tail her den all overspread,
Yet was in knots and many boughts upwound,
Pointed with mortal sting: of her there bred
A thousand young ones, which she daily fed
Sucking upon her poisonous dugs; each one
Of divers shapes, yet all ill-favoured—–

The word is in the most absolute harmony with the repulsive imagery of the passage.

Every newspaper-reader, unfortunately, is of necessity familiar with current slang; and a recent example in an editorial article supplies an excellent illustration of my present point. The writer, it must be admitted, had a difficult task. He had to reply to an article concerning an act of scandalous extravagance, and could not venture either to dispute the facts or controvert the principles. So he simply said that the rival editor was a mugwump. This was unanswerable. “Mugwump,” it is true, is not in the dictionaries, and has no defined meaning; but the duplication of the vowel (which we find also in the weaker word humbug, also of unknown etymology) conveys an unmistakable mental impression. The word is American, and, if not new-minted by some inventive genius, is probably (like “wigwam”) a corrupted native term. It is a valuable example of the vowel of contempt.^*

We need not seek for proofs of the general truth of the propositions I have advanced. The idea having been suggested, confirmations will crowd upon you. Leaving out of consideration those Scripture passages which, as a Roman Catholic writer has said, “ring in the memory like the

music of church-bells,” we have only to examine some of those

… jewels five worlds long
That on the stretched forefinger of all time
Sparkle for ever.

Wherein lies the charm of their vitality? Not in the sentiment—expressed a thousand times before in as many forms. Surely not in any more jingle of rhyming or alliterative words. It will be found to be deeper—in the subtle melody of the vowels, each appealing to its own specific emotion of the mind. Take the simple phrase, “Hearths and homes.” Here we find a sentiment appealing to the highest and purest emotions of the mind, emphasized and enforced by the two noblest and loftiest notes of the vowel-scale. The melody of the tones being in perfect harmony with the sentiment, the two are wedded, and, thus divinely joined by a natural law, they cannot be put asunder.^*

Here, I think, we may find the key to the origin of alliteration both in poetry and prose. When we group together epithets like grasping and greedy, griping and grudging, clammy and flabby, we are not following a mere artificial trick of composition, but acting upon an instinctive perception of one of the subtler laws of language itself. And, acknowledging that there is in each of the vowel-sounds a quality answering to a certain mental state, we raise the interjection, despised by grammarians, to the dignity of a “part of speech” in no wise inferior to the onomatopoetic substantive or adjective. It is not by accident, nor is it by mere rhetorical trick, that the preacher exclaims, “Ah, how sad the condition!” or, “Oh, how grand the thought!” No correct speaker would interchange these interjections.

weak thing, and I would have nothing to do with it. I preferred to reduce the pest upon my neighbours' runs as the best method of protection for my own land.

Time ran on; the rabbits were disappearing fast, the lands were becoming clear; and now a rather great factor of suppression appeared—I suppose I may say the greatest of all—viz., disease—bladder-worm or tape-worm of the dog, concerning which the facts are as follows: Early in the year 1886 I had noticed that my rabbiter's pack of dogs were looking miserably-poor, half-starved, mangy skeletons. I spoke to the man, and told him that I could not allow him to keep his dogs in that condition. (I had now only one pack of dogs employed: formerly, in 1882, I had four. I think I sent home about one-quarter of a million skins during the pest.) I had previously noticed that a neighbour's pack of dogs were in much better condition, and that neighbour's rabbiter had told me that he gave his dogs areca-nut to relieve them of worms. I advised my rabbiter to give his dogs the same medicine. And, although Professor Thomas, in his late report, tells me that I did wrong in giving the dogs this medicine, yet must I, from practical experience, say that to it, and the consequent dissemination of pieces of the tape-worm all over the run during the last two years, can I alone attribute the thorough infection of my land with bladder-worm or rabbitfluke. The diseases of liver-rot, scab, and lice also appeared. The few rabbits that I have remaining are now nearly all diseased. I may perhaps have been wrong in administering monthly doses of the medicine—two-monthly doses would have been better; but that the mistake was not fatal is proved from the fact that the run now is thoroughly infected with the disease. I therefore still advise runholders in the South Island to each use a pack of dogs, feed them upon raw rabbit during the week and boiled rabbit upon Sundays, and give them two- or three-monthly doses of areca-nut. For I must respectfully ask scientific men, like Sir James Hector and Professor Thomas, to concede a little to practical experience in this special matter, seeing how great the evil really is to be contended with. (A reference to Professor Thomas's report will show that that gentleman lays great stress upon the efficacy of the winter poisoning in my district. All I can say is that the winter poisoning did us very little good. Under it the rabbit-pest was as bad as ever.)

About eight or nine months since my rabbiter informed me that he had applied to the New South Wales Government for the reward offered for a proper method of suppressing the pest in Australia. His suggestion was, infection with venereal. I did not believe in this, and considered in my own mind that the disease I had upon the run would be a

better thing for Australia. We often discussed the matter amongst ourselves. The rabbits had disappeared like magic. Surely the remedies we had taken would apply to Australia. As to the ferret, I was not at all satisfied with its action. It did not appear to have done nearly the good that I had anticipated. The cats were doing as much good, I thought. I placed as little reliance upon the ferret as I did upon poisoning or rabbit-fencing. The ferrets died off rapidly from distemper. They did not appear to at all increase in sufficient numbers to cope with the evil. Although a gill-ferret littered in large numbers, yet the young ones did not appear to survive. But they had done a certain amount of good. (Consequently I still advise their use. I would say this, however: that they must not be relied upon in the South Island for the high, snowy lands.)

I therefore determined to apply for the reward myself, and I sent one of the diseased rabbits to Sir James Hector to ask his opinion. That gentleman replied favourably. He had previously received two specimens of the disease from the Wairarapa, and he had himself seen a virulent disease of some kind amongst the rabbits in North America. Sir James had previously spoken to me about this disease that he had observed, and he therefore made up his mind definitely to identify it, upon receiving this third specimen from me, with the North American disease. Professor Thomas differs from this view, and says that the tape-worm is not the same—that it is totally distinct. It may be so, and Sir James Hector may be wrong. Our rabbit is not the same animal as the jack-rabbit of North America—a sort of hare; but, nevertheless, I wish to record my thorough appreciation of Sir James Hector's services in identifying the disease so far as he did. Sir James did not know which animal acted as host in passing the particular worm that is here. I said it was the dog. We had all along observed it coming from the dog. Neither Sir James nor Professor Thomas thought it could be the tame dog, although Professor Thomas was careful to express no decided opinion. It will be observed upon reference that Sir James Hector thought it came “probably from the wild dog and cat.” Of course we have wild dogs, and I had turned out many cats, which have thriven remarkably well; and these may have started the disease: but the tame dogs certainly do carry it on, and they will spread it readily in the South Island. The cats may also spread it, as there are at least a hundred cats upon my run now. The disease only requires to be started upon the runs in the south or elsewhere to perform as good work as it performed with us in the Wairarapa.

My letter to the Colonial Secretary of New South Wales, applying for the reward, found its way into the newspapers of

Australia, and immediately I was told by many of my fellow-settlers in the Wairarapa that the disease was no new thing; that some of them had observed it two, four, even six years ago; that they had it upon their runs, and other diseases as well, such as liver-rot, mange, scab, and lice. The generality of them said the disease (bladder-worm) was no good, and wondered at my taking any notice of the matter. Many of them, and the general number of the rabbit-men and Maoris, considered that the bladders were caused by gunshot wounds. Even the other day, when I was bringing a good specimen of the disease down to Sir James Hector, the Maoris clustering round the box remarked, “Ah! that rabbit was wounded.” All this evidence points to the one fact that for six years past this disease has been silently at work upon the runs in the Wairarapa, and to it may be attributed, just as much as to the winter poisoning or the ferrets, the further great fact that in the Wairarapa the rabbit-pest has been conquered. (I attribute the subjection of the pest to the three things acting in combination.) The mange, itch, or scab had also been observed upon my own and the neighbouring runs; but the rabbiters considered that such rabbits had been scorched or badly burnt in the many fires lit to clear off the scrub. Liver-rot had also been observed, especially upon Mr. Tully's run—a run celebrated for the bad state of the rabbit-pest there, but which I am happy to say is now almost clean. Professor Thomas's interim report does not say whether liver-rot is attributable to bladder-worm—or rabbit-fluke, as Sir James Hector named it: I fancy it is.

Now, let us leave detail and go into principles. Let us see what this bladder-worm really means. Let us take an atlas of the earth and inquire into the reasons why the four great continents of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America are free from the rabbit-pest, and why it is so bad in Australia and New Zealand. If my course of reasoning is found to be sound, then, surely, M. Pasteur's proposed mode of suppressing the difficulty with cholera-microbe solution will be found to be as absolutely useless as our winter poisoning, and very far indeed removed from the right method of cure. I use the words “absolutely useless” in this sense: that it will be no good M. Pasteur sweeping off the rabbits by millions if they breed up again, and have to be again swept off. Under the winter poisoning we are sweeping off the rabbits in New Zealand at the present moment at about fifty millions a year.

And, first, it will be remembered by members of this Institute that last year I read a paper upon “A Common Vital Force.” The reasoning in that paper has furnished me with matter for clearing up the present question. My argument is as follows—and Professor Thomas, before sending in his full

report, will do well to think over what I am about to say, and to amend his summary of conclusions at the end of his interim report lately presented to Parliament:—

The rabbit appears to have started in Africa. Negro legends all point to it as the cunning animal, just as our legends point to the fox. From Africa it passed to Asia and Europe, as European lands emerged from the sea. (I consider Africa the oldest continent, geologically, and the negroes the oldest race of men, ethnologically.) From Asia it passed into America, or the jack-rabbit there may have been in America coterminous with the rabbit's existence in Africa or Asia. With the rabbit went the stoat, weasel, ferret, cat, dog, fox, wolf, and other natural enemies. I am speaking now of many thousand years ago—long before men ever appeared upon the face of the earth, but still while the four present great continents were continents, and Australia and New Zealand isolated.

And these animals which we call the natural enemies were specially sent by nature to watch the rabbit and prey upon it, and prevent its excessive increase. Thus the common vital force always acts. One order of creation is not allowed to take possession of the earth—another checks it; and so the balance of utility is preserved.

Sir James Hector, thinking as I think, stated some months since that soon there would be no rabbits in New Zealand. I would point out to Sir James that in saying that he has gone too far. Nature checks excessive increase, it is true, but nature does not willingly allow any one order of creation to be exterminated. On many an estate at home there will still be found, after a thousand years of experience, the fox, the stoat, the weasel, the dog, the cat, and the rabbit side by side. Trap off the ground-vermin, as it is called, and the rabbit will rapidly increase; so that any idea of our depending entirely upon bladder-worm or any disease must be abandoned. The rabbit will never be exterminated now from the lands of Australasia. Nor is it advisable for us to exterminate it.

