“Ngahue proceeded onwards, dwelt far off at Arahura, fixing his abode there (or, stronger still, permanently dwelling there). He broke off a portion of that fish (greenstone), and, carrying it with him, returned. Ngahue arriving at Te Wairere killed (or beat, or struck) the Moa; then (he) went (to) Tauranga (to) Whangaparaoa (and) returned to Hawaiki, and told he had seen the land whose riches (chief productions, or principal things) were greenstone and Moa.”

I now give John White's rendering of that same story^*:—

“Ngahue, at Te Wairere, saw the bird Moa, and killed one, and went back to Hawaiki and told the inhabitants of that land that he had discovered a country without human inhabitants, but where there was greenstone to be found.”

And yet again (another version): “Ngahue returned to Arahura, where he found the bird Moa near the Wairere waterfall, and killed one and carried it in a taha or ipu (calabash), and went back to Hawaiki, and informed the people of that land of a fine land called Aotearoa which he had discovered.”

And these two versions of that same story J. White gives as from two tribes—Ngatiawa and Ngatihau. Note the differences; premising that Grey's Maori version was old and early (before 1854), and, as Sir George says in his preface, obtained from the best Maori authorities.

In Grey's English translation little notice is taken of the Moa (just as in the original Maori); even its “killing” is omitted, although the only instance of the Moa being mentioned in any old story or legend: in J. White's (1887, nearly forty years after) the peculiar amplification—(a) the words “saw the bird Moa, and killed one”; and, again, (b) “found the bird Moa, and killed one, and carried it off in a calabash,” &c.

It may be observed, “But J. White's English rendering is that of the Maori relations from two tribes” (pp. 170, 171, part ii., l.c.). Yes; but note in that of Ngatiawa:—

1. “Ka kite” (a Ngahue) “i te Wairere, i reira te manu nei te Moa e tu ana ka patua e Ngahue,” &c. = Ngahue saw (or visited) Te Wairere (some high cliff), and there a single Moa standing. How closely this relation resembles that statement of the East Cape Maoris to me (January, 1838), of the one Moa standing on the top of the mountain Whakapunake; and

also that of the West Coast Maoris to Dieffenbach (1841), of the one Moa on Mount Egmont.^*

2. And so in that of Ngatihau, with the addition that the Moa (flesh, I suppose) was collected into a calabash by Ngahue (evidently knowing nothing of the size of the Moa).

3. And in both traditions the word “manu = bird” is given, a modern addition, which is not in the older one of Grey's. The syntax of these two Maori statements is not that of an old Maori, but of a pakeha = foreigner, stranger, and I believe to be John White's own peculiar diction.

4. Be that as it may, two things are clear—(1) The casual brief notice of the Moa as a thing of no importance in the older Maori version; and (2) the growth of the legend in the two later Maori versions of the same story.

5. And then the period (before the so-called migration from Hawaiki) and also the place where the Moa was killed (in the South Island) are the same in all three versions, from which (their united narration) we may clearly gather—(1) the great antiquity of the story, and (2) the one solitary mountain Moa being only then met with in the South Island together with the greenstone; although Ngahue had also travelled largely in the North one, both in going and in returning.

Again, note the peculiar use of this word “kai” in the older version quoted. (See note, p. 505.)

In a paper read before the Hawke's Bay Philosophical Institute^† in July, 1883, in giving several meanings of the word “kai,” I have among them the following:—

“A very old meaning of ‘kai’ as a noun is movable property, possessions, goods, treasures, chattels—valuables in the estimation of the ancient Maoris” (l.c., p. 97). And here we have a good example of it.

In comparing the two translations of M. de Quatrefages' paper I find very little difference between them; only to this modern one there is a long concluding narration tacked on and made a postscript to the older paper, written in May, 1889, and supplied, as M. Quatrefages states, by Sir Walter Buller, who had sent him a copy of the New Zealand Times of November, 1888, containing that peculiar story of comparatively modern Moa-hunting communicated by Colonel McDonnell. Strange that only such additional information (“fresh evidence,” as it is called) should have become known to M. de Quatrefages after all those years, and just as strange that Sir Walter Buller should not have known of any other.

My task is done. I did not intend to write another line on this subject of the Moa age, but in this same volume (xxv.), in the Proceedings of the Wellington Philosophical Society, are many observations made at different meetings of the Society by the members present on this theme. Some of them I am really sorry to find recorded there, because they are merely the old, old stories and tales which have long ago been answered, and shown to be untenable, and refuted, and therefore such should not be again resurrected. Indeed, in so doing, the truth—the “true facts”—will never be arrived at; and that true and proper remark of Max Müller (in his late lectures at Glasgow, as brought forward by me in a paper in this same volume, p. 496) is very applicable here: “What is of immense importance in all scientific discussions is the spirit of truth. To make light of a fact that has been established, to ignore intentionally an argument which we cannot refute, to throw out guesses which we know we cannot prove—nay, which we do not even attempt to prove—is simply wrong, and poisons the air in which true science can breathe and live” (“Gifford Lectures,” 1891, p. 81). And as I have read of those remarks having been made before (both in the back volumes of Transactions as well as in the Wellington papers of the day), I would, as a member of the Society, beg to be permitted to call the attention of some of our prominent speakers at those meetings to what they have said on this subject.

