Go to National Library of New Zealand Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa
Volume 28, 1895


of the
New Zealand Institute


Art. I.—The Displacement of Species in New Zealand.

[Presidential Address to the Wellington Philosophical Society, 3rd July, 1895.]

In the absence of civilisation, the indigenous fauna and flora of any country is liable to little or no change from external causes. Aërial and marine currents may occasionally bring, spores or even seeds of exotic plants; more rarely, insects or birds may be introduced by gales of unusual violence; migratory or aquatic birds may introduce the eggs of insects, or even molluscs, as well as seeds and fragments of terrestrial or lacustrine plants, which have become attached to their feathers; and certain terrestrial or fluviatile molluscs may be introduced by drifted logs; but after a certain time any increase in the number of species by agencies of this kind must become extremely rare, and can occur only at distant intervals. It may therefore be concluded that in all probability the constituents of the fauna and flora of this colony, with possibly the exception of the larger Ratite birds, were in much the same condition when they were first seen by Cook and Vancouver as they had been for many previous centuries. But with the advent of civilisation vast and farreaching changes speedily take place: axe and fire rapidly alter the face of the country; portions of the forest are felled, burnt off, and replaced by grass-a change which of itself involves a multitude of other changes; the unfelled portions of the forest are laid open to violent winds, so that the surface-rooting trees are blown over in large numbers, while the increasing dryness of the atmosphere acts unfavourably

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on the undergrowth, which is still further injured by the depredations of cattle; gradually the plants less able to resist changed conditions disappear, and with them many insects, lizards, and birds, which are unable to obtain their usual food in the new environment.

But the space occupied by the displaced plants is not long allowed to remain unoccupied. An army of encroaching weeds speedily takes possession of the vacancy: thistles, starthistles, docks, groundsels, brambles, briars, and a hundred other unattractive invaders make their appearance, and increase the severity of the struggle for the survivors of the indigenous flora. From sea-level to the highest points reached by the miner or shepherd, from the North Cape to the Antarctic Islands, their hosts press forward, ever seizing some new position, just as on a larger scale they have long since occupied the vicinity of the chief ports on the great lines of ocean travel from Britain to the Cape of Good Hope, from Yokohama to Cape Horn, so that wherever the traveller lands from his floating home he finds himself surrounded by familiar plants which have in a greater or lesser degree amalgamated with the vegetation of the country which they have invaded, and which to a large extent they will ultimately overcome.

And, most unhappily, this invasion is not restricted to phanerogamic plants. Numbers of injurious fungi accompany their hosts. Rust, mildew, and bunt blight the hopes of the wheat-grower at the moment of fruition. The grazier too often sees his pastures rendered useless by the ravages of smut and ergot; while the cultivators of edible fruits and vegetables can point to special enemies of almost every kind of plant grown for its value as an article of food. Nor is this all. Numbers of species, almost equally insidious in their development, are parasitic, not only on members of the indigenous flora, but on the naturalised weeds themselves; so that the circle of infection is constantly widening, while the scientific knowledge and practical skill of the cultivator are taxed to the utmost limit.

Further, the invading army of plants has brought in its train a still more dangerous host of animals; and as in the vegetable kingdom the most injurious forms were found amongst the less highly organized kinds, so in the animal kingdom the invaders whose agency is most dreaded are members of the Invertebrata: the mussel scale, the fluted scale, the black scale, and many others, together with numerous species of plant-lice, will occur to you as belonging to lowly-developed forms of Insecta. Higher in the scale, the Hessian fly, wire-worm, turnip-fly, and others; while numerous species of earth-worms, molluscs, birds,

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and even mammals, whether introduced purposely or accidentally, affect alike both fauna and flora.

Naturalisation, Displacement, etc.

It may be advisable to remind you that a plant or animal is said to be naturalised in a new country when it has become so thoroughly established as to be able to perpetuate itself spontaneously. The term, however, must not be confused with acclimatised, which, as popularly used, conveys the erroneous idea that the organization to which it is applied has been specially adapted to its new environment by having passed through a series of changes. What is called “acclimatisation” is based on the simple fact that many plants and animals are able to nourish under conditions differing from those under which they were originally placed.

Displacement, although usually attended by a diminution in the number of individuals, is sometimes accompanied by increase, as is the case with those insects which now obtain a large supply of food from introduced plants, and consequently exhibit a vast increase in numbers. Replacement can only be said to occur when the naturalised organism occupies the position of that which it has displaced; the displacement being approximately, although perhaps not actually, complete. On the other hand, complete displacement is not always followed by immediate replacement. The tuatara (Sphenodon punctatum), for instance, has been all but destroyed on the mainland by the wild pig and the cat, but these cannot be said to have taken the place of the tuatara -their agency has been wholly destructive. On the other hand, the place formerly occupied by the Maori rat in the North Island is now so fully occupied by its old enemy the black rat as to afford a striking instance of complete replacement. It will be useful to bear these distinctions in mind when considering the influence exerted by introduced organisms on the flora and fauna of any country.

It is not proposed to consider in detail the effects produced by naturalised organisms on the flora and fauna of the colony, but merely to draw attention to various cases, more or less of a typical character, and to state the general results so far as they have been ascertained.


Although there is some probability that certain species of Infusoria, Rotifera, and possibly Hydrozoa have been introduced into the colony, there is no direct evidence to that effect; while so little is known respecting either native or introduced Entozoa, beyond the fact that several species have made their appearance here as uninvited guests, that atten-

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tion may at once be directed to the earth-worms, of which several European species have become naturalised, and succeeded in replacing indigenous forms in various localities in both Islands. When recently travelling in the upper portions of the valleys of the Rangitikei and Turakina I found that in localities where a few years back native worms were plentiful the introduced Lumbricus terrestris (L.) had spread over large areas of grass-land to such an extent that it was impossible to find a single square foot of earth free from its castings, while in many places its burrows rendered the soil so spongy that it was dangerous to the passing horseman. As a rule, native worms are most frequent in unploughed land; a single ploughing destroys large numbers, and if the land is frequently ploughed the native kinds speedily disappear-a result invariably accelerated by the advent of introduced species, which quickly effect a complete replacement. It is stated that a large worm which, in the Kaipara, frequently attained a length of over 20in., and was used as food by the Maoris, has not been seen of late years: I believe it has not been described.

Amongst Arachnida the small introduced mite known as the red spider (Tetranychus telarius) has increased enormously in some districts, and is found on native and introduced shrubs alike; but my knowledge of the indigenous species of this group is not sufficient to enable me to state whether actual displacement may be observed or not. Many spiders of kinds usually found in or about dwelling-houses in Europe have been accidentally introduced, but it is not clear that they have succeeded in replacing indigenous species.

When the limited area to which many of our indigenous insects are restricted is considered in connection with the wide area over which clearing operations have extended, it will be difficult to evade the conclusion that many species, and possibly entire genera, have become extinct, their places being now occupied by introduced species, although under different conditions; but this can hardly be considered true replacement, and, so far as known to me, no instance has been observed of an introduced insect having extirpated an indigenous species, although not a few of the latter have become rare in districts where they were formerly plentiful, and in all probability the food-supply of others has been reduced by the agency of the honey-bee.

Amongst the indigenous insects which are now to be met with only in diminished numbers is the elephant beetle (Lasiorhynchus barbicornis, Fabr.), which was formerly plentiful in the vicinity of Wellington, as in other districts, but is now comparatively rare. Its high degree of specialisation invests it with exceptional interest, so that its diminution can only be witnessed with regret.

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Amongst introduced insects are numerous Coccidæ, of which there are upwards of twenty species, many of them being highly injurious, the three most dangerous perhaps being the fluted scale (Icerya purchasi, Mask.), which affects many species of indigenous and cultivated trees and shrubs; the mussel scale (Mytilaspis pomorum, Bouché), the great pest of the apple, but also found on numerous shrubs and trees, both introduced and indigenous; and the black scale (Lecanium oleæ, Bern.), all of which are widely dispersed, and may be found intermixed with the indigenous Dactylopius glaucus (Mask.), and other native forms, which have increased to a large extent owing to the large supply of introduced plants available for food, and possibly to the absence of enemies. In the case of the Dactylopius, at least, this increase is occasionally accompanied by a partial abandonment of the native plants on which it formerly subsisted. There does not appear to be any instance of the replacement of a native scaleinsect by an introduced species. The number of naturalised aphidian insects is even larger than that of the Coccidæ; but, unlike the members of that group, they do not come into competition with indigenous species, as the family can scarcely be said to be represented in the indigenous fauna, a single undescribed species of doubtful affinity being the only form observed at present; it is small, apparently rare, and seems restricted in its choice of food to a purely herbaceous groundssel (Erechtites prenanthoides, DC.). The introduced kinds, however, have increased to a vast extent, and in many instances infest different kinds of plants to those on which they usually live in Europe. Amongst the most troublesome are Aphis pruni (Réaum), on the plum; A. amygdali (Fonsc), on the peach; A. mali (Fabr.), chiefly on pome fruits; Siphono- phora fragarieœ (Koch), on the strawberry; and Schizoneura lanigera (Hans.), on pome fruits: all of which are widely distributed; while Phylloxera vastarix (Planch.) is only found in the north.

Thrips appear to be in course of displacement by introduced species, but my knowledge of this group is insufficient to allow of details being given on this occasion.

Few New Zealand residents of the present day can form any accurate idea of the injury and annoyance inflicted upon the early settlers by the native flesh-fly, which was formerly most abundant in all districts. A spade or other implement used by a man with greasy hands would speedily become fly-blown. Newly-cooked fresh meat could scarcely be transferred from the camp-oven to the table before it was attacked, while blankets or woollen garments were speedily rendered useless when exposed. But this troublesome pest has practically disappeared, having been displaced by the introduced

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house-fly (Musca domestica, L.). The early settlers recognised the beneficial agency of the intruder, and carried it from the ports to the interior in paper cages.

In many districts the common mosquito, the sand-fly, and the small native flea have disappeared under the beneficial results arising from drainage and other improvements of a similar character.

Amongst indigenous insects which have increased to a large extent owing to the more copious supply of suitable food afforded by introduced plants, whether naturalised or cultivated, three species of Coleoptera deserve special mention. The grass-grub (Odontria zealandica, White) in the larval state is terribly destructive to the roots of grass, and has increased to a marvellous extent with the progress of settlement. The grub takes the place occupied by the cockchafer (Melontha vulgaris, Steph.) in Europe, but the perfect insect is less destructive, although occasionally injurious to fruit-trees. (In all probability O. brunneum, Broun, is equally dangerous.) A small beetle (Colaspis puncticollis, Broun), now occurs in vast numbers, the perfect insect feeding upon pome fruits, and doing much damage. The native borer (æmona, hirta, Fabr.) is another destructive insect unhappily now occurring in vast numbers. In its larval state it bores galleries in the trunk of Olearia solandri (Hook. f.), Cassinia retorta (A. Cunn.), and effects a comparatively small amount of injury;but when citrads or other fruit-trees are attacked the galleries are more numerous and more extensive. In some localities it has forsaken the Cassinia, &c, and evinces a marked preference for the lemon, orange, and lime.

Amongst introduced Mollusca must be enumerated the common snail (Helix aspersa, Müller), which, from its depredations in the garden and field, has become a pest throughout the colony. It is generally agreed that several of the smaller native Helicidæ have become rare since this shell was first observed in Auckland, about 1868; but there is no direct evidence to show that their diminution has been caused by their larger and more robust congener, although in some cases their food-supply must have been diminished by its ravages. The common garden-slug. (Leinax agrestis, L.) and the large brown slug (Arion hortensis, L.) are generally naturalised also, but are not nearly so destructive as the Helix. Limnæa stagnalis (L.) is abundantly naturalised in the Avon at Christchurch, and may have some connection with the comparative infrequency of the smaller native molluscs in that river.


There is no evidence to show that the few native freshwater fishes have suffered from the introduction of the Prussian

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carp (Carassias vulgaris, Nord.), the trout (Salmo fario, L.), or from other fluviatile species; but in some localities eels have increased largely from the increased food-supply afforded by the trout-fry. In other localities, especially in deep water, the trout have suffered severely from the attacks of the fly fungus (Saprolegnia ferox, Kutz.), But there is no evidence to show that native fishes have been attacked by the same scourge.

Amphibia and Reptilia.

Very few of the Amphibia and Reptilia have been introduced. A green frog from Australia (Hyla peronii) has become naturalised in many parts of the North Island, and shows a great liking for the young of the smaller native lizards, which, after considerable effort, are swallowed entire. It may be worth while to mention that some years ago I was shown several specimens of the water-newt (Triton cristatus, L.), said to have been found at the Bay of Islands. It would be interesting to learn by what agency it was introduced, and whether it still survives in that locality.

Snakes have been introduced into several localities either by accident or design, but, so far, no species has, become, naturalised.

The most serious loss amongst the indigenous Reptilia is the tuatara (Sphenodon punctatum, Gunth.), which has been all but extirpated on the mainland, chiefly by the agency of the wild pig, the cat, and probably the grey rat. It is still to be found in some quantity on several of the outlying islands. The gecko (Naultinus pacificus) has of necessity decreased with the destruction of forests, although it is still to be found in diminished numbers as far south as the South Cape Island, which is, I believe, the extreme southern limit of Reptilia. Several of the smaller species have become comparatively rare from the repeated bumings of the taramea and other surface vegetation, which afforded shelter alike to the lizards and the insects and Mollusca, forming their principal food.


Birds have suffered more severely than any other section of the fauna from the ravages of introduced mammals, in addition to which the burning of the surface vegetation has deprived many species of food and shelter, while in other cases the food-supply has been reduced by insects. Doubtless a large proportion of the species that have suffered most severely are forms that had lost much of their original vigour and were gradually dying out; yet it is most unfortunate that birds of such exceptional interest as the kakapo and kiwi should have their extinction accelerated by the introduction

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of such pests as the stoat, weasel, and ferret, which are annihilating the surviving portions of one of the most remarkable collections of indigenous birds in the world.

The kakapo (Stringops habroptius, Gray) has suffered so severely from introduced agencies that it is now on the verge of extinction in many districts where it was formerly found in comparatively large numbers. Its eggs, being merely laid in holes at the base of trees, have been attacked by rats, the young birds by wild cats, and the old birds by dogs, stoats, weasels, and by pigs. It still lingers in the centre of the North Island, and is found in larger quantity on some parts of the west-coast of the South Island, but its extirpation throughout the colony at a near date seems absolutely certain.

It is not in all cases an easy matter to determine whether a given species has suffered more extensively from competition with naturalised forms or from the direct changes in environment effected by man himself. The destruction of the forest over wide areas at once deprives many organisms of both shelter and food, as in the case of the kaka (Nestor meridionalis, Gml.), which was formerly abundant where it is now rarely or never seen, a fact all the more to be regretted from its feeding largely upon insects. The kea (Nestor notabilis, Gould) has suffered but little from this cause, but numbers have been purposely destroyed on account of the ravages effected by them amongst sheep; still, in the high mountain districts inhabited by this bird it cannot be considered either rare or local. The parrakeets (Platycercus novœ-zealandiœ, Sparrm, and P. auriceps, Kuhl) occurred in large flocks, and were very destructive to the grain-crops of the early settlers; but under the combined attacks of rats, wild cats, and especially of man, they have become comparatively rare and local. One of the most interesting birds in the colony, the huia (Heteralocha acutirostris, Gould), restricted to the Ruahine and Tararua Ranges and their offshoots, partly, without doubt, from the ravages of cats, but especially from the more merciless attacks of collectors, has become extremely rare. Formerly a pair or two could usually be found at the back of the Wainuiomata without any great difficulty, but they seem to have disappeared from that locality. The migratory birds, the long-tailed cuckoo (Eudynamis taitensis, Sparrm) and the bronze-winged cuckoo (Chrysococcyx lucidus, Gml.), are becoming increasingly rare, but without any obvious cause, except possibly the decrease of Gerygone flaviventris (Gray), in whose nest both parasites usually deposit their eggs. It is worth while to remark that both the cuckoos may occasionally, be seen all through the winter seasons. The silver-eye (Zosterops lateralis, Lath.), although still to be seen in large numbers in nearly all parts of the colony, is less plentiful in many districts than formerly,

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but the balance of evidence seems to point to its having been introduced from Australia by natural agencies.

The tui (Prosthemadera novœ-zealandiœ, Gml.), the bell-bird (Anthornis melanura, Sparrm), and the stitch-bird (Pogonornis cincta, Dubus) appear to have alike suffered from the diminution of their food-supply caused by the introduction of the honey-bee, while they have been incessantly attacked by cats and rats; the tui, however, shows the greatest power of resistance, as it is still to be found throughout the colony, although in greatly diminished numbers. The, bell-bird, which formerly existed in large numbers in both the North and South Islands, has become extremely rare and local in the North, although more plentiful in the South; while the stitch-bird. appears to have been driven to its last refuge in the Little Barrier Island, where it still forms the prey of the destructive collector. It has been suggested that one cause of the disappearance of the bell-bird from the North Island is the diminution of its food-supply caused by the honey-bee, which is plentiful in nearly all districts; but this would render it difficult to account for its preservation in the South Island, where bees are equally plentiful. It may possibly be found that the increase of bees has been injurious to certain indigenous insects, but at present there is no evidence to that effect.

The little bush-wren (Xenicus longipes, Gml.) is almost extirpated in localities where it was once plentiful, and the North Island, robin (Petroica longipes, Less.) is rarely to be seen even in sparsely-settled districts; while the little fermbird (Sphenœacus punctatus, Quoy and Gaim) has become comparatively rare in numerous swamps and reed-beds where it was once common. The ground-lark (Anthus novœ-zealandiœ, Gml.) maintains its ground in country districts, although it has become rare in the vicinity of towns, partly, perhaps, from its being attacked by cats and rats, or by boys still more merciless. So also the familiar forest-bird the fantail (Rhipidura flabellifera, Gml.), although its numbers have been greatly reduced in nearly all localities. All, or nearly all, the small native birds suffer alike from the attacks of rats and wild cats. The saddle-back (Creadion carunculatus, Gml.) has become very rare throughout the limited portion of the North Island to which it was naturally restricted, and is now in danger of extermination on the Little Barrier Island, where it was formerly plentiful. It is almost superfluous to mention the increasing scarcity of the beautiful native pigeon (Carpophaga novœ-zealandiœ, Gml.). Notwithstanding its former abundance throughout the colony, there is scarcely a single district in which it is to be found in large numbers at the present time. Although it has not escaped

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the ravages of rats and wild cats, the injury effected by these agencies is but trivial when compared with the destruction wrought by settlers, who have shot it during all seasons, on account of its value for food. The native quail (Coturnix novœ-zealandiœ, Quoy and Gaim.), once common over large portions of the colony, is practically extinct; so far as I am aware, not a single specimen has been seen for some years past, although it is believed to survive in the district between Lake Wakatipu and the Cosmos Peaks. Birds of this class suffer perhaps from the progress of settlement more severely than any others; their food is diminished, and numbers are destroyed by the surface-burnings so frequent in the early stages of a pastoral district, while they are attacked by birds of prey, cats, rats, and dogs whenever they venture into the open, and their eggs are destroyed by the weka.

The great diminution in the numbers of the northern and southern wekas (Ocydromus earli, Gray, and O. australis, Sparrm) affords strong testimony to the intensity of the struggle for existence. Both formerly occurred in great abundance, both are hardy birds, and both are extremely wary; but under the changed conditions produced by the introduction of the sheep and rabbit the wekas have greatly diminished in numbers, and are now but seldom seen near settlements. The southern weka is more plentiful in mountain districts than the northern, but it has become more wary. Although both suffered to some extent from the attacks of rats, wild cats, and dogs, no appreciable diminution was observed until the introduction of stoats and ferrets, against which they are clearly unable to contend. The striped rail (Rallus philippensis, L.) does not seem to have diminished so largely as might have been expected, but owing to the excessively shy habits of this bird it is not easy to form an opinion. Hutton's rail (Cabalus modestus, Hutt.), of the Chatham Islands, one of the most remarkable, as it is one of the rarest, of ocydromine birds, is on the verge of extinction, if it be not already extinct. It has only been found on the Islet of Mangare, which, according to a valued correspondent, is now under settlement, the first act of the settler having been to capture all the specimens of the Cabalus that he could find, in order to realise their market value. It is a lamentable oversight that this small islet, the value of which could have been but trivial, was not purchased long ago in order to insure the preservation of this singularly interesting bird.

The swamp-hen (Porphyrio melanotus, Temm.) seemed for a time to increase with the progress of settlement rather than to diminish, but of late years there has been a marked diminution of its numbers, which may possibly be traced to the destruction of its eggs by the ubiquitous rat.

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The small snipe (Gallinago pusilla, Buller) has become extemely rare in the few habitats where it has been observed, in all probability from its eggs having been destroyed by rats. Mr. James Baker informed me that in the early days of Auckland he had observed from twelve to twenty together on the shores of the Hauraki Gulf, but I believe it has not been observed in that locality since 1868.

The white heron (Ardea alba, L.) has long been, known to be extremely rare in the colony, but of late years it has almost disappeared, chiefly, it may be, from the rapacity of collectors, although it has doubtless suffered from the attacks of the large hawk, and from rats, &c. The blue heron (Ardea sacra, Gml.) appears to have suffered but little in comparison with its white relative, as there are but few suitable places on our coasts where one or two pairs may not be seen by a patient watcher. Of late years extensive inroads have been made amongst the Anatidæ, all of which are greatly diminished in numbers. About fifteen years ago the paradise-duck (Casarca variegata, Gml.) was very common on the east coast of the Wellington District, between Cape Palliser and Castlepoint, but at the present time the traveller may ride the entire distance without seeing a specimen. The eggs and young birds have suffered from the attacks of rats and wild cats, while stoats and weasels are said to have disposed of the adults, and numbers have been shot for mere sport. The same diminution of numbers has been observed in the South Island, where it was always more plentiful than in the North. The brown duck (Anas chlorotis, Gray), the grey duck (A. swperciliosa, Gml.) the little teal (Querquedula gibberifrons, Müller), and the black teal (Fuligula novœ-zealandiœ, Gml.), have been specially sought by the sportsman, with the result that where large numbers were formerly seen only a comparatively few individuals can be found to-day. They have also suffered severely from the depredations of rats.

Speaking generally, the oceanic birds that breed on the coasts of New Zealand appear to have suffered but little from introduced enemies, their breeding-places being usually out of reach of rats or wild cats. Captain Fairchild, of the Government steamer “Hinemoa,” is of opinion that the albatros and its allies are less numerous on the Auckland and Campbell Islands than formerly, but the diminution can only have been caused by the ravages of the collector. The feet of the larger kinds are in demand for tobacco-pouches, and the head is mounted for ornamental purposes. Some years ago the late Mr. Charles Traill informed me that large numbers had been killed on the Antarctic Islands for the sake of the wing-bones, which were in demand for pipe

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stems. But nearly all the Procellaridæ, the Liaridæ, and the Pelicanidæ are still to be found in vast numbers. In 1891 I visited the Snares, and was filled with amazement at the number of petrels that made their appearance on the approach of evening. From the surface of the sea to the greatest height at which it was possible to distinguish them they were to be seen in myriads, and gave me such an idea of their vast numbers as I had never before been able to realise; while their rapid but graceful evolutions were a never-ending source of pleasure. The scene reminded one of the countless vistas of stars opened to the eye of the observer through a good telescope, or, perhaps better still, of the ever advancing and receding hosts of bacteria to be seen in infusions under a high power of the microscope. The vast assemblage of penguins to be seen on the Bounty Islands did not impress me with nearly such overwhelming ideas of the numbers of marine birds as that memorable aërial scene at the Snares.

The common shag (Phalacrocorax varius, Gml.), which was formerly frequent on the banks of fresh-water, and more rarely of tidal, rivers, has certainly diminished of late years, although there is no danger of its immediate extinction; but, on the whole, there seems very little, if any, diminution in the numbers of the marine cormorants.

Passing from the sea-birds to the Apterygidæ, a widely different state of affairs is found to prevail. Apteryx mantelli (Bartl.) of the North Island is in much the same position as A. australis (Shaw) and A. oweni (Gould) of the South Island (but also found sparingly in the North). All alike are extinct, or nearly extinct, over large districts in which they were formerly so plentiful that explorers and surveyors calculated on their furnishing a considerable portion of the food-supply; but this is now entirely out of the question, and every year brings the date of their complete extinction appreciably closer. Their supply of food is indirectly reduced by the rabbits, which in some cases have invaded their haunts; their eggs are destroyed by wekas and rats; and the adult birds are killed wholesale by stoats, weasels, wild cats, and occasionally by dogs which have escaped from domestication. The complete extinction of these interesting birds by agencies now in operation will not extend over a lengthened period.

It is not easy to determine the effects produced by introduced birds upon the indigenous birds of the colony, nor in all cases to trace the lines along which their influence has been exerted; but it is advisable to make brief mention of the kinds that have become most extensively naturalised. The Chinese pheasant (Phasianus torquatus, Gml.) is abundant in many districts, and by its superior vigour has almost completely

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absorbed the common pheasant (P. colchicus, L.), which was introduced at an earlier date, and has added considerably to the food-supply of the colony, but, except possibly by diminishing the food of certain indigenous species, does not appear to have exercised any injurious influence. The partridge (Perdix cinerea, Briss.), the Tasmanian quail (Coturnix australis, Lath.), and the Australian quail (C. pectoralis, Gould), although liberated in large numbers, have not become generally naturalised, chiefly owing to the ravages of rats and wild cats. The beautiful Californian quail (Ortyx californica, Steph.) has become plentiful, especially in thinly-wooded districts. The white swan (Cygnus olor, Gml.) has been liberated in several localities, and increased rapidly until the rats and Maoris discovered that its eggs and young birds were good for food, when a speedy diminution took place, so that at present its numbers are but small. The black swan (C. atratus, Lath.) is abundantly naturalised in many localities from the North Cape to Canterbury, and sometimes occurs in thousands, as in the great lagoon at the entrance to the Opawa River, where it seems to have displaced Porphyrio melanotus. Its simultaneous appearance in so many localities between 1865 and 1868 proves that it must have been a spontaneous immigrant, and that its naturalisation is not due in any large degree to its having been introduced by man.

The self-assertive sparrow (Passer domesticus, L.) is perhaps more abundantly naturalised from the North Cape to Stewart Island than any other bird, and, although it steals the grain of the farmer and the fruit of the orchardist without scruple, makes some return by the destruction of hosts of the cultivator's enemies, especially during the breeding season; but, occurring in such vast numbers, it must have trenched upon the food-supply of the smaller indigenous birds, in which it has been assisted by the yellowhammer (Emberiza citrinella, L.), the skylark (Alauda arvensis, L.), the hedge-sparrow (Accentor modularius, L.), the grey linnet (Fringilla cannatena, L.), the green linnet (F. chloris, L.), the chaffinch (F. cœlebs, L.), the goldfinch (F. carduelis, L.), and especially by the starling (Sternus vulgaris, L.), which occurs in immense flocks in nearly all districts. The Australian mainah (My-zantha garrula, Vig. et Hors.), with the thrush (Turdus musicus, L.) and the blackbird (T. merula, L.), in all probability have been less injurious. I am not aware of any other birds that have become so generally naturalised as to require mention here.