But there is a great distinction between the rabbit as an animal and the rabbit as a pest. Nature carefully makes this distinguishment in all living things. Only those things came to this planet of use to it, as its climatic conditions proved favourable to their reception, and each thing carried with it its own check from excessive increase. The general check (this course of reasoning supposes space to be filled with germs, and other planets inhabited) is a worm of some kind. For when any living thing becomes too thick—be it man, sheep, rabbit, pig, horse, ox, or other animal—immediately the land becomes infected by the excessive excreta of itself or its natural check. I rather fancy that its own excreta first starts

the check, which rapidly spreads by means of the host. In the sheep we see it when we say that the land becomes sheepsick. Upon such lands the hoggets get the lung-worm, and die off. So that, supposing we tried our best to keep but one animal running constantly upon one set of lands, the end would be that that animal would dwindle down to very few indeed. In the case of the rabbit its own intestinal worms or the intestinal worms of the natural enemy are always ready to infect the lands and guard those lands against entire occupation. And so determined is nature to do this that away up in the arctic regions, where the rabbit, jack-rabbit, and hare can go in comfort, being furred animals, there is it followed by the stoat changed into an ermine. The stoat puts on a warmer coat, and follows the rabbit even to the poles. For that reason stoats are alone to be relied upon by our Government here for suppressing the plague in the high snowy lands of the South Island.

Now let us look at the atlas, and see the position of Australia and New Zealand. What is it? Disconnection from the four great continents. Here there were neither rabbits nor any natural enemy (I allude to the end of the secondary period in geology, when Australia is supposed to have been separated from the mainland). The land was clean from either. Lately we have brought the rabbit, and, finding no check either against itself or against it as a pest, it rapidly developed into the pest form. Neither ferret, stoat, weasel, fox, nor wolf was here to infect the lands with the tape-worm eggs, and so the rabbit throve and multiplied. The dog alone was here, and in the Wairarapa the dog appears to have carried out nature's law of check. My accidentally giving the dogs areca-nut but assisted nature's law.

Of course, I do not say that the tape-worm I use is the worst form of tape-worm. There are two hundred and fifty different kinds of tape-worm, and I have no doubt that the tape-worm of the fox and wolf is a far more virulent disease than the tape-worm of the dog. But then I do not like to introduce such animals into Australasia, amongst our sheep. The Hon. Randall Johnson tells me that a proposition comes from Africa for us to use here the civet-cat and the meer-kat. (The civet-cat is closely allied to the aard-wolf.) But, again, I say that I do not like introducing here more ground-vermin than are absolutely necessary. I find that I have succeeded with the dog, cat, ferret, stoat, and weasel. What necessity is there to introduce anything further yet awhile? I feel almost sure that these animals will perform the work for Australasia. At any rate they should be tried before introducing any of the other animals. We never know how the feræ naturæ develope in these new lands. These require their

check just as much as the rabbit requires its check: hence my aversion to their introduction. Had the dog, cat, and ferret been capable of performing the work of suppression, I would never have introduced the stoat and the weasel into the Wairarapa. At any rate, if we have to concede to the full extent of the round of nature's law, let us wait until population becomes a little more dense with us, to impose the proper check of man.

From all this it will be seen how totally wide M. Pasteur is from the truth, and how little dependence can be placed upon purely scientific reasoning in dealing with this question.

That the rabbit multiplies itself rapidly upon insular lands of the globe is seen from two instances recorded in history. In A.D. 1 the inhabitants of the Balearic Isles petitioned the Roman Emperor Augustus for assistance in subduing a rabbit-pest there. Two legions of the Roman army were sent to get the plague down. It is evident now, from my course of reasoning, that these islands wanted the natural enemy.

Also, in the case of one of the Canary Islands, or Teneriffe. Prince Henry of Portugal, I think, sent some rabbits to one of them, and the inhabitants had very great difficulty in subduing the pest. I am a little uncertain as to the facts in this case, but I remember meeting with it some time since, accidentally, in the course of reading. This case, and the former one of the Balearic Isles, and New Zealand and Australia, are exactly alike. A narrow view of this question is therefore quite inadmissible. We can but look at it from the point of view I suggest—viz., with an atlas of the globe before us. Hitherto we have regarded the matter too narrowly in New Zealand, and M. Pasteur's remedy, strange to say, is too narrow also.

With regard to rabbit-fencing: I do not object to rabbit-fencing, but I consider it a waste of money. The best and most sure fence is the egg of the tape-worm upon the grass. The calculation for each dog is as follows: 1 × by 100 tape-worms, × by 100 segments, × by 1,000 ova.

As to the expense of the remedy, the beauty lies in its cheapness. Supposing the owner of each run in the South Island got but two of my diseased rabbits, and fed those rabbits to two hungry dogs in his pack, and then went, steadily hunting over his land, the moist lands would quickly become infected with the tape-worm eggs. The rabbits would eat them and get fluked, and soon the whole pack of dogs would be infected. The dogs would then infect the whole of the lands. Whether the ferrets, stoats, and weasels also carry the worm about I cannot say. I firmly believe they do; but I have all along been quite certain that the tame dog does so, and I think the cat also. Neither Sir James Hector nor

Professor Thomas is able to tell me anything about this; so I can but be guided by my practical experience. This is why I object to rabbit-fencing. I wish free, open fences for the dog and natural enemy to disseminate the tape-worm ova.

With regard to the danger of the sheep becoming fluked, I have never heard of a single case of the sort in the Wairarapa during the six years the disease has evidently been silently at work amongst the rabbits. Nor do I think that the bladder-worm of the rabbit can possibly infect the intestines of the sheep. Each order of nature has its own check. This can be seen from the fact that there are some two hundred and fifty different sorts of tape-worm. The rabbit might carry the proper sheep-fluke about in occasional instances, but I do not think that the sheep could possibly carry the rabbit-fluke about. At any rate, my sheep have been running upon my badly-infected rabbit-fluked lands, and no instance of death has yet occurred.

I need scarcely point out the severity of any tape-worm disease. A few years since seven hundred thousand pigs died near Chicago from trichinosis; last year a score of thousand hoggets died from lung-worm in the southern portion of this North Island of New Zealand; millions of sheep die in England from sheep-fluke. These are but instances of the severity of nature's laws. And nature's proper laws are continuous; not like M. Pasteur's remedy, or our own winter poisoning. How well do we know here that the rabbits grew proof against the poisoned grain, and refused to take it! So will the rabbits grow proof against cholera-microbes. Even a few fowls in each hen-roost always escape the ravages of chicken-cholera. Again, there were, and are still, many places in the South Island where we could not lay the poisoned grain. This escape from poison and disease, and these inaccessible places, yearly afford bases for the rabbits to breed up again. But there is no escape from bladder-worm or liver-rot.

With respect to the time the disease takes to effect the death of the rabbit, Professor Thomas mentions thirteen and twenty-one days after infection. We have always thought it took longer, but Professor Thomas thinks that he can make the disease even still more fatal. This is good news; but I do not think there is any necessity for it to be more fatal than it is. My run is clear now from the pest. I keep but one rabbiter and a pack of dogs over twelve thousand acres, and he catches about twenty-five rabbits a week. He could look after twenty thousand acres just as easily as twelve thousand. (I do not think his time thrown away in regularly going round the run. He saves his wages in other directions.) I am, however, indifferent what disease is selected, provided one of

nature's true remedies is applied. As to any disease like cholera suddenly sweeping off millions, I do not believe in its applicability to our present circumstances. Too much virulence would do harm.

In the use of so many dogs there is, of course, a danger of some dogs going wild. I should recommend the Government to publish the resolutions the settlers arrived at in my district, in 1884, upon this question. We are now through the rabbit-pest, and I do not think the wild dogs have killed a thousand sheep during the last four years over a million acres. Still, there are a few dogs gone wild in the bush, which we occasionally hear and see; but these can easily be got if the search for them is properly gone about. Prevention in this matter is better than cure. I prefer this danger to the introduction of the fox or wolf tribe.

There is some talk of this rabbit-disease attacking man in the form of hydatid. So it will. Hydatid from sheep attacks a few persons in Australia. Hydatid from the dog attacks a few of the Iceland people. I do not think much of these things. People cannot give up eating rabbit or mutton, or keeping dogs. To do that is the true remedy for the alarmists, and it is impracticable.

I would repeat that Professor Thomas does not draw the same conclusions from the mode of conquest of the pest in the Wairarapa that I draw. The winter poisoning had little or no effectuality. The ferrets worked well only in isolated places; in other places they would not live at all. But the three things acting in combination—viz., the poisoning, the natural enemy, and these diseases—effectually did the work of suppression. The poisoning swept off the millions; the ferret, cat, stoat, and weasel ate the young ones left; and then this bladder-worm and liver-rot attended upon all and completed the cure: but the poisoning itself was of little good. Herein it will be seen that practical experience is better than scientific conclusions. I hope Mr. Thomas, after reading this paper, will amend his interim report in the proper direction. It is not because the tape-worm here may not be exactly the same tape-worm that sweeps off the jack-rabbit in North America that Sir James Hector was wrong in the application of the general principle. That principle is that the excess of every order of life is held in check by some particular worm.

On the other hand, I must say that I saw far more from my ten years' practical experience in reducing the pest than Sir James Hector or Professor Thomas could tell me about it. Combining these things with M. Pasteur's proposals, I must be excused for doubting scientific conclusions. Sir James Hector proposes the introduction of the kit-fox here: I

panied Sir George to the mouth of the Waingongoro River, where were the redoubts held by the Imperial troops. Here Sir George met Wiremu Hukanui, a chief of the Ngatiruanui, and supposed to be neutral; he was also a relative of Paipai.

After the talk was over Wiremu left, when a discussion arose about the moa, and Kawaua Paipai stated that in his youth he had joined in hunting the moa on the Waimate Plains, which are close by. On being questioned, he gave a description of how they used to hunt and destroy this grand old bird, which was as follows: “The young men,” he went on to say, “stationed themselves in various parts of the plains, and when a moa was started it was pursued by one of these parties with wild shouts, and sticks, and stones, until they were tired, when another detachment would take up the running, and so on, until the moa was exhausted, when a chief would administer the coup de grace.” Paipai said that great efforts were made to drive it into the high fern, the more easily to tire it out. “I,” continued the old warrior, “was a youngster at that time, and often used to join in the chase.”

I forget now whether it was Sir George or one of the officers who expressed doubts as to the absolute correctness of what Paipai had stated, thinking he was simply relating what he had heard, which doubt roused the old man's ire. He got up, and, casting his eye around as if seeking aid to his memory, said, “What I have told is true; and we used to bring them here to our fishing-village, and cook them in large ovens made expressly for them. Let some men bring spades, and I will show them where to uncover the ovens.” Some six or seven fatigue-men were assembled, and Paipai pointed out where they were to clear away the sand. After shovelling away some 6ft. square of sand, 3ft. in depth, a stone about the size of a 32lb. shot was turned up, blackened and burnt by fire, and then a number of other stones that had evidently been used for cooking, until a Maori oven some 5ft. in diameter was uncovered, containing over and under the blackened stones heaps of broken and partly-charred moa-bones—portions of skulls, and huge thigh-bones, which latter Paipai said had been broken, so that the oil, or fat, could be sucked out of them. The ring-bones of the throat, or gullet, over an inch in diameter, were there in plenty—like curtain rings. I threaded a number on a flaxstick. More ovens were uncovered, and Sir George obtained some good specimens. I think Dr. Spencer, now in Napier, got a number, as did many others.