Mr. Travers, for instance, says, “We could not judge of this matter from the Maoris of the present day, but fifty years ago they were familiar with the existence of this bird” (l.c., p. 531). Now, it seems very hard that such a statement (oft repeated too) should pass unnoticed. It was in January, 1838, that I myself first moved in this matter (as I have fully and clearly shown in my long paper in vol. xii., Transactions), and I left no stone unturned to glean something tangible about it—in travelling throughout much of the North Island, from Poverty Bay to Cape Maria Van Diemen (a zigzag course to all Maori villages as ordered), during which I now and then fell in with chiefs who had seen Cook and also been on board of his ship, which would take back to another fifty years; by friends and acquaintances among Europeans settled and trading in various parts; by rewards; by young Maori chiefs returning to their homes and tribes from our head mission-station in the Bay of Islands; by letters to our Maori Christian teachers and catechists—and the result was Nil. And there were others succeeding me, fifty years ago, who also travelled much throughout this North Island (Dr. Dieffenbach, for instance), and their united report is exactly

the same—Nil. Why, then (may I not ask Mr. Travers) are we not believed? Why every year repeatedly bring up that old, old, and wretched remark, “that fifty years ago the Maoris were familiar with the existence of this bird,” when the very ancient legend of Ngahue alone (above related) goes far to prove its incorrectness? (I feel this the more in its coming from Mr. Travers, who professionally knows well the difference between true and false facts, and how easy it is to adduce charges, however insignificant and erroneous, when defendant is out of Court.)

And just so, again, with Mr. Maskell. I really feel ashamed when I read (both on these and on former occasions) his illogical remarks, his strong affirmations, respecting not only the Moa age, but also the Maori legends and the very language itself, of all which, I beg to tell him, he really knows nothing. Surely Mr. Maskell must know full well the difference between legends and legends! Indeed, he says he does; and that, “whilst he thought little of Maori legends, he did value European traditions”—no doubt!—“and he well remembered hearing the late Sir F. Weld state often that when he started from Nelson, somewhere about 1848, to make the first journey overland to what is now Canterbury, the Maoris warned him to be very careful of the large birds which he would meet with in the mountains, and which would kick him to death if they could. That was a tradition worth any number of Maori legends” (l.c., p. 531; and again repeated p. 535). Now, I have already, nearly twenty years ago, shown the probable origin of much of that talk^*—at all events, of its modern and foreign embellishments. But, I would ask, where is the “European tradition” here? Is not the simple relation by Sir F. Weld of what the Maoris had told him their legend? And where is the radical difference between this legend of theirs and that given by them to Dr. Dieffenbach on the same subject nearly ten years before?—namely, “The Maoris could not understand what induced me to seek to ascend Mount Egmont; they tried much to dissuade me from the attempt, by saying that the mountain was tapu—that there were ngarara (crocodiles) on it, which would undoubtedly eat me. The mysterious bird ‘Moa’ (of which I shall say more hereafter) was also said to exist there. But I answered that I was not afraid of these creatures of their lively imagination” (vol. i., p. 140).

No one would stand up more strongly for the true position of an expert in his own peculiar line as a successful describer of Coccididæ (and of Mr. Maskell in that capacity we have good reason to be proud); but what would Mr. Maskell say,

or think (say) of me, were I, on any occasion when one of his favourite papers was being read, to speak of such in his own way, using his own language which he so frequently uses towards us—myself and other Maori philologists—who, if not equally experts, must certainly be allowed to know something more than Mr. Maskell of those Maori matters, to which we have given many years of time and research and study? I confess to feeling both ashamed and sorry when I read Mr. Maskell's statement re this paper of M. de Quatrefages (bearing in mind, as I have shown, the grave omission of many true facts from its pages), who said that “he was proud of having been the first to bring that paper under the notice of this colony several years ago in the pages of the ‘New Zealand Journal of Science,’”^* and now, with all its errors, omissions, and suppressions, actually bringing it forward again.

I trust that both Mr. Travers and Mr. Maskell, for whom I have great respect, will forgive me in my thus writing warmly on a matter in which I am so deeply interested, as, from my age, &c., I may never write again. The old Latin proverb is applicable here both to them and to me—“Ne sutor ultra crepidam”: may we all be enabled to observe it.