The indigenous terrestrial mammals are restricted to two species of bats-the long-eared bat (Mystacina tuberculata,

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Gray) and the short-eared bat (Chalinolobus morio, Gray), which, although often local, are occasionally seen in considerable numbers. Both are less frequent than formerly, owing to the destruction of large areas of forest, and possibly to their food having been diminished by naturalised birds. The so-called Maori rat (Mus maorium, Hutton), and the Maori dog, long since extinct, were introduced by the Maoris, and used for food. For a long time the Maori rat was supposed to have been extirpated by the black rat (Mus rattus, L.), which is especially plentiful in certain parts of the North Island, and the grey rat (Mus decumanus, L.), which is established throughout the colony. The Maori rat is, however, still to be found on several islets in the North, and appears to be not uncommon in the northern parts of the South Island. The ravages of the grey rat upon native birds have been repeatedly mentioned, but its partiality for the freshwater bivalve Unio aucklandicus is not so well known. In tributaries of the Waikato, where this mollusc is abundant, small heaps of its shells may be seen on the banks with the front margins bitten through by the rodent, which, after extracting the animal, has left the empty shell as a mute witness to his voracity. The mouse (Mus musculus, L.) is to be found everywhere, and, when occurring in great abundance, often causes the grey rat to abandon the field. In country districts it feeds upon the seeds of sheep-sorrel, wireweed, and other prostrate plants during the winter season. The injuries effected by the wild cat are too well known to need further mention, and the same may be said of the dog escaped from domestication.

The domesticated ox and the horse can scarcely be said to have exercised any directly deleterious effects on the native fauna, except, perhaps, upon the earthworm; but the sheep, by devouring the food of other animals, has been only less injurious than the rabbit, and, like that unwelcome intruder, ranges from sea-level to the limits of perpetual snow. At present no serious damage has been sustained from the hare. The wild pig, however, has been a terrible enemy to young birds, and, in a few localities, the goat has assisted, by destroying the shrubs which formed their shelter.

In addition to the widespread destruction caused by bringing fern- and forest-land under cultivation, the indigenous fauna has suffered severely from naturalised worms, insects, birds, and mammals-partly through the diminution of the food-supply caused by the invaders; from their superior vigour; often from their predaceous habits; and from their rapid increase, which, in many cases has enabled them to crowd the native species off the field. With the exception of the sheep, rabbit, cat, and especially of the stoat, ferret, and

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weasel, the greater portion of the injury has been effected by animals which have been introduced through inadvertence or accident.

Natural Replacement amongst Plants.

Before considering the injuries sustained by the flora from the numerous naturalised plants, it seems desirable to describe a kind of natural replacement which may be observed tó a greater or less extent in nearly all forest districts. On forest or scrub being felled and burnt off, unless grass-seed is sown immediately, certain species of fungi or of mosses make their appearance, Funaria connivens (Hampe), being perhaps the most frequent; next, the bracken; more rarely, Gleichenia circinata (Sw.). The latter, however, is soon overpowered by the former, and the entire area is quickly covered with a luxuriant growth of “aruhe,” thus affording a suggestion as to the way in which the wide fern-clad “pakihis” were originally formed and the timber replaced by fern. But a more striking form of replacement is often to be witnessed: a dense growth of the makomako (Aristotelia raccmosa, Hook, f.) takes the place of the pines and broad-leaved trees which have fallen under the axe. Not infrequently the makomako forms a kind of coppice, the dense growth killing off most of the branches, so that the plants form long, straight rods; the stronger individuals, outgrowing the others, develope branches, and, being thus enabled to assimilate a larger amount of nutritive matter, become more robust, and, gaining complete mastery, prevent the weaker from obtaining their fair portion of air and light, so that at length they die out, leaving the more vigorous specimens to form a makomako grove; these repeat the process amongst themselves, the weakest continually going to the wall, until the undergrowth becomes more or less open, when various shrubs and trees make their appearance, and a new piece of mixed forest replaces the makomako, which has become comparatively rare. In many parts of the Kaipara the first tree to make its appearance after a clearing has been formed is the fuchsia (F. excorticata, L. f.), which often occurs in vast abundance, to the exclusion of almost all other plants; it grows less rapidly, however, than the makomako, and is more speedily interspersed with other shrubs and trees. Another plant which often makes its appearance in large quantities after clearing is the poroporo (Solanum aviculare, Forst.), which is less permanent than either of the preceding. In 1864, owing to the Maoris having fired upon our troops along the line of the Great South Road, between Drury and the Waikato, the heavy forest on each side of the road was felled for a width of about 2 chains and burnt off, when a

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remarkably strong growth of poroporo sprang up, and for many miles both sides of the road were bordered with this plant, which in its turn afforded temporary shelter for many shrubs and young trees, amongst which the totara was remarkably frequent. On the west coast of the South Island, much of the lowland forest when burnt off is temporarily replaced by a robust growth of a large native groundsel (Erechtites prenanthoides, DC), which often attains the height of 5ft., most of it, however, disappearing before the close of the third year, when its place is taken by fern or, more rarely, by shrubs and trees. When the road from Nelson to the Buller was formed through the Hope Valley, about 1870, the burnt area on each side of the road-line was thickly dotted with the rare pine, Podocarpus acutifolius (T. Kirk), although very few specimens of the plant were to be seen in the immediate vicinity. It is, however, already overgrown by larger trees to a considerable extent, and affords an instance of a phenomenon often observed by foresters in Europe, where certain plants, as Pyrola minor (L.) and P. rotundifolia (L.), make their appearance in forests which have recently been thinned, and, after increasing for three or four years, gradually die out, to reappear after the next periodical thinning. Much, however, has yet to be learned with regard to phenomena of this kind in New Zealand.

Destruction of Kauri Forests.

It is now proposed to trace the principal lines along which injury has been done to the flora, and at the outset to glance at the agency of man. So far as the necessary results of clearing land for cultivation are concerned, they are sufficiently obvious, and have already been mentioned. But they are greatly aggravated and intensified when attention is attracted to the economic value of certain timbers, and the forest is felled at the demand of commerce: the giant kauris, whose branches were waving high in the air long before the civilisation of the West was called into existence, are thrown down, and these grand trees, the growth of many centuries, are in a brief space made available for the thousand requirements of every-day life. But before this has been done rolling-roads have been formed, or tramways laid, involving the destruction of a vast amount of arboreal growth, of elegant flowering shrubs, of fragrant orchids, of delicate herbaceous plants, and of charming ferns, which never again can beautify that scene; for directly the last log has been removed the intelligent bushman, with a recklessness which would be reprobated by a savage, applies a match to the dead branches, for the mere pleasure of seeing the blaze, and not only destroys thousands of promising young trees, but effectually prevents all possibility

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of renewal, since the surface-soil, being charged with resin, becomes so intensely heated that all fallen seeds are destroyed, and the site of the forest becomes a desolation, which, after a short interval, is partially covered with an unattractive weedy growth, the seeds of which have been introduced in the wool or hair of animals, or the wings of birds, or blown by aërial currents, after a time to be slightly relieved by patches of bush-lawyer (Rubus australis, Forst.) or other uninviting plants. There is probably no greater scene of desolation in the colony than the sites of the large kauri forests in the Kaipara district and on the Cape Colville peninsula. In cases like this the direct and intentional agency of man compresses into a brief space a far greater amount of destruction than would be effected by natural agencies during many centuries.

Injury caused by Cattle.

Whenever cattle gain access to the forest they browse upon the young shoots, while they consolidate the soil, thus preventing the germination of seeds and consequent renewal; this renders the atmosphere dry, and eventually leads to the destruction of the older trees, although no actual clearing may have been made by man.

Next to man, however, the chief agents in this destructive work are the sheep and the rabbits. Some districts are eaten almost bare by these close feeders, little being left except the tough bases of the silver-tussock (Poa cœspitosa, Forst.) and the wiry, ligneous stems of Muhlenbeckia and similar plants; even the woolly leaves of some species of Celmisia are often closely cropped, the result being that the more delicate plants are all but extirpated over large areas. In a few localities goats have been equally destructive. I have been informed that the tainui (Pomaderris apetala, Vahl.) has been completely destroyed at Kawhia, where it was formerly abundant, and is now restricted to the south head of the Mokau River and the Chatham Islands.

Injury caused by Hats.

Some plants formerly plentiful have been to a large extent destroyed by the pig and the rat (Mus rattus, L., and M. decumanus, L.), as the curious orchid (Gastrodia cunninghamii, Hook, f.), the tubers of which are highly nutritious. This plant has become very rare in districts where the black rat is plentiful. On one occasion, in 1874, I found three remarkably fine specimens, quite 2ft. in height, with tubers 6in. or 7in. in length, and placed them in what seemed a safe place in a hut at Omaha, but during the night they were carried off by the rodents. Both the pig and the grey rat feed upon the fleshy roots of the larger Umbelliferæ.

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Injury caused by Insects.

A small native beetle, which I have not been able to identify, has greatly reduced many species of Celmisia and other Compositæ by depositing its eggs on the disc florets, where they quickly enter the larval state, and destroy the carpel before it reaches maturity. The great increase of this insect during recent years is doubtless caused by the frequent burning of the surface vegetation, and consequent destruction of the lizards and predatory insects which kept the beetle in check. Several species of Diptera which are equally destructive doubtless owe their rapid increase of late years to the same cause.

Displacement by Introduced Plants.

In many instances a comparatively few species of naturalised plants have taken possession of sea-beaches, completely displacing the original vegetation by their more vigorous growth and their vast numbers-simply crowding it out by depriving it of air and light, and to a large extent absorbing its nourishment: This may be seen, for instance, south of the Township of Kaikoura, where a broad stretch of land at the water-margin is wholly given up to such weedy plants as the common brome-grass (Bromus sterilis, L.), docks (Roumex obtusifolius, L., R. crispus, L., &e.), fleabane (Erigeron canadensis, L.), catch-fly (Silene anglica, L.), Yorkshire-fog (Holcus lanatus, L.), and others, perchance intermixed with one or two native plants of similar habit. Here the displacement is almost complete, the original littoral vegetation having been driven to a few peculiarly favoured spots, where it maintains a somewhat precarious existence.

The displacement of the New Zealand flax (Phormium tenax, Forst.), the coarse sedge known as toe-toe-whatumanu (Cyperus ustulatus, A. Rich.), and the common fern (Pteris esculenta, Forst.), by European grasses and clovers is so striking that it has arrested the attention of the natives; and, indeed, it is calculated to attract the notice of even a casual observer, for the indigenous species mentioned are so robust that the mere idea of their being overcome in the struggle for existence by such, plants as clovers and grasses seems almost absurd: but the fact remains. Seeds of ryegrass, meadow-grass, white or red clover, &c, germinate, by the side of the coarse-growing toitoi, and gradually abstract the moisture which it has been enjoying undisturbed; the growth of the sedge becomes less vigorous, while that of the interlopers is more robust. The result would not be in doubt were the plants now left undisturbed, but an overpowering force comes to the help of the invaders-the rich grass attracts

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cattle and horses to graze upon it; this increases the vigour of the grass, while the native plants have to contend against the consolidation of the soil caused by the trampling of heavy stock; this further invigorates the interlopers, and enables them to continually extend their area by giving off new shoots from the base, and occasionally by producing seed. As their growth increases the vigour of the toitoi perceptibly diminishes, and its ultimate extinction is certain, although the process may occupy several years. The occasional replacement of manuka (Leptospermum scoparium, Forst.) and other shrubs by grasses is still more striking. Sir George Grey drew my attention to this fact on my first visit to the Kawau, in 1864, where the naturalised Sporobolus indicus (R. Br.) was spreading amongst manuka from 5ft. to 8ft. in height, forming a sward which, notwithstanding the coarse character of the herbage, was closely cropped by stock, to the benefit of the grass and injury of the shrub. But even this is less surprising than an instance of a similar kind at the Bay of Islands, where a delicate and slender naturalised love-grass (Eragrostis brownii, Nees) is exerting the same influence on a large scale. Introduced grasses exhibit similar action upon many native grasses in all parts of the colony and at all elevations. In the Upper Waimakariri, Triodia exigua (T. Kirk) often forms a compact and extensive sward, which is usually able to resist aggression on the part of its indigenous allies, but if a single grain of rye-grass (Liolium perenne, L.) or meadow-grass (Poa pratensis, L.) falls amongst it and germinates, the continuity of the sward is speedily interrupted and a process of disintegration sets in which ultimately destroys the whole, or reduces it to small tufts or patches. The same result is often exhibited at the expense of more robust plants. The gradual replacement of the Spaniard (Aciphylla colensoi, Hook. f.) by self-sown pasturage-plants is most remarkable. It seems next to impossible that the large rigid bayonet-like leaf-segments which surround the base of the flower-stem in this strange plant should be injured by a growth of soft herbs, however compact: yet, so it is: dense masses of the spaniard actually impenetrable to stock of any kind are destroyed by this simple agency. When once its vigour is reduced the ultimate destruction of the spaniard is simply a matter of time. The common spear-grass (A. squarrosa, Forst.) is often displaced in the same way.

Amalgamation of Native and Introduced Plants.

But there is another aspect to the case; for, however remarkable it may seem after the statements that have just been made, certain slender native grasses, of great value on account of their nutritive qualities, are able to resist the

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invaders, and ultimately become amalgamated with them, to the great benefit of the stock-grower. Microlœna stipoides (R. Br.) and Danthonia pilosa (R. Br.) are fair examples of this group.

Replacement by Epacrids.

One of the most interesting instances of replacement that has been observed up to this time is now in progress on the Te Karaka flats, between Papatoitoi and Drury, in the Auckland District. These flats for many miles are clothed with a dense, but not always luxuriant, growth of manuka, manuka-raunui (Leptospermum ericoides, A. Rich., Dracophyllum urvilleanum, A. Rich.), mingimingi (Cyathodes acerosa, R. Br.), &c., the manuka being the prevailing plant. Rather more than forty years ago the late Dr. Sinclair and General Bolton discovered the beautiful Epacris purpurascens (R. Br.), a native of New South Wales, in this locality, when it was rightly considered by Sir Joseph Hooker to have been introduced.* Fifteen years elapsed before it was seen by other botanists, when it was found in several places on the flats, presenting the aspect of a truly indigenous plant, and attaining the height of from 2ft. to 6ft. or more. From the great quantity in which it was found I was erroneously led to consider it indigenous, and this conclusion has been generally accepted. More recently it has been observed in localities fully twenty miles distant. In 1875 three plants of another species (E. microphylla, R. Br.), were discovered by A. T. Urquhart, Esq., in the same district. This species is also a native of New South Wales, but has a wider range, extending to Queensland, Victoria, and Tasmania. In three years the plant increased to such an extent that it formed “a dense mass 60 yards in circumference, the intermediate vegetation-Leptospermum, Pomaderris, and Pteris-being almost completely destroyed. In 1887 I had the pleasure of visiting the habitat under the guidance of Mr. Urquhart, and found that not only had the area occupied by the plant been greatly extended, but that colonies had been formed at a greater or less distance from the original centre, and would in their turn form new centres of distribution. Mr. Urquhart also pointed out a very old specimen of another species, E. pulchella (Cav.), also a native of New South Wales: this was surrounded by numbers of young plants, which were producing perfect seed, and increasing at a rapid, rate. My friend informed me that he had discovered a colony of this species at some distance from the parent plant, but, unfortu

[Footnote] * Fl. N.Z., vol. ii., pp. 321 and 334.

[Footnote] † Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. ii. (1869), p. 107.

[Footnote] ‡ Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xviii. (1881), p. 364.

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nately, I had not time to visit it. These three species were alike extending their area mainly in the direction of the prevailing winds, and would, I am convinced, be able practically to replace the indigenous vegetation over the entire area if not interfered with by man. This instance of replacement is replete with interest, as it is almost the only case in which there is clear evidence of the seeds of phanerogamic plants having been carried by aërial currents over a distance of from 1,200 to 1,400 miles and becoming established in a new country.

Displacement and Increase.

The blue-gum (Eucalyptus globulus,* Lab.) in some localities shows itself able to compete with the indigenous vegetation under special circumstances. Seedlings germinating amongst manuka 4ft. or 5ft. in height will speedily overtop it. In several localities self-sown plants are found by thousands and, as a second generation of naturalised plants is already to be found, there can be no doubt that if not interfered with it would entirely alter the aspect of large portions of the colony. E. piperita (Sm.) and E. rostrate (Schl.) appear to have the same power of adapting themselves to new situations, although perhaps not to an equal extent.

The brush-wattle (Albizzia lophantha, Benth.), a native of Western Australia, is able to destroy the strongest vegetation in open manuka country, as may be seen in numerous localities; while the tan-wattle (Acacia decurrens, Willd.) and the silver-wattle (A. dealbata, Link.), although much slower, are equally effective in the northern districts. Another Australian plant, Hakea aeicularis (Sm.), according to Mr. Cheeseman, “has established itself over several miles, of open manuka country at the foot of the Waitakerei Ranges, and is increasing fast.” Cobbet's locust-tree (Robinia pseudacacia, L.) forms large groves in the Waikato and other localities; its lofty stature and numerous suckers effectually prevent the growth of other vegetation. The well-known furze (Ulex europœus, L.), by its dense habit, has killed tauhinu (Pomaderris phylicifolia, Lodd.), manuka, &c., over large areas, and is continually extending, while its near relative, the broom (Cytisus scoparius,- Link.), is no less troublesome. The injury to pasturage caused by the sweetbriar (Rosa rubiginosa, L.) is unhappily too well known to need special mention; but few are equally familiar with its power of overcoming manuka and Other shrubs of similar habit. The dog-rose (R. canina,) exerts the same influence to a less extent in several districts of the South Island; while various forms of the European

[Footnote] * Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xvi. (1883), p. 383.

[Footnote] † Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xv. (1882), p. 291.

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blackberry (Rubus fruticosus, L.), &c., by overgrowing their unfortunate competitors, deprive them of light and air while absorbing their nourishment.

The tutsan (Hypericum androsœnum, L.), although little more than a strong-growing herb, less robust than any of the plants previously mentioned, has become abundant in certain districts, and is able to compete successfully with manuka, karamu, hange-hange, and other shrubs of stronger growth. Its seeds appear to be disseminated by birds.

Two trees may be mentioned here, although they do not perhaps displace the indigenous vegetation to any great extent. They never perfect seeds or give off suckers, yet they have become self-diffused along the margins of rivers and in similar situations to such an extent as to impart a distinct character to the landscape in certain districts. They are the weepingwillow (Salix baby lonica), a native of Northern China, and the crack-willow (S. fragilis, L.), of Northern Europe. Twigs of these trees are easily detached, and are floated by the river to new situations, where they quickly take root and develope with rapidity, so that in certain situations navigation is impeded.

Introduced Plants on Broken Soil.

Introduced plants compete with indigenous species for the possession of any newly-loosened surface, and especially for waste land. The margins of newly-formed roads are speedily clothed with a dense growth of sheep's-cress, docks, thistles, Yorkshire-fog, and many others, mixed with the native piripiri (Accena sanguisorbœ, Vahl.), toad-grass (Juneus bufonius, L.), Danthonia semi-annularis (R. Br.), and when neglected form splendid nurseries for injurious insects and fungi. Crumbling places on hillsides in many localities are quickly covered with a strong and permanent growth of the blessed-thistle (Silybummarianum, Goertn.), which distributes vast quantities of seeds, and overcomes indigenous and introduced plants alike, forming continuous masses of variegated foliage in the early spring, but presenting a ragged and untidy appearance during the autumn and winter months. The common spearthistle (Cnicus lanceolatus, L.) furnishes a striking example of the ability of a plant to seize upon situations suitable for its growth; in many districts immediately after the bush is burnt off the entire area is overrun by this rapacious invader, which exhibits a dense luxuriant growth often 4ft. to 5ft. high, preventing the growth of grass, and forming an almost impenetrable mass. The growth becomes less luxuriant during the second season, so that the grass is able to make headway, and by the end of the fourth season only a few old thistles have retained sufficient vigour to reassert themselves. The so-called Californian thistle (C. arveensis, Curtis) is the

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only naturalised species capable of injuring pasturage to any serious extent, and, unhappily, it is often the cause of serious loss to the pastoralist and agriculturist. The Gundagai thistle, as it is called in New Zealand (Carduus pycnocephalus, Jacq.), flourishes, on newly-disturbed soil in many localities, but is comparatively rare on grass-land.

Whenever the finely-comminuted basaltic scoria of the Auckland isthmus is disturbed, a luxuriant crop, chiefly of naturalised plants, speedily makes its appearance, but amongst them one of the most abundant is the indigenous Chenopodium carinatum (R. Br.), although not a specimen may have been seen in the vicinity until the surface was disturbed. After the second year the number of plants is greatly diminished, and during the fourth year only solitary specimens are to be found. A similar instance has been observed at Cape Whanbrow, near Oamaru. Whenever the fine silt which covers the surface is disturbed, Lepidium tenuicaule (T. Kirk) and the indigenous form of Atriplex patula (L.) make their appearance in abundance, although usually both plants are only to be found in small quantity.

Naturalised Aquatic Plants.

The increase of the watercress (Nasturtium amphibium, R. Br.) in streams and watery places is phenomenal, and attracts the attention of new, arrivals on account of the excessive luxuriance and robust growth of the herb, which is not infrequently from 3ft. to 5ft. in height above the waterlevel, and often impedes the passage of boats. This luxuriance is chiefly due to the mildness of the climate, and has a singular parallel in one locality in England. At the Wyken Colliery the water pumped up from a great depth is of a high temperature, and flows into a stream which expands into a large, shallow pond. As the pond is never frozen, even in the severest weather, the watercress is almost as luxuriant as in New Zealand.

The Canadian water-weed (Anacharis alsinastrum, Bab.) simply chokes the River Avon at Christchurch, and has been carried by aquatic birds to other streams in Canterbury and Otago, but is rare in the North Island, being restricted, so far as known to me, to a river near Mongonui, and another in the Bay of Plenty. It is of considerable interest, owing to its being the only submerged aquatic plant that has become naturalised in the colony.

Naturalised Fungi.

Several naturalised fungi are highly injurious to the indigenous vegetation, as the ergot (Claviceps purpurea, Tul.), which infests numerous native grasses; the clematis cluster-

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cup (œcidium clematidis, DC.), frequently infests Clematis colensoi and other species almost to the point of destruction, the stem, petiole, and even parts of the flower becoming thickened and distorted under its attacks: but the limits of this address will not permit me to enter into detail.

Rate of Increase.

As the number of species more or less completely naturalised in the colony is upwards of five hundred, it becomes a question of some interest whether additions will be made to the catalogue at the same rate during the next half-century as in the past; if so, the number of species of naturalised and indigenous Phanerogams would be about equal, and many of the latter would be crowded out of the field. A satisfactory answer may, I think, be given.

The first catalogue of naturalised plants was published in the original “Flora of New Zealand,” vol. ii., p. 321 (1855). It comprises sixty-one species, seventeen of which must be excluded as erroneous, leaving forty-four naturalised species. The second list, published in the “Handbook of the New Zealand Flora,” p. 757 (1867), contains -171, from which twenty-one species must be deducted as included on insufficient grounds, leaving 150 species naturalised. A list prepared by the present writer was published in “Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,” vol. ii., p. 131 (1869); it embodied all that was then known on the subject, and enumerated 292 species, a summary of which, given at page 146, showed forty-one species erroneously included, or of uncertain position, and 251 species truly naturalised. During the three following years I added fifty-three species to the list, making a total of 304 species known to me at the date of my ceasing to reside in Auckland. In 1882 Mr. Cheeseman published a list of the naturalised plants of the Auckland District, in which he raised the total to 382; but this does not include a few species seen by myself, and still unpublished. At the present time the number of species is certainly over five hundred, as already stated. Making all fair allowance for the imperfection of the records for 1855 and 1869, it will be seen that naturalised species have increased with great rapidity during the last fifty years. But it is not probable that this rate can be maintained; the number of encroaching species suitable for a given habitat, after all, must be limited, and it may well be that the limit for New Zealand, so far as introductions from European countries are concerned, is very nearly reached. As bearing upon this point, it may be remarked that, as many of the naturalised plants of different countries are migrants from a common centre, a large proportion must necessarily be identical; for instance, out of 243 species enumerated by Mr. C.

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Moore, F.L.S., as naturalised in New South Wales, fully three-fourths are naturalised in New Zealand also; the remainder, consisting chiefly of plants from warmer countries, are not capable of becoming naturalised here. Again, out of 103 species of plants recently introduced with ballast from Buenos Ayres,- eighty-six were already naturalised here.

The distribution of naturalised plants in the colony follows to a very great extent the same lines as those of the indigenous flora: the number of species decreases rapidly southward. Upwards of four hundred and twenty species are found in the Auckland District, but no other district in the colony contains so large a number; less than three hundred species would be found in the Wellington District. It must, however, be remembered that the climate of Auckland is much more favourable to the naturalisation of plants from warm temperate climates than that of any other part, of the colony. A singular illustration of this has been recently given. A-large quantity of ballast taken on board at Buenos Ayres was discharged at Wellington from a vessel loading for Europe. Over a hundred species of plants made their appearance on the ballast before the close of the second summer, the great majority being plants already naturalised in the Auckland District; twenty-seven species, however, had not previously been observed in Wellington, and of these seventeen species had not previously been seen in any part of the colony. In all probability not more than two of these will become naturalised -most likely only one. But had the ballast been deposited on the light scoria soil of the Auckland isthmus instead of on the stiff Wellington clay it is absolutely certain that in the absence of interference fully one-third would have become established-probably more. I will only add, as an additional reason for not expecting so large an increase in the number of introductions as formerly, that during the last fifteen years great improvements have been made in cleaning garden-seeds, agricultural seeds, and cereals, which will not only tend to reduce the number of species likely to be introduced in the future, but to prevent the yearly importation of certain species which at present are but partially naturalised. Chiefly from this cause certain species, such as Fumaria officinalis (L.), Lepidium campestre (R. Br.), Papaver rhœas (L.), Grihago segetum (Desf.), Scandix pecten-veneris (L.), are less plentiful in many districts than they were twenty years ago.

Possible Extinction of Indigenous Species.