Paipai described the plumage, which he said was of a brown colour, and unlike that of the kiwi, the feathers being larger and coarser, and more like those of the emu. He said the moa fought fiercely when brought to bay, and that it struck out with its feet, but was easily killed with clubs.

Kawaua Paipai died some four or five years ago. He must have been over ninety, at least, and by what he said he was about sixteen years old when these birds were killed and eaten; so that would bring the time to near the beginning of this century.

I am indebted to Mr. Park for the following extract from an interesting article on the excavation of an ancient umu at Awamoa, contributed to the Wellington Spectator in 1848 by Mr. Mantell.

“Last Christmas I camped at the mouth of the Awamoa, a small stream between Kakanui and Oamaru, having found there a few weeks before the umus of the extinct aboriginal tribe of Waitaha, full of bones, stones, &c.; and devoted a day to digging. The old surface, in which the umus had been excavated, was buried under a foot of alluvial deposit; beneath this the old sandy soil was blackened by the mixture of char-coal, large lumps of which were scattered among the chaotic mass. The primeval savages had evidently thrown back into the umu the remains of each feast, and lighted over it the fire to prepare the next. The disagreeable flavour which the scorched bones must have lent to each succeeding banquet was, we may hope, some slight punishment to them for exterminating the moa. Their animal food seems to have consisted of Dinornis (very rare), Palapteryx, Notornis, Aptornis, Apteryx, Nestor (kaka or kea), cormorants, gulls, ducks, and other small birds; dogs; a small rat; Haliotis, fresh-water Unios, and other shell-fish; seals, porpoises, sharks, eels, and other fish: so that the bill of fare was varied enough. The bones of all were matted and locked together most intricately, large angular burnt stones (originally round boulders, cracked by the fire) and a wet, black, sandy soil filling all interstices. Here and there we met relics of their dinner-equipage in the shape of large and small fragments of flint, totally different from any in the neighbourhood, and said by my respected friend old Governor Railway,^* who formerly lived there, to come from Lake Hawea. Sometimes an ancient aborigine or his dog seemed to have retired to discuss a tit-bit in solitude, for imbedded at intervals over the surface of the ancient kaika (whose former extent is well marked by the blackened subsoil) we found an odd bone or so: I think the dogs must have done this, as the bones were generally foot- and toe-bones, which would probably have fallen to their share. The only human manufacture we found was a small ball of baked clay, the work, most likely, of some ingenious young savage, stopped on the threshold of the invention of pottery by a vindictive tibia thrown at his head by his enraged parent, with a

made to assume all possible positions, any point, P, in the connecting bar will describe a curve called a lemniscoid, of the general shape of an elongated figure of eight. At the point of crossing of the two branches a portion of either is very approximately a straight line, and thus if the rods AB and CD do not turn through too great an angle, P may be attached to a piston- or slidevalve-rod, which is constrained to move in a straight line, without danger of breaking the machinery.

The arrangement thus suggested would require a greater space for the machinery than is ordinarily available if CD represented the half of the beam and P the point of attachment of the piston-rod. By means of an arrangement of parallel rods the motion of P is multiplied, so to speak, in the following manner:—

For simplicity's sake, suppose that AB and CD are equal, and P the middle point of BD. Imagine CD to be produced to E, making DE equal to CD, and let two other rods, as EQ and QB, equal to BD and DE respectively, be hinged to the others at E and B, and to each other at Q.

Then elementary geometry shows that throughout the motion DEQB is always a parallelogram, and, since QE is double of DP, and CE double of CD, the points C, P, Q are in a straight line, and CQ is always double of CP. Hence the path described by Q must be similar to that of P on a scale twice as large, and, as P moves approximately in a straight line, so also will Q.

CE represents half the beam, and Q is the point of attachment of the piston-rod, while P serves as a point of attachment of a pump- or valve-rod.

These motions are illustrated by the models shown. The problem of connecting an exact rectilinear motion with a circular one has only been solved in comparatively recent times, the first arrangement of link-work effecting this object having been devised by M. Peaucellier, a French engineer officer, in 1864. Other methods of achieving the same result have since been discovered.

The geometrical theorem on which M. Peaucellier's apparatus depends is the following:—

If a fixed point, A, on the circumference of a circle be joined with any other point, P, and a length, AQ, be measured on AP such that the product of the lengths AP and AQ always has the same value, then, as P moves round the circle, Q will move on a straight line.

Let AB (figs. 1 and 2) be the diameter of the circle through A. Take AC so that the product of AB and AC is equal to the constant value of that of AP and AQ. Then C is a fixed and determinable point.

If then CQ and BP be joined, since AP AQ is equal to AB AC, it follows that PBCQ is a cyclic quadrilateral, and therefore the angle ACQ is equal to the angle APB—that is, is a right angle. Hence Q always lies on the straight line drawn through C at right angles to AC.

The Peaucellier cell, as the framework is called, consists of seven bars, four of which are of one length, two more are equal to one another, but unequal to the former, while the seventh may be taken arbitrarily. These are jointed together as in fig. 3, the four equal bars forming a rhombus, ABPD, the other two equal ones being attached to this at B and D, and to each other at O, while the seventh is attached to the rhombus at A.

The points C and O are fixed points, and the distance

between them is equal to the length of the seventh bar, CA.

Elementary geometry shows that the points A, O, P will always lie in a straight line, and also that BD is at right angles to AP, and bisects it.

Hence (by Euclid, ii., v.) the rectangle AO OP is equal to the difference between the squares on AE and EO, or to the difference between the squares on AB and BO—that is, the rectangle AO OP has always the same value in whatever manner the bars may be turned round their hinges. But as they turn the point A moves on a circle whose centre is C and radius CA, and which therefore passes through O, since CO is equal to CA. Hence P must move on a straight line perpendicular to CO.

If the distance CO be taken different from the length of CA the point P will describe a portion of a circle.

A second method of producing a rectilinear motion by link-work, depending on the same geometrical proposition, requires only six bars, equal in pairs.

Four of these are linked together so as to form an anti-parallelogram, ABDC; AB, CD being equal bars, and also AC, BD. Then it is a consequence of elementary geometry that, if P, Q, R be three points on the rods AC, AB, CD respectively such that PQR is parallel to AD or CB in any one position of the framework, they will always satisfy this condition in whatever way the bars be turned about their joints.

The remaining pair of bars are linked to AC and AB at P and Q, and to each other at O.

Then the ratio of PQ to BC is fixed throughout the motion, and also that of PR to AD. Hence the ratio of the product of PQ and PR to that of CB and AD is given. But this latter product is invariable (Euclid, vi., D). Hence, also, the former has always the same value.

Thus, if OP be fixed, since Q must describe a portion of a circle, with O as centre, passing through P, the point R will describe part of a straight line perpendicular to OP.

As the bar OP does not move it may be dispensed with, provided the points O and P are fixed at a distance from one another equal to OQ. Thus this mechanism requires only five bars, instead of the seven involved in the Peaucellier cell.

Another arrangement of links, by which a very long swing in a straight line can be obtained, requires some preliminary geometrical explanation.

Let ABCD be any quadrilateral, and APQR a second having its sides AP AR coincident in direction with AD and AB. Let also the lengths of the lines AP, PQ, QR, RA be in the same ratios to one another as the lengths AB, BC, CD, DA. Then it follows that the figures ABCD and APQR will be similar, and if the lines represent rods jointed at all the points of meeting the angles ARQ and ADC will always remain equal in whatever manner the rods are turned about their joints.

We shall now prove that, if S be any point in PQ, a point E can be found in DC such that when ST and EF are drawn perpendicular to AD the length FT will remain invariable in whatever manner the links are turned about their hinges.

Let the lengths of AB, BC, CD, DA be denoted by a, b, c, d, and those of AP, PQ, QR, RA by p, q, r, s. Also, let the angle ABC or APQ be called θ and the angle ARQ or ADC be called φ.

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

Then, joining AQ, by a well-known trigonometrical theorem— AQ² = p² + q² − 2pqCosθ = r² + s² − 2rsCosφ. ∴ pqCosθ − rsCosφ = ½ (p² + q² − r² − s²).

Let, now, PS = x, DE = y,

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

Then FD = yCosφ, TP = xCos (x − θ) = − xCosθ. ∴ FT = PD − DF − TP. = d − p − yCosφ + xCosθ

in which such collections can be made;^* but a few interesting relics have been preserved—sometimes almost unintentionally—by early writers on the Islands. Mr. Mariner, who was shipwrecked at Tonga, and was a prisoner there for many years, before the arrival of the missionaries, made it his pleasure after his return to England to compile a vocabulary and to describe the people among whom he had dwelt so long.^† A wonderfully correct and interesting work his unusual powers of observation and memory enabled him to produce. He tells us, concerning their variety of songs and dances (choral dances), that some of them are called Hamoa (Samoa), but that one variety, the Nuha fashion of singing, is always in Tongan; and continues,^‡ “The poet describes, among other things, the animals belonging to the country [Papalangi = the name of the place Europeans are supposed to come from, and stands for Europeans themselves], stating that in the fields there are large pigs with horns, that eat grass.” It is certain that the Polynesian word puaka, used now (and at the time of the first discoverers) in the sense of “pig,”^§ had in former times a much wider acceptance, as “large animal,” and has been applied to the pig as “the” animal par excellence, because the only large animal surviving. The word is thus used (as “animal”) in the ancient “Deluge Chant” of the Marquesas, where, in describing the entry of the different creatures into the ark or vessel, the expression is used, “Mea pitiki i tahuna te tai o te puaa,” “To tie up in couples the various kinds of animals.”^∥ The word puaka was generally applied to cattle, horses, &c., on their introduction by Europeans, as, Tahitian, puaahorofenua (land-running animal), a horse; puaaniho, a goat, &c.: but it was sometimes applied formerly even to men, as puaahuaira, an undaunted, fierce, athletic person. Its proper use seems to have been that puaa (puaka) means all hoofed animals, while uri (kuri) is reserved for all quadrupeds not having hoofs (except the rat). In Hawaii, puaa, as “animal,”

was applied sometimes to human beings: puaaohi, name of children whose father has gambled them away; puaakunulaai, a woman gambled away by her husband. One of the great Hawaiian kupua (wizard; Maori, tupua) was Kamapuaa, “the son of the puaka” (tama-puaka), who was the child of Hina and Kahikiula. This name (Maori = Tawhiti-kura), “The red one from afar,” shows that this puaka was of a reddish colour.^* Kanepuaa (Tane-puaka) was the god of husbandry, and of him the ancient proverb says, “He akua kowaa o Kanepuaa,” “A furrow-making god was Tane-puaka.” Primarily, doubtless, the furrow-making animal was a pig (Latin porca, (1)a sow, (2) a ridge between furrows^†); but it could hardly be applied to an animal used in the name of the god of agriculture unless the animal was in use for purposes of tillage. There are many legends in Polynesia as to the conflicts of men with puaka which would certainly seem to imply a knowledge of a different beast from the friendly porcine pets of the South Sea Islanders.