And here I would communicate the very excellent and apposite remarks lately made by Professor Rudolph Virchow, in his Croonian lecture delivered before the Royal Society: “Who of us is not in need of friendly encouragement in the changing events of life? True happiness is not based on the appreciation of others, but on the consciousness of one's own honest labour. How otherwise should we preserve the hope of progress and of final victory in face of the attacks of opponents and the insults which are spared to nobody who comes before the public? He who during a long and busy life is exposed to public opinion certainly learns to bear unjust criticism with equanimity, but this comes only through the confidence that his cause is just, and that some day it must triumph. Such is our hope in our wrestlings for progress in science and art…. Happy is he who has courage enough to keep up or regain his relations with other men, and to take part in the common work. Thrice happy is he who does not lack in this work the flattering commendation of esteemed colleagues.”^†

In fine, the prolific root or cause of error with M. de Quatrefages, and with most of those who have written or spoken on this matter of the Moa—i.e., of the Moa age—arises from their believing in the myth of Hawaiki and the migration therefrom, and in fixing that period at 500 years ago. To

me, having long and carefully considered the whole matter in its various phases and bearings, and having no pet theory of my own to support or vamp up, both are alike preposterous and void of true literal foundation. At the same time, there is concealed within them a deep esoteric meaning hidden and masked; not dissimilar, however, to, and possibly more reasonable than, what has obtained among other ancient and highly-civilised people concerning their origins. Much as Max Müller has truly and eloquently expressed it: “Language threw its web of metaphors around the truths of which it spoke, and by a natural mistake men came to take the metaphors for facts.”^* But on this deep recondite subject I cannot at present enter.

Lastly, I may observe that, in my long and exhaustive article on the Moa (so often referred to by me in this paper), I concluded it with the words of the celebrated Roman historian Tacitus, when writing on the Phænix, a bird of great antiquity, which had given him, and other philosophers before him, an immense amount of labour. Tacitus, after recounting the many old stories respecting it, including recent tales, says, “The accounts of antiquity concerning this bird are enveloped in doubt and obscurity…. These accounts are not entitled to unqualified credit, and their uncertainty is increased by the admixture of matter palpably fabulous; but that this bird has been at some time seen in Eygpt is not questioned.”^† That conclusion, made nearly 2,000 years ago, still recommends itself to us as a fair and a rational one. And yet I find, on lately reading in an ancient Roman author of note contemporary with Tacitus, just the very opposite remarks and conclusions respecting this same fabulous bird. And as such may be little known to this audience, the work containing it being scarce, and the subject somewhat analogous to this one of the extinct Moa and its age, I will briefly quote it:—

“There is a certain bird called a Phænix. Of this there is never but one at a time, and that lives 500 years. And when the time of its dissolution draws near that it must die, it makes itself a nest of frankincense and myrrh and other spices, into which, when its time is fulfilled, it enters and dies; but its flesh putrifying breeds a certain worm, which, being nourished with the juice of the dead bird, brings forth feathers; and when it is grown to a perfect state it takes up the nest in which the bones of its parent lie and carries it from Arabia into Egypt, to a city called Heliopolis; and, flying in open day in the sight of all men, lays it upon the

altar of the sun, and so returns from whence it came. The priests then search into the records of the time, and find that it returned precisely at the end of 500 years.” And then the author goes on to say, “Let us consider this wonderful type (or sign) of the Resurrection, when even by a bird the Lord of all shows us his power to fulfil his promise,” &c.^* Thus, again, proving to a demonstration how easy it is to swallow everything related, however strange, as veritable facts, and so jump to the desired conclusion.

Of course, my only reason for bringing these two notions together here is to show the very great disparity of opinion then existing respecting the Phænix, much the same as now, unfortunately, appertain to the Moa age.

P.S.—Since closing my paper I have received a copy of the “Report of the Fourth Meeting of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science” (just published), and I find in the address of the Rev. Lorrimer Fison, M.A., the president of the anthropological section, such very appropriate statements—the very counterpart of my own thoughts and ideas—that I hesitate not to copy a portion of them. The president, too, evidently writes as a practical man well acquainted with his subject.

“… In these investigations”—anthropological—“two things mainly are required: first, a patient continuance in the collecting of facts; and secondly, the faculty of seeing in them what is seen by the natives themselves. We must ever remember that our mind-world is very different from theirs…. As to the former of these two requisites, one's natural tendency, especially in the beginning of the work, is to form a theory as soon as one has got hold of a fact; and as to the latter, we are too apt to look at the facts in savagery from the mental standpoint of the civilised man. Both of these are extremely mischievous. They lead investigators into fatal mistakes, and bring upon them much painful experience, for the pang attending the extraction of an aching double-tooth is sweetest bliss when compared with the tearing up by the roots of a cherished theory. I speak feelingly here, because I can hold myself up as an awful warning against theory-making.”—[An instance given.]—“Even more mischievous is the habit of looking at the facts in savagery from our own standpoint. Some of our modern anthropologists' books are full of errors arising from this evil habit—errors which are ‘gross and palpable’ to any one who has lived long among savages, and taken the pains to learn to see with their eyes. ‘You can feel the mistakes with a stick,’ said a good Lutheran missionary (one of Mr. Howitt's correspond-