It is scarcely to be feared that any large number of indigenous species will become exterminated unless under special conditions not yet realised. It has been shown that the aspect of vegetation over large areas may be changed by

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displacement, but it does not follow that this would involve the absolute extinction of many, or even of any, indigenous species. Displacement rarely passes into absolute replacement; after it has reached a certain stage the invaders lose a portion of their vigour, and become less encroaching; a portion of the indigenous vegetation becomes gradually inured to light and air, the severity of the struggle becomes less intense, and a gradual amalgamation takes place between the invaders and the invaded, which of itself facilitates the preservation of many of the more delicate kinds, while those less fitted to hold their place in the contest become restricted to those habitats which are of a peculiarly favourable character. The danger of extinction is greatest for those endemic species which are so remarkably local; for instance, Epilobium brevipes (Hook. f.), restricted to a solitary habitat on Mount Torlesse, and another in the Awatere, may at any time be destroyed by an unusually hungry rabbit or sheep, and one of the most interesting plants in the colony blotted out of existence. Clianthus puniceus (Banks and Sol.) is already restricted to one or two islets where sheep are unknown, and owes its preservation in a wild state to their absence. Logania depressa (Hook. f.), Myrsine montana (Hook. f.), and Abrotanella pusilla (Hook. f.) are in exactly the same position as Epilobium brevipes. The list might be increased, but it is needless to mention others.

Protective Measures.

In 1868 Professor Hutton and myself pointed out the desirability of having the Little Barrier Island proclaimed a reserve for the protection of the native birds, with which, at that time it abounded. After the lapse of a quarter of a century this has been partially effected. The Little Barrier Island in the north, and Resolution Island in the south, have been proclaimed reserves for the protection of native birds and plants; but the work of destruction is still being carried on. No serious attempt has been made to place on either island the birds or plants whose existence is most imperilled, although any of the endemic birds or plants of the North Island would find a suitable place of refuge on the Little Barrier, and those of the South on Resolution Island, which is specially adapted to the growth of alpine plants and the endemic species of the Antarctic islands. Owing to the variations from the typical form exhibited by the birds of the Snares, the Auckland Islands, Campbell Island, Antipodes Island, &c., they have attained a high commercial value, and are therefore, at this time, peculiarly exposed to the rapacity of collectors. It is possible to prevent their extinction by the immediate removal of representa-

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tives of each species to Resolution Island if the work is taken in hand at once, and the island placed under the care of a skilful curator. If it be postponed for any length of time, who can say what may occur ? It would require a very short time indeed to destroy every land-bird on Antipodes Island, or on the Shares; and, now that attention has been drawn to their interest, their value, and to their limited power of flight, the danger has become urgent.

If this address should be instrumental in drawing attention to the danger and accelerating the adoption of protective measures it will not have been given in vain; but I venture to hope that it may be productive of still greater benefit in leading some of those present to investigate the phenomena of change and replacement which are now in progress, and in the results of which, we are so deeply interested, before the opportunity has passed away for ever.

Art. II.—True Instincts of Animals.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 1st May, 1895.]

The definition of the term “instinct” has been greatly narrowed of late years by scientific thinkers. Formerly, every action of an animal betokening intelligence was attributed to instinct, but latterly the term has been restricted to actions like that of cell-making in the bee, the construction of dams-and canals by the beaver, and so forth-actions which are performed in an apparently, mechanical manner by one generation after another, and seem to be prompted by some other faculty, than intelligence. It is now admitted that many acts done by the higher animals must owe their origin to a faculty akin to, if not identical with, human reason; but the apparently unchanging and invariable nature of such actions as those just mentioned-as the construction of webs by spiders and nests by birds, and the migration of birds-seem to mark off these actions from the variable acts which are done upon the spur of the moment at the bidding of the animal's intelligence.

I think we can restrict the definition still further. Writers upon this subject have not taken sufficiently into account how much the young animal may be taught by the old, and how much it can learn through imitation and from its own observation. The migratory habits of certain birds, for example, are always set down to “instinct”; but birds usually migrate in

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flocks, and, in any case, with the young bird it is “follow my leader.” The same remark may be made concerning the migratory habits of the Norwegian lemming, the salmon, and other animals. The periodical shifting of their places of abode by certain animals may be regarded as racial habits, in which the offspring are trained by their parents or seniors; and it is no more necessary to assume the existence of a special faculty to account for the habit than it would be to assume the existence of a special faculty in mankind to account for the custom of some human families to shift periodically from the town to the country.

The nest-building habits of birds may be similarly explained, and even such extraordinary habits as that of the Australian Megapodidæ, which build up immense mounds of vegetable and other matter and deposit their eggs in the middle, leaving them to be hatched by the heat evolved from the fermentation of the decaying mass. One member of this family-the Leipoa ocellata-forms a pile as much as 45ft. in circumference and 4ft. in height of leaves thickly covered with sand. It is assumed that these birds construct the mounds without teaching or knowledge acquired by observation; but I see no warrant for such a belief. How the racial habit was originally acquired is a fair subject for research; but, having once been acquired, and the propensity incorporated (so to speak) in the bird's mental system, it is easy to comprehend how the young megapod may acquire the art of building a mound, either from direct observation or from seeing other birds perform the work.

The beaver's remarkable habits of constructing dams and water-canals, which, if constructed by human beings, would be deemed proofs of considerable engineering skill, illustrate my proposition. The beavers dwell together in families in artificial habitations called “lodges,” which are tenanted by generation after generation. Some of the works constructed by the beaver, too, are of great antiquity, and there is an instance upon record of a beaver-dam which appeared, upon investigation, to be about a thousand years old, and was still in use. The young beaver remains in the parental lodge until the summer of its third year, when it starts housekeeping for itself; so that it has ample opportunity during its residence in the parental domicile for receiving instruction from its elders in the peculiar ways of beaverdom; and when it does begin life upon its own account it still enjoys opportunities of acquiring engineering skill by observing the labours of other beavers, and from its own experience. Probably its earlier works are less perfect than those which it executes when it grows older, just as the nests made by young birds are seldom as perfect as those made by older ones.

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Cats and dogs instruct and correct their young; so do monkeys. Tigers and wolves teach their young how to hunt and kill their prey; and, speaking generally, the adult Carnivora train their offspring for the battle of life.

Some of the most remarkable so-called instincts displayed by animals can be accounted for in the same way, and when we come to analyse these instincts we find that they are nothing more nor less than tribal habits, passed on from generation to generation, and acquired in a similar way to that in which the racial habits of mankind are acquired. Let us take for example a singular instinct of the huanaco, or guanaco, a small camel-like animal found in South America. In the southern part of Patagonia there are dying-places of the huanaco, to which all individuals inhabiting the surrounding plains repair at the approach of death in order to yield up the ghost there. “The best known of these dying or burial places,” says Hudson in” The Naturalist in La Plata,” “are on the banks of the Santa Cruz and Gallegos Rivers, where the river-valleys, are covered with dense primeval thickets of bushes and trees of stunted growth. There the ground is covered with the bones of countless dead generations.” “The animals,” says Darwin, “in most cases must have crawled before dying beneath and among the bushes.” This peculiar habit of the huanaco seems to be of a local nature, restricted to South Patagonia. In Northern Patagonia, and on the Chilian and Peruvian Andes, where the huanaco is also found, no such instinct has been observed. Mr. Hudson endeavours to account for the origin of this habit by assuming that, in far distant ages, the huanaco “had formed a habit of congregating with its fellows at certain seasons at the same spot; further, that there were seasons of suffering to the animal- the suffering, or discomfort, or danger, having in the first place given rise to the habit. Assuming, again, that the habit had existed so long as to become a fixed immutable instinct, a hereditary knowledge, so that the young huanaco, untaught by the adults, would go alone and unerringly to the meeting-place from any distance, it is but an easy step to the belief that, after the conditions had changed, and the refuges were no longer needed, this instinctive knowledge -would still exist in them, and that they would take the old road when stimulated by the pain of a wound, or the miserable sensations experienced in disease, or during the decay of the lifeenergy, when the senses grow dim, and the breath fails, and the blood is thin and cold.” Mr. Hudson's theory is a not improbable explanation of the origin of the habit; but it seems to be an unwarranted assumption on his part that the young huanaco, about to die, proceeds to one of these dying-places without being taught by the adults to do so. The huanaco is

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a gregarious animal, and usually goes about in small herds, each containing from half a dozen to thirty animals; but Mr. Darwin states that he saw one herd which must have contained at least five hundred huanacos. Inasmuch as the habit in question is only exercised once during the huanaco's life- time, and then just before death, and is not wanted as part of its daily round of occupations, it seems rather far-fetched to suppose that the habit is become so ingrained in the mental constitution of the animal that the memory of it invariably revives upon the approach of death, and leads the animal unerringly to a dying-place. Even if we assume that an irresistible desire to seek for a dying-place Seizes the animal upon the approach of death, it is difficult to understand how the knowledge of the whereabouts of a dying-place could be inherited. It is a far more likely supposition that if a young huanaco is in extremis the older members of the herd expel it from their ranks, as other sick and wounded animals are usually expelled by their fellows, and indicate to it whither it should go.

Traditional and tribal memories, perpetuated by communication from old to young, will account for such habits as the hive-making habits of the bee and the domestic and military habits of the various species of ants, which are so commonly regarded as typical of the more wonderful development of instinct in the lower animals. Even Charles Darwin, calm philosopher as he is, writing about the intelligence of ants, rapturously observes, “The brain of an ant is one of the most marvellous atoms of matter in the world, perhaps more so than the brain of a man.” In point of fact, an ant does not possess a brain, although it does possess an assemblage of ganglia which in the higher animals develope into a brain. The large number of ants and social bees which dwell together in communities, and the rigour of their social organization, make the education of the young ant or bee a matter of comparative ease. It is born into the midst of an active community, living day after day on a system of unchanging routine, and the young ant or bee naturally falls into step with its fellows. A child born and bred in a camp would naturally acquire military habits. The young ant, nevertheless, seems to receive special instruction from, its elders. Romanes, summing up the results of the observations made upon this subject, says, “The young ant does not appear to come into the world with a full instinctive knowledge of all its duties as a member of a social community. It is led about the nest, and ‘trained in a knowledge of domestic duties, especially in the case of the larvæ. Later on the young ants are taught to distinguish between friends and foes. When an ants’ nest is attacked by foreign ants the young ants never join in the fight, but confine themselves to removing the

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pupæ; and that the knowledge of hereditary enemies is not wholly instinctive in ants is proved by the following experiment, which we owe to Ford: He put young ants belonging to three different species into a glass case with pupæ of six other species, all the species being naturally hostile to one another. The young ants did not quarrel, but worked together to tend the pupæ. When the latter hatched out an artificial colony was formed of a number of naturally hostile species, all living together after the manner of the ‘happy families’ of the showman.”

Amongst the hive-bees, the younger ones are usually left at home with a small number of older bees to perform the internal work of the hive while the remainder of the older bees, go out to collect honey and bee-bread. What deduction can be drawn from this fact save that the younger bees are gradually trained to a knowledge of their duties as members of the community? Even bees of mature age seem to teach one another. Huber saw a bee building upon, the wax which had already been put together by her comrades. But she did not arrange it properly, or in a way to continue the design of her predecessors, so that her building made an undesirable corner with theirs. “Another bee,” says Huber, “perceived it, pulled down the bad work before our eyes, and gave it to the first in the requisite order, so that it might exactly follow the original direction.”

Of course, the fact that many so-called instinctive acts are really the products of education and experience does not clash with the view that animals may be, and probably are, born into the world with a hereditary predisposition to certain tribal habits which render instruction in the performance of those habits easier and more effective than it would otherwise be, just as some human families are endowed with musical gifts, and the children in such families more readily acquire the technical skill necessary for the efficient exercise of the musical art than children of families destitute of such special gifts. The mental like the bodily structure of any single animal is the sum and outcome of all its progenitors' faculties; and, just as its body is better fitted to perform certain acts than others, so its mental organization is better fitted for certain mental operations than it is for others. Body and mind are correlated, and work in unison. The web-building spiders secrete web-building material in their bodies, and possess highly-specialised organs enabling them to produce the material in such manner and abundance that it can be used in the construction of snares. And, as this specialised anatomical structure has gradually been evolved from simple beginnings, the mental faculty required for the construction of snares has been evolved with it. The spider

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may be said to be endowed with mental as well as physical spinnerets. Those oft-repeated acts which are required for the preservation of the animal's life become so interwoven with its mental fabric as to be inseparable from it, and performed almost mechanically. Hence, the newly-born animal, inheriting a special bodily structure, and a mental endowment corresponding with it, is apt and ready to perform such acts even without special education. It may be taken for granted that any human being with his bodily organization intact would in process of time learn to walk of his own accord, even if placed in circumstances which had precluded him from seeing any other human creature walk, or from receiving any instruction in the art of walking.

If we eliminate all such habits as may have been acquired without teaching or observation, we shall find left comparatively few fixed habits of animals which, in the present state of our knowledge, cannot be accounted for by the individual having received instruction from its fellows or gained knowledge from its own observation; and it is to such habits that I propose to restrict the term “instinct.” For the purposes of this paper I will call them “true instincts.” These instincts are confined almost exclusively to insects. By way of illustration I will take the case of the caterpillar of a butterfly (Thekla) referred to in Darwin's “Posthumous Essay on Instinct,” printed as an appendix to Romanes' “Mental Evolution in Animals.” This caterpillar feeds within the pomegranate; but when full-fed gnaws its way out (thus making the exit of the butterfly possible before its wings are fully expanded), and then proceeds to attach with silk threads the point of the fruit to the branch of the tree, so that it may not fall before the metamorphosis of the insect is complete. Hence, the larva works on this occasion for the safety of the pupa and of the mature insect which it will never see; and there is apparently no means by which it can receive instruction, since no visible intercourse takes place between the butterfly which laid the eggs from which the caterpillar is produced and the caterpillar. When considering this problem we must firmly grasp the fact that, although the caterpillar, the pupa, and the mature insect—the butterfly—are, to outward seeming, three distinct animals, in reality they are but varying phases of the same animal; just as the infant, the boy, and the man are one and the same human being, but in different stages of existence. The difference in the outward aspect of the insect in the several phases of its existence is indeed the more striking, but the essential facts of the phenomenon are the same. The caterpillar, the pupa, and the imago form the various stages of the insect's life-cycle, just as the progress from early infancy to old age forms the life-

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cycle of the human being. Therefore, if it be the case that the insect possesses the power of inheriting memories, we can understand how the memory of an inherited habit, useful and common to one phase of the animal's existence, may readily be transmitted from the perfect insect to its offspring through the various stages of that offspring's existence. The order in which these memories are transmitted will be the order in which they will manifest themselves in the new life-cycle. The question therefore is, Does the Thekla possess the power of transmitting the memory of that habit to which I have referred? Is it possible for a habit like this to become so ingrained in the mental constitution of the insect as to be capable of transmission from parent to offspring, in like manner to that in which the bodily structure is transmitted? It appears not unreasonable to suppose that such may be the case. The life of an insect is short and monotonous, and its range of locomotion limited. Its world is a small world—a fragment of the larger world in which man lives and moves and has his being; there is little scope for variation of habit, and the insect's habits of life must consequently tend to become stereotyped. Therein it differs from the higher animals, whose mental powers are kept active and mobile by being constantly exercised upon fresh subjects. As the mental nature of the animal grows more complex, instincts become more rare, because the animal exercises more choice in its actions. Even the minds of human beings, however, when kept within too narrow grooves, are apt to become largely mechanical in their actions, as is evidenced by certain Eastern nations, which follow the same habits and customs as were followed by their forefathers thousands of years ago. If, then, any particular habit became stereotyped upon the animal's mental system (of course, I use the term “stereotyped” in a strictly metaphorical sense, and for the purpose of rendering my meaning clearer) it would be transmitted from generation to generation in the same manner as the other mental qualities of the race were transmitted; for, whatever view we may take of the nature of mind, it cannot be denied that animals of the same race exhibit similar mental capacities; and hence we must conclude that the offspring owes its mental constitution to its parents just as much as it owes its bodily constitution to them, although the environment of any individual may develope mental as well as bodily peculiarities in that individual. Nor would the fact that the Thekla butterfly is the offspring of two parents affect the matter, because the habit or instinct above mentioned is common to both, and hence would be transmitted by both.

The fact that the nervous system of the Invertebrata is fundamentally different from that of the Vertebrata is full of

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significance when we reflect that true instincts are almost confined to members of the former branch of the animal kingdom, seeing that it is through the nervous system that the mind of the animal finds expression.

Amongst true instincts I should class such acts of protective mimicry as those performed by the Phasmidæ. Here is a description by Professor Drummond of one of these creatures found by him in tropical Africa: “Take two inches of dried yellow grass-stalk, such as one might pluck to run through the stem of a pipe; then take six other pieces nearly as long and a quarter as thick; bend each in the middle, at any angle you like; stick them in three opposite pairs, and again at any angle you like, upon the first grass-stalk, and you have my Chirombo. When you catch him his limbs are twisted about at every angle, as if the whole were made of one long stalk of delicate grass, hinged in a dozen places, and then gently crushed up into a dishevelled heap. Having once assumed a position, by a wonderful instinct he never moves or varies one of his many angles by half a degree. The way this insect keeps up the delusion is indeed almost as “wonderful as the mimicry itself; you may turn him over and over and over, but he is mere dried grass, and nothing will induce him to acknowledge the animal kingdom by the faintest suspicion of spontaneous movement.” We know too little of the life-history of the Phasmidæ to assert positively that their practice of shamming death (which is Drummond's interpretation of their action, or rather inaction) is not taught the young by the adults, but it seems improbable. The insect has inherited its peculiar bodily structure from its ancestors, and this structure readily lends itself to the practice. The instinct seems to be brought into play not only in the presence of actual danger, but also as a precaution against possible danger; and it may be that it is done unconsciously, like those reflex actions so common amongst the higher animals, many of which seem to be relics of what were manifestations of active intelligence in the past, but are now become mechanical responses to outward stimuli. Moreover, we must not forget that some animals of low organization are of an extremely lethargic disposition, and will remain motionless for hours, or even longer periods—our New Zealand tuatara may be taken as an instance—and it is possible that the “mimicry” of Professor Drummond's “Chirombo” may be partly attributable to this cause.

We may also class as indications of true instincts the fear which young animals, including children, usually manifest towards what is really dangerous to them. Young children, for example, usually show signs of fear on being plunged into the sea. The late Dr. Romanes once turned loose a ferret into

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an outhouse which contained a doe rabbit with a very young family. The doe left the young ones, and the latter, as soon as they smelt the ferret, began to crawl about in so energetic a manner as to leave no doubt that the cause of the commotion was fear, and not merely the discomfort arising from the temporary absence of the mother. This fear is not, however, universal amongst young animals, as is proved by the result of some experiments recently made by Professor Lloyd Morgan, and related by him in Nature (11th October, 1894). He put some young pheasants, about a day old, which had been artificially hatched out of the egg by means of an incubator, in close proximity to a fox-terrier; but, although the dog was keen to get at them, and trembling with excitement in every limb, the young birds exhibited no signs of fear. They also showed no fear of a large blindworm, but pecked at its forked tongue, its eye, and tail. Mr. Douglas Spalding made a number of interesting experiments upon the young of our domesticated animals, the result of which he published in Macmillan's Magazine, which went to show that chickens, young ducks, and pigs, and other newly-born animals, are capable of performing many acts apparently betokening intelligence without instruction. He found that very young chickens were able to pick up small specks of food and scrape in search of food; that newly-born pigs sought- the mother's teat almost immediately after birth; and that, on placing four ducklings a day old in the open air for the first time, one of them almost immediately snapped at and caught a fly on the wing: all of the experiments being conducted in such a manner as to preclude the possibility of the young animal having learned to do these things by imitation. In considering these experiments, however, it must be borne in mind, as I have pointed out in my treatise on “The Intelligence of Animals,” that the young fowl, duck, or pig comes into the world with its intelligence pretty fully developed—although it afterwards gains wisdom from experience—and all such acts as those just mentioned are intelligent acts, not acts performed in an unvarying fashion, but acts varying with the surrounding circumstances. There seems, indeed, nothing more remarkable in a chicken scraping up the ground in search of food than in its walkiing, and chickens do not require to be taught how to walk.

What I have denominated true instincts suggest an analogy with reflex actions. Herbert Spencer, indeed, regards instinct as compound reflex action, by which I understand him to mean a sequence of reflex actions manifested in immediate succession to one another; while Dr. Romanes regards such socalled instincts as the hive-making instinct of the honey-bee as being reflex actions into which is imported the element of consciousness. It seems to me, however, that singleness is of

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the very essence of a reflex action: the action may be complex in its manifestation, but it is essentially one act; while “consciousness” and “reflex action” are contradictory terms. An action is styled “reflex” because it is performed without consciousness on the actor's part. Moreover, a reflex action is unchanging in its' manifestation. Let the stimulus be applied and the appropriate and responsive movement follows-automatically. Now, even such apparently fixed habits as the hive-making habit of the bee vary with circumstances, and in some countries the hive-bee abandons its usual practice of collecting honey altogether. In like manner, birds often change the structure of their nests to suit localities, while the migratory habit is sometimes lost. Beavers, suffering from man's persecution, have been found to cease building dams, and to become solitary in their mode of life. The supposed analogy between what are commonly called instincts and reflex actions therefore fails; nor will it hold as respects true instincts, since the latter generally involve a succession of acts directed towards a fixed end, and I see no ground for assuming that these acts are not consciously performed by the animal. It may further be observed that, whereas true instincts are seldom met with outside the Insecta, reflex actions are exhibited by all classes of animals, including man himself.

Art. III.—The Ancient Tribe Te Panenehu.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 12th October, 1895.]

The following account of an ancient tribe called Te Panenehu, the descendants of a chief named Ngatorohaka, who came in the Nukutere canoe from Hawaiki, was given to me by an old man of the Whakatohea and Ngapotiki Tribes at the hearing of the Whitikau Block, Opotiki, 1880:—

Nukutere was the canoe which sailed from Hawaiki about the same time as Matatua canoe, of which Toroa was captain. She landed at Waiaua, near Opotiki. The people who came in Nukutere were called Te Wakanui, and Ngatorohaka was their chief. These people multiplied and spread all over the Opotiki Valley and adjacent country, Te Kareke Tribe occupying Ohiwa, the Ngatai and Te Whananapanui settling between Torere and Te Kaha; but the three latter were a distinct people, their forbears having come in Matatua.

Seven generations had passed, and Tutamure was the dominant chief. He had given his sister Taneroa in marriage

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with one of Kahungunu's people, who lived in Kakaparaoa Pa, on the Waikohu-Matawai Block, near Turanga. They had nothing but fern-root to eat, and Taneroa constantly repined for the abundant food at her brother's place at Opotiki; so her husband, Rongomainotai, one day said, “Well, if food is so plentiful there, let us go to Tutamure.” Accordingly they went, but on arrival were only given some cold kumara to eat. Rongomainotai exclaimed, “If this is all we can get here, better to have lived on the fern-root at Kakaparaoa.” He was very angry, and returned to his own place, stealing on the way some seed-kumara belonging to Tutamure. By-and-by, when Taneroa heard that he had an abundance of food, she followed him; but he, without speaking one word to her, went off to Turanga. Thither she followed, so he moved on to Nukutaurua. She overtook him there, and he fled towards Wairoa, telling his people to kill Taneroa if she persisted in following after him, and they did so.

When Tutamure heard of his sister's death he assembled a war party and killed a number of Kahungunu's people, even-tually attacking that chief in his pa, called Maungaakahia, at Nukutaurua. As the ope (war party) drew near, Kahungunu asked who was the leader, and Tutamure answered, “Tama i hongia te Whakarua ka rangaranga te muri, ka tere tamure” (When the north-east wind blows, and the sea-breeze drives the waves into ridges, then is the tamure (snapper) seen). The opposing parties fought, and Tutamure's wooden spear (huata) and taiaha were both broken, so he armed himself with a patu paraoa (a whale-bone weapon), exclaiming, “Taua i te huata, taua i te ake, tangohia i te ika nui a tu kanapa napa ana te paraoa ki runga o Maungaakahia, ka ora taua nei ka nenehu” (Having fought in vain with spear and taiaha, then seizing weapons made from the whale, the great fish of the war god, the whale-bone flashes over Maungaakahia, I triumph over my foes, who disappear). This boast or speech of Tutamure's passed into a proverb, and his descendants henceforward were known as Te Panenehu. After the fight Kahungunu sued for peace, and, Tutamure consenting, Kahungunu offered him his sister, Tauhei, to wife. Now, Tutamure, though an exceedingly brave man, was an ill-favoured and insignificant-looking person; and when he went to a spring close by to adorn himself and saw his reflection in the clear water his heart failed him lest Tauhei should not return his affection; so he said to his young brother Taipunoa, who was handsome, “Take you Kahungunu's sister Tauhei for your wife, so that peace may be established between us and them.” Taipunoa did so, and Tauhei bore him a son, whose name was Mahaki, who begat Ihu and Whakara, from whom are descended all the Hitangua, Mahaki, and Ngapotiki Tribes. The

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spring where Tutamure looked on his plain features is called to this day “Te Waiwhakaata a Tutamure” (Tutamure's looking-glass).

Some time after this Ngaitai quarrelled with the Panenehu, defeating them at Waikurapa. The quarrel was about pigeon-preserves in Whitikau and Whakapaupakihi Blocks. Ngaitai again attacked them at Otaitahu and Waireporepo. Then the Panenehu gained a victory at Ruruarama. Ngaitai retaliated by murdering two chiefs named Tukuaterangi and Rongomaiaia. Again they defeated the Panenehu with great slaughter at Waikoni, driving the remnant to Turanga. Eventually they returned, defeating the Ngaitai at Aururangi and at Paripapoa. Ngaitai were obliged to flee to Hauraki, taking with them the body of a Panenehu man called Tarahamama to eat by the way. They were subsequently expelled from the Thames district for having bewitched the son of Tuterangianini. They were kindly received by the Panenehu, who had by this time adopted the name of Te Whakatohea. Having murdered a Whakatohea woman named Tohikirangi, they fled to Turanga, but had to leave on account of trouble with the wife of Toroa Apukai. The Whakatohea again gave them shelter, and gave them two women of rank in marriage—Hinepare and Waimarama. After this, and when Taraia was a young man, Tuterangianini, the great chief of Ngatimaru, came to seek payment for the death of his son. He fell upon the Whakatohea at Waiaua, killing many hundreds. The fight took place on the beach, and, as the incoming tide rolled the numerous slain about on the sands, the battle was called “Te Paengatoitoi” (the shoal of toitoi-fish cast ashore). The remnant of the Whakatohea escaped to Turanga, but, a number having been killed by Ngatikahungunu at Kakaparaoa and Waikohu, they returned to Opotiki to find that Ngaitai had occupied all their country.

So they were made to suffer for the sin of Ngaitai in bewitching the son of Tuterangianini; and then these people tried to take their lands. However, they gave battle to Ngaitai, killing many at Awahou, and at Ahitarakihi, where the Town of Opotiki now stands, and so regained possession of their ancestral lands.

The Panenehu used to deposit their dead in a very large pukatea tree called “Te Ahoroa,” which stood on the left bank of the Otara River. There was a hole in the top, 50ft. or 60ft. from the ground, and the dead were hoisted up and, thrown in.*

[Footnote] * In 1881 some settlers living up the Opotiki Valley reported having discovered a great quantity of human bones. I immediately visited the spot, and found it was the place described by Maiki Whenua as Te Ahoroa (“the long line”). An enormous pukatea tree, some 22f. in girth, had fallen against the hill-side, and, splitting open, disclosed cartloads of skeletons. I counted 397 perfect skulls, but an equal number, probably, had crumbled away, or been broken up by the trampling of cattle.