Although I consider the Polynesians not to be aborigines of the Pacific, still their immigration must have been in a very ancient and prehistoric epoch. The genealogies are not trustworthy beyond a certain limit, and, although the evidence to be found in one island may confirm that of another as to the existence of certain real personages, when we get to Atea (daylight), Atua (god), Tawhito (ancient), Kore (nothingness), &c., we are evidently among a class of ancestors whose generations are likely to be unreliable as to time and dates. An immense period has evidently elapsed since the advent of the Polynesians into the Pacific, and it would be perhaps the most wonderful thing in the world if they had handed down by oral tradition complete stories relating to their life in other climes and under different conditions. The old has given place to the (comparatively) new; the scenes, incidents, and creatures they lived amongst in ancient days have faded from the memories and traditions of men utterly unable after centuries of existence under altered conditions to conceive the old life or the old environment. The knowledge of the life on the great plains where the fathers of the Aryan stock fed their herds has passed as completely from the knowledge of the fair Polynesian as from the memory of the English peasant; but the languages of both bear the ineffaceable impression of the old life to an extent only to be understood by one who searches very diligently. To a pastoral people their cattle are their all (as I have quoted at head of paper)—food, beverage,

clothing, vehicles, cordage—nay, even their good and evil spirits. In modern Australia, a land of flocks and herds, we hear of men on up-country stations who can do nothing but “talk bullock;” and so all men did to a great extent in days when both word and idiom had origin in cattle-speech.^* As the Sanscrit word for “cow-herd” passed into the meaning of “king” and “chief,” as the Latin word for “hide” became “shield” and “tent,” as “cattle-yard” became (as court) the name of a palace, so by slight and imperceptible gradations the old pastoral sense became buried under more modern significations, and is lost till the labours of etymologists trace the words back to their origin. In Polynesia the loss of large cattle for countless centuries has caused the early pastoral words to become obscure and overlaid by newer meanings, but I believe that I can show the primal meaning to be still distinctly traceable.

The Aryan or Indo-European forms of the words for cattle which I shall compare with Polynesian are taurus (tur, stior, &c.), cow (gau, cu, chuo, &c.), ox and vacca (vaha, oχos, vach, ochs, &c.), and bos (bo, boo, bw, &c.). The Polynesian words are taura, tau, tara, kahu, kau, nagu, kai, and compounds.

I must digress for a few words. I believe that there has been either a broadening sound added to the Indo-European vowels (particularly to the most important, the a), or else the Polynesian has lost the power of pronouncing final γ after a vowel. This broadening sound is heard in modern English as a vulgarisation: Maria and Jemima become “Mariar” and “Jemimar.” The Maori language suffered much at the lips of new-comers until a regular form of writing was made classical by the missionaries. In the report of the New Zealand Company's committee the rata (tree) became “rattar,” the tawa (tree) “tower.” Herman Melville, in his romantic little book on the Marquesas,^† uses most laughable forms of this error. Ama (cooked bread - fruit) is amar, manu (bird) is marnoo, atua, (god) is artua, &c. In the unknown centuries which elapsed before the Aryan languages were written down, it is probable that many a sounds were thus broadened. Or the True r sound may have been lost in the South Seas, as in many cases it was lost in Sanscrit, by the softening into the Visarga h, or as Sanscrit words softened in Prakrit (akka for arka, vagga for varga, &c.). That I shall have to compare some words having the pure Polynesian a (ah) with words having the Aryan ar is my excuse for thus digressing.

I will take as my first instance the word bo (bos, &c.),

ox, bull, cattle. This word is considered by philologists as equivalent in Greek, Latin, &c., to the gau, go, kuh, cow word of Sanscrit and Scandinavian. The change of g to p is rather an unusual one, and I will consider “bo” and “cow” as separate words (at first), although the separation, in sense, will not be material to the argument. The Tongan word bo, meaning “night,” &c., is pronounced as po in most of the other Polynesian islands, and I shall use the p form as the most generally received, especially asking that it should be borne in mind that b is probably a late letter in Aryan speech.^* In the Maori of New Zealand po means—(1.) (A mythological word hard to define.) Origin; the potentiality of the material universe; a darkness holding light and all else hidden within it. (2.) Hades; the shadow-land; the place whence comes the spirit of the new-born child, and to which the spirit of the dead man returns. (3.) A season, or space of time. (4.) Night, darkness. (5.) The night, by which (instead of days) periods were counted.^† The cosmogony of the Maoris commences with Po—Te Po, then Te Po-teki, then Te Po-terea, &c.: from these in due course are born Ata (morn), Ao-tu-roa (abiding day), &c.^‡ “The great mysterious cause of all things existing in the cosmos was, as he (the Maori) conceived it, the generative power. Commencing with a primitive state of Darkness, he conceived Po (=night) as a person capable of begetting a race of beings resembling itself.”^§ This is the mythological development natural to man, and is so stated in almost every ancient cosmogony. The powers of Darkness were first. The Edda makes Day the child of Night.^∥ In the Rig-Veda (iv., 14) Indra throws his adversary into the “black abyss of night, into the birthplace of this sky.”^¶ The first principle of the Egyptians (according to the Platonist Damascenius) was inconceivable Darkness, whence Light was born. In the Izdubar legends of Babylon, the great goddess Ishtar is called “She who is Darkness, the Mother, the Producer of the Dawn, she is Darkness.” The dread and fear of the dark was the first impression before which the simple hearts of savage men bowed down. But this superstitious fear was translated into words of cattle-speech (their only speech) by men when they first gained

language by passing from the solitary hunter stage into the gregarious pastoral stage. Everywhere in the ancient stories (except in Hebrew, as we understand it), “Cow of Heaven,” “Bull of Heaven,” “Primeval Ox,” “Cow of Earth,” “Mother-cow,” “Goddess-cow,” “God-bull,” &c., are met with in prayer and praise. If Darkness was the first deity, holding the generative power (as among the Maoris), then this person was certainly called “the Bull” in the oldest Aryan religious hymns. The Zend Avesta, the sacred books of the ancient Persians (“fire-worshippers” though we call them), contain many allusions to this bovine first principle. “Hail, holy Bull! Hail to thee, beneficent Bull! Hail to thee who makest increase!” &c.^* “Up, rise up, thou Moon, that dost keep in thee the seed of the Bull!”^† “To the only created Bull.”^‡ In the Persian mythology Geush urvâ, “the universal soul of earth,” means literally the “soul of the cow.” (See Haug on Gatha Ahunavaiti, in “Essays on Sacred Language of the Parsis,” p. 148.) Concerning Egypt we find that “the Great Mother in her primordial phase was the ‘Abyss in Space,’ and the earliest recorded beginnings of time are with the Bull and the Seven Cows.”^§ In Greece the same idea prevailed. The Argolic name for Dionysius as the Sun-god was “Bougenes” (Ox-sprung). He is called “bull-faced” in the Orphic Hymn. Tauropolos is “the Kosmos considered as alive and animated, replete with motive life-power. This is the kosmogonic bull-cow.” “The Bull: This animal in its widest symbolical sense represented the active energising principle of the universe.”^∥ This bears out the idea of Pictet as to the prominence the cow or bull took in the myths as well as the lives of the Aryans and men leading the primitive life.^¶

Is this Bo (Irish bo Latin bos, &c.), of the primeval Bull, the primeval Bo or Po, the “night” of the Maoris? Darkness was connected with the idea of the black Bull before the powers of Fear and Night had been succeeded by the powers of Light—before the great Sun himself became “the Bull of Heaven.” In our own English sayings we find “the Bull of Heaven.” In our own English sayings we find “The black ox has trodden on his foot”^**—meaning, “Trouble has come

to him.” Again, “bull's noon” is an old English expression for “midnight.”^*

In the creation, as spoken of in the Bundahish, the Cow is cut in two. This is the Cow called in the Avesta the Geush (Yasna 29), answering to the Sanscrit Gaus and the Greek Gaea as applied to Earth. According to the Gatha Ushta-vaiti, the “Cutter of the Cow” is the term applied to the Creator.^† This is the cosmic Cow spoken of in the ancient Welsh poem: “Without the stall of the Cow, without the mundane rampart, the world will become desolate.” Loki, the Scandinavian deity of evil, had to dwell as a cow eight months on earth. In Assyria the most ancient Bull was an image of the Swallower in the mouth of Hades, the nether world, which swallows up the sun as a two-headed Bull. In Phenicia the god of the beginnings was the consort of Bau, the Void. In Egypt the Bau (Bo?) was the opening of the tomb, the abyss. In Finland Pohja was “the place of spirits.” Pluto, the god of the lower world, received, the black ox as a sacrifice. In the Vedic rites of burial (Ghyasutras) a black cow accompanied the dead, and, the animal being slain, the corpse was wrapt in the hide before cremation. In the Brahmanas the death-river is called Vaitarani: in this the souls of the wicked are engulfed; but the good souls come to the land of the Pitris (Fathers) if a black cow is sacrificed at the funeral and another twelve days after death. In Scandinavia, when souls arrived at the death-river (Giöll), the soul of the dead man, if in life he had given cows to the poor, was met by these cows and safely ferried over. In the Norse legends of Creation the cosmic cow Authumbla licked the salty ice-rocks and produced the first giants, Börr and Buri.^‡ I have one direct proof of the actual expression of “night” and “cow” being the same in meaning, where, in the Rig Veda, the horses of Indra are “bright as suns, who lick the udder of the dark cow, the night.”^§

I must return again to the cattle-deity subject when treating of the word “cow;” but I think I have quoted sufficient evidence to show that the bull (or ox, or cow) was used constantly in ancient times as a personification of the Abyss, of Death, of Darkness, and of the generative power passing from darkness into the birth of life—from po, the night, into ao, the light.^∥

It is probable that the Polynesian, deprived of the living animal, kept this form of the cow-word chiefly for mysterious ideas engendered of darkness—that is, of the simple word (po), although in many compound words, clear as the agglutinated Polynesian vocables show formation, no possible twist of sense can make the “night” meaning of po seem reasonable. There are words like po-haha—ripped up; po-huhu—swarming, in crowds; po-ka—to pierce; po-nini—to have a red light, to glow; po-whiri—to whisk; po-pō—to crowd around, to throng; pōpō—to pat with the hand, &c. What have these to do with night or Hades? And what mean the names of the first great Po's descendants—Po-tuturi, Po-pepeke, &c.? Tuturi means “to kneel,” and pepeke “to leap.” All these are probably cattle-words. It will be noticed that I have spoken of the cow, bull, ox, &c., indifferently: these words constantly shift sense in all ancient languages; it is supposed that there was no verbal gender in primitive Aryan. Sanscrit go (gaus) is ox, cow, constellation Taurus:^* Irish bo, a cow: Latin bos, an ox, bull, or cow; taurus, an ox; taura, a barren cow: Welsh buw, a cow; bwla, a bull: Greek βοϊκός, belonging to a bull or cow.