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I will give my genealogy from Ngatorohaka:—


[Footnote] * In 1864 about eight hundred rebel natives from the East Cape, Tekaha, and Opotiki came up the coast with the object of forcing their way through the Arawa country to assist the King natives in Waikato. The loyal Arawa defeated them at Lake Rotoiti, and drove them back to the coast. They then attacked Maketu, but were again defeated and driven back towards Opotiki. The Arawa overtook them at Tekaokaoroa, near Matata, and killed between sixty and seventy, pursuing them to Te-Awa-a-te-Atua, and capturing their canoes. One of their principal chiefs, Te Aporotanga, was desperately wounded and taken prisoner. On the Arawa side, Tohi te Ururangi Winiata Pekamu, a man of high rank and a great warrior, was mortally wounded while directing the attack. About a dozen others were wounded, including Apiata, a Ngatiwhakane chief, who had his eye carried away by a musket-ball. About midnight it was seen that Tohi te Ururangi's end was approaching. Large fires were lighted near, and the chiefs, gathering round, wept over their dying leader, and addressed him with farewell speeches, making complimentary reference to his great deeds in many a past battle. His faithful old wife sat supporting his head, overwhelmed with grief. The other wounded men lay near in pain and anguish. It was a solemn and touching scene; yet it had its comic aspect when, as the old warrior's spirit was about to depart, his wife (Mata), overcoming for the moment her grief, rose up and, addressing the chiefs, said, “You have bidden farewell to my lord according to our usual custom and in the language of our ancestors; but it would be more appropriate for me, who have been educated in a missionary family, to speak in English.” Then, turning to her dying husband and affectionately clasping his body, she exclaimed, “Kuru pai mi poi. Hau a iu? Were were, taikiu ha.” (Good-bye, my boy. How are you? Very well, thank you, sir.) These few words comprised her whole stock of English, and were uttered with feelings of apparent pride. In a few minutes all was over, then Mata was heard whispering to Apiata and asking how to load a gun. Those standing by did not interfere, as they thought she was about to shoot herself and accompany her lord to the spirit-land, as the widows were wont to do. Indeed, it would have been a groos breach of etiquette to have interfered. However, she had no such intention, for, having loaded the musket, she shot Te Aporotanga dead, saying he was to wait upon her husband in the next world. A reference to the genealogical table shows that Te Aporotanga was twentieth in descent from Ngatorohaka. Old Tohi te Ururangi carried from a string round his neck Tutanekai's bone flute, “Te Murirangaranga,” which is now in the Museum. A few minutes after his death, Pokai te Waiatua came to the body and tried to take away the flute unperceived, but old Mata managed to detach it from the string and thrust it into the dead man's throat for concealment, whence it was removed next day on arrival at Maketu and given to Ngahuruhuru Pango (Tutanekai's lineal descendant), who gave it to me on the occasion of the defeat, of Te Kooti at Ohinemutu on the 7th February, 1870. Touching this same flute, I may state that it was made from the armbone of a tohunga named Te Murirangaranga, who lived in the time of Whakane.

[Footnote] Shortly after Tutanekai's birth Whakane called upon this tohunga to perform the baptismal rights over his son—te tohi o Tu, or dedication to the war god. Having performed this sacred office, the priest became strictly tapu during the lunar month, according to Maori custom, during which time he could not touch food with his hands or feed himself. However, before his purification (horohoronga) had been accomplished he was seen one day at Paparata, on the edge of the forest behind Ohinemutu, gathering and eating poroporo berries. This was equivalent to cursing Tutanekai, and a deadly insult to Whakane, so he had the unfortunate tohunga put to death by drowning (it being unlucky to shed the blood of a priest), and had the right armbone made into a flute for Tutanekai. When Tutanekai grew up he became famous for his skill in playing this instrument, and his descendants the Ngatitutanekai still pride themselves upon their ability to emulate their ancestor in this respect.

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I will shortly furnish you with some notes on Maori musical instruments, and also give some particulars respecting two other bone flutes (koauau) now in the Auckland Museum.

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Art. IV.—The History of Otakanini Pa, Kaipara.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 5th August, 1895.]

The Maori documents sent by Hami Tawaewae to Mr. Fenton when he presented the tiki from Otakanini Pa to the Museum have been placed in my hands for translation. Knowing something of the old history of the Otakanini Pa, which I gathered from one of the principal chiefs of the Ngati-whatua Tribe in 1860, I have added a few explanatory notes to Hami's history.

The Otakanini Pa is situated on a navigable creek, which joins the Kaipara waters about six miles south of Aotea Bluff. It was a strong pa in former days, having the deep, muddy creek on one side and swamps on all others. The hill on which it is built is about 100ft. high, and, as usual, is terraced and fortified on top. It is somewhat celebrated in Ngati-whatua history as having been besieged on more than one occasion.

At the foot of the hill on which the pa is built a spring gushes forth, from which, in former times, the inhabitants obtained their drinking-water. Tradition says that it was in going to fetch water from this spring that Rona struck her foot against a stone, and therefore cursed the moon, which just at that moment had gone behind a cloud. The result was that Rona, as punishment for her impiety, was taken up to the moon, where she may be seen to this day, as any old Maori will tell you. This is a capital illustration of the localisation of a world-wide myth, which the Polynesians brought with them from the far-west in their migrations, and which is known to probably all branches of that race. Even the Ainu people of Japan have the same story. With us it is “the man in the moon,” not a woman.

The first occasion on which we hear of Otakanini in Maori history was in the time of Maki, a great man who lived about ten generations ago, and who was the principal chief of the Nga-riki or Nga-iwi Tribe, that formerly owned the whole of the southern Kaipara district and the Isthmus of Auckland, as far as the Tamaki River. It was these people who built the great pas around Auckland. For some reason not now known, Maki attacked and took the Otakanini Pa, and killed a great many of its inhabitants.

It was about the time that Maki flourished that the Ngati-whatua Tribe first made its appearance in the Kaipara district, having conquered their way down from the North

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Cape and from Kaitaia. It was not, however, until the time of Kawharu, Hakiriri, and Te-Ati-a-kura, about six or seven generations ago, that they advanced so far south as Kaipara proper. Their advance was due to some murders committed by the Wai-o-hua Tribe—a branch of Nga-riki—and who at that time occupied Otakanini and the adjacent country. Amongst others who were killed by the Wai-o-hua people was Hau-mai-wharangi, and it was to avenge his death particularly that the expedition, which finally conquered Kaipara, left the Wairoa, where Ngati-whatua were then living. One part of this expedition was under the command of Pou-tapu-aka, Papa-karewa, and Ati-a-kura. They landed near Otakanini, and occupied the hill just above where Te Otene lived, at Papurona, in 1860. They found Otakanini Pa too strong to take by a rush, and so adopted a method of siege which was not at all uncommon in former days. It has been denied by a well-known authority on Maori matters that the Maoris ever used any projectile weapon: the following will prove the contrary. The description of the Siege of Otakanini was given to me by Te Otene, the most learned man of Ngati-whatua alive in those days, and one well acquainted with the tribal history. As we sat on the same hill his ancestors occupied, as described above, he explained that Hakiriri and his men plied the pa with spears from that position, thrown by means of the kotaha or kopere, and, although the distance is some 150 yards, the besiegers made it so hot for those within the pa that they dare not come outside. Under cover of this shower of spears an advance was made, and the Pa of Otakanini finally taken, with very great slaughter. It was explained to me that the spears used were made of long, straight manuka poles, cut on the bank of the creek just below where we were sitting, and that, after having their ends sharpened by burning in the fire, they were thrown by aid of the kotaha.

Many of Us have seen this method of propulsion, no doubt, as used by the Maori boys in play. The spear is struck into the ground on a slant, inclined towards the direction in which it is intended to fly. A short stick, about 18in. long, with a string at one end, is used to propel the spear. The short stick is, in fact, just like a whip. The string or thong of the whip is twisted round the spear in a peculiar manner, so that it will readily come undone. The operator, standing on one side, with a strong, jerk, draws the spear out of the ground, and propels it to a long distance. Te Otene told me that a spear cast in this manner was capable of piercing two men at once, especially if thrown so as descend at a high angle.

This siege occurred about six generations ago. Hakiriri was Te Otene's great grent grandfather. From estimating

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Te Otene's age at seventy in 1860, this would make the date about the year 1690 or 1700, if not before. It was not long after this that the Ngati-whatua conquered all the country from Kaipara to the Tamaki, and practically exterminated the whole of the Wai-o-hua Tribe, who were its then owners.

We now come to Hami te Waewae's narrative:—

Ko nga korero tenei o tenei pa, o Otakanini, e tu nei i roto o Kaipara.

Ko Tauhia te rangatira o tenei pa. Tona iwi, ko Ngati-whatua. He moko-puna ia na Pokopoko-whitite-ra. He pa toa tenei i ana whawhai katoa. Ko te pa tenei i whakataukitia: “Ko te pa o te Aitanga-a-Tiki”; o “Tetaetaea”; “Te tunga o te totara.” Ko enei whakatauki, he whakatauki mo te iwi rangatira. “Ko te ringa heke tohu nui a Tangaroa”; “Ko te whare o te manuka”; “Ko te poko-poko o Rotu”; “Te autete awhea.” Ko enei whakatauki, he whakatauki mo te toa ki te whawhai.


This is the history of the Otakanini Pa, which is situated at Kaipara.

Tauhia was the chief of this pa, and his tribe was Ngati-whatua. He was a grandson of Pokopoko-whiti-te-ra. The people of the pa were celebrated for their bravery. There are several “sayings” in reference thereto: “The pa of the descendants of Tiki”; of “Tetaetaea”; “where stands the totara.” These are all sayings applied to a high-born people. The other sayings are in reference to the courage of the people in war.


The above are mottoes or sayings descriptive of the bravery of the people and the strength of the pa. Pokopoko-whiti-te-ra was a celebrated ancestor of the Ngati-whatua Tribe, who was a great peacemaker in his day; hence, in making peace, if it were likely to be lasting, it was said to be like those of “Pokopoko-who-causes-the-sun-to-shine.” He was also celebrated as a taniwha slayer, and many places in Kaipara are pointed out at this day as the former dwelling-places of noted taniwhas that were killed by him. Rotu, mentioned in one of the “sayings,” was the wife of Maki, already referred to.


Ko tetehi o nga pa o Tauhia ko Rangi-te-pu. Kotahi mano te ope a Takurua i eke ki te whawhai ki taua pa. Rokohanga atu, ko Tauhia i te pa, toko-ono nga hoa, ko ia ka toko-whitu ai; ko tona whaea ka toko-waru. Te ingoa o tona whaea ko Koieie, he tamahine na Pokopoko. Ka mea atu a Koieie ki tana tamaiti—ki a Tauhia, kia kakahuria ana kakahu mo te wha-whai. Katahi ka whakakakakakahuria e Koieie, ka tiaina tona matenga ki te raukura—ara—ki te kotuku. Katahi ka mau ki tana patu; te ingoa o te patu, ko “Nga-tai-i-turia-ki-te-maro-whara.” Heoi; te taenga atu o te ope a Takurua, ka karanga atu nga hoa ki a Tauhia


Another pa of Tauhia's was Rangite-pu. On one occasion Takurua came with a thousand men to as sault that pa. On their arrival they found Tauhia in the pa, with six comrades, he making seven, and his mother eight. His mother's name was Koieie, and she was a daughter of Pokopoko. Koieie told her son (Tauhia) to dress himself up in his garments of war. She proceeded to help him, and decorated his head with a plume made of the feathers of the kotuku (or white heron). He then seized his weapon, which was named “The-tides-fought-with-the-war-girdle.” When the army of Takurua approached, his companions called

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(me te wiri ano o ratou), “E ! ka kapi te whenua i te nui o te ope !”

Katahi a Tauhia ka karanga atu, “Moku anake ano ena hoa-wha-whai; kahore mo koutou.” No reira, ka nui te hari o ana hoa, a, ka mutu te mataku.

Katahi ka peke atu a Tauhia ki te patu i te ope a Takurua. Tokorua ki te hinganga i tana patunga kotahi; no konei ka whati te ope, a, patua haeretia e ratou ko ana hoa, a, hore rawa atu he tangata i ora. Me te rangatira hoki, me Takurua, mate katoa.

Katahi a Koieie ka piki ki runga ki tetehi puke, ki Puke-kowhiwhi, ka karanga, “Kei te whetu au e ! kei te marama !” No reira i rongo mai ai taua iwi—a Ngati-whatua—i matau ai hoki, kua hinga te pare-kura a Tauhia. Na, ka whakahua te hari a Tauhia ratou ko ona hoa i muri i te hinganga o ta ratou parekura:—

Aue ! uhi mai te waer !
A, ko roto ko taku puta !
A, he puta aha te puta ?
A, he puta tohu te puta,
A, e rua nei, ko te puta-e !

I muri i tenei, ka hoki mai a Tauhia ki tona pa, ki Otakanini, a, taea noatia tona matenga.


out to Tauhia (at the same time trembling for themselves), “Ah ! the land is covered by the greatness of this army !”

Tauhia replied to them, “Those enemies are coming for me alone, not for you.” In consequence of this his companions were very glad, and they no longer feared.

Tauhia then sprang forward to combat the army of Takurua. Two of them fell at the first blow; hence the army fled, and they were followed up by Tauhia and his companions, who killed them as they ran, so that not one escaped. The chief Takurua was also killed with the rest.

Then Koieie ascended a hill named Puke-kowhiwhi and shouted out, “I am as the stars, as the moon !” Hearing this, her tribe—Ngati-whatua—knew at once that Tauhia had won his battle. Tauhia and his companions then repeated their song of triumph after the battle:—

[I do not attempt to translate this—the words have no sense, the meaning it originally had being lost. It is not by any means an uncommon hari or species of song used to accompany the war-dance.]

After this, Tauhia returned to his pa at Otakanini, and dwelt there until his death.


Tauhia, mentioned above, was the grandson of Pokopoko-whiti-te-ra, and son of his daughter Koieie, who married Whai-whata. Tauhia lived four generations ago; many of his descendants lived at Te Kawau, Kaipara, in 1860. Te Waru was Tauhia's son by his second wife, Matangi.


He tokomaha nga uri o Tauhia, erangi, e rua anake nga mea i haere ki te whawhai—ara—ko Te Waru, ko Te Wana-a-riri.

Ko ta Te Waru nei ope, i ahu ki Ngapuhi, a, horo katoa te pa o Ngapuhi. Te ingoa o te pa, ko Te Tu-huna. I muri i tera, ka horo ano tetahi atu pa; te ingoa o te pa, ko Tai-a-mai. No konei ka houhia te rongo, a, ka hoki mai a Te Waru me taua ope katoa ki Otakanini. Huaina ana te ingoa o tena parekura “Ko te patu turoro.


Tauhia had many offspring, but only two of them ever engaged in war, namely, Te Waru and Te Wana-a-riri.

Te Waru's army went to the Nga-puhi country, where he took a pa belonging to that tribe, called Te Tuhuna. After this he took another pa, the name of which was Tai-a-mai. In consequence of this, peace was made, and Te Waru and his army returned to their pa at Otakanini. These battles were called “Te-patu-turoro.”

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I muri i tenei, ka haere te ope a tona teina, a Te Wana-a-riri, ki Ngapuhi ano. Ka tutaki ki a Nga-pubi ki Moremonui; a, katahi ka whawhai; ka mate a Ngapuhi. Huaina ana te ingoa o tenei pare-kura ko, “Te-kai-a-te-karoro.” Ka houhia ki te rongo, a, ka ora nga mea i ora, me Hongi Hika. Otira, ko te rangatira nui o te ope, ko Pokaia, i mate. Heoi ka hoki mai a Te Wana-a-riri me taua ope katoa ki Otakanini.

Ko nga take enei i haere ai a Hongi Hika ki Ingarangi, ki a Kingi Hori, ki te tiki pu, paura, me taua kakahu mata.


After this, the army of Te Waru's younger brother, Te Wana-a-riri, went to Ngapuhi. They met the latter tribe at Moremonui, and there fought a battle in which Ngapuhi were defeated. This battle was called “The-food-of-the-sea-gull.” After that peace was made; those who were not killed escaped, amongst them Hongi Hika. But the principal leader of the Ngapuhi army, Pokaia, was killed. So after this Te Wana-a-riri and his army returned to Otakanini.

It was on account of these defeats that Hongi-Hika went to England to King George to fetch guns, powder, and his coat of mail.


The expedition under Te Waru took place in the early years of this century, and the cause of it was as follows: Pokaia, a great chief of Ngapuhi, ardently desired to marry Kararu, a sister of Hongi Hika; but the lady was obdurate and would not consent. To escape Pokaia's attentions she married an old man named Tahere, of Kaikohe. Pokaia, wild with rage, adopted a plan of giving vent to his feelings which is not at all uncommon in Maori history. He raised a war party and wantonly attacked Taoho, a chief of Kaihu, and slew many of his people. To obtain revenge for this, Ngati-whatua made the incursion into the Ngapuhi country, in which Te Waru joined as related above, and met with such success that Ngapuhi in honour bound could not do less than wipe out the disgrace that had fallen on their arms. Pokaia and Hongi raised a war party of five hundred strong, and advanced on Kaipara by way of the west coast. They were met at Moremonui, on the beach about ten miles south of Maunganui Bluff, and, after a very severe fight, Ngati-whatua gained the victory, killing Pokaia, Te Waikeri, Hou-awe, Tohi, Tu-karawa, and many other leading men of Ngapuhi. The bodies were left on the beach (such as were not consumed) in such numbers that they were eaten by the seagulls—hence the name of the battle, “Te-kai-a-te-karoro.” This defeat was one of the main reasons why Hongi went to England with Mr. Kendall in 1820 to obtain arms with which to chastise Ngati-whatua and the Hauraki Tribes, who had both defeated Ngapuhi very seriously. The result was a series of slaughters—too numerous to mention here—which ended in the complete victory of Ngapuhi, and the devastation of the whole of Kaipara and the Auckland Isthmus for many years.


I te hokinga mai o Hongi Hika i Ingarangi ka whawhaitia e ia nga iwi o runga—ara—o Rotorua, o Nga


On the return of Hongi Hika from England he made war on the tribes of the south—namely, Rotorua,

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tiporou, o Ngati-maru, o Waikato. I muri i enei whawhai, katahi ka huri mai ki a Ngati-whatua. Ko te ingoa o te pare-kura ko “Te Ikaranga-nui.” Heoi, hinga ana a Nga-puhi, hinga ana a Ngati-whatua, engari i riro te papa i a Ngapuhi. No konei ka haere a Te Tinana ki Waikato; tona taenga atu ki reira, ka puta te whakaaro o Ngati-te-ata ki te rangatira o Ngati-mania-poto, ki a Tu-korehu, kia patua a Te Tinana, a, patua ana, mate ana. Ko te take tenei i haere ai ngaiwi e rua, a Ngapuhi, a Ngati-whatua ki Waikato, ki te taki i te mate o Te Tinana. No reira i mate ai a Pomare me Te Whare-o-riri, me etahi atu o nga rangatira o Ngati-whatua. Engari, ko te nuinga o nga rangatira i ora, a hoki mai ana ki Kai-para nei.

Ka moe tetahi wahine o Ngatiwhatua i tetehi tangata o Ngati-teata; katahi ka tikina ano taua wahine e Ngati-whatua, ka tangohia mai. No reira i puta ai te whakaaro o Ngati-te-ata, puta noa i Waikato, kia whawhaitia a Ngatiwhatua. No taua takiwa i hangaapoutia ai tenei pa, a Otakanini, i whakaarahia ai hoki tenei Tiki; ko tona ingoa ko “Te Whare-o-riri.” Ko te tangata nana i whakaara tenei Tiki, ko Mate, ko tetehi o nga rangatira o Ngapuhi. Otira, kahore i tae mai a Waikato.

E toru nga tau i tu ai tenei Tiki ki Otakanini, ka whawhai nei a Hone Heke ki te pakeha, i Koro rareka.

He kupu poroporoaki enei naku, na Hami Tawaewae, ki a “Te whare o-riri”:—

Ka toto nga kohu e-i roto o Kai-para,

I te puna whakatoto riri, e,

Na o tupuna, na o matua nga ki-e,

He tahuri waka nui,

E kore e ngaro-e,

He kopua nganangana i rangi.

Me tuku atu koe ra,


Ngati-porou, Ngati-maru, and Waikato. After this he turned towards Ngati-whatua. The name of this battle was Te Ika-ranga-nui. Here both Ngapuhi and Ngati-whatua fell, but the victory remained with the former. [This was in February, 1825.] It was in consequence of this defeat that Te Tinana [of Ngati-whatua] went to Waikato; on his arrival there the Ngati-te-ata Tribe persuaded the chief of Ngatimania poto, named Tu-korehu, to kill Te Tinana, which was done. This death, again, was the cause that the two tribes of Ngapuhi and Ngati-whatua went to Waikato to seek revenge for Te Tinana's death. In consequence, Pomare, of Ngapuhi, and Te Whare-o-riri, of Ngati-whatua, were killed, besides others [at Te Rore, 1826]. At the same time most of the chiefs of Ngati-whatua escaped, and subsequently returned to Kaipara to dwell.

Subsequently one of the Ngati-whatua women married a Ngati-te-ata man, when the former tribe took her away from her husband. Hence, the Ngati-te-ata Tribe, together with the Waikatos, proposed to make war on Ngati-whatua. It was at this time that the Pa of Otakanini was rebuilt, and the Tiki-which is called Te Whare-o-riri [after the chief of that name]—was erected. The Tiki was set up by Mate, one of the chiefs of Ngapuhi [who lived at Puatahi, Kaipara, in 1860]. But the Waikato people never came after all.

The Tiki had been erected about three years at Otakanini when the war between Hone Heke and the Pakehas commenced at Kororareka [1844].

These are my farewell words, of Hami Tawaewae, to “Te Whare o-riri”:—

The misty clouds in Kaipara gather

In the anger-propelling fountain;

'Twas thy ancestors, thy parents declared.

'Tis like the wreck of a great canoe,

Which will never be forgotten—

Like a deep-red cavity in heaven.

From hence thou must depart

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Nga whare o Kuini,

Ka tapua koe ra,

Te hua o te waero,

He taonga ruru tonu-e,

I roto te whare kino,

Ka he nga hau-e,

I a tatou, e te iwi-e !

Haere e Kara! e Te Whare-o-riri !

Haere atu i roto o Kaipara ! Haere atu ki roto ki nga whare nunui o to taua iwi, o te Pakeha!

Me mihi atu koe ki o tatou hoa Pakeha ina tae atu kia kite i a koe !

“Ko ahau tenei, ko Te Whare-o-riri, e mihi atu nei ki a koutou.”

Tena koutou, me to tatou Kuini Wikitoria. Ma te Atua ia e tiaki, e hoatu hoki te kaha, kia kaha ai ia mo te whakamarama i nga ture pai mo tatou, kia rite te kupu o te Waiata cxxxiii., 1: “Na, ano te pai, ano te ahuareka o te nohoanga tahi-tanga o nga teina, o nga tuakana, i runga i te whakaaro tahi.”

Heoi ano aku mini ki a koutou; Tena koutou ! Tena koutou ! Tena koutou !

Na Hami Tawaewe.


To stately mansions of the Queen, And there be sacred kept,

With many dog-skin garments.

Thou art a treasure closely prized In the depths of this gloomy heart.

The winds seem gone astray With us, O people !

Go, oh sir ! Te Whare-o-riri ! Go hence, depart from Kaipara! Depart to the mansions of our European people !

Thou shalt greet our friends the Pakehas when they come to visit thee, saying, “'Tis I, Te Whare-o-riri, that salutes you all.”

Salutations to you all, and to our Queen Victoria ! May God protect her, and give her power and strength to enlighten us with good laws, that the words of Psalm cxxxiii., 1, may be fulfilled: “Behold ! how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”

This is all my greeting to you. Salutations! Salutations! Salutations to you all!

From Hami Tawaewae.

Art. V.—Volcanic Activity in Sunday Island in 1814.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 5th August, 1895.]

I have been favoured by my friend W. D. Campbell, Esq., F.G.S., with the following account, abstracted from the Sydney Gazette, 17th September, 1814, of the first known eruption on Sunday Island, of the Kermadec Group. In vol. xx. of the “Transactions of the New Zealand Institute, page 333, I furnished some notes on the geological formation of Sunday Island, and described an eruption in Denham Bay which took place about 1872; but that described in the Sydney Gazette is of much earlier date, though the place is the same. This first eruption appears to have taken place on the 8th March, 1814, and was of the same nature as the subsequent one, an island of loose volcanic matter having been formed in both cases. All signs of this island had disappeared on the occasion of our visit in the “Stella,” in 1887. The following is the extract:—

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Sunday Island.

Ship News.—The following remarkable account of one of those convulsions of nature which the mind contemplates with surprise and awe we receive from Captain Barnes, of the ‘Jefferson,’ who witnessed the phenomenon. We have stated, in reporting the ‘Jefferson's’ return to this port in the Gazette of the 3rd instant, that she had gone from hence in June, 1813. Much of the intervening time has been occupied about the coasts of New Zealand, on the north side of which is Sunday Island (one of Curtis's) [sic], and the subject of the present account, lying in 29° 12′ S. lat. and 178° W. long.

” From the 24th to the 27th Captain Barnes was employed in wooding there, and while the boats were on shore the vessel sailed to and fro within a spacious bay on the west side of this island, formed as a crescent, the heads of which were about six miles asunder. Actuated by a curiosity which must be always serviceable to navigation—that of discovering the surroundings of every part which vessels frequent—Captain Barnes employed himself attentively in the business of sounding between these heads, and in no part found less than 45 fathoms. further in the depth gradually diminished, and, after penetrating till within a short distance of the inner shore, he there found 16 fathoms. Leaving the island on the 27th of February, it was afterwards frequently in sight till the 9th of March, when, at the distance of six or seven leagues, a thick cloud of a dark smoky appearance was observed above it the whole day, and shortly after midnight a flame burst forth, which rose to an excessive height, and filled the atmosphere with a strong, fetid, and an almost suffocating vapour, which was felt on board, though then at a distance of about seven leagues. Captain Barnes returned to the island in two months, for the purpose of wooding, as before, and found the appearance of the place entirely altered, and that an island occupied the spot where so short a time before he had found 45 fathoms of water. It is about three miles in circuit, kidney-shaped, its outer edge nearly forming a line with the heads or opposite points of the entrance of the former bay, which lays north and south, has a small bay of its own fronting the ocean, and is covered with a coarse grit. On the near approach of the ship's boats the water became very warm, and at length intensely hot. It was still smoking, and was then evidently an unquenched mass. Its position is not mid-channel, but extends considerably more towards the north shore than the south. A passage through the opening of the north side would be impracticable, owing to the numerous rocks which are scattered through it; but

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that on the south seems rather inviting to vessels in want of temporary accommodation, with a safe anchorage. Captain Barnes has subsequently fallen in with the ‘King George’ (Captain Jones, of this port), and, on relating the above circumstance, received information from him that the ‘King George’ had been there shortly before the ‘Jefferson,’ and that he (Captain Jones) had himself also sounded between and within the heads, and could find no soundings at all with a common lead-line in those places where Captain Barnes had found a depth of only 40 fathoms. The idea that suggested itself, from comparing Captain Jones's information with Captain Barnes's own observation, is that this eruptive pile was probably in the act of growing out of the abyss when the latter was there and got soundings at 45 fathoms, the depth diminishing as he went nearer in. The visible extent of its surface, added to the vast height to which it must necessarily have arisen, must fill the mind with astonishment. That Vesuvius might have sprung originally from the like cause is not impossible. Its first eruption took place in the first century of the Christian era; and we do not find anything more remarkable in what is recorded of those that have since taken place than the throwing-up a mountain in one night, in the year 1583, three miles in circumference and a quarter of a mile high; while the island reported to have been thrown up in the bay of Sunday Island may be considerably larger, as its summit is three miles round, and it appears to have a gradual and not a steep ascent.—Sydney Gazette, 17th September, 1814.