As the word po seems to have been retained in Polynesian for the mythic sense, so kau, appears to have taken a more practical use. Let us attempt to find its etymology—not in the inflected languages, with their thousands of years of overgrowth, but in the most primitive dialects we can find. Professor Max Müller, in his “Stratification of Language,” gives the Chinese word ngau-u as “cow-milk” (ngau=cow). In Maori the word for milk is waiu (wai-u), “breast-water.” But the nagau for “cow” compares with a Polynesian word ngau, to chew, to bite (gnaw); and, altered as this word may have been in the long process of time, still, as gau, gao, kuh, chuo (forms of “cow”), it still has its origin in the “ruminant” idea. Etymologists have hitherto considered “cow” as a derivative from ✓GU “to bellow;” or, rather, reversing this process, they have been led back to the root by this and similar words. To men in the “hunting” stage, the bellowing sound would probably be the most distinctive attribute of the bovine species; but when the pastoral life superseded that of the hunter the fact of cattle “chewing the cud” became too deeply associated with this word not to cover the sense of “bellowing.” (Concerning the lowing noise, I shall speak more fully under the root MU.) I must remind you that ng and k interchange in Maori, as in all Polynesian and European languages. The ngau (kau) words in Polynesian are as follows: Maori, ngau,

to gnaw; Samoan, gau, to chew sugar-cane, &c.; Hawaiian, nau, to chew, chank; Tongan, gau, to chew the juice out of anything; Marquesan, ka-kahu, to bite; Mangarevan, gagahu, to bite; Rarotongan, ngau, to chew. If this idea of chewing had no parallel in the Aryan languages there would be little to be said; but there is one most noticeable affinity. In Maori kauwae means “the jaw.”^* The English word “to chew or chaw” was chawe; Old Dutch, kaauw-en, to chew; German, kauen, to chew; Old High German, chuiwan, to chew (chuo, a cow); Old Dutch, kauwe, the jaw of a fish;^† Danish, kæve, a jaw (cf. Borneo, jawai, face, and Malay, jawi, cattle). Skeat (“Ety. Dict.”) says that jaw (also spelt chaw and jower) is formed from the verb “to chaw;” again jowl is from chaul, whose older form, chauel, is evidently a form of “chaw”.^‡ The Scottish cow, “to eat up as food” (Jamieson, “Scot. Dict.”), brings me to another form of the word (as I believe)—that is, the Polynesian kai, “food,” “to eat.” A curious and unexpected light is thrown upon this word by Mr. Colenso^§ when he says, “A very old meaning of kai, as a noun, is movable property, possessions, goods, chattels—valuables in the estimation of the ancient Maori.” Note here the term chattel.^∥ The English word chattel itself means “cattle.” The Scottish word kye or ky (pronounced nearly as Polynesian kai) is cows. Ky, cows; ky-herd, a cow-herd (Jamieson). Thus it is used for cattle collectively, as the Polynesians used it for food generally. It may be that ky or kai is not a true plural (the plural proper being kine), my reason for throwing doubt upon the original form (if Aryan had a verbal plural) being that Bopp (“Comp. Gram.,” i., p. 136, note) remarks that Old high German chuo, “cow,” has genitive chuoi, where the i does not belong to the case designation, but to the here uninflected base.” (Cf. Icelandic kyr, a cow; dat. and accus., ku.) Perhaps the i belonged no more to the plural number than to the genitive case. In Hawaiian, ai (kai) meant not only food, but property generally (see Lorrin Andrews's Dict.). In Tongan kai meant “food,” but kakai, “people, population;" the Samoan 'a' ai (kakai), “a

town, a village.” Another Maori form of kai is that where it is u sed as a prefix applied to denote an actor in any business, as mahi, “to work,” kai-mahi, “a worker,” &c. The word used thus for a person seems to interchange with kau, as in kaumatua, “an adult,” a mature person (matua = grown-up, mature); and with Tahitian aufenua (kau-whenua), the permanent inhabitants of a place (Tongan = ka-kai). The word kau in Polynesian has one sense of “a troop” of persons: the Samoan 'au (kau), a troop of warriors, a class or company, a shoal of fish; fa'a'aumea (whaka-kau-mea), to associate together, to hold in common: Tahitian autahua (kau-tahunga), a company of priests: Tongan kau, the sign of the plural number; kauga, an associate; kauvaka, the crew of a vessel: Futuna, kau, a multitude, troop; kakai, people; kaugao, the molar teeth. Mariner (“Tonga Islands,” vol. ii.) gives, in his curious English spelling, the following meanings: Cow-fafine, a female companion; Cow-nofo, a servant, an inmate, a family; Cow-tow, an army. Thus the sense of kai as property, chattels (cattles), anything in large quantities, doubles with kau as meaning a troop, a herd.^* The pastoral people had little to lose by theft except cattle. In the Vendidad thief = “cattle-lifter;” the Icelandic ku-drekkr (cow-sucker) = “thief.” So in Maori we find kaia (kai-a), to steal, where a is the verb “to drive.”^†

It may be that the simplest form of kau (as go, gao, zao, kuh, &c.) can be found on a root KA. I do not think that kai is the primitive Maori word for food, but ka; as we have not only kai (ka-i), but kamu (ka-mu) and kame (ka-me), food. When we consider that the Sanscrit go, which means at once ox, cow, country, earth, hide, &c., is gaus (ga-us); Anc. German gawi (ga-wi), Anc. Saxon ga, Mod. German gau, Old Friesic ga, all mean “district;” Greek γala, the earth (“But if we reach Achaian Argos, udder-soil”—“Iliad,” book ix.)—it seems probable that GA or KA, and not GU, is the primal form.^‡ The Samoan 'a'ai (kakai), village, suggests the Russian gai, the Lithuanian go-jai, pasturage. The Egyptians had the forms kau and kai for “cow;" so the words seem transferable in many languages. Kakau introduced worship of animals into Egypt—probable of Bull Apis. The English word jam, to squeeze, is the same word as champ, to chew: cf. the Maori tame, to eat, to smack the lips, food (cf. kame, to eat); Welsh tam, a morsel, a bite; Cornish tam, a morsel,

a bite; Slavonic yam, I eat; Sanscrit cham and jam, to eat. The accusative of Sanscrit go, a cow, is gam.^*

The h in Polynesian is not a permanent letter, being introduced in Tongan where not in Maori, and absent in Rarotongan altogether. Kau and kahu are used apparently indifferently in interchange, but kahu is reserved generally for the meaning of “clothing,” “to dress.” In Sanscrit gau meant “hide” as well as “cow;” and the Aryans were only clothed in leather or skins.^† It is probable we should find many allusions to this subject if we could get the radical meanings of some of our obsolete words;^‡ but in the matter of dress new and local names are continually being invented and superseding those used a short time before. Kau or kahu (Tahitian aahu, to bite (ngahu), shows the connection) is used all over Polynesia for “garment,” “clothing,” “covering,” whatever may be the local names for particular dresses. If to these meanings of kau as food and clothing we add the words for “carrying,” we have a curious series of coincidences.

The Beast of Burden—The means of conveyance among pastoral people must of necessity (especially at first) have been by means of animals, and probably by horned animals.^§ Not only must the horse have been of far less utility generally than the ox, but, historically, it is almost certain that the horse was domesticated later. It is doubtful if the horse was brought into Europe at all by the Aryan immigrants. Sir J. Lubbock, re evidence gathered in the ancient tombs, writes,^∥ “The horse was very rare, if not altogether unknown, in England during the Stone Age…. The teeth of oxen are so common in tumuli that they are even said by Mr. Bateman to be ‘uniformly found with the more ancient interments.” And again^¶: “the sheep, the horse,

and the reindeer being entirely absent, and the domestic cat not having been known in Europe until about the ninth century.” We know that in Africa not only is the pack-bullock used for carrying burdens, but also for riding purposes, the animal being guided by reins attached to the horns, which are made artificially tender at root to feel the touch of the rider. That the Polynesians were once acquainted with some animals of the kind seems almost the only explanation possible for some of their words, which run in changes on kau and vaka (vacca). The English word “vehicle” is from Latin veho, which meant primarily “to carry or convey” on the shoulder.” “Hence vacca, properly a beast of burden.”^* Vehicle is from an Aryan root WAGH, to carry; whence also Sanscrit vah (Skeat). But in no Aryan tongue can the root vah be found more purely in use than in the Polynesian vaha, to carry.^† As a variant from vah to kau, we have the Fijian kaukau, to carry. The Maori has only compounds, as pikau (pikau), to carry on the back, pick-a-back (Williams's Dict.).^‡ Kauamo is a litter, a bed arranged between two poles; kauhoa, to carry on a litter—perhaps reminiscences of something resembling a palanquin preceding the wheeled chariot. The Sanscrit word vah, to carry, is acknowledged to be the equivalent^§ of the Greek oχos (ochos), meaning “anything which bears, a carriage;”^∥, to carry, to let another ride, to mount; oχoς (for Foχoς) is the form related to vah (vach, vacca, &c.); but there was probably a primitive radical unity between ox, vach, gau, &c.

Whence came the Aryans? According to the accepted theory^¶ and the evidence of the sacred writings (Vendidad),

the habitation was near the Belurtag and Samarcand, on the plateau of Pamir, at the sources of the Oxus and Jaxartes. This is the Pamir—called now Bam-i-duniah, or “Roof of the World.” The Oxus valley runs as far as Issar, where its height is 10,000ft. above the sea. The mountains above the lake on Pamir are 19,000ft. high at the place where the Oxus takes its rise. No wonder, then, that the sacred traditions of the Aryans say that in their birthplace—the “Airanya Vaego”—“there are ten winter months there, two summer months, and those are cold for the waters, cold for the earth, cold for the trees. Winter falls there with the worst of its plagues.”^* “The Oxus appears in the traditions of the Parsi books under the name of Veh-Rúd, in some form of which originates the classical name which we find it most convenient to use, and also, it may be, preserves that of the names of territories and tribes on the banks of its upper waters, such as Wakh-an, Waksh, and Washjird—names also, no doubt, identical in formation, if not in application, with the classical Oxiani, Oxii, and Oxi-petra. [Note.—This latter form, Waksh, seems to have originated ‘Oxus,’ whilst Wakh seems better represented by ‘Ochus.’]”^† In an account of a remarkable mission from Constantinople to Transoxiana in A.D. 568, Colonel Yule says, “The Byzantine ambassadors, on their return to Europe, came, we are told, to the River Oech, in which we have probably the latest mention of the Oxus by its name in the primeval form (Veh or Wakh)…. The old Chinese pilgrims to India, whose route lay this way, speak of principalities that must have lain in this region. Such was the State of Uchcha (of which a trace seems to remain in the Uch or Vachcha valley). We have the authority of Pococke for saying that the Ookshas, the tribe of the Oxus, had wealth of oxen; that Ookshan seems only the crude form of ooksha, “an ox.”