“In reference to the above account, it might be as well to mention that, until Lyell's researches into geology were made, no distinction was made between mountains of up-heaval and deposition. It was not understood that a volcano could be formed by ejecta, and built up with that material; hence the comparison of Vesuvius with the Sunday Island incident, which seems to have been largely a local terrestrial upheaval, probably bursting into eruption when the crust of the earth was relieved of the superincumbent weight of water. —W. D. Campbell, F.G.S.”

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Art. VI.—On Dusky Sound.

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 17th July, 1895.]

Remembering the interest you take in such things, I venture to send you the following about Dusky Sound. I have been nearly all through it now, and its islands; also up Acheron Passage, into Breaksea, and into Wet Jacket as far as the island.

Boat-harbours are everywhere, and altogether it is a safe place for boating, when we have camping outfit on board. I have a young fellow with me, and intend to keep him as long as I can. We have been often on Resolution, in many places; all round it, except on Five Fingers; and we have cut tracks upon two mountains on this side of it, which we have been up on six different occasions, but saw no signs of life above the bush except parrakeets and the tracks of rats. There is a good deal of tussock above the bush on Mount Phillips, and it is a grand mountain to climb, the peak is so sharp and lonely—800ft. above the bush—whence can be seen nearly all the sound with its many islands, and the greater part of Resolution. The latter appears to have high, rough mountains all round it, with lower and smoother land in the centre, the outlets being Duck and Cormorant Creeks; but there is nothing like a flat anywhere, and just one little lake south of Useless Harbour. Roas and woodhens are plentiful in the bush, with nearly all the small birds, including crows and thrushes; but there are no kakapos nor grey kiwis. The kakapos on the mainland are breeding this year, so I did not like to disturb their curious arrangements by removing them, especially when I found that there were plenty in favourite places; but there are long stretches of coast without any. On the south side of Dusky, east of Cooper Island, there are two great landslips, some hundreds of acres, covered with green scrub, where we heard them drumming in dozens in January. And in February, under Mount Foster, at the mouth of Wet Jacket, I found three nests in about an hour; also further up, at our camp opposite the island, I found several nests, each with two little young ones. I never found a male near a nest, and I think they know nothing about it. The mother tramps away and carries home food so industriously that she is all draggled and worn, and near the end of her task she becomes

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so exceedingly poor that sometimes I thought she would die; yet her young ones are just balls of fat until about the end of May, when many of them are as heavy as the largest old males. But soon after she ceases to feed them they rapidly become poor. The fruit that they have been fed on is nearly all done, and I think that many of them die before they learn to forage for themselves. All this time the old males are very fat, which shows that they did not exert themselves to feed the young—more likely they took the best of everything for themselves. Resolution as a whole is not a good place for kakapos, because tutu and fuchsia are scarce; but there are many places on it where colonies will do well, where fig-trees are plentiful. I noticed that there were no “gages” where the kakapos were; in fact, I have seen none on the mainland, but plenty on all the islands, where there are no kakapos; and if the birds eat them they will have plenty on Resolution. I will have most trouble to get grey kiwi, for I have heard very few in all this place. When camped on Cooper Island we heard grey kiwi there—and it is a big island, perhaps eight square miles in extent; and, though it comes near the mainland at its eastern end, there is mostly a swift tide running there that will disturb the calculations of a swimmer. In November, kakas, tuis, and mokos were here in great numbers feeding on the honey of the rata-blossoms, but no pigeons until lately, when they have come for the berries, and the kakas are nearly all away. There was a kaka's nest, with two young ones, near our house on Pigeon Island. When we came here, in July, there were colonies of crested penguins at nearly every easy landing, and sometimes in caves, all busy nesting. They all went away for a while with their young, but came back in January and February for their moulting, and then cleared out again, and I do not think there is one left in Dusky. But many of the little penguins seem to remain here, and are always out fishing in the daytime, coming ashore at night and sleeping in holes under rocks and trees. We never saw one per cent. of the crested penguins out either day or night, and I do not understand them at all. Woodhens are on all the islands, and attend closely on the penguins when the young are just hatched, so that may have something to do with the penguins staying at home so much. Grey ducks are numerous at the head of Dusky, where they have a splendid breeding-place among creeks and swampy islands in the mouth of a great valley coming in from the north, and there are no swamp-hawks.

There is a fine river coming in from the east to Supper Cove. I went up it about three miles to a gorge, where I was stopped by a dangerous but passable place. There are

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three rapids, but the portages are easy, and I intend to take a canoe up there next summer, for I could see a kindly-looking valley turning to the north-east, and I may be able to go a long way up it.

Paradise-ducks are very scarce here, because there is no grass for them. Even at Goose Cove—which may have got its name from them—where there is some level land, there is no grass, as it is all grown over with scrub; and there are neither ducks nor geese there now, only a few redbills and swans. Up in Wet Jacket it was quite pitiful to see a pair of paradise trying to rear a family on a few square yards of grass. If I had a few pairs of goats I think I could provide the ducks with grass-plots in suitable places at the ends of bays. It is not a heavy task to dispose of some of this scrub; and surface-sown rye-grass grows here more quickly and richer than I ever saw, but there are hundreds of seedling forest-trees and shrubs growing up among it, so that some animal is required to keep them in check that the grass may continue. In old England, Darwin mentions how pines and other forest-trees sprang up when the animals were excluded, and so it may be in any country as it is here. The scrub follows down the alluvial land at the mouths of creeks, covering every foot, and even reaching out over the tide, so that nothing else has a chance under present circumstances. There are often little natural clearings at landslips and uprooted trees, which seem insignificant, but great changes are often wrought by long-continued trifles. This mountain-bush, being of great extent and unknown resources, may contain room for another Switzerland, with its hardy mountaineers. But now, with its superfluity of damp and sandflies, it is about the most miserable and useless place that man ever set his foot in, and he cannot have the heart to start reclaiming it from its present state; but the quadrupeds may be the pioneers, as they have been in nearly every other country, and then the men can take it up. We often see where the sealers have rolled aside the stones on the beach to land their boats, and perhaps a level place with a grove of young trees on the site of their old camp, but not a yard of open ground; yet two of those parties lived here for about a year. And two vessels were built in Dusky Sound, but we have not yet found where their shipyards were, for perhaps not a trace remains. When we came into the little harbour on Pigeon Island the stones were rolled aside on the beach, but there was not room above high water to land our stores until we made a clearing. We thought that no one ever lived there before until we cleared and dug the ground, when we found it nearly paved with Maori ovens. In Cascade Harbour there is the site of a hut with an iron chimney which may have been ten or twelve years deserted, yet the floor of

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the hut and its surroundings were covered with a tall grove of koromikos, some of them 3in. thick. Now, I think that if a hardy race of goats existed here they would have altered all this for the better; they would have kept many grassy openings, and made pathways in the bush, to the advantage of the explorer and prospector, and also to the advantage of the ground-birds—because those birds were plentiful at Te Anau for forty miles along the lake, but the best place for them was near grassy openings under Mount Luxmore. There on a quiet evening in 1880 there used to be a perfect din of their various calls, and the individuals were the best of their sort. However, the birds may only be temporary residents here on the mainland; but one would think that it is the duty of this generation to liberate some suitable animals in this bush. Deer might do, but I think they are too wild and shy, and that a well-clad, hardy race of goats would be best, to pave the way for more useful stock, and, in the meantime, to provide food and sport for the future pioneers. We have often seen goat-skins used as hearth-rugs; they would make good jackets for this climate, and would be valuable. Some people will object to goats or anything else, for fear of encouraging wild dogs; but the native dog died out here (though it could have lived well on kakapos), because every cave and den is damp and mouldy, and it would require a special breed of dogs to live here in a wild state.

We saw the king-fish up the sound. Three big fellows swam round our boat within arm's length, and I knew them. The same day we saw a great company of them right at the head of the sound: that was on the 5th February. The horse-mackerel and mullet were here all the summer in shoals; also another little fish, which I could not find in either of the books on fishes. They are of some importance, because they have been very plentiful all the time we have been here, and are very good to eat. I call them “latris” for want of a name.* They will not take bait, but come into the shallow water at our door every evening, and just at the last of the light they are easily speared, so that I often get half a dozen in a few minutes; but with a suitable net they could be caught in thousands. But we only see them round Pigeon Island. Moki are very plentiful, but we only get a few trumpeter now and then. Of course, the cod and groper are plentiful, also butter-fish and barracouta. We were in want of a name for the little prawns like shrimps, and called them “squid.” All the fish are after them, and it is wonderful how they can stand it. When we see the mackerel splashing along we know they are after squid; the mullet, latris, and parrot-fish are

[Footnote] * Mendesoma lineata.

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always after them, and even the moki and butter-fish join in the hunt. We saw the gulls pecking at something in calm water, also the terns and little white gulls, and found it was squid they were eating. I thought the barracouta only hunted little fish, but found them full of squid. Though they continually hunt the shoals of fish they seem to catch very few, for we found none in those we caught for our dogs, so it seems likely that they only take the laggards and leave the main body flourishing. The squid are lively little fellows, and flit about so quickly that the smartest of their enemies have some trouble to catch them. On calm warm afternoons they are all at the surface, and then there are acres of water that seem alive with fish. Surely the squid that survives all this must be the best of his race, or, at least, the most artful and active. We first saw them in Useless Harbour in September, when they were tiny creatures only a quarter of an inch long. At Christmas the main body were about an inch long; but since then small ones were numerous, so that I think there may be several crops in a season. In April they have almost disappeared.

Art. VII.—The Ceremony of Rahui.

[Read before the Hawke's Bay Philosophical Institute, 12th August 1895.]

I have several attempts to gain information on this now obsolete custom of rahui—one time practised by the Polynesian peoples—both privately and also by a short article published some time back in the Magazine of the Polynesian Society, but have been unsuccessful in persuading any person to take the subject in hand. This being the case, I am left to work out a theory of my own, which is the subject of this paper. It is a thousand pities that no person having time and opportunity to investigate and work out the history of this remarkable custom should have inquired thereon some years ago, previous to the death of the witness Noa Huke, whose evidence is quoted herein:—

Rahui.—In the case Airini Donnelly v. Broughton, published in the supplement of the Hawke's Bay Herald, Napier, 26th March, 1892, the witness Noa Huke says, “The whole of this block [of land] from Te Whanga to Puketitiri and Titiokura, at Mohaka, was affected. That land was given to Te Rangika-mangungu and Tutura. They went and put up rahuis all

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over it. At Puketitiri, Piko (a man) was the rahui; at Oingo (Hauhau) was Kauhourangi, another man. The whole of the land was thus made sacred, even the eel-weirs.” In the evidence of another witness, referring to a different portion of the land, some chiefs “impaled a woman there.” These points were specially dwelt on by Sir Robert Stout in his summary of the evidence. But no explanation was given as to what this ceremony consisted of, neither was it shown in what manner the above-named men were ultilised as rahui.

Of myself, I see no reason to doubt that these unfortunate men were buried at the foot of posts erected at certain places, perhaps even when still alive, or were lashed to the posts by the sacred cord; this being done to increase the tapu of those places, and to prevent by this tapu the removal of such posts at any future date.

In Tregear's Maori-Polynesian Dictionary is given, “Rahui —To protect by a rahuii.e., by a mark set up; to prohibit persons from taking birds, fruit, &c., or to prevent them from trespassing on lands, &c, made tapu.” For good instances of tribal rahui, see “Maori Customs and Traditions,” by John White, bound up with “History and Traditions of the Maori,” by T. W. Gudgeon.

We find the following definitions in a Paumotuan dictionary by E. Tregear: “Rahui—A defence, forbidden; Maori, rahui, to prohibit; Hawaiian, lahui, to forbid.”

In “Traditions and Superstitions of the New-Zealanders,” Dr. Shortland, at page 316, gives whaka-ihi, he tapu, he rahui, as of the one meaning. At page 265: “Having matured his plans, Heke came suddenly, cut down the obnoxious flagstaff without opposition, and then went home again. Afterwards, when Governor Fitzroy set up a new one, Heke appealed to this act as a further argument in support of his cause. ‘See,’ said he, ‘the flagstaff does mean a taking-possession, or why else should they persist in re-erecting it?’ This remark referred to a common practice in New Zealand—namely, that of setting up a post on a spot of land which any one desires to claim as his own. When two tribes contest the right to any place, one of them will set up their post, their antagonists will soon after come and cut it down; but, probably, either party will take care not to meet the other on the disputed ground till the post has been cut down and re-erected several times; when, if neither party will yield, the dispute at last ends in a fight.”

Nothing is said here as to utilising a man as a rahui; and this remarkable evidence of Noa Huke remains unaccounted for. Will none of our members of the Hawke's Bay Institute search this matter out before those who might explain are alike “gathered to their fathers”?

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There are four place - names in the district which may possibly owe their origin to the aforesaid setting-up of rahui on the land, two of which—Puketitiri and Titiokura—were mentioned by Noa Huke. The other two are Waititirau, the site on which stands Mr. J. H. Coleman's house, and Wakatu, or, as I suppose it to be rightly spelt, Whakatu, near Tomoana.

The name Puke-titi-ri has no reference to the bird titi, a large petrel, generally spoken of as the “mutton-bird.” Different varieties of these petrels are often heard and dimly seen when passing overhead on a summer evening in the gloaming on the way from the sea to their nests in holes excavated in the light pumice soil of the mountain-ranges far inland—possibly a distance of forty miles or more. They mostly travel in pairs, somewhat apart, and must return again to the sea before daylight, yet I have never detected them on the return journey. These birds also nest in great numbers on the small islands near the Bluff, Southland, and also those near Stewart Island.

The Southern Maoris visit the islands each season and collect the young birds from the nests, at which time they are extremely fat. They are partially cooked, and then packed away in the large bladder-like portions of a kelp or coarse seaweed, and are, as it were, imbedded in their own fat, which aids in their preservation. This industry is a yearly harvest to the southern Maori.

To return to my subject: We have Puke, “a hill”; titi, “of the setting-up”; ri, “of the mark” which no person dare to pass over. Surely this must be one of the places where rahui was set up. Why are we unable to discover the exact spot where this special rahui was erected? The second word mentioned by Noa Huke was Titiokura, which divides thus: Titi, “the setting-up”; o “of”; kura. This word kura has a variety of meanings, as “red in colour,” “a wreath or head-dress,” &c.; and the painting the posts supporting a house with red-ochre was a symbol indicating the tapu or sacredness of such building. We find the word Whare-kura used by the Polynesians to denote the sacred building where the young priest-chiefs (ariki) were taught mythology, history, agriculture, astronomy, &c. This house was very tapu: no women were allowed to come near it, food was cooked at a distance and brought by special messengers. I have no doubt kura in this instance was an allusion to the chief supports of the building being painted red, as an indication of its sacred character.

In support of this theory I quote the following from “Traditions of the New-Zealanders,” by Dr. Shortland (page 112): “In former days the huts used in travelling by sacred

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persons were always distinguished by their posts being daubed with red-ochre, to prevent the law of tapu being inadvertently broken; and for the same reason sacred persons painted their bodies and clothes with the same red substance, that they might leave a mark behind them where they rested.”

I think we may safely conclude that the name Titiokura was given to that place at the setting-up of rahui there. Waititirau is rather a difficult word to decide upon. Some might take it thus: Wai, “the water”; titi, “of the mutton-birds”; rau, “in number a hundred.” But, taking the evidence of the two place-names already deciphered, it seems that we may safely claim it as a site of a rahui, making it Wai, “the water” (near which); titi, “was set up”; tirau, “the peg”: or, “the water of the sticking-in of the peg.” In this word I suppose that there should originally have been a third repetition of the syllable ti, as Wai-titi-tirau, and so including the terminal tirau, “a peg.”

My fourth name, Whakatu, would seem to be related to the remarkable word tutututu, “to stand erect”; and is a compound of whaka, which is called a prefixed causative, and mostly indicates “to cause,” or “to make to do”: therefore, Whakatu means, “to cause to stand”; or, more correctly, “to erect or set up; a place where something was erected or set up”; and in all probability indicates “the place where rahui was set or put up.” It is not reasonable to make waka, “a canoe,” tu, “standing erect,” as the original meaning of the name.

Dr. Shortland says, “The word tapu is used in the same sense in the Sandwich Islands, in the Society Islands, and, as far as is known, in the other islands of Polynesia. It is probably derived from the word ta, ‘to mark,’ and pu, an adverb of intensity. The compound word tapu, therefore, means no more than ‘marked thoroughly,’ and only came to signify ‘sacred’ or ‘prohibited’ in a secondary sense, because sacred things and places were commonly marked in a peculiar manner, in order that every one might know that they were sacred. The fundamental law on which all their superstitious restrictions depend is that if anything tapu is permitted to come in contact with food, or with any vessel or place where food is ordinarily kept, such food must not afterwards be eaten by any one, and such vessel or place must no longer be devoted to its ordinary use, the food, vessel, or place becoming tapu from the instant of its contact with an object already tapu.”—(“Traditions and Superstitions of the New-Zealanders,” page 101.)

At first sight I was taken with the likeness of the placename Motiti (“Flat Island” of Cook) to those mentioned above, and even thought that it might mean “the place of

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the mutton-bird” (petrel); but on further consideration it became apparent that the word Motiti was an abbreviation for Motu-iti, “the small island.” Such being the case, we have here a warrant to suppose that certain other place-names may also be clipped or shortened—notably, the name Wai-titi-rau, already spoken of as originally in its full significance being Wai-titi-tirau.

At the same time, it may be that this name has been imperfectly written and understood by the pakeha. Possibly it might be Wai-titiro, “the water of looking at”—i.e., a looking-glass to reflect the image of a person—or “the place of the distant view.” As I am unacquainted with this spot, and its position or history, this question must be left open, and might be decided by some one consulting the Maoris in that district.

A remarkable use of the word rahui, together with a tragical incident of early pakeha days, is given by Dr. Shortland in “Traditions and Superstitions of the New-Zealanders,” page 234:—

“In the more lawless and savage days of the New-Zealanders a trading vessel came into the harbour of Tauranga to purchase a cargo of flax…. No cargo was at the time procurable, and the captain was persuaded by one of the chiefs of Ngapuhi Tribe to take his ship to Whakatane, about forty miles distant, being led to believe he would there obtain plenty of flax without any difficulty. The chief sent one of his men in the vessel, ostensibly as a guide, but he was really the bearer of a message as fatal as that contained in the letter given to Bellerophon, for it was a hint to the chief of Whakatane to seize the vessel and all the property in it.

“The Ngapuhi chief knew that he could attempt nothing against this ship while at Tauranga, for it was there under the protection of the natives of the place, who carried on a profitable trade with foreigners, which would have been ruined completely by an act of violence. He therefore conceived the idea of making both ship and cargo a present to the less scrupulous natives of Whakatane, in order that he might claim a share of the spoil. The captain fell into the trap, and, attempting to defend his vessel, he and his crew were all killed, and the vessel was then plundered and destroyed.

“A secret is seldom, if ever, well kept by the people of this country. With the news of the fate of the unfortunate ship, its cause, and the very words of the message, ‘Tenei tou rahui poaka,’ were reported at Tauranga…. Nini, after expressing his resentment against the perpetrators of the deed, demanded of the chief of Ngapuhi, who was present, if it was true that he had sent the message to Whakatane which led to the catastrophe. The chief did not deny it. ‘Then,’ said

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Nini, ‘you shall be payment for the white men’; and with these words he shot him.”

This message Dr. Shortland translates, “Behold a herd of pigs made sacred for you.” This is incorrect, as giving the double meanings of rahui, “a herd,” and also “made sacred,” which is impossible. The literal translation is, Tenei, “here”; tou, “thy”; rahui, “herd”; poaka, “of pigs”: or, the other sense would be, “Here thy pigs made sacred.” Now, if they were under the protection of a rahui, would not ship and crew have been safe from harm?

Art. VIII.—The Railway and its Place in Social Economy.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 12th October, 1895.]

My aim in the following paper is to direct attention to the place which the railway should occupy in our social economy, and to the principle by which we should be guided in dealing with it. Having been familiar with the early development of railways in England up to the year 1844, and having witnessed the beginning of our own railways in this country, I now venture to state as clearly as I can certain conclusions to which I have come on this important subject.

It is hardly necessary to remind you of the origin of the railway. The renowned George Stephenson, an English working-man, whose first wages amounted to 2d. a day, was the inventor to whom the world is indebted for the locomotive engine and the construction of the first railway. On the 27th September, 1825, the Stockton and Darlington line was opened for traffic. Only seventy years have passed since that memorable day, but marvellous indeed have been the results of what was then begun. Not England only, but the whole world has felt the mighty change due to the development of the new mode of locomotion.

In that first enterprise the funds were necessarily provided by private persons, who combined together to construct the line and carry on the traffic; and they naturally and properly required those who used the railway to pay such charges as would cover all working-expenses and leave a fair margin of profit on the capital employed. And the same method of providing funds for railway work has continued to be the usual method in Great Britain and elsewhere until comparatively recent times. A large number of companies were formed,

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having the necessary powers conferred on them by Acts of Parliament, and thus the railways of the country became private property, and the carrying business a large monopoly. It is true that the traffic is divided among many companies, but, so far as the people at large are concerned, the railway system is a real and irresistible monopoly, having enormous power, which has often been exercised to the serious injury of local interests. There is every reason to believe that this was, in the nature of things, at first quite unavoidable, and therefore is not to be regarded as a just occasion of blame to those courageous men by whose energy and ability, and at whose cost, the great advantages of safe and rapid transit were provided. The idea of a railway was new to the world. It could not be put to the test of practical experience without a large expenditure. It was never for a moment supposed to be within the sphere of a political government to carry out; there was therefore no alternative but to do it by private means. All that the governing power of the nation, represented by Parliament, appears to have thought it had to do was to exercise a sort of arbitrary control over what the engineers proposed. And in many instances this was so done as to cause an enormous and wholly unnecessary expenditure in parliamentary costs before a shilling could be expended in the actual making of the line. Thus it came to pass that the idea of private property in a railway was quite natural; and the consequent idea that every railway was to be looked upon as a concern wherewith to provide dividends for the owners was also perfectly natural. Of course, when we came to these new lands as immigrants we brought these old ideas with us, and it is not to be wondered at that they have proved of sufficient force to keep us from seeing how entirely inapplicable they are to any country in which railways are, as they ought always to be, the property of the people. By slow degrees a truer view of the function of railways has been perceived, and it is more and more recognised that, in this country at least, railways are and must ever be the chief highways of traffic, and therefore should be, like all other highways, free to all who require to use them. Free highways should ever be found in the country of a free people. What do the words “free highways” mean? They mean that the person who uses the highway should not have to pay toll every time he uses it; that no one should be able to say to us, “Before you walk or ride or drive or carry your goods on this road you must pay toll.” Now, all this is quite plain and easy to understand when applied to an ordinary road in the country, or to a street or lane in a town; but how does it apply to a railway? I think it is not difficult to make it plain. When any one uses an ordinary road, he either walks

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or provides himself with an animal or a carriage of some sort by which he may be conveyed to the place at which he wishes to arrive. It matters not whether he uses a conveyance of his own or hires one for the journey, the transit is effected at his own expense either of labour or money; but the road along which he travels is free—it has been provided for him by the officers of the State, who are appointed and provided with public funds for that special purpose. It matters not whether they are Road Boards, Town or City or County Councils, or Commissioners, or officers of the General Government, their work is public work carried out with public funds, and for the use of every individual of the community.

How, then, is it with a railway? The only difference is that which the nature of the railway traffic renders necessary. There is absolutely no difference in principle. The user must still pay for the cost of transit of himself and his goods, but the road must be free.

Railway transit, from its very nature, must always be carried on under a special system of management. The iron road cannot possibly be used in the same manner as the ordinary road. The propelling force, whether steam, electricity, or hydrocarbon, requires special engines and skilled drivers; the carriages, whether for passengers or goods, must be specially constructed; and everything connected with the traffic must be specially devised and directed in perfect order for the safety and convenience of those who use the road. For these reasons, no such private use of the road can be permitted as that which is the universal rule of the common road. It follows, therefore, that the cost of the rolling-stock and station-buildings, as well as the current expenditure of every kind necessarily incurred in carrying on the traffic, must be provided by the payments of those who use the road, and to this end such fares and rates of freight must be charged as will amply cover all such expenditure, but not more.

To put it shortly, then, there should be a complete separation in the railway accounts between the cost of forming and maintaining the line and that of the traffic over the line. The cost of the line or public highway should be paid by the owner —that is, the whole people, under the name of the State; and the cost of the traffic by the user—that is, every one who travels or has goods carried upon the line. It seems to me that when the time comes that the true idea of the railroad as the chief highway of the nation shall be generally accepted, as I think it will, there ought not to be more difficulty in carrying it out than there is now with all other highways.

It is not within the scope of this paper to discuss the question of management, but it seems to me obvious that it must necessarily be entirely independent of what is known as

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political control—a species of private ownership of the worst kind—and must be intrusted to the very best and most competent experts obtainable. There is every reason to expect that the removal of the toll now exacted from every one in the high fares at present payable would result in a great increase of prosperity in the settled districts of the country, and that the opening-up and beneficial settlement of new districts by judicious railway extension would tend to lighten the burden of taxation by increasing the number of those who bear it.

I have purposely avoided any attempt to estimate the possible reduction in railway charges if the principle of payment for carriage only were adopted, but there is no doubt that it would be considerable, and would tend largely to increase the traffic, to the great benefit of the whole community.

My desire is to concentrate attention upon, and to obtain a calm and reasonable consideration of, the principle I have now endeavoured to set forth, not only by those who are now present, but by all thoughtful people throughout the country.

Art. IX.—Antarctic Research.

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 31st July, 1895.]

In the year 1887 a proposal was made to the British Government by the Government of Victoria that an expedition should be undertaken to explore the antarctic regions, at an estimated cost of £10,000, of which sum the Victorian Government guaranteed to provide £5,000 if the British Government would provide the remaining £5,000. The proposal was not favourably entertained. The objects of the expedition, as defined by the Victorian Government, were—first, the promotion of trade; and second, scientific inquiry. The Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty's Treasury stated in their reply, “The department best able to judge of the first does not think the interests involved sufficient to justify the proposed Imperial contribution; and the general result of the communications regarding the second object received from scientific bodies is to show that an expedition on the scale contemplated could do very little in the way of scientific investigation, and would have to be regarded simply as a pioneer of future more complete and costly expeditions.” For these reasons they felt they would not be warranted in asking Parliament to provide the proposed contribution; and

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they went on to say they “arrive at this conclusion, however, with sincere regret, and would have been glad to have co-operated with the Australian Colonies in an enterprise having something more than a merely commercial purpose. Perhaps, however, my Lords may be allowed to regard the present proposal as an indication that if any like expedition be undertaken hereafter by the Imperial Government some of the British colonies more closely interested in it might not be unwilling to contribute to its cost.”

This proposed expedition, therefore, was abandoned, and the subject dropped out of notice, until it was revived by Dr. John Murray, one of the distinguished members of the late “Challenger” expedition, in a paper read by him before the Royal Geographical Society on the 27th November, 1893.

In this most valuable and exhaustive paper he related the history of antarctic explorations. He showed that Captain Cook was the first to penetrate within the antarctic circle, having reached lat. 71° 10′ S., at a point to the south-west of Patagonia, “when he probably saw the ice-barrier and the mountains beyond.” This was in his second voyage, in 1774, after his circumnavigation of New Zealand in his first voyage. Since then two navigators have penetrated further south than Cook: “Weddell, in 1823, reached 74° S., but saw no land. Sir James Clark Ross, in 1841 and 1842, reached the 78th parallel, and discovered Victoria Land, south of New Zealand. No other explorers have passed beyond the 70th parallel of south latitude.”

In the course of his paper Dr. Murray referred to the explorations carried out under Smith in 1819, who discovered the South Shetland Islands, and the consequent seal-fishery which sprang up, and resulted in the extermination of the seals. Bellingshausen discovered the island named Peter the Great, and Alexander the First Land; D'Urville discovered Adélie Land; the United States Exploring Expedition discovered Wilkes Land; Powell discovered the South Orkneys; Briscoe discovered Enderby's Land; Balleny discovered the Balleny Islands and Sabine Land; and Dallman, more re-rently, discovered Kaiser Wilhelm Islands and Bismarck Strait, to the north of Graham's Land. Dr. Murray gave unstinted praise to the good work done by these and other explorers, who, with vessels unstrengthened to resist ice, and with imperfect means, have added so much to our knowledge of antarctic regions; but he pointed out that Ross's expedition, which was better provided, and the vessels well strengthened, was, under its splendid commander, able to do more than any other; and his observations on the geology, meteorology, and magnetic phenomena of those regions, as

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well as his soundings and dredgings, and observations on currents and sea-temperatures at different depths, threw a flood of new light on the physical and biological conditions within the antarctic circle; but his ships were unprovided with steam-power, like those of all other antarctic explorers; and this is extremely disadvantageous, because the vessels are unable to make progress during the all-too-scanty periods of fine, calm weather; contrary winds in ice-encumbered waters are very perplexing and dangerous, and to anchor near an icebound coast while exploring parties are sent ashore is too risky for sailing-vessels.

The “Challenger” is the only steam-vessel that has crossed the antarctic circle, and, as she was not strengthened to bear the blows and pressure of ice, she could do little in the way of exploration through the pack, and was obliged to confine the observations to deep-sea soundings.

Putting together all the various results of the observations that have been made, Dr. Murray has prepared various maps of the southern pole (partially reproduced), in which he has shown what parts of the coast-line of antarctic land have been fixed, and these he has connected by dotted lines indicating the probable shape of the great antarctic continent which, from all indications, he presumes to exist, surrounding the south pole, about 3,500 miles long by 1,500 miles broad, and covered with perpetual snow and ice. He indicates also the approximate position assigned to the magnetic pole or poles, and the known and supposititious mean barometric pressures—the lowest (28.9in.) being in February, off Victoria Land, near Mounts Erebus and Terror. From the observed preponderance of southerly winds he assumes that a region of high barometric pressure exists around the South Pole.

The depths of the ocean, as far as they are known, are also figured, and in his paper he draws attention to the remarkable fact that the temperature at the bottom, even at the depth of over 2,000 fathoms, is not below 33° Fahr., while at the surface it may fall to 29°, and at an intermediate depth may be as high as 40°. The abundance of life now existing in these Antarctic-Ocean depths is very notable, and specimens of fossils, apparently of Tertiary age, obtained on Seymour Island by a Norwegian whaler indicate that at one period of the world's history a more genial climate must have prevailed in those regions.

Dr. Murray's maps further give the oceanic deposits in the different areas of the south polar seas; the ice-limits and currents; the mean temperatures or isotherms, and the isobars and winds, for February; the annual mean rainfall; and the magnetic phenomena (after Neumayer).

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Owing to the snowcap which envelopes the great antarctic land mass, the nucleus of rock is only revealed in off-lying islands or on the faces of high and bold escarpments, or by the fragments of rock carried seawards by icebergs, and either obtained directly from them or dredged from the sea-bottom where they have been dropped by the icebergs as they melted. Thus the geology of the country is mainly concealed from view; but the outlines and larger features of the mountain-ranges are not obliterated in the high lands near the coasts, for peak after peak with varied contours are seen to rise one behind another towards the interior. The snow which accumulates on these mountain-ranges in Victoria Land forms a vast glacier, which moves continually outwards, and presents on the coast-line a solid perpendicular wall of ice, probably from 1,200ft. to 1,500ft. in thickness, of which 150ft. to 200ft. is above the surface of the water and 1,100ft. to 1,400ft. below. When the front of this great glacier reaches depths of 300 to 400 fathoms large stretches break off and float away, forming the perpendicular-faced, horizontally-stratified, table-topped icebergs of the Antarctic and Southern Oceans. Fragments broken from these great ice-islands by collisions, mixed with salt-water ice, and accumulations of snow, form what is known as the “pack,” which at favourable times and places can be penetrated by properly-protected vessels; but the great ice-wall, along which Ross coasted for three hundred miles east and west, is an absolute barrier to ships, although there are places where a landing might be effected and a winter station be formed, and one such place was noted by Ross, near Mount Erebus, and within a comparatively short distance of the magnetic pole, or where we have reason for supposing that pole to be.

Dr. Murray refers to the results of the deep-sea dredging carried out by the “Challenger” expedition, and states, “All over the floor of the Antarctic Ocean there is a most abundant fauna, apparently more abundant than in any other region of the ocean's bed. In one haul made by the “Challenger,” in a depth of two miles, in lat. 47° S., the trawl brought up (excluding Protozoa) over two hundred specimens belonging to eighty-nine species of animals, of which seventy-three were new to science, including representatives of twenty-eight new genera.” He says, “It is most probable—indeed, almost certain—that the floor of the ocean as well as all pelagic waters have been peopled from the shallow waters surrounding continental land, and here in the deep waters of the Antarctic we appear to have very clear indications of the existence of the descendants of animals that once inhabited the shallow waters along the shores of Antarctica, while in other regions of the ocean the descendants of the shallow-

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water organisms of the northern continents prevail. This is a subject of great interest to all biologists, and can best be studied by a more efficient exploration of these southern latitudes.”

The objects for which a renewed effort to explore the unknown regions in the vicinity of the southern pole should now be undertaken were summarised by Dr. John Murray as follows:—

“To determine the nature and extent of the Antarctic Continent; to penetrate into the interior; to ascertain the depth and nature of the ice-cap; to observe the character of the underlying rocks and their fossils; to take magnetical and meteorological observations, both at sea and on land; to observe the temperature of the ocean at all depths and seasons of the year; to take pendulum observations on land, and possibly also to make gravity observations at great depths in the ocean; to bore through the deposits on the floor of the ocean at certain points to ascertain the condition of the deeper layers*; to sound, trawl, and dredge, and study the character of marine organisms—all this would be the work of a modern antarctic expedition. For the more definite determination of the distribution of land and water on our planet; for the solution of many problems concerning the Ice Age; for the better determination of the internal constitution and superficial form of the earth; for a more complete knowledge of the laws which govern the motions of the atmosphere and the hydrosphere; for more trustworthy indications as to the origin of terrestrial and marine plants and animals—all these observations are earnestly demanded by the science of our day.”

Dr. Murray's paper was fully discussed, and in a most favourable manner. All agreed that there was no probability of any commercial advantages resulting from antarctic explorations in the way of seal-hunting or whaling; but that the scientific knowledge to be gained would be of the very greatest value. The words of the President in summing up the discussion embody the feelings of the Council and members of the Royal Geographical Society. He said,—

“I consider that Dr. Murray's paper, and the important discussion which has followed it, will form a new starting-point in the advocacy of a renewal of antarctic discovery. We must not forget the valuable work that was done by Admiral Sir Erasmus Ommaney and the committee of the British Association five years ago. Sir Erasmus enlisted the

[Footnote] * “Dr. Murray believes that gravity determinations might be made, as well as the deposits bored into by specially-constructed instruments let down to the bottom from the ships.”

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sympathies of the Royal Society, and even of the more enlightened members of the late Government. We owe him our warmest thanks for his exertions. Nor must we forget the zealous labours of Baron von Mueller, Captain Pascoe, and our other friends in Australia. They have long worked for the good cause of antarctic discovery, and I am confident that they will continue to exert all their influence in its favour. Our illustrious gold-medallist, Baron Nordenskiöld, the discoverer of the North-east Passage, has but now written me a cheery and encouraging letter, from which the following is an extract: ‘We shall follow the proceedings of an English expedition to those regions with the utmost interest, and with our best wishes for its success. It seems to me that the most important geographical problem for the moment is a systematic exploration of the hydrographic, meteorological, geological, and biological conditions of the antarctic regions. The arctic regions are in this respect now tolerably well known; but almost every scientific result gained from thence has given rise to new problems of the utmost importance for the better knowledge of our globe, which can only be satisfactorily answered by corresponding discoveries in the far south.’

“These inspiriting words will cheer us on in our task—a task from which I for one will never swerve until it is completed. I have pleasure in announcing to you that our Council has this day appointed a committee for the purpose of reporting on the best means of achieving the objects of antarctic exploration. The whole question will be thoroughly examined and discussed, and it will be our business to convince the Press and the public of its importance. We are, of course, devoted to geographical research and to the interests of science, and we look upon these objects as a chief reason for despatching an expedition. But, as an Englishman, I feel that the great result of all will be the encouragement of that spirit of maritime enterprise which has ever distinguished the people of this country, and the keeping - alive of our glorious naval traditions. We are well assured that as soon as the country is with us in the advisability of despatching an antarctic expedition the Government will concur. We may therefore work on full of confidence and hope. We shall look on this evening as our starting-point. Dr. Murray has given us the route—he has done so in a way we shall not soon forget; and I speak the sentiments of every one present in this great assembly when I offer to him our most sincere and hearty thanks for his very able and important address.”

The Antarctic Committee above alluded to reported that “the importance of antarctic research, and the desirability of its renewal, are recognised by all scientific bodies at Home and

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abroad”; that “one of the most important requirements is the taking of magnetic observations, as it is known that a considerable change has occurred in the magnetism of the earth during the last fifty years, and the exact position of the south magnetic pole is hardly even approximately ascertained.” “Other objects of an antarctic expedition would be deep-sea soundings, the temperature of the ocean at all depths, dredgings, the study of the character and distribution of marine organisms, meteorology, and pendulum observations, if considered necessary; to explore the land as far as possible; to determine the limits of freezing in antarctic regions in the summer, and the direction of winds and currents, and the consequent formation and movements of the pack ice.”

They observed that our knowledge is still very incomplete of the antarctic winds and currents. South of 40° S. there is very low atmospheric pressure, with strong westerly winds and a large rainfall and snowfall, all round the globe. Such observations as we possess show that the winds in higher southern latitudes are, on the contrary, generally from the south and south-east, and the surface-currents are in the same direction, so that in the summer the pack and the bergs are continually drifted northwards. They showed the immense advantages which steamers would have over sailing-vessels in these investigations, and gave their opinion that the operations should be carried out by the Royal Navy in two vessels as well strengthened as were the “Erebus” and “Terror,” fitted with steam-power, and specially protected aft to guard the rudder and propeller.

The Royal Society, to whom the subject was referred, also appointed a special Antarctic Committee, who reported strongly in favour of an exploring expedition.

With regard to pendulum experiments, which were recommended (with reserve) by the Royal Geographical Society, but not directly alluded to by the Royal Society, it is to be observed that they were recommended by Dr. Murray; and in an appendix to his paper appears a communication from Dr. Neumayer, of the Hamburg Naval Observatory, who, after showing how exceedingly important are an examination and a survey of the magnetic properties of the antarctic region, goes on to note that the determination of the constant of gravity has never been carried out in that region, and but a very small number of determinations have been made even in the Southern Hemisphere south of lat. 33°. He gives a table containing all that is known with respect to this important question within the assigned region. To this table I have added the value of gravity corresponding with the lengths of the seconds-pendulum, as given in his table, and a few comparative values in the Northern Hemisphere:—

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

Length of Pendulum vibrating Seconds
Place. Reduced to Sea-level. Reduced to 45° Latitude. Latitude S. Value of G. Value of G. Latitude N. Place.
Metres. Metres. Deg. min. Foot Seconds. Foot Seconds. Dg.min.sec.
Valparaiso 0.992500 0.993568 33 2.5
Paramatta 2564 3568 33 48.7
Port Jackson 2625 3625 33 57.6
Cape of Good Hope 2580 3673 33 56 32.140
Montevideo 2641 3551 34 54.4
Melbourne 2908 3561 37 49.9 32.142 32.1558 38 54 0 Washington, U.S.A.
Kerguelen Island 3645 3562 49 8.9 32.174 32.183 48 50 0 Paris.
Auckland Island 4026 3490 50 52 32.178
Falkland Islands (No. 1) 4154 3558 51 31.7 32.182* 32.191 51 29 0 Greenwich.
Falkland Islands (No. 2) 4077 3476 51 35.3 32.178*
South Georgia 4468 3608 54 31 32.191 32.196 53 21 0 Doublin.
Staaten Island 4501 3619 54 46.4 32.193 32.199 54 36 0 Belfast.
Cape Horn 4565 3590 55 51.3 32.1936 32.204 55 27 0 Edinburgh.
32.206 57 9 0 Aberdeen.
South Shetlands 5176 3631 62 56.2 32.212 32.217 60 45 0 Unst, North Shetlands.
32.221 62 45 0
32.2364 70 40 0 Hammerfest, Norway.
32.253 79 49 54 Spitzbergen.

Dr. Neumayer goes on to say that, “as far as present evidence goes, there is an accordance of facts between the Northern and Southern Hemispheres with regard to the gravity determinations; but we must not forget that from within the

[Footnote] * Mean, 32.180.

[Footnote] † Interpolar.

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south, polar circle not a single determination has been consulted, because there are none.” The accordance of gravity determinations obtained in the two hemispheres alluded to above has reference to the third column of the table, in which the length of the seconds-pendulum for each place, obtained by experiment, is used to calculate what should be the length of a seconds-pendulum in lat. 45° on the assumption that the earth is an ellipsoid of which the equatorial radius is 3962.802 miles and the polar radius is 3949.555 miles, and that the centre of gravity is at the centre of form. The values so obtained do not differ widely, and give a mean of 0.993577 metres—not far different from the computed length for 45°, nor from the ascertained length at Kerguelen, lat. 49° 8′ 9″. But it will be observed that there is a very notable difference in the values of G. at about the same latitudes in the two hemispheres, the force of gravity being greater in the Northern than in the Southern Hemisphere.

A comparison of the values in the two Shetlands, North and South, however, is the last that is at present available towards the poles, and it therefore appears of great scientific interest that further pendulum experiments should be made within the antarctic circle to determine the law of diminution of the force of gravity in the Southern Hemisphere.

The present state of our knowledge leads to the belief that the centre of gravity of the earth lies about three-tenths of a mile to the north of the equator. Such a condition of unsymmetrical balance of the earth, if it be established as a fact, may enable us to account for that slow gyration of the earth round an axis which is not the axis of the plane of the ecliptic, which has now been discovered to be the case; and I earnestly hope that pendulum experiments may form an integral part of the duties of the next antarctic expedition.

The centre of gravity being north of the equator, the plumb-line will be deflected there about 15″ from the true vertical, and astronomical observations by means of zenith distances will need correction. This additional means of measurement of the position of the centre of the earth's mass will, no doubt, be resorted to, so that astronomical observations may check those made by the pendulum.

The papers connected with the subject of a renewal of antarctic research have been forwarded by the President of the Royal Geographical Society to Sir James Hector for the consideration of the Council of the New Zealand Institute, with the expressed hope that they will use their influence with the New Zealand Government to give favourable consideration to the letters which have been addressed to their Agent-General by the Royal Geographical Society, and referring to

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the Treasury letter previously quoted, in which the co-operation of the colonies interested was suggested.

Such co-operation, in the form of a small grant from each of the Australasian Colonies, would, it is believed, have such weight with the Imperial Government as to induce them to undertake the work at once; while the cordial feeling between the Mother-country and the colonies would be strengthened. The trade-routes between them would also be rendered safer by the increased knowledge of magnetic variations to be obtained.

The Council cordially welcomed the proposal, and I was requested to put before the members of the Wellington Philosophical Society a précis of the communications from the Royal Geographical Society, which I have endeavoured to do in this paper.

Art. X.—A Wellington Weather Prognostic.

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 18th December, 1895.]

The weather is a subject which interests us all, and any help towards guessing correctly what sort of weather we may expect within the next twelve hours or so is valuable. I say “guessing” because no weather forecasts are infallible, even when aided by all that science and long observation have enabled us as yet to attain to. Observations of the fluctuations of the barometer, and of the winds and weather experienced at a number of distant points, collected at a central office by means of the telegraph, do enable a competent person to predict with a great measure of certainty the character of weather to be expected in the immediate future; but the chain of causes influencing weather is so complicated and so far-reaching that in the existing state of our knowledge certain prediction cannot be insured—only great probability; we know how great the probability is by comparing the daily forecasts made by Captain Edwin with the actual weather which follows; and I think we must all acknowledge that his forecasts are very generally right, although not always right.

What I wish to bring before this meeting is a prognostic which every one can observe, and which, since I first observed the sign, about two years ago, has hardly ever failed to be followed very shortly by a northerly blow and rain. I mean a peculiar form of clouds. I call them “fish” clouds; but probably “mushroom-shaped” or “lenticular” clouds would

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be more correct, as, although these clouds, as seen generally rather low down in the eastern sky, seem like fishes with smooth hog backs, yet no doubt they would present somewhat the same appearance if viewed sideways from any other point.

The peculiarity of these clouds is that they are very smooth and regular in their upper curved surfaces, and comparatively flat below—quite different from the bubbling surface of a cumulus cloud, or from the straightly-drawn-out forms of stratus clouds, and also widely differing from the delicate feathery forms of the high cirrus clouds.

The fish clouds belong to the class cirrostratus generally, and I should estimate that their normal level is at least 10,000ft. above the sea. Generally, the barometer is high when they begin to appear. It then begins to fall, and a northerly blow follows, sometimes within six hours, more generally after about twelve hours; but occasionally it is delayed for twenty-four hours, or even more.

The appearance of these fish clouds may be that of small, delicately-shaped, scattered fishes, in which case the following north wind is generally not strong, and there is little or no rain. If the fish-clouds be more massive, or if, as often happens, they are joined together so as to form undulating, eel-shaped clouds, with the characteristic smooth, hard, curved outline above, then probably the northerly blow will be strong, with rain. Sometimes the fish clouds are superimposed one on another, so as to form, as it were, a pile or piles of fishes. This form is not so common, but I think it also is followed by bad weather.

So far I have merely dealt with observed facts, which I hope others will also observe, if they have not done so already; and it will be specially valuable to have instances when northerly blows with rain have not been preceded by fish clouds, or when fish clouds have not been followed by the wind or rain. But, admitting that my observations are correct, and that this form of cloud usually is seen before a strong northerly wind, can we in any way account for it? We know that the great system of circulation in our atmosphere, produced by the joint action of the sun's heat and the daily rotation of the earth, gives rise to vast eddies in the air, known as cyclones and anticyclones—the cyclones, or “lows,” if viewed from above, being like great saucers, rotating in this hemisphere as the hands of a watch; the anticyclones, or “highs,” like inverted saucers, rotating the other way. But it is with the cyclones, or “lows,” we are now concerned, as they give us our strong winds and storms. The motion of the air in a cyclone is very complicated: it is drawn inwards below, it is poured outwards above, it ascends in a spiral course,

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and the whole system, extending, it may be, over one thousand or even two thousand miles of the earth's surface every way, is moving rapidly to the eastward. The rate of eastward progress averages about five hundred miles in the twenty-four hours. This causes the variations in the direction of the wind and in the height of the barometer. But the force of the wind varies with the rotary motion. The wind at the front of a cyclone approaching us from the west must be from the northward or north-westward if, as is almost always the case, the centre of the storm is not to the north of us. Very generally it is south of New Zealand altogether. Very rarely it is north of Wellington, and in these rare cases, when the storm would begin with a north-east wind, changing by east to south, probably the characteristic fish clouds would not appear.

For I imagine that their history is somewhat like this: As the cyclone advances from the west, warm, moist air is drawn in below from the north on that side of the eddy; it is whirled onward, upward, and southward until it reaches a cold level, where its water-vapour is condensed into clouds, and the dry air pouring over them smooths down their upper surfaces into the fish-back forms which we observe.

This seems to me a probable explanation of the way in which these clouds are formed on the north-eastern edge of an advancing cyclone here, and of the reason why their appearance should be a usual precursor of a north-westerly blow with a falling barometer, to be succeeded by a southerly blow with a rising barometer, as usually happens. The cause I have assigned is, of course, conjectural, but it seems to me reasonable; and, if it be true, the same weather prognostic ought, I think, to be true all up the west coast of this Island, and probably as far as Westport on the west coast of the South Island, or even farther south. On the east coast, or inland, probably this form of cloud would not be so usual or characteristic, as the advancing cyclone circulation is, as we know, much broken up by the great mountain barrier running nearly north and south through these Islands, and the indraught of air would be modified by the land-surface over which it must pass. The break in this barrier at Cook Strait and the direction of our coast-line here are undoubtedly the causes of the prevailing northerly or southerly winds experienced here, the westerly winds being deflected north or south, and easterly winds very rarely occurring, because, as before observed, the centres of the cyclones usually are to the south of us.

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Art. XI.—The Ultimate Problem of Philosophy.

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 21st August, 1895.]

With regard to all the great problems that in previous ages had occupied more than any others the intellect of mankind, we have become accustomed of late years in England to be told that what is golden is silence. Since the days of Berkley, for several generations speculation in regard to first principles was practically banned among us, as far as the systematic work of science and philosophy was concerned; and, looking back on that period, we are forced to inquire, Was the result from any point of view satisfactory? The outcome was that what was best in English thought took flight from the universities and found refuge in the poetry of Wordsworth, and subsequently in that of Tennyson, Browning, and Arnold; while speculation in regard to historical, political, and social questions was only saved from shallowness and triviality by the influence of German literature, reflected in the writings of Thomas Carlyle. Galileo is reported to have said that for one hour of his life that he had spent on mathematics he had spent seven on philosophy; and it seems to be the case that, somehow or other, the world is so constructed that inquiries into matters that seem at first sight wide enough from immediate practical requirements—investigations into the nature of identity and causality, of the human soul, and of the genesis of the world—are capable of putting thought on the right track even with regard to subjects of scientific detail. How otherwise can we account for the fact that Leibnitz deduced from first principles a doctrine that closely resembles the doctrine of the conservation of energy some two hundred years before its time, and the same great thinker, in his theory of the continuous gradation of created beings, arrived at conclusions that approximate to the modern doctrine of evolution?

A notable change, however, has taken place in the trend of English thought in reference to such matters during the last five-and-twenty years. Hegel, who, while the influence of his philosophy was at its zenith in Germany, was apparently, for the most part, regarded as a more or less fantastical mystic among ourselves, then began to number among his disciples and expositors many of the most competent of English philosophers, including such men as the late Mr. Green; Professor Edward Caird, the present master of Balliol; Mr. F. H. Bradley; Professors Wallace, of Oxford; Jones, of Glasgow; Wat

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son, of Canada; and many others. So much so that, if any system of philosophy can be said to be dominant in England at present, it is the system of Hegel. Hegelianism, however, is with us a general name for the philosophy which at the beginning of the century sprang up in Germany, contemporaneously with the development of the poetic spirit that gave birth to Goethe and Schiller—and was, indeed, another aspect of the same movement—rather than for the special characters which distinguish the philosophy of Hegel from that of his contemporaries Schelling and Fichte. It has been remarked, indeed, with some truth, that Hegelianism, having lost its birthright in Germany, is sojourning now in the tents of England and America. What is true and valuable in Hegelianism, however, still survives in Germany in the systems of other thinkers, even of one so widely removed from his special standpoint as Lotze, and yet more notably in the system of Von Hartman.

It is not now my intention to-night to attempt to add to the number of his expositors, or to deal with any of the details of his system. What it seems to me is the imperishable truth it contains lies in its emphatic repudiation of the right of Kant or any one else to set bounds in advance to the subjects of human inquiry, and the confident assertion of the adequacy of the grounds that we possess for the belief that behind the developments of nature and history are visible the operations of a guiding intelligence, of which our own is the offshoot and the image.

For those who incline to the opinion that mind can be adequately accounted for as something that exists in the universe only as a product of cerebral organization, a class of phenomena which manifest themselves as the result of the operations of the collective and continuous thought of a race or a community are worthy of due consideration. Take such a phenomenon as the British Constitution: We have in it a well-defined, fully-organized system, capable of being adopted by other States besides the State which originally developed it, and, in essential matters, by no means easy to improve upon. The founders of the American Republic, sharing the fancy prevalent in those days that innovation could not be other than improvement, thought that they could alter it easily for the better by separating the legislative from the executive functions. How profound was their mistake has been very conclusively made out by Mr. Bagehot. We find according to that writer that European States which have since had to adopt Constitutions have adhered much more closely to the English model than the American Convention did. If we ask, however, to what English lawgiver, statesman, or philosopher the salient characteristics of the English

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Constitution are due we find at once that we might as well ask to which of the primeval men were due the first germs of the moral faculty. The separation of the legislative and executive functions, subsequently carried out with such manifold disastrous results in America, was the favourite project of reform in England at the period of the revolution of 1688, and only escaped being carried into effect owing to circumstances that present the appearance of being accidental. We see only the impulse towards freedom and self-government pervading many generations of Englishmen, and the apparently chance survival of expedients that fell in with the aim of this impulse.