Near this land (bounded to the north by Mount Taurus), the names of whose tribes, states, rivers, &c., thus seem to have borne so long the traces of their ancient herdsmen owners, we find described the following scene:^‡

“It is a diverting sight to witness a herd of buffaloes swim the river: all is noise and confusion, and considerable tact is necessary on the part of those who command the movement. A herdsman bestrides a bundle of dry grass, seizes a sturdy animal by the tail, and on this singular carriage takes the lead. The other buffaloes follow, while laggards, and any that may be vagrantly inclined, are driven up to the main body by the cudgelling of men in the rear. The herdsmen are armed with long light lances^* for the defence of themselves and their charge.”^† Again, speaking of buffaloes, “Numbers of these huge brutes lay at the entrance to almost every creek, enjoying the luxury of mud and water, with only perhaps the tip of the nose or the curved end of a horn visible above the surface…. The buffalo, the animal which furnishes the principal supply, is milked in the evening, and only once in the twenty-four hours…. Perhaps a herd of cattle swimming the river were the only indication that the country was peopled.” In another land, far away (the Philippine Islands), we notice how the habit of cattle is semi-aquatic. “The riverside is a pretty sight when the men, women, and children are bathing and frolicking in the shade of the palm-trees, … and when the boys are standing upright on the broad backs of the buffaloes, and riding triumphantly into the water…. The buffalo, the favourite domestic animal of the Malays, and which they keep especially for agricultural purposes, prefers these regions to all others. It loves to wallow in the mud, and is not fit for work unless permitted to frequent the water.”^‡ In Babylonia “herds of buffaloes here and there struggled and splashed among the reeds, their unwieldy bodies completely concealed under water, and their heads just visible above the surface.”^§ These quotations are sufficient to show that horned cattle, milch cattle, agricultural cattle, &c., not only loved the water, but were actually used for crossing streams. Had it not been for the witness of these travellers, we had never dared to connect the words for ox or cow with the idea of “swimmer.” We must conceive the very reverse of a maritime people—a race dwelling on treeless plains, their

only navigation confined to crossing rivers here and there, the herdsman holding the tail of the beast, or standing on its back.

Let us now consider two Polynesian words, kau and vaka, which I think are forms of cow and vacca:—

Maori—kau, to swim, to wade: kau-kau, to bathe. Samoan—'a'au (kakau), to swim: 'a'au, to swim about: ‘aupui, to splash. Tahitian—au (kau), to swim. Hawaiian—au (kau), to swim, to float on the surface: aau (kakau), to swim dispersedly. Tongan—kaukau, a bath, a wash. Mariquesan—kau, to swim; oil, grease.^* Mangarevan—kau, to swim: kaukau, to wash one's-self with fresh water.

Maori—waka, a canoe; a medium of the gods. Samoan—va'a (vaka), a canoe; the priest of a deity. Tahitian—vaa (vaka), a canoe: vaahuia (vaka-huia), all the people within the prescribed limits of a district.^† Hawaiian—waa (waka), a canoe. Tongan—vaka, a general name for all vessels that sail: vakavakahina, to be carried on the shoulders of another: faka-vaka, to handle; to cover or bind as books; the bindings of books; to make small pens or places for storing yams. Marquesan—vaka, canoe: aka, to float on surface: vakaani, a litter on which to carry chiefs in triumph (see Maori kau-hoa and kau-amo, quoted above). Mangarevan—vaka, a canoe, raft. Rarotongan—vaka, a canoe. It is a widely-spread word, and may be found in Melanesia as faka, waga, ah, ok, &c.; perhaps in Tagal (Philippines), banca, a canoe; and Malay, wangkang, a ship; Labuan, boui, to swim.

The remark concerning the crossing rivers holding by the

tail, of the ox throws light upon ancient practices as to dying men. “The Hindus offer a black cow to the Brahmans in order to secure their passage across the Vaitarani, the river of death, and will often die grasping the cow's tail as if to swim across in herdsman's fashion, holding on to a cow.”^* This probably explains why, in Maori, waka means “canoe” and “medium of a deity;” why the Samoan va'a (vaka) meant both “canoe” and “priest.” This priest or medium shadowed the boat or sacred vacca which took the soul across to the gods—a meaning plainly shown in the Samoan word va'aaloa (vaka-aloa), “the canoe in which souls were ferried across to the other world.” How widespread is this idea of the boat of death! We see Charon ferrying the souls of the Greeks across the dark river, and the souls of the Breton dead passing across in a boat to England.^†

This mode of navigation was the first used in the treeless Aryan land—the vacca (cow), as “bearer,” was the first vaka (canoe). But a further step was made as time went on. The boat was made from the hide—first as inflated in bags. In Layard's “Nineveh and Babylon” is a representation of “a kellek, or raft of skins, on the Tigris” (Plate XXXVI., fig. 1). Here a light framework of wood, with a house or tent thereon, is supported upon a number of inflated skins. This boat of to-day, so far from being a modern idea, was the ancient mode of conveyance thousands of years ago. At page 301 (“Nineveh,” l.c.) the author says, “Merchandise and travellers descended the rivers upon rafts of skins.” And at page 77 is an engraving of a bas-relief from Kouyunjik, an old Assyrian piece of sculpture, on which identically the same form of boat is represented—viz., of woodwork superimposed upon inflated hides (Plate XXXVI., fig. 2).

The next page shows an engraving of another Assyrian sculpture, having figures of single persons swimming across a river, each with an inflated skin as a boat (Plate XXXVI., fig. 3). To this day a similar habit of the dwellers in Asia may be noticed. In the “Journey to the Source of the Oxus,” p. 64, we find, “Early in the forenoon they repair to the river or canal, and there, upon their mussuks (inflated hides), float and talk till sunset. I have seen in one group a father and two children, the latter on dried elongated gourds, clinging to their parent, who bestrode a good-sized mussuk. Close to them came two grey-haired men, apparently hugging each other, for they rode upon the same inflated skin, which, but for the closeness with which they embraced it, would soon have parted

company. Next came sailing down an individual lying much at his ease between the four legs of a huge buffalo's hide, while boys moved in all directions, mounted as they could, some on gourds and some on skins.”

Thus, then, kau and vaka had passed from the animal to inflated hide. From this form, doubtless, men went on to the discovery that the skin itself needed not to be inflated, but that, if bound to a framework in the shape of a hemisphere, it would buoy up the contents, if not buried above the water-line. Herodotus (“Clio,” 94) says, “The most wonderful thing of all here, next to the city itself, is what I now proceed to describe: Their vessels that sail down the river to Babylon are circular, and are made of leather. For, when they have cut the ribs out of willows that grow in Armenia above Babylon, they cover them with hides extended on the outside by way of a bottom.”^* Thus the idea has grown from the living water-loving animal, the type of the “good swimmer,” whose tail is held by the herdsman, to the “inflated hide,” and then to the wicker boat covered with leather, used from Babylon to Britain.^†

The journey of the westward-migrating Aryans was across the great continent of Europe, where, even had they been a navigating people, boats could not have been carried; but they surely had, in the herds which accompanied them in their slow irresistible movement onwards, their time-honoured means of crossing any rivers on their march.^‡

The word vaka, for boat, has been retained in the European languages, although unrecognised, because disguised by the slight letter-change of v to b,^§ and by the broad vulgarised r. We have it in English bark, barque, and barge. Professor Skeat (“Ety. Dict.”), although noticing that “it is remarkable how widespread the latter word (barque) is,” does not seem able to find the etymology, but suggests as possible the Egyptian bari, a boat. When we consider the Gaelic barca; Latin, Spanish, and Italian barca, boat; Danish barkasse, long

boat; French barque, &c., it would seem to be unnecessary to go outside of the (acknowledged) Aryan languages to the Coptic bari. Probably barka, baka, or vaka meant the hide of vacca, the “carrying animal.” Nay, even our word bark (of tree), of which the etymology is unknown, may be absolutely the same word as bark, a ship (cf. Sanscrit valka, bark of tree), in the sense in which the Maori word for “hide,” “skin,” also means “bark of tree.” In Sanscrit vaha is “bearing,” “carrying,” as in Maori vaha; but vahata is an ox, vahatu id., vahala a raft, a float, vahitra id., vahin a boat, &c., Vakshu the Oxus River. It is a curious fact that Turner, who appends to his “Samoa a Hundred Years Ago” a comparative table of forty dialects, gives for “canoe” in very many islands vaka, va'a, vaa, &c., and then, for Hawaiian, kau, a canoe.^*

Turning for awhile from the subject of bearing and swimming what is the connection between “cow” and “voice”? (It may be the ✓ GU, spoken of before, from the bellowing of the herd.) That these words are radically connected in some way is certain. Our word “voice” is (through Old French voix) from Latin vox, a voice. Skeat writes uox, a voice (the likeness to “ox” may be purely accidental, if there is such a thing as accident), from ✓ Wak, to resound, to speak. (Cf. Sanscrit vach, to speak.) But the Sanscrit vach, speech, voice, with variants vak and vag (as vak-patu, eloquent; vag-isa, an orator), is the name of Sarasvati, as the Goddess of Speech. She was the Sacred Cow,^† the Mother of the Vedic poems, the Fount of Wisdom, “the melodious cow who milked forth sustenance and water.” “That daughter of thine, O Kama! is called the Cow—she whom sages denominate Vach” (Atharva Veda). Here appears the link between the Polynesian vaha, to carry on the back, and vaha, the mouth, speaking, talking.^‡

In the Gatha Ushlavaiti mention is made of “the imperishable cow Rânyô-skereti.” Haug (l.c. 159), in a note, explains this as a myth-name of the earth, and as meaning “producing the two friction-woods”—the friction fire-sticks. The sticks for producing fire by friction are, amongst the Maoris, always spoken of by some word compounded with kau: thus, kau-ahi, kau-ati, kau-noti, kau-rimarima, &c. (whether related

by etymology to rakau (wood) or not), is the regular form for “fire-stick;” and I do not know any other explanation than by reference to the fuel-giver of the Aryan races.

Before quitting the “bearing, carrying” idea of vah I may perhaps be allowed to suggest the true etymology of Polynesian vahine, “a woman,” “wife.” In Maori hine means “girl” (tama-hine, daughter, &c.), and the vah, “to carry,” meaning was understood by Mr. Taylor (“Te Ika-a-Maui”), who said that it arose from the native woman having unfortunately (in the savage fashion) to do all the heavy carrying of burdens. Monier Williams, in his Sanscrit Dictionary, gives vah as “to bear, carry, carry away;” vahatu, “nuptial ceremonies.”^* Our word to “woo” is from a root WAK (vak). Thus the Polynesian vahine, “wife,” probably means not “one who carries,” but “one who is carried off”—a reference to the universal ancient custom of carrying off wives by force.