A phenomenon of the same sort is the growth of Gothic architecture. “No one,” as Emerson says, “can walk in a road cut through the pine-woods without being struck with the architectural appearance of the grove, especially in winter, when the barrenness of all other trees shows the low arch of the Saxons…. Nor can any lover of nature enter the old piles of Oxford and the English cathedrals without feeling that the forest overpowered the mind of the builder.” Yet, if we turn to the history of architecture, we find apparently no one architect who had the design consciously in view of reproducing in stone the image of the forest. We can trace, on the contrary, the various stages by which the basilica became transformed into the cathedral, and can only interpret the ideal that fully realised itself in the fourteenth century as one that more or less unconsciously dominated the mind of many generations. The collective continuous mind thus seems to have in it something that cannot be accounted for offhand as the mere sum of the conscious thoughts and wishes of various individual minds.

If we glance at a widely-different department of life from the politics and art of man, other illustrations, perhaps even more interesting and more marvellous, present themselves. When Mr. Darwin writes of sexual selection there are plainly two very distinct principles before his mind. One is the survival of the strongest or best-armed males in their struggle for the possession of the females: this involves no presupposition essentially different from that involved in natural selection. The other, that to which the continuous increase in the beauty of the bird-world is due, does involve a presupposition, the full purport of which Mr. Darwin himself does not appear to have clearly realised. He thinks it sufficient to assume that the hens appreciate beautiful forms and colours to account for the fact that the cocks of many species become from generation to generation more and more beautiful. This indefinite increase in some abstract characteristic called “beauty,” however, does not at all adequately represent the facts in individual instances. The “more and more” that

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is spoken of can hardly be otherwise regarded than as an approximation towards something in the nature of an ideal existing in some mind that did not itself cease to exist with the passing-away of any single generation. How otherwise can we represent to ourselves the gradual evolution of the ocelli on the peacock's tail, or the still more wonderful ocelli which with such incredible accuracy reproduce the effect of light shining on a convex surface on the wing-feathers of the argus-pheasant? In the difference between the upper and lower ocellus in his illustration (“Descent of Man,” p. 149, vol. ii.) we seem to see the very last finishing-touch being given to the picture. We need hardly, however, resort to isolated and remarkable instances like this to discover the operations of a general mind underlying the operations of individual minds in the lower world. It seems to gleam through every instance of the exercise of an untaught instinct. The mere fact of the discrimination by birds of the pitch of musical notes and the varieties of colour, though so obvious and familiar, if rightly considered, brings us vividly in view of the supernatural in nature. We know that the relations between notes and between colours both rest on exact numerical relations between vibrations and undulations, and that when we discriminate notes and colours we may be said, in a fashion, to perceive these numerical relations; we know that the discovery of them is, at any rate, implicit in our immediate perception, and waits only for reasoning thought to make it explicit. If the birds have, in this respect, the same perceptions that we have, can we interpret the fact otherwise than by the hypothesis that we and they alike share in the operations of a vaster mind?

We are accustomed to view all the organized and systematized products of human intelligence under the category of “things made,” often with much inaccuracy. If a man builds a house or constructs a machine he has a plan, either on paper or in his mind, which he follows out in detail. The mental process as the result of which a poem is written is widely different. Burns tells us that he composed his songs often by humming an air to himself and waiting till the words came. If one could have viewed the process from the outside, without knowing anything of the mind behind it, it might have seemed to him as if there were a struggle for existence between the words, and the survival of those best fitted to meet the exigencies of the rhythm and at the same time to call up ideas that were interesting and inspiriting. The Herbartian psychology has familiarised us with the conception of a contest between ideas for a place in consciousness, and the survival of such only as fall in with the needs of a dominant apperceptive system. Survival of its constituent factors under the influence

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of an ideal is indeed applicable to the genesis of all that is organized or constructed by us, even to those things that we ordinarily look upon as being made offhand in accordance with a copy. It is only the last stage that is thus accomplished. One can set himself nowadays to construct a triple-expansion engine, and need no other equipment for his task than care and patience and ordinary intelligence. But could any one have done it fifty years ago? The steps in engine-construction between that day and this have been achieved by a mental process analogous to that by which poems are written and Constitutions are developed. We are becoming daily more and more fully conscious of this fact. We can perceive that though Brunel could not build a “Great Eastern” that would work, the progress of naval construction since his time renders it probable that our descendants will build vessels of vastly greater magnitude than it. We do not set ourselves now to make wings and, having made them, leap into space, but we are still further from laying it down as beyond question that aerial navigation is for ever impossible. Rather we set ourselves to estimate what progress has been made over a period of ten or twenty years past in diminishing the proportion which the weight of engines must bear to the motor-power that they can develope, and on this basis to calculate what progress the next ten or twenty years are likely to see made in the direction of the solution of our problem. Similarly, in matters political, we have travelled far since the days when Locke or Rousseau saw in the relation between king and people the result of some conscious bargain deliberately “made” at the dawn of history; or since the days when the sages of the Directory had religions in their pigeon-holes, ready to be made actual by an edict from head-quarters. Even socialism—at any rate Fabian socialism—recognises now that it must reckon more or less with nature and its gradual processes. We are beginning to find out that there are many things in the world that are organized and systematized yet which cannot be said to be “made.” “Making” is a deductive process only: it gives effect in the real world to an abstract rule. The process by which the rule itself has been obtained belongs also to thought, but to the province of induction. It is induction that we find taking place whenever the evolution of anything is the result.

A theory of the reason that would adequately define the separate provinces of induction and deduction is still a desideratum in logic. Mr. Mill's theory is by no means consistent with itself. In the body of his work he treats the two as co-ordinate processes, which achieve the same end by different means. In the chapter on “Deduction,” on the contrary, we find him maintaining that every deduction has in it three stages

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—an induction, a ratiocination, and a verification. That is the true account, I think, of every process of conscious reasoning. We can only draw a line that will afford the basis for consistent treatment between induction and deduction by regarding the former, substantially as Whewell does, as “the light that goes up”—the happy thought, the illuminating generalisation to which no methods are applicable; and the latter as the process by which such generalisations are in the end either confirmed or rejected. The so-called inductive methods can be applicable only to ratiocination and the verification. This view corresponds with Mr. Mill's own description, in the earlier part of his work, of reasoning from particulars to generals as the process of mother-wit of the shrewd, untaught intelligence. It may be possible thus to see some truth in the striking thought of Emerson: “Generalisation is always a new influx of divinity into the mind—hence the thrill that attends.” The deductive process of “making” could, then, very plainly be only the process of human minds, whose workings are based on abstraction; and it seems, moreover, that it only corresponds to one aspect even of their processes, and that not a universal one. It may thus, I think, yet become possible for us to comprehend that, though we must give up the conception of “making” as applicable to the genesis of the world, we may still hold to the belief that it is the work of mind, and even of that description of mind of which our own is an imperfect image.

The philosophy of Hegel has familiarised us with the thought of pairs of complementary conceptions, one of which is and must be implicit in the other—though those who are loudest in affirming either of the two are often farthest from recognising that they at the same time affirm its complement. “People have only to know what they say,” as he observes, “in order to find the infinite in the finite.” The category of complementary conceptions is applicable to many others besides those of the infinite and the finite. The conception, for example, of the possible illusoriness of vision, of which Hume made so much use, plainly postulated the possession by us of some trustworthy standard by comparison with which the information that vision gave us might be pronounced either illusory or valid; yet with the recognition of this fact his theory of subjective idealism must necessarily have vanished. In the history of the world, indeed, as we find it, it often takes many generations for a thought that is there already as implicit to become explicit. Hence it is the rule rather than the exception with intellectual movements that they stop short at a stage that seems to us, on looking back at them, to be very obviously only an intermediate one. One wonders how, in the sixteenth century, the assertion of

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the right of private judgment stopped short at the precise point that it did; and how, in the eighteenth, the Eclaircissement, in the main hostile to Christianity, identified itself with what is, in truth, a Christian doctrine—the equal rights of all men.

Applying this point of view to theories of the nature and genesis of the world, it seems, on reflection, sufficiently manifest that the conception of it as a mechanical system is a complementary one to the belief in the existence of a mechanician outside it. Yet the philosophies which most vehemently assert the necessary invalidity of the belief in a God who made the world as a man makes a watch are those which, with equal assurance, assert the possibility of our remaining satisfied with the conception of the world as a watch, but without any maker. Such a standpoint, however, can be only a transitional one. If there is no mechanician, then the world, it is plain, is something very different from a mechanical system. “The brain secretes thought,” we are told, “as the liver secretes bile.” Let us suppose that it does: the question next arises, How does the liver secrete bile? It plainly will not do to conceive of it as secreting it in anything like the same way or manner as that in which the steam-engine converts heat into motion. It must be conceived of rather as secreting it in the manner in which the engine, plus the man endowed with conscious will and intelligence who attends it, effects this end. If there be nothing to take the place of the man alongside the organism, then the organism itself cannot be viewed except in one of two ways—either as something that has an independent life of its own, or as something that shares the life of some wider existence.

We speak freely of some things in the world as “living,” and of others as “dead” and “inert”; but if we force ourselves to consider what it is we really say when we use such expressions we will find that we can never combine the predicates of “deadness” and “inertia” with the predicates of motion and change as applicable to any subject without having in the background of our minds the thought of some cause outside such a subject that moves and changes it. Once convince us fully that no such cause exists, and its motion becomes at once for us sufficient evidence of its life. If there were nothing in the universe, we are told, but two drops of water, and they were millions of miles apart, they would not rest where they are, but would at once begin to move in a straight line towards each other. We can conceive of such a fact under the category of mechanism only, because in the semiconscious background of our minds there is the traditional thought of a God who moves them. Blot out that thought completely and the drops of water become at once

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things endowed not only with some sort of life, but also with some sort of unconscious knowledge of each other's existence and position. We have been accustomed in the past to make use of the categories of the material world to express, as best we can, the facts of mind. A tendency, however, is noticeable in recent science to reverse the process. We speak naturally now of the refracted light-ray as seeking the least circuitous route to its goal that is in the circumstances possible to it. It comes naturally, too, to Mr. Darwin to ask, with reference to a reversion like the occasional appearance of the double uterus, how could it “know,” as it were, what course it had to follow, unless we assume its connection by descent with some form in which it was normal.

Hence, even if we are old-fashioned enough to be desirous of finding adequate reasons for believing intelligence to be the guiding principle of the universe, we can look on with equanimity at the Kantian criticism engaged in demolishing the ontological, cosmological, and physico-theological arguments for the being of a God. The very statement of such arguments involves the conception of two subjects—nature and God—the existence of the latter of which has to be proved from qualities perceivable in the former. Let us conceive the work to be thoroughly done, and the God of the old natural theology to be extinguished. We are left alone then with nature—with the totality of things, including ourselves, as the percipients of them all. This is, then, the one subject in the universe; and we are driven at once to ask, What are its predicates? That one of them is life is a self-evident conclusion; and that others are organic unity, and in some sense the manifestation of intelligence, are further conclusions which every fresh discovery in science emphasizes. By the time we have assimilated them, however, we find that the very fact of getting rid of the God of the old natural theology has brought us back many steps in the direction of a conception which, after all, closely approximates to the conception of God in the natural mind. So far, Hume would be with us. With the common-sense of English thought, which does not let its theories run away with it, he allows his doctrine of causation to go by the board, and does not hesitate to say that there can never be any doubt as to the being of a God—the only questions that can arise are questions in reference to his nature. It is here, indeed, that the true difficulty begins. If we can go no further in assigning predicates to the one great subject than to affirm of it life, unity, and some sort of intelligence, there is much truth in Hume's contention that our belief can never be the ground “either of any action or of any forbearance.” It is plain that we can find these predicates in no other manner than by casting our glance on the world

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about us, and back over its history. In doing so it will be all in vain for us to attempt to shut our eyes to the manifold miseries and bitternesses of human life. Nor does it assist us to tell us, as Hegel does, that all this exists merely that the Absolute Spirit may become conscious of himself. Rather, the heart rebels at the suggestion that human misery should have been devised for the attainment of an end that cannot be represented as either noble or unselfish. There is nothing in self-consciousness that is, in itself, admirable or attractive: as Goethe profoundly remarks, humility, the sweetest of womanly virtues, can never know anything of its own existence. It is idle, too, to tell us, in any phraseology, that evil is negation—that it is something that does not really exist. He who uses such phraseology does not alter the facts, he merely confuses for himself the connotation of such words as “reality,” “existence,” and “evil.” Shutting our eyes to nothing, we may, however, still ask ourselves the question, Does it not, in spite of everything, seem clear that “the real tendency of things is good”? This much, at any rate, was the intense conviction of one who was even more alive than most of us are to the darker side of human things. Without prejudging the question whether it is a conclusion capable of being scientifically established, it may be said that, if it can, we cannot, I think, escape from the further conclusion that there is an ideal which the Universal Mind is endeavouring to realise in the world—that this ideal is nothing else but the amelioration of its condition.

The question, at any rate, of any belief in God which is more than a formal and unmeaning one appears to be bound up with that other question whether or not the real tendency of things is good—that is to say, whether or not there is, in spite of all fluctuations, a progress, steady on the whole, towards a higher and better state of things perceptible in mundane affairs, and whether such tendency is not the necessary outcome of the laws of life and development.

Though Hegel, in his abstract formalisation of his doctrine, places the goal of existence in the realisation of itself in consciousness by the Absolute Spirit—a conception which, whatever aspect of the truth it may present, does not in any way commend itself to human love and admiration—when he comes to show us his principle at work on the stage of the world's history, we find that what it seems to mean is that there is some intelligent principle behind human affairs, or immanent in them, which converts the fall of empires, the decadence of civilisations, the inroads of barbarism—everything, in short, that seems at first merely evil and disastrous—into the starting-point for the development of new eras, charac

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terized by greater happiness and greater liberty than those which preceded them. He treads with firm and certain step—here and there, perhaps, riding his theory of triplicities to death, as when he divides even the continents and their physical features into triads—but, on the whole, arriving at a conception of historical development which largely anticipates the conclusions that the progress of science and research has since made inevitable. Schlegel's conception of a primitive universal civilisation, from which barbarism is a retrogression, is, for example, dismissed as hardly worth considering; yet its validity was maintained by very competent thinkers until quite recently in England. Altogether, his conclusions present a remarkable parallelism with those which Mr. Bagehot, in his “Physics and Politics,” bases on the established doctrine of evolution. If speculation in regard to first principles is, from a practical point of view, so valueless as many would have us believe, it is strange that metaphysics anticipated science by at least half a century with reference to a matter so fertile in practical bearings as national development. What is least formal and abstract in Hegel's line of thought is probably what will be found in the long-run to be of most permanent value. His doctrine that conceptions, as soon as they become explicit, go over into their opposites, appears to be transfixed by Lotze's criticism that conceptions never alter, though the things of the finite world pass from the sphere of one conception into that of another. If the process, too, had the absolute universality which he asserts for it, it is hard to understand how rational freedom itself could be an exception. If the alleged principle were universally valid, should we not be forced to conclude that, as soon as rational freedom itself became explicit in the world, it must pass over into irrational bondage? It is hard to see also how from the absolute equivalence of the elementary opposites—from the theory that “being” and “nothing” are the same—anything but a see-saw between these opposites could result. If the negative element is to be conquered in the end, must we not conclude that it was never from the beginning the full equivalent of the affirmative? The Eleatic doctrine, adopted by Spinoza, that evil is negation, though, if taken as it stands, it is little better than a barren paradox, is yet much nearer the truth than the doctrine of the identity or full equivalence of opposites. It is, indeed, an approximate statement of a truth that has played a great rφle in philosophy, and is destined, perhaps, yet to play a still greater one. If evil is not literally non-existent, it at any rate, as Spinoza very clearly recognised, carries within it a self-destructive element. If reason, as he says, even persuaded us to lie for our own advantage, or even in order to save ourselves from imminent danger, it would persuade all

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men always to do the same, and then social existence would become impossible; and thus the principle of lying, if carried to its full length, destroys itself. Hence reason, he concludes, can never persuade us to lie. We have in this the germ and more than the germ of the Kantian doctrine, “Let the maxim of your conduct be that which can be made into law universal.” A further consequence naturally flows from it—viz., that, in as far as any nation, any theory, or any institution contains elements of moral baseness, in so far also does it contain elements of weakness; that whatever survives in the world survives in virtue of that in it which is true and valuable. This is the kernel of the doctrine that has been preached in our day with much energy of conviction by Thomas Carlyle, and has vividly impressed the English-speaking world. Referring to the rise of Mahometanism, for example, he says, “I will allow a thing to struggle for itself in this world, with any sword or tongue or implement it has, or can lay hold of. We will let it preach, and pamphleteer, and fight, and to the uttermost bestir itself, and do, beak and claws, whatsoever is in it, very sure that it will, in the longrun, conquer nothing which does not deserve to be conquered.” If the real tendency of things were not good this could not be so. As it is, “All that is right,” he contends, “includes itself in this, of co-operating with the real tendency of the world.” If, however, we can recognise the truth that this view of life contains, we must also recognise that the intelligence which guides the universe is working out by degrees the realisation of an ideal that is also our own.

Carlyle's doctrine is plainly a doctrine of the survival of the fittest among theories, religions, and institutions; and here again we find speculation on first principles anticipating the conclusions of science. It differs from Mr. Darwin's survival of the fittest, however, in this: that in it the “fittest” has the definite meaning of the best and the worthiest. With reference to Mr. Darwin's formula, it has frequently been pointed out that the survival of the fittest can mean only the survival of what is best adapted to survive. Like the Hegelian theory, however, it appears to more advantage in action than its formulas. When we see how it is applied we can perceive in it another meaning. Mr. Darwin himself finds in it a principle which must necessarily lead to the development of the social instincts, the unselfish side of our nature. It seems clear to him, too, both that the struggle for existence cannot fail to develope intellect in the race, and also that the development of intellect must secure the development of morality pari passu with it. We arrive thus by another à priori road at the same conclusion—that the real tendency of things cannot be otherwise than good.

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Perhaps the greatest difficulty that presents itself to the acceptance of this conclusion is that which flows from the doctrine of the equivalence of opposites. It needs little reflection to discover that the biblical conception of the knowledge of good as having entered the world together with the knowledge of evil shadows forth a truth of wide-spreading significance. It is plain enough that the hero and the martyr could never have appeared in the world without the tyrant and the bigot. The delights of success for one man must, it always seems, bear a tolerably exact proportion to the agony of possible disappointment for himself, and of real disappointment for others similarly situated. If by what we fancy as the fiat of Omnipotence pain were at once completely done away with, we might find that the principle of consciousness, perhaps of vitality itself, had perished. We are thus sometimes driven to question the very possibility, in the nature of things, of any fuller realisation of happiness in the world than we find there now. It must be conceded, I think, that the negative principle must always be manifested there in some shape. Without the possibility of disappointment there could be no such thing as the serious pursuit of any purpose, and the possibility of disappointment itself involves pain, and pain often of the acutest sort. It may be that we are dreaming altogether idly in dreaming of a painless golden age ahead of us. This much, however, is observable: that the negative principle can assume very different forms in different stages of the world's development. In nature, the only remedy for failure or imperfection is the prompt destruction of the forms that manifest defects. When consciousness dawns, the place of destruction can be taken by the instinctive association of pain with what is injurious. With the civilised man, again, the mental representation of pain—say of starvation—some time in the future can take the place of the actual pangs of hunger in the present. A further stage sees the approval of our fellows largely substituted for every other motive of action. The worst of all pains for us, then, is to be found in the fact of being shunned and despised by our neighbours; and, at a still further stage, we can feel that even this is endurable so long as we are not forced to agree with our neighbours in detesting and despising ourselves, that being the one pain at all hazards to be avoided. If thus even we are forced to hold that pain can never be got rid of, there is ample room for the amelioration of the world in the substitution of the more refined for the grosser forms of it.

Out of such reflections on the nature of pain there dawns dimly on us the suspicion that we may be in error in the fancy that Omnipotence could make all men happy and

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virtuous by its fiat if it pleased. Happiness and virtue may be things that are not “makeable.” If “making” is a category applicable only to a very limited aspect of the operations of the human mind it may not be applicable at all to the operations of the Universal Mind. What if, in the nature of things, nothing better is achievable than that which has been achieved and is being achieved? We have wars still: possibly without them civilisation might fall into rottenness and decadence. They are not followed, however, nowadays by the enslavement and slaughter of unarmed populations. As, moreover, the customary law in each nation, when it gained sufficient strength, in the end created a tribunal to enforce it, so it seems possible that international law, which now exists in the shape of custom only, may also similarly develope itself. We have thus, perhaps, in the very fact of the existence of international law, a prophecy of a federation of the nations strong enough to make public war as impossible between civilised States as private war is now within them.

Not many years ago we were in despair at the anticipation that the trend of our industrial civilisation was in the direction, no doubt, of making the rich richer, but at the same time of making the lot of the poor harder than ever it had been. Recent developments appear to indicate that this was only a transitional stage. It is coming to be widely believed now that the unfailing tendency of every new invention is to shorten the hours and to increase the remuneration of labour, as well as to increase the purchasing-power of its earnings. It seems on all grounds well within the bounds of possibility that the next century will see an enormous diminution in the physical miseries of the world, and it seems open to us, at any rate, to hail every achievement of science as something that is without fail hastening on that consummation. Impartial, unbiassed reasoning alone appears to be all that is requisite to warrant our faith in the beneficence of the Mind that is guiding our destinies.

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Art. XII.—Memorabilia of certain Animal Prodigies, Native and Foreign, Ancient and Modern.

[Read before the Hawke's Bay Philosophical Institute, 12th November. 1894.]

St. George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since

Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,

Teach us some fence!…

And make a monster of you.

Shaksp., “K. John,” Act II., Sc. I.

I go alone,

Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen

Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen.

Shaksp., “Coriol.,” Act IV., Sc. I.

Early in the month of May, when the shooting season begins, I was residing, as usual in the autumn, at Dannevirke, in the Forty-mile Bush, and I heard the friendly warning given to “Look out!” or “Beware!” at a certain notorious lagoon, pool, or deep-water swamp, frequented by ducks, lying about three miles from Dannevirke, and not far from the bridge over the River Manawatu.

Curiosity being aroused, I made inquiry, and I found that during the shooting season of the last year (1893) a young man of Dannevirke named George Slade, out shooting, had there seen a taniwha (unknown watery monster), and had fired at it and wounded it. Through the kindness of the resident clergyman (Rev. E. Robertshawe) I had an interview next day with the young man, who related the whole matter very clearly, temperately, and coherently; and, briefly, it was as follows: He was out shooting, and, having fired at a duck there swimming, and killed it, his dog went into the water after it; but before the dog got up to the duck a large animal (unknown) emerged from the thickly-growing raupo (bulrushes) adjacent, and, swimming, made direct for the dog; on this the dog retreated howling, sans duck. Seeing this, Slade, on the high land above, fired at the strange animal, and struck its head, beyond the eye, and near the angle of its mouth. On receiving the shot the creature turned and swam back into the tall raupo, and was not again seen. Slade further said, its head was raised, as if on a neck, a little above the water, and appeared about 18in. long, with greyish hair or fur. He had related the occurrence at the time on his return to the township, so that it was well known and talked of. This fresh and strange relation by him brought four others to the fore, who stated that, when out riding lately in that neighbourhood, they too had seen a creature, apparently

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swimming, in the water there, that looked in the distance like a young colt* with its head and neck above the surface.

The place itself is isolated, surrounded by high, broken, cliffy banks that are deeply wooded, and rather difficult of access, the water having a narrow outlet into the River Manawatu.

This newly-repeated narration of that strange event of 1893, together with the simple, honest, unpretending manner in which it was told, and the knowledge the residents had of the character of the relator, made such an impression on the minds of some of my friends who heard it, that three of them (strong and determined, and used to heavy bush-travelling) arranged to visit that out-of-the-way spot the next day, the weather, too, being fine at the time. They did so, and, after much and heavy exertion, descended the cliffs, and explored pretty much of the shores and surroundings of the lagoon, but saw nothing of any strange animal, and, after extricating themselves with some difficulty, they returned late at night to Dannevirke.

While we were conversing with Mr. Slade, I expressed my opinion that the animal seen by him in the water might be one of the seals of the New Zealand seas, which I had seen in former years on our sea-shores, and whose hair was also of that colour described by him; but how a marine mammal should have found its way so far inland, and particularly through and against the current of the rough and rapid waters of the notorious Manawatu Gorge (the only way of access), seemed an insurmountable obstacle. However, I offered him a good round sum for the animal, or for any pretty large portion of it. Mr. Robertshawe, also present, related the capture of one of those seals far up in the River Waikato several years ago.

In writing to Sir James Hector shortly afterwards (on other matters) I mentioned this phenomenon, and, in reply, Sir James says, “Your taniwha is no doubt Stenorhynchus leptonyx. Several years ago I heard the same tale from the same district, and on inquiry found it to be so. Ten years ago a taniwha was captured in a lagoon near Hamilton on the Waikato, and exhibited in a butcher's shop, and it proved to be a Stenorhynchus.”

An instance of the capture of one of these marine animals I may mention, as it came under my own observation, and the circumstances attending its seizure were strange, if not unique. It happened early in the forties. I was then residing at Waitangi, on the immediate southern shore of Hawke's

[Footnote] * Lest this should seem strange, I mention in a note that Maori horses, half wild, are very numerous in those parts.

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Bay, and close by the Maori pa (village) Awapuni. One morning there was a great outcry, and a big movement of a body of natives from the village on to the beach. I went thither to see what was the matter, and I found they had captured a large greyish-blue hairy seal, and this in a peculiar way. Some children were playing on the beach, and they saw at a little distance what they supposed to be a woman asleep on the warm and dry shingle, a short distance above high-water mark. By-and-by they went towards her, when they soon found out their mistake, and immediately raised a cry, not knowing what it was. The chief, Karaitiana,* who happened to be walking on the beach not far off, ran up and saw the big seal; and now the creature, alarmed, was scuttling away fast towards the sea. Karaitiana had nothing in his hands with which to bar its progress, while the animal, turning its head from side to side, snapped its jaws fiercely; so he threw himself down flat on the beach and grasped the seal with his two hands just above the tail and held on firmly, and, being a tall and stout man, the seal could not draw him along the beach, but in its exertions threw up stones and gravel with its flippers, and knocked Karaitiana about pretty considerably. In a little while, however, other Maoris came running up to the spot armed with axes, hatchets, and clubs, and soon put an end to the struggle, carrying off the seal in triumph to their village; and some time after, while the earth-ovens were being prepared for cooking the animal, I was astonished at seeing its jaws open and snap loudly several times, although its skull had been broken into with axes and brains protruding, the head not yet being severed from the body. I was also struck with the appearance of its large and formidable 3-cuspidate molar teeth in both jaws, which also regularly locked into each other. I obtained the head as my perquisite, and buried it in my garden pro tem. as a step towards preserving the bones; but long after, when I frequently sought it, after submerging floods, I never could find it.