Having thus shown that the words for food, clothing, carrying, stealing, &c., are in Polynesian reminiscences of cattle-words, I will now point out the important words having reference to “milking.” That the absence of milch-animals for many centuries had its effect in narrowing down the number of these words is certain—indeed, no other result could be possible under the circumstances—but the form, and somewhat of the sense, were retained under the new character. The primitive forms of “udder,” “teat,” “mammæ,” &c., are to be found in the South Seas. I think that any candid reader will, on learning the geographical distribution of the milk-words, laugh to scorn the dogmatic pretensions of those who try to draw a territorial line across any part of the Malay Archipelago or Indian Ocean and say, “Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.” First, “udder:” Latin uber, Sanscrit udhar, Gaelic uth, Irish ut and uit, Manx oo. (Root unknown.—Skeat.) We have in Maori a word, u, the breast of a female, udder, teat—wai-u, milk. It seems that this is the simplest and most radical form obtainable; it has been kept pure, and shows as the “constant” of the European variations. Tahitian u means milk, the breasts of anything that gives milk, to be moist or wet; utau, a wet-nurse (probably as ukau): Hawaiian u, the breast of a female, the pap or udder, to ooze or leak slowly:^† Tongan huhu, the breast, the dug or teat of animals, to suck; huhua milk, juice: Samoan susu, the

breasts, the dug or teat of animals; suasusu, milk. So far Polynesian proper: this is sufficiently well marked. Passing outside Polynesia, we get Fijian sucu (suthu), to suck, the breasts, to be born; kaususu, a female that has just been confined: Malay proper, susu, milk: Kayan, usok, breasts: Java, susu, breast: Bugis, susu, milk. The European forms of “suck”—Anglo-Saxon súcan, Latin sugere, Swedish suga—compare with the Welsh sugno to suck, sug juice; the Irish sughaim I suck in, sugh juice. Skeat refers these to an Aryan root SU, to beget (whence is derived sunu, a son), but, when we find so many of these words meaning “sucking” and “juice”^* duplicated with the same sense in Polynesian (above given), I think it may fairly be claimed that the idea implied by the root is a mother suckling rather than bringing forth. It will be noticed that the Fijian sucu means both to suck and to be born, but it stands apart (so far as I know) in this respect. The general idea is “moisture oozing forth,” but especially milk oozing forth from the teat. The idea of giving suck to the young after birth is surely as old as the idea of parturition. In Maori a compound word uwha (u-wha) means the “female of beasts.” Why? U means “teat,” and wha means “four.”^† What four-teated animals did the Polynesians ever know in Oceania? Certainly neither the dog nor the pig answers to this description.^‡ Returning to the idea of “moisture oozing forth,” I turn to the Latin word mamma, the breast. In Maori we have mama, to ooze through small apertures, to leak: Samoan, mama, to leak: Tahitian, mama, to drop or leak, as thatch of house; aumama (for kau-mama), to chew food for a child; aimama (kai-mama), to eat food chewed by the mother: Tongan, mama, to leak, to chew: Marquesan, mama, to chew: Mangarevan, mama, to leak, to chew. Polynesians feed very young infants by chewing food and putting it into the babies' mouths. The Latin mamma means not only “the breast,” but “mother”—two ideas closely related—and, although the word mamma for “mother” may be a mere sound-word coined from a young child's cry, and therefore not allied to “chewing,” still the sense of “oozing,” leaking, is in the Polynesian mama as in susu or huhu (uu).

“Teat:” This has been spelt in English in very many

different ways—teat, tit, titty, tete, tette, titte, &c.—but has European equivalents for each variant: Welsh, did, didi, and a second form teth; Italian, tetta; Spanish, teta (atetar, to suckle); German, tütte; Greek, τίτθη, a nurse;^* Cornish, tidi, teat. In Maori we have a corresponding word in tete, as whaka-tete (whaka-te-te; whaka=causative prefix), “to milk.” In its simpler form we find it as whaka-te, “to squeeze fluid out of anything;” thus showing it to be a synonym of mama, to ooze, and u, the breast.^† Tahitian form faa-te (whaka-te), to draw out, as in milking, or to squeeze out the ui (yellow apple) juice; fe-titi, to gush out at high pressure; fetee, id.: Fijian, titi, to ooze: Malay, tetek, the breast. My Mangarevan-French vocabulary gives kaiu (kai-u) as = teter, to suck. The compound Maori words mote (mo-te) and ngote (ngo-te), to suck, are proofs that the word tete is not of modern introduction.

The English word “milk,” Swedish mjolk, Gothic milucs, is from a Teutonic base melki, meaning “to stroke out milk” (Skeat)—the Sanscrit mrij, to rub, &c. In Polynesian we have the word as—Samoan, mili, to rub; Maori, miri, to rub, to touch in passing; Tahitian, mirimiri, to handle; Hawaiian, mili, to handle, to bear or carry (here touching the sense of vah and vacca); Tongan, mili, to rub. The European forms are probably connected with English “smear,” from ✓ Sma, to rub; Danish smere, to smear, oil, butter—as Maori miri-miri, to smear.

Fuel.—We know from the evidence of many travellers that among pastoral peoples the dried dung of cattle forms their principal (often their only) fuel. The Maori words kauruki (kau-ruki), smoke; kaurukiruki, smoky, dusky, would imply that this word was coined from some such use. The Dutch rook, German rauch, Swedish rök, Icelandic reykr, Scottish reek, all mean “smoke”—on a Teutonic base, ruk, to smoke, reek. This root is referred by Skeat to an Aryan base Rug, allied to ✓ Rag, to dye, colour; whence Sanscrit raja, rajas, dimness, sky, dust, pollen; rajani, night; and Icelandic rökr, twilight. If Skeat is right, the original sense of reek is “that which dims, mist.” Jamieson (“Scottish Dict.”) also gives rouk as mist, rouky misty. This is fully supported by Polynesian. We have in Maori kau-nehunehu, dusky, where nehu = dust, and nehutai spray; koruki (ko-ruki) is “cloudy, overcast:” Samoan, fa'alolo'i (whaka-roroki), to be dark and lowering (of

the sky): Tahitian rui (ruki), night, to be dark or blind: Paumotu, ruki, night: Tongan, roki, dark. The Maori korukuruku is “cloudy;” rikoriko (or, as an Englishman would write it, reeko-reeko) is “dusky, darkish;” the Tongan form liko-liko, “besmeared with dirt.” Scottish (Jamieson) gives cow and kow as “fuel used for a temporary fire:Cornish, gau, dung (a mutation of cau): Irish, caorach, a dry clod used for fuel; caorachd, cattle; boran and buacar, cow-dung. Wright (“Provincial Dict.”) has cow-blakes, “dry cow-dung used for fuel;” also dye, “cow-dung collected for fuel,” this being the Polynesian tae, dung, ordure.^*

I will now proceed to consider the last important form of the cattle-word in Polynesia, the word tau. I have already in a former paper^† drawn attention to this word as used in several peculiar ways, as in writing, tattooing (ta-tau), tying, &c. The ancient Persians, who were “Aryans of the Aryans” (their own proud title), wrote all their literature upon prepared cowskins.^‡ This may have been the connection between writing and cattle (English taw, to prepare skins to make them into leather). On the other hand, the most primitive bond of all may have been the use of the tau as a cattle-mark.^§

The word was so general as to be equally shared by Aryan and Semitic peoples—Greek τανρoς, Latin taurus, Russian tur, Welsh tarw, Gaelic tarbh, Irish tor, Icelandic stjorr, English steer, Sanscrit sthaura, &c., Chaldean tora, Ethiopian tore, Arabic thawr, Hebrew shor. Probably the one class of language has adopted the word from the other in ages unthinkably remote. Whether the Polynesian tau form has lost its final r, or whether the others have added it I do not know, but there is one signification at least in which the r sound is found in the Islands—viz., Maori tau, a rope (German tau, a rope; Icelandic taumr, a rein; English tow, &c.), where taura also means “rope.” But the Tahitian taura means “a herd.” And, while this coincidence fixes the derivation, we find that in all Polynesian dialects except Maori^∥ a second signi-

fication connects it with vaka or waka. We have seen how vaka means not only a canoe, but a medium of the gods, a priest of a deity; so we get also a secondary meaning for taura: Samoan, taula, the priest of a deity; Hawaiian, kaula (taula), a prophet; Tongan, taula, a priest (tau, to address in prayer); Marquesan, taua (taura), a priest; Mangarewan, taura, a priest. The persistent Hawaiian change of t to k, common in Polynesia (even in Maori words between themselves, as whaki=whati, &c.), gives perhaps the key to the whole matter—that is to say, tau is kau (cow), and taura is kaura. Thus, Maori tau, “to float,” approaches in meaning kau, “to swim;” taupua, “to float,” compares with poranga (po-ranga), “to float,” and porena (po-rena), “to float, as oil.” (Bo = cattle-words.) Marquesan tau means both “to carry on the back” and to “arrive by sea.”^* With the bearing or carrying words we have the same interchangeable sense, the Hawaiian kauo and kauwo, “to draw, drag along,” meaning also “a special blessing or favour” (as vaka and taura meant priestly interceders). Maori tautau, an ear-ornament, = kai, an ear-ornament (cf. Sanscrit gotra (lit. “possessor of cows”), = jewels, treasures). Tau means, in Maori, the ridge of a hill; taukaka, spur of a hill; taumata, brow of a hill. The northern boundary of the lands of Arya was the Taurus range, and the word tau has been kept in the Caucasus, &c., as the name of a hill, or range of hills, to the present day; the names of hills are Mala Tau, Mishirge Tau, &c. “Tau—like Taueru, in the Tyrol—is applied more often to a range than to any individual top.”^† The Polynesian chief variant seems to be tara, this being used, in a secondary sense, particularly for “horn.”^‡ Perhaps the most general application of the word “horn” in ancient times was as a symbol (1) of lunar deities, (2) of male or regal power. Isis with the cow's head; Artemis Taurica;^§ the horned Hera; Ishtar (Ashtaroth), called in the Septuagint (Tobit, i., 5) “the she-Baal, the cow,” &c., are instances of lunar deities. Tara means, in Maori, a point, spear-point; rays, to throw out rays; courage, mettle.^∥ The bull (symbolized

by the horns) is universally typical of cosmical, regal, or national power, and also of masculine force.^*

The Aramean tur, a “height” (tau), meant also “bull” and “prince.” I will requote Mr. Colenso's translation of tara o te marama as “cusps of the moon”—the moon's horns. The Tahitian and Mangarevan vocabularies both give tara as “horn.” “Spear-point” is a more common word, of course, with modern Polynesians, but the connection is clear: in the words of Macrobius, “Under the name of arrows, the darting of the rays is shown.”^† The English word “star” has been derived from a root star, to strew, spread; the Sanscrit taras (star) being supposed to have lost an initial s. But the Maori tara, to throw out rays, to emit light, would seem to have been nearer the simple notion of primitive men than any other: if so, the excrescent s was very early introduced. The Icelandic tarra, to spread out, has not the prefixed s. The Maori putara (pu-tara; pu=to blow) means “a trumpet, a shell used like a horn for signals” (Williams's Diet.).

A curious fact in connection with tara is that this word is used as denoting “a fable” (korero tara). Perhaps the stories of the elders respecting the taura or tara—impossible creatures, as the new generations of islanders began to believe—made all fabulous narratives be called tara. Samoan, tala, a tale, narrative; Hawaiian, tala, to proclaim; Tongan, tala, to tell. (Cf. Icelandic tala, to talk.) These, again, compare with the curious meaning of kau in Maori, as “non est”—as, kahore-kau, not at all; rakau-kau, not having trees (rakau = tree): Mangarevan kakautara, babel, confusion; and the Tahitian aai (ka-kai), a tale or fable (our old friend kai or kye, cows). This tara, an idle tale, in its Samoan compound, tala-gafa, “to recite a pedigree,” also compares with Maori kau-whau (kau-whau), to recite old legends or genealogies—perhaps legends of Kau or Tara.

The English etymology of “tale” gives “a number, reckoning, narrative;” Dutch, taal, language, tongue, speech: both from Teutonic tala, a tale, number. In Maori, tau (ta-tau) means to count; so that tau and tara would be forms of ✓ taur, and the original idea “mustering” or counting cattle. The Sanscrit tara, “a spell for banishing demons” (Benfey), =Maori tara, to influence by charms. The Maori pu-tatara (or putara, also putetere), “a trumpet,” compares with Old Dutch tateren, to sound with a shrill noise, to tara-tantara with a trumpet (Hexham); Low German tateln, to tattle. Cf. Maori tutara, small-talk, gossip, chatter.

Maori tara shows its tau derivation also in the floating sense: Tau, to float, = Sanscrit tara, crossing over, a ferry-boat; tarana, a raft, boat; tarad, a raft, float, &c.

I wrote in the first part of this paper that not only did the cattle provide for the material wants of primitive pastoral communities, but also gave them their deities. I have to show another curious interchange here of the words po and kau (cattle-words) with names of Maori supernatural beings of the lower class. The great deities of Polynesia, Tu, Tane, Tangaroa, Rongo, &c., grew to heights as great above the petty crowd of minor divinities as did Zeus, Indra, Ishtar, and Apis above their half-forgotten forerunners. In New Zealand there existed a belief in a class of malicious demons called kahukahu. The word is sometimes applied to a ghost or spirit of a dead person; but properly it was used only for the spirit of a child being unborn. They were regarded as “germs” of human beings, which had untimely perished. Thus it was that a certain garment of females was called kahukahu, and why the walls of a house were tapu. (“Ko te kahukahu piri-tara-whare.”)^* This was perhaps the reason why the kahukahu were called “house-dwelling spirits” (atua-noho-whare)—on account of the tabooed walls of a dwelling. (Cf. Fijian kau-tabu, the wall-plates of a house.) In both Ireland and Scotland the Tarans were supposed to be the wandering evil spirits of unbaptized children. But the peculiar origin of the Maori demon leaves no doubt as to the meaning. To the Aryan the cow was a sacred symbol, the emblem of maternity and of femininity: the Sanscrit matar, “mother,” is also “cow.” Their Brahmin descendant has always held the “killer of the cow” in greater horror than we could feel for any possible sacrilege. It was the connection of this idea of femininity with the name of the cow-symbol of maternity which caused the panniculus to be called kahukahu. That at such a period women were looked upon in old times as unclean, so that even their glance defiled, we have much evidence in ancient writings, and this would account for these supposed germs of humanity being looked upon as evil spirits. A synonym for these demons is Atua-poke (unclean deities). When I assert that these spirits, kahukahu, are the

“bogeys” of our childhood I shall doubtless cause a smile to appear on the faces of my readers; but the facts are very stubborn. In Maori, poke (boke) means “to appear as a spirit” (Williams's Dict.), and is, I believe, associated with po, either as the abode of souls or as the Cosmic Cow. While engaged in gathering information as to the word popoa, “food eaten for the dead,” I learnt much concerning these poke spirits. Several classes of spirits are poke, but especially the malignant kahukahu; but, whereas the latter is essentially unclean, the spirit of a dead man only becomes poke if the rites of the funeral offering are neglected,^* their manes not being of themselves able to kill or injure living persons, but only to incite the atuas (demons) to do so: the spirit of the adult, if neglected or revengeful, could only plant the germs for the other poke spirits to nourish. This was the reason why (as amongst the Aryans) it was a great misfortune to a chief to be without legitimate offspring, and not to have a child to make the death-offering.^† Hence come the proverbs “Kahore he uri, he tangi”—“Without offspring, wailing”—and “Ka ora koe, ka pihea”—“You will live (be immortal), having the death-song chanted.”^‡

If, then, the Maori poke means unclean, evil spirit, to appear as a spirit, we shall find connected with it the Samoan po'e (poke), “to be afraid,” and in this sense a host of words in the Indo-European languages for “spirit” and “fear.” The English word boggle—to start aside, swerve from fear—is

connected with bogle, a spectre; Welsh bwg, a goblin; our bug and bugbear, a spectre; and is the Irish puka, an elf, the “Puck” of Shakespeare.^* Bugaboo, with its cattle termination (bu or bw), evidently belongs to pastoral demons. Welsh, bw, threat, terror, bugbear; bw-bachu, to scare; buw, a cow; bwla, a bull; bwci, a hobgoblin; pwca, fiend; pwci, goblin: Spanish, bu, a word used to frighten children: German, böse, evil, devil: Danish, pokker, devil (in English, Piers Plowman and Matthews's Bible give pouk for devil): Gaelic, bodachs, an evil spirit: Manx, boa, a cow, fear, affright; boag, a bogey; boo, fear: Scottish, bo (also bu and boo), a word of terror, connected by Jamieson (“Scot. Dict.”) with Teutonic bauw, larva, spectrum; also puke, an evil spirit. Grimm, in his “Teutonic Mythology,” gives very many words on this form—popel, pobelmann, popanz, &c.—as ghosts for frightening children, and belonging to the class of spirits called bull-man, buller-man, poltergeist, &c. Icelandic, bola, to bully; boli, bull. In obsolete provincial English^† we have bo, hobgoblin; bogge, bugbear; boll, a ghost; bole, a bull; boman, a hobgoblin. The word seems everywhere. The tutelary deities of the Battahs of Sumatra are called Bogus, and are the souls of the dead. The Motu, a Polynesian-speaking people among the blacks of New Guinea, call a fool bobo, as do the Spanish; but boloa is “possession by an evil spirit.” The Malays of the Peninsula have an evil spirit called Polong, an elfin creature which feeds on the blood of its possessor. In Puck-hairy we have a sprite named after these animal deities. Hairiness is one of their attributes. Thus the Vulgate has “et pilosi saltabunt ibi” (Isaiah, xiii., 21), where the Lxx. has δαμóνα. These bo words receive strongest confirmation as to their ultimate signification when we compare them with the “cow” words. Scottish cow or kow, a hobgoblin, to depress with fear. This is also the English sense “to cow,” “to cower.” Icelandic, kuga, to cow, tyrannous (kusa, a cow). Scottish, cow-man, a name for the devil (just as “bull-man” and “bull-beggar”); cowin, an alarm, a fright; wirry-cow, a goblin, the devil; cow-carl, a bugbear; water-cow, a spirit of the waters. I think that these words show that our “bogeys” had a cattle origin, and that the Maori poke (pouke, puck, &c.) and kahukahu (kow of Scottish) have probably the same source.

In conclusion, I will point out that the curious series of “coincidences” is completed by the words for “herd.” I have considered that kahu (Rarotongan kau) is the same word

as kau, because the meanings of kau, kahu, tau, tahu, ngau, ngahu, constantly cross and interchange in Polynesia, as chewing, floating, clothing, &c. Kahui is a “herd” in Maori, as taura is “herd” in Tahitian.^* We have already seen that kau meant a troop of persons, a fleet of canoes, &c. (Cf. Lithuanian gauja, a herd = Sanscrit gavya, a herd of cattle.) There is a Polynesian word mu (Anglice, moo) which seems to be a “herd” word, and there is nothing ridiculous in the idea that a word springing from the idea of lowing cattle should have many derivatives. In Maori mumu means a gentle sound, a “murmur” (another instance of added r). The English murmur comes through French from Latin murmur. Icelandic, murra; German, murren, to murmur. The English mumble, mummer, &c., are formed in the same way; but we are told by Skeat that the sound mum is “used by nurses to frighten children, like the English bo.” We find from another author that “bo is essentially a Tauric word.”^† And the German mummel, a bugbear, compares with an infinite number of others indicating “fear” and “cattle.” The Greek Bo∊n; an ox-hide, Boáw to roar, bawl, stands side by side with the primitive μükáoμai (mukaomai), to low, bellow; μükητlkós bellowing (perhaps μüψíos, countless); μύζω, to murmur (μvμύ).^‡ Portuguese, mugido, lowing: Latin, mugire, to bellow: Scottish, moo, the act of lowing; moolat, to murmur. The Gond mura = cow; and in Silong (Archipelago), while k'bau is buffalo (Malay, karbau), the cow is called l'mu. On the Polynesian side, beside the Maori words mumu, murmur, and mui, to swarm, we have—Tahitian, mumu, to make a confused noise; mutamuta, to mutter (another coincidence?); omumu, to whisper: Hawaian, mumu, to hum; mumuhu, to sound as many voices; mumulu, to come together in a crowd: Tongan, mumu, to collect together; mumuhu, the sound of sea or wind: Mangarevan, mumu, an idiot, a fool; as the Spanish and Motu have bobo, fool: Samoan, mu, to murmur; mumu, to go in swarms: Fijian, mumu, to go in troops. I think it can hardly be doubted that these words signify not only “murmur,” but the murmuring arising from crowds or herds coming together, as Maori popo means to crowd, throng.

If I should be asked to what conclusion I had come as to the genesis of these words, I should reply that it appears from the evidence that there was probably a root AK, which sometimes became ka or aka. This ak acquired in one direction a (digamma) prefix v or b, and became vak; in another

direction ka became nga, ngau, and kau. The ak, ok, uks, ox, vaks, vach, &c., became associated mainly with the idea of “carrying,” whilst ngau and kau (gnaw and cow) remained connected with “ruminating” and “milking.” It is an exceedingly difficult thing to say which of two primitive ideas is the archaic one, when we have such a vast distance of time through which to reach. The Sanscrit açva, horse (açva = equa), is supposed to have had its radical meaning in “swift;” but if the root aç means “permeare, penetrare” (according to Pictet), it may have had its first origin in ak, from “dashing, butting” (Maori, aki, to dash; a, to drive: Sanscrit, aj, to drive: Latin, ago: Samoan, aga, to act, to go: Icelandic, aka (ok, oku, ekit), to drive, transport). “Swift” would be a secondary attribute, attaching itself to the horse, and produced by the horse, after he had received his ak (“bearing”) name. Skeat considers “acre” as probably either pasturage or hunting-ground (✓ag, to drive; or ak, to pierce). I would make one suggestion in regard to this common origin of horse and ox name, and that is that the word was at first applied to neither, but to another animal partaking of the nature both of ox and horse. I mean the yak of the Pamir ancient cradle-land. In the “Journey to the Source of the Oxus” (p. 208 et seq.) there is a notice of “a yak, or kash-gow, as the animal is here called, standing before a door with its bridle in the hand of a Kirghiz boy…. It stood about 3ft. 6in. high, and was very hairy and powerful. Its belly reached within 6in. of the ground, which was swept by its bushy tail. The long hair streamed down from its dewlap and forelegs, giving it, but for the horns, the appearance of a huge Newfoundland dog. It bore a light saddle with horn stirrups, and a cord let through the cartilage of the nose served for a bridle…. The yak is to the inhabitant of Pamir and Thibet what the reindeer is to the Laplander in northern Europe…. He frequents the mountain slopes and their level summits. Wherever the mercury does not rise above zero, there is a climate for the yak. The heat of summer sends the animal to what is termed the old ice—that is, to the regions of eternal snow—the calf being retained below as a pledge for the mother's returning, in which she never fails. In the summer the women, like the pastoral inhabitants of the Alps, encamp in the higher valleys which are interspersed among the snowy mountains, and devote their whole time to the dairy. The men remain on the plain and attend to the agricultural part of the establishment, but occasionally visit the upper stations; and all speak in rapture of these summer wanderings. The kash-gows are gregarious, and set the wolves which here abound at defiance. Their hair is clipped once a year, in the