On several occasions I have had the dried skins of these animals (taken on the outer coast, as at Waimarama, near Cape Kidnappers, and further south) brought to me for sale, but, not having any use for them, I only purchased one. They were all nearly alike in general appearance as to size, hairiness, and colour of their hair, quite dry and hard, having been carefully flayed from the animal, and stretched out and dried on a hollow frame of sticks, according to the ancient Maori manner of drying their dog and other skins. Of course, they were all captured by the Maoris when on shore.

[Footnote] * Karaitiana, in after years, became an elected Maori member of the House of Representatives.

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As seals are known by us to be of gregarious habits, a peculiar proverbial saying of the ancient Maoris respecting these animals may be fitly adduced here as showing their also having had some knowledge of that kind: “No, to tamahine kapai i takina mai ai tenei kekeno ki konei” = “It was thy exceedingly pretty and willing daughter which drew this seal to land here.” “This speaks for itself, and would be doubly suitable for such a chief to say coming by sea—along the coas: in the olden times nearly all peaceful visits were made by water.” “N.B.—The verb taki (pass. takina), here used, means to forcibly draw a captured fish to land out of the water.”*

To return to the taniwha, or ngarara (water-monster), or crocodile and dragon: During my long residence in this country (now considerably more than half a century) I have repeatedly heard from old Maoris of somewhat similar, though much more marvellous, occurrences; I have also been shown the lairs and “bones” (calcite), and the remains and signs of the wonderful doings of such monstrous creatures = ngataniwha (in the big slips of earth from the hill- and mountain-sides, caused by their sudden throes and emergence from beneath or within the solid earth); but of the creatures themselves I have found nothing, not even the slightest remains.

And here, I think, I may properly call your attention to those transcendent Maori stories and legends of the olden time, in which the taking and destroying of several huge and hideous animals of the reptilian class and of the saurian (or crocodile) order by some of their valorous and skilful ancestors is graphically and clearly related. To them I would refer you, my audience, this night; I have faithfully translated them, and you will find them recorded in the Transactions of our Institute; and I assure you they are well worthy your perusal, and in reading them it should ever be borne in mind that the Maoris firmly believed in their truth; hence, too, it was that they did not care to venture into strange, unfrequented places, from fear of those immense ngarara infesting them: this is nicely shown by Dieffenbach, in his quaint relation of the opposition made by the Maoris against his ascending Mount Egmont, lest he should be destroyed by the ngararas.

But, while those ancient Maori stories partake so very largely of the marvellous, and are also mere relations, orally handed down from generation to generation—

Till their own tales at length deceive 'em,

And oft repeating they believe 'em§

[Footnote] * Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xii, p. 144.: “Maori Proverbs,” No. 207.

[Footnote] † Vol. xi., pp. 82–100.

[Footnote] ‡ Dieffenbach's “New Zealand,” vol. i., p. 140.

[Footnote] § Prior.

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—obscured in the night or twilight of the dim past there are similar and well-authenticated European narrations contained in written history. Some of them, being but little known, I purpose bringing to your notice this evening.

My first is from ancient Roman history, originally recorded by the able Latin historian Livy (though that portion of his works containing it has long been lost), and is thus related by Valerius Maximus from Livy, by whom it is said to have been recorded at greater length. It is the account of that enormous reptile which spread dismay even through a powerful and disciplined Roman army. Valerius says,—

“We may here mention the serpent so eloquently and accurately recorded by Livy, who says that near the River Bagrada, in Africa, a snake was seen of so enormous a magnitude as to prevent the army of Attilius Regulus from the use of the river; and, after snatching up several soldiers with its enormous mouth and devouring them, and killing several more by striking and squeezing them by the spine of its tail, was at length destroyed by assailing it with all the force of military engines and showers of stones, after it had withstood the attack of their spears and darts; that it was regarded by the whole army as a more formidable enemy than even Carthage itself; and that, the whole adjacent region being tainted with the pestilential effluvia proceeding from its remains, and the waters with its blood, the Roman army was obliged to move its station. He also adds that the skin of the monster, measuring 120ft. in length, was sent to Rome as a trophy.” Pliny also relates this story, saying, “It is a well-known fact that during the Punic war, at the River Bagrada, a serpent 120ft. in length was taken by the Roman army under Regulus, being besieged, like a fortress, by means of balistæ and other engines of war. Its skin and jaws were preserved in a temple at Rome down to the time of the Numantine war.”* That wonderful encounter took place B.C. 256.

My second narration is a much more modern one, though happening five hundred years ago. It is well and fully authenticated, and, I think, very interesting, particularly as several of its prominent features are curiously in close accord with the Maori tales; and, as I have only met with it in a valuable and scarce old folio of the last century, I have made a copious extract of it, deeming it worthy to be brought before you.

[Footnote] * Pliny, “Nat. Hist.,” lib. viii., c. 14. This astonishing event is also referred to by many ancient writers; among others, by Florus (lib. ii., c. 2); Aulus Gellius (lib. vi., c. 3); and Val. Maximus (supra), (lib. i., c. 8).

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In the “History of the Knights of Malta,” by the Abbé Vertot, is the following relation: “In 1340 A.D. the Grand Master of the Order, Helion de Villeneuve, from charity and prudential motives, forbade all the knights, on pain of degradation, to offer to fight a serpent or crocodile. This crocodile was of monstrous size, did a vast deal of mischief in the Island of Rhodes, and had even devoured some of the inhabitants. For the better understanding so extraordinary an incident, we shall barely relate what history says on the subject.

“The haunt of this furious animal was in a cavern on the edge of a marsh at the foot of Mount St. Stephen, two miles from the city. He went often out to seek his prey. He ate sheep, cows, and sometimes horses when they came near the water and edge of the marsh; the inhabitants complained, likewise, that he had devoured some young shepherds that were keeping their flocks. Several of the bravest knights of the convent, at different times, and unknown to each other, went singly out of the city to endeavour to kill him, but none of them ever came back. As the use of firearms was not then invented, and the skin of this kind of monster was covered with scales that were proof against the keenest arrows and darts, the arms, if we may so say, were not equal, and the serpent soon despatched them. This was the motive which engaged the Grand Master to forbid the knights attempting any more an enterprise that seemed above human strength.

“They all obeyed him except one knight, of the language of Provence, named Dieu-donné de Gozon, who, in breach of this prohibition, and without being daunted at the fate of his brother companions, formed secretly the design of fighting this voracious beast, resolving to perish in it or deliver the Isle of Rhodes. This resolution is generally ascribed to the intrepid courage of the knight, though others pretend that he was likewise pushed on to it by the stinging invectives with which his courage had been insulted at Rhodes, because, having gone several times out of the city to fight the serpent, he had contented himself with taking a view of it at a distance, and had thereby employed his prudence more than his valour.

“Whatever were the motives that determined the knight to try this adventure, he, to begin the execution of his project, went into France and retired to the castle of Gozon, which is still standing, in the Province of Languedoc. Having observed that the serpent had no scales under the belly, he formed the plan of his enterprise upon that observation.

“He caused a figure of this monstrous beast to be made in wood or pasteboard, according to the idea he had preserved of it, and took particular care to imitate the colour of it. He

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afterwards taught two young bulldogs to run when he cried out and throw themselves under the belly of that terrible creature, whilst he himself, mounted on horseback, clad in armour, with his lance in his hand, pretended at the same time to strike at it in several places. The knight spent several months using this exercise every day, and as soon as he found his dogs perfect in this way of fighting he returned to Rhodes. He was scarce arrived in the island when, without communicating his design to anybody whatsoever, he made his arms be carried privately near a church situated on the top of the mountain of St. Stephen, where he came attended by only two servants, whom he had brought from France. He went into the church, and, after recommending himself to God, took his arms, mounted on horseback, and ordered his servants, if he perished in the combat, to return to France, but to come up to him if they perceived he had either killed the serpent or was wounded himself. He then went down the mountain with his two dogs, advanced straight to the marsh and the haunt of the serpent, who, at the noise that he made, ran with open mouth and eyes darting fire to devour him. Gozon gave it a stroke with his lance, which the thickness and hardness of its scales made of no effect. He was preparing to redouble his stroke, but his horse, frightened with the hissing and smell of the serpent, refuses to advance, retires back, and leaps aside, and would have been the occasion of his master's destruction if he, with great presence of mind, had not thrown himself off; and then, taking his sword in hand, and attended by his two faithful dogs, he immediately comes up to the horrible beast, and gives him several strokes in different places, but the hardness of the scales hindered them from entering. The furious animal, with a stroke of his tail, threw him on the ground, and would infallibly have devoured him if his two dogs, according as they had been taught, had not seized the serpent by the belly, which they tore and mangled with their teeth, without his being able, though he struggled with all his strength, to force them to quit their hold. The knight, by the help of this succour, gets up, and, joining his two dogs, thrust his sword up to the hilt in a place that was not defended by scales; he there made a large wound, from whence a deluge of blood flowed out. The monster, wounded to death, falls upon the knight and beats him down a second time, and would have stified him by the prodigious weight and bulk of its body if the two servants, who had been spectators of the combat, had not, seeing the serpent dead, run in to the relief of their master. They found him in a swoon and thought him dead, but when they had with great difficulty drawn him from under the serpent to give him room to breathe, in case he was alive, they took off

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his helmet, and, after throwing a little water upon his face, he at last opened his eyes. The first spectacle, and the most agreeable one that could offer itself to his sight, was that of seeing his enemy slain, which was attended with the satisfaction of having succeeded in so difficult an enterprise, in which many of his brother companions had lost their lives.

“No sooner was the fame of his victory and the serpent's death proclaimed in the city but a crowd of inhabitants thronged out to meet him. The knights conducted him in triumph to the Grand Master's palace; but in the midst of their acclamations the conqueror was infinitely surprised when the Grand Master, looking on him with indignation, demanded of him if he did not know the orders he had given against attacking that dangerous beast, and if he thought they might be violated with impunity. Immediately this strict observer of discipline, without vouchsafing to hear him, or being moved in the least by the intercession of the knights, sent him directly to prison. He next convened the Council, where he represented that the Order could by no means dispense with inflicting a rigorous punishment on so notorious a disobedience, that was more prejudicial to discipline than the life of several serpents would have been to the cattle and inhabitants of that quarter of the island; and, like another Manlius, he declared his opinion was that that victory should be made fatal to the conqueror. But the Council prevailed that he should be only deprived of the habit of the Order: in short, the unfortunate knight was ignominiously degraded, and there was but a short interval between his victory and this kind of punishment, which he found more cruel and severe than death itself.

“But the Grand Master, after having by this chastisement performed the obligations due to the preservation of discipline, returned to his natural temper, which was full of sweetness and good-nature. He was pleased to be pacified, and managed things in such a manner as to make them entreat him to grant a pardon, which he would have solicited himself if he had not been at the head of the Order. At the pressing instances made him by the principal commanders, he restored him to the habit and his favour, and loaded him with kindnesses. All this was not to be compared to the unfeigned praises of the people, who dispose absolutely of glory, whilst princes, how potent soever they may be, can only have the disposal of the honours and dignities of the State.

“They set up the head of this serpent or crocodile over one of the gates of the city, as a monument of Gozon's victory. Thevenot, in the relation of his travels, says that it was there in his time—or, at least, the effigies of it; that he himself had seen it there; that it was much bigger and

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larger than that of a horse, its mouth reaching from ear to ear; big teeth, large eyes, the holes of the nostrils round, and the skin of a whitish-grey—occasioned perhaps by the dust which it gathered in course of time.”

Vertot goes on to remark, “We shall be less surprised at so extraordinary an incident if we reflect that the Isle of Rhodes was anciently called Ophiusa, from the Greek word ó̕φis, which signifies a serpent, from the great number of those reptiles that infested that island. Hyginus, a Greek historian, relates, upon the testimony of Polyzelus, a Rhodian, that a Thessalian, son of Triopas, or of Lapithas according to Diodorus Siculus, having been thrown by a storm on the coast of Rhodes, happily exterminated those mischievous animals; that Phorbas, among the rest, killed one of them of a prodigious bigness, which devoured the inhabitants. The learned Bochart pretends that the Phœnicians called the island by the name of Gesirath-Rod—i.e., “the isle of serpents”—Gesirath, according to that author, being a term common to the Phœnicians, Syrians, Arabians, and Chaldeans for signifying an island, and Rod, in the Phœnician tongue, signifying a serpent; so that, joining these two words together, they formed that of Gesirath-Rod, whence the Greeks afterwards made that of Rhodes, which the isle has preserved to this day.”

Then Vertot goes on to relate “a like event which happened in Africa, while Attilius Regulus commanded the Roman army there” (given more briefly by me above); and then he remarks, “I do not maintain that there has been no exaggeration in the length of the African serpent, nor assert everything that is told of the monstrous bulk of the crocodile of Rhodes; but what appears certain from the historians of that time, from tradition, and even from inscriptions and from authentic monuments, is that Gozon killed a terrible animal, and by that means acquired a great reputation, especially with the people of Rhodes, who looked upon him as their deliverer.

“The Grand Master, to make him some amends for the mortification he had given him, conferred rich commandries upon him. He took him afterwards to be near his person, and, finding a prudence in him equal to his bravery, he made him at last his lieutenant-general in the government of the island.”

About the year 1346 the Grand Master Helion de Villeneuve died, and the knights met in solemn conclave to elect his successor; and our author states, “The Commander de Gozon was one of the electors. When it came to his turn to give his voice he said, ‘When I entered this conclave I made a solemn oath that I would not propose any one but such a knight as I should judge most deserving of this great dignity,

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and to have the best intentions for the general good of the whole Order; and, after having seriously considered the matter,…I declare that I find nobody better qualified for the government of our Order than myself.’ He then made a fine harangue upon his own virtues; the fight against the serpent was not forgotten, but he insisted chiefly on his conduct from the time that the Grand Master Villeneuve had made him his lieutenant”; and in the end he was elected to that high dignity, and, the historian adds, “he was solemnly acknowledged as Great Master to the satisfaction of the convent, and especially of the citizens of the Town of Rhodes and the inhabitants of the island, who, since his victory over the serpent, looked upon him as the hero of the Order.”

There are several pages in this work showing how well he presided and wrought. He died suddenly in December, 1353; on which Vertot says, “If that term ‘sudden’ may be allowed with regard to so good a man, who had always been more watchful over his own conduct than over that of the knights under his care. His funeral was celebrated with the just eulogiums of his brother knights, and the tears of all the inhabitants of the isle, and of the poor especially, to whom he was indeed a father. All the inscription put on his tomb was this: ‘Here lies the Vanquisher of the Dragon.’” (L.c., vol. i., pp. 249–263.)

While engaged in writing this paper I have thought that, on hearing this clearly-written and plain statement concerning the knight Gozon and the dragon, two main thoughts or ideas were likely to arise within your minds—one, the great similarity in several circumstances between this narration and those ancient Maori stories concerning the slaying of monstrous dragons or crocodiles; and the other, the likeness and suitability of much of the relation to illustrate the old English story of “St. George and the Dragon.” This tale of the patron saint of England is, perhaps, just as truthful as those Maori recitals; for it has baffled all antiquarian research—I mean with reference to his terrible fight with the monster, with which (it is just barely possible) Gozon's combat with the dragon may have had something to do by way of embellishment, as the date of the fight was during the time of the Crusades, in which, of course, the knights of Malta were largely occupied. Moreover, we are told in history how St. George came to be the patron saint of England; which I may also briefly state, as it is a kind of evidence in support of my notion just mentioned:—

“When Robert, Duke of Normandy, son to William the Conqueror, was prosecuting his victories against the Turks, and laying siege to the famous City of Antioch, which was like to be relieved by a mighty army of the Saracens, St.

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George appeared with an innumerable army coming down from the hills all in white, with a red cross in his banner, to reinforce the Christians, which occasioned the infidel army to fly, and the Christians to possess themselves of the town. This story made St. George extraordinarily famous in those times, and to be esteemed a patron, not only of the English, but of Christianity itself.”* Be that as it may, we of to-day are better acquainted with the well-executed effigies of St. George and the Dragon which adorn our modern British coins of crowns and sovereigns, which realities are tangible, valuable, and desirable, whatever the origin of the marvellous fight may be.

[Note.—The peculiar spelling, &c., are due to the age of the work whence quotations made—the middle of the eighteenth century.]

Art. XIII.—Democracy.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 21st October, 1895.]

“Man is born to be a citizen.”

We are being daily taught that law reigns everywhere, and the conviction is freeing us from many idle beliefs, and giving us “confidence in the universe.” If, then, the presence of law is universal we look for it not alone in the material world, but in the sphere of man's intelligent action. Here, too, nothing happens by accident, and chance does not exist. It must be admitted, of course, that where the human will and passions are directly concerned our knowledge and theories lack the degree of precision and universality which characterizes the physical and mathematical sciences. But accurate knowledge of a kind is attainable, and some general laws can be deduced. It is claimed, therefore, that there is a science of politics. The term does not denote a body of infallible rules which the statesman may use for his guidance in cases of practical difficulty, but rather principles of social relations and duties. It is in virtue of this science that men are able to test and reject mischievous theories in politics. Man is a citizen—a member always of some social order. As

[Footnote] * Wheatly “On the Common Prayer,” p. 61; who also says, “St. George, the famous patron of the English nation, was born in Cappadocia, and suffered for the sake of his religion, A.D. 290, under the Emperor Diocletian (in whose army he had before been a colonel), being supposed to have been the person that pulled down the edict against the Christians which Diocletian had caused to be affixed upon the churchdoors. Subsequently he had a church dedicated to him by Justinian the Emperor.”

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such he will inevitably be led to “reflect on the nature of the State, the functions of government, the nature and authority of civil obligation.” Nor will he stop there. He will proceed to apply the most searching and exact methods of investigation, and draw conclusions. Thus slowly but surely a science of politics is growing up, based on ever-widening knowledge, and marked by logical exactness.

It is well to remember that the science of politics is not entirely or even mainly a creation of our day. Aristotle was its real founder, and his special service was to separate politics from ethics. Since his time many of the world's foremost thinkers and teachers have laboured in the same field, amongst them being, in our own country, Hobbes, Locke, Burke, Bentham, the Mills, Herbert Spencer, and several others. Each of these has contributed something definite of his own to the elucidation of the subject, or has helped to correct mistaken notions. Wild speculation there has been, and hasty generalisations; but these have in many cases been refuted or rectified. The materials for sound political theory are accumulating. It only needs that intelligent use shall be made of these by the statesman and legislator. We may reasonably hope that the diffusion of general knowledge, and acquaintance with the methods and results of science, will gradually dispose men to make political changes with caution, and only on sufficient ground.

In politics, whether theoretical or practical, problems of the most perplexing nature present themselves, and the discussion of these reveals irreconcilable differences of opinion, and gives rise often to some bitterness of feeling. This is to be expected. Uncertainty as to the goal towards which human society is moving, and doubt as to the right road to take, would alone, even under otherwise favourable circumstances, raise questions of great difficulty. But the difficulty is vastly increased by the conflicting social ideals and aspirations of men and their defective morality. Accordingly, the history of human society is a checquered one. Man has hitherto advanced by blundering. Dearly-bought experience has taught him his errors in the sphere of politics as elsewhere. We cannot hope that the path of social progress will ever be easy to find or free of difficulties. Politics, therefore, can never be child's play.

Again, as accounting for the estrangement between citizens in regard to matters of State policy, it is to be recognised that the effects of political action are very grave and far-reaching, and profoundly concern the community, both collectively and individually. It is the duty of every man, therefore, to be on the alert, and to guard that which is essential to his welfare. All legislative proposals should be subjected

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to the closest scrutiny, and discussed as fully and openly as possible. Only in this way can citizens preserve their liberty and advance socially. Now, it must happen that when men's interests are menaced, or supposed to be menaced, sides will be taken, and every effort made to defeat what are thought to be obnoxious measures. Even political theories, wild and impracticable though they may seem to be, cannot safely be ignored. They are not got rid of by simply calling them “fads.” Theory has a strong tendency to translate itself into fact, and politics afford a favourable arena for the experiment.

The existence through long centuries of organized parties in the State, and the rise of new ones in more recent times, witness to wide and persistent divergence of opinion, method, and ideals in the sphere of politics. Rival policies, embodied in party organizations, are thought to be justified on the ground that they serve to correct one another by material criticism, and thus to assure progress. But the mere mention of the party names—Conservative, Liberal, Radical, Socialist, Anarchist, and the like—indicates how complicated political questions have grown, and how greatly the decision of them is embarrassed. It is difficult for any statesman or party nowadays to hold on a steady course in politics. The older political parties are failing to satisfy the demands of electors, and the old political creeds have been variously modified, and are loosely held. The rearrangement of parties and sections of parties by mutual compromise is a familiar spectacle. These and the like changes show what mighty transforming forces are at work in the body politic.

Man, it would seem, must ever be a framer of polities, impelled thereto by necessity of nature and social exigencies. The State is, in germ, involved in the very constitution of man. Endowed with social instincts, man must have fellowship with his kind. He cannot live in solitude: he must therefore enter into relations with his fellows. Man, as far as we know him, has always lived in society, and hence his actions must be brought under some regulation. In the case of civilised man, his thought is ever growing wider and clearer, his sympathies more comprehensive, his life more complex. Added to this, man has shown in all stages of his history a capacity for conceiving ideals—artistic, religious, moral, social, political—and his destiny is to devote his energies, even to lay down his life, to realise his ideals.

He has not been uniformly successful in his efforts for this realisation. At best, his steps have been slow and painful; but often he has failed, missed the way altogether, or come back to his starting-point. He has learned to do right by blundering.

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On the whole, however, he has made progress. He has undoubtedly made progress in knowledge, industrial arts, and military discipline. He has improved his surroundings—made them more favourable to his self-development. The easier, ruder forms of social life must have preceded the more complex and polished forms. Modern political communities of the advanced type have been evolved out of much simpler associations of human beings. But the progress has always been partial. There has never been, nor is there now, an advance—certainly not an equal advance—of the whole race of man. As a matter of fact, we find the more advanced portions of mankind grouped in well-defined entities, called States. What does this term “State” denote? Unfortunately, the word is used somewhat loosely. It signifies sometimes the government—that is, the governing authorities, in contradistinction to the governed. Sometimes it denotes the governed as opposed to the government. A common usage makes the word stand for the secular authorities as distinguished from the ecclesiastical. Yet another usage makes the word denote the nation as a subject of government. This variable usage is the more to be regretted because the term stands for an essential conception of political science. The State may be defined as a large group of men, occupying a considerable area of the earth's surface, speaking for the most part the same language, and united under a single government. Professor Amos, in his book on the “Science of Politics,” says, “The State, in the modern acceptation of the term, carries with it the ideas of territorial limitation, of population, past, present, and to come, and of organization for the purposes of government.” In Canada and the United States of America we see a very extensive territory, inhabited by men of the same race and speaking the same language, who yet do not form a State because they lack political unity.

Altogether different from our conception was the Greek conception of a State. “There was in the Greek mind,” says Professor Freeman, “a distinct idea of a Greek nation, united by common origin, speech, religion, and civilisation…. But that the whole Greek nation, or so much of it as formed a continuous or nearly continuous territory, could be united into one political community never came into the mind of any Greek statesman or Greek philosopher. The independence of each city was the one cardinal principle from which all Greek political life started. The State, the commonwealth, was in Greek eyes a city, an organized society of men dwelling in a walled town as the hearth and home of the political society, and with a surrounding territory not too large to allow all its free inhabitants habitually to assemble within its walls to discharge the duties of citizens.”

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It must not be inferred that this system of city-states existed in Greece from the beginning. It is certain that there, as elsewhere, ruder types of political organization preceded that which was so characteristic of Greek civilisation at its best. Wandering tribes do not build towns. The hill-fort and the unwalled village came before Athens in order of time, and left some faint traces of themselves in historic times.

Closely connected with our ideas of the State is our conception of government. We have seen that the State, in the modern sense of the term, implies the existence of a governing body. Even in barbarous communities we find some kind of rule established, and deference and obedience paid to some authority raised above the mass of the people. Immemorial nobility is to be met with in all branches of the human race; but how the distinction of rank arose in the first instance seems to be a matter of mere conjecture. It is possible, of course, to have distinctions of rank without such distinctions conferring any right of government. But, in practice, those who enjoy special honours usually secure posts of authority. As States advance in civilisation the organization of government becomes greatly developed, owing to the social needs of each community. But from whom is the authority to govern ultimately derived? Can the claim to rule or occupy official positions be based in the last resort upon inheritance, rank, caste, or divine right? Some answers given to these questions have in the past disturbed the peace of nations, and given rise to numerous changes in the constitutions of States. They have, however, now been answered virtually in one way, for the general conviction seems to be that no government ever existed which did not derive its power really from the consent of the governed. “Government,” says Huxley, “is the corporate reason of the community.” Where the sovereign is a compound body, as is the case now in every civilised government, the practical sovereignty rests with the people. In the British Constitution the three Estates of the Realm must agree before any measure can become law. A complicated but effective system of checks has been devised regulating the exercise of power by the monarch. But with whom does supremacy rest? Bagehot has shown that the British Constitution has given the sovereignty to the majority of the House of Commons. This seems to agree with the political genius of the Teutonic race in all times. Speaking of the Teutonic Assemblies, Professor Freeman says, “So in our land our ancient Witenagemots not only made laws, not only chose and deposed kings, ealdormen, and bishops, but sat in judgment on State offenders, and pronounced sentences of outlawry and confiscation…We must

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remember that, carefully as we now distinguish the functions of legislator, judge, juror, and witness, it was only by slow degrees that they were distinguished. All grew out of the various attributes of an Assembly which, as being itself the people, exercised every branch of that power which the people has, at sundry times and in divers manners, intrusted to the various bodies which directly or indirectly draw their authority from that one sovereign source. In all times and in all places power can have no lawful origin but the grant of the people. The difference between a well- and an ill-ordered common wealth lies in this: Have the people wisdom and self-control enough to see that in reverencing and obeying the powers of the State in their lawful exercise they are in truth doing homage to themselves, and giving the fullest proof of their fitness to discharge the highest right of men and citizens?”

The State is a natural institution. It takes form according to the special wants and circumstances, the innate qualities and spiritual aims of this or that people. We cannot forbear asking, What higher purpose, if any, does the State serve? Can the State be a factor in individual and social development ? The State is concerned with human conduct, and its action is distinctly moral in character, and enforces morality. Although it is quite true that we “cannot make men good in the best sense of the word by Act of Parliament,” yet for all that the State does exercise a great influence in maintaining and improving morality. It lays down a minimum of duty in many matters, and punishes when there is any wilful neglect of its regulations. For example, the State asserts that it is the duty of parents not only to support but to educate their children, and requires parents to act accordingly. But all this only confirms the account given long ago of the function of the State by the greatest of statesmen. Pericles, in his famous funeral oration, describes what Athens aims at doing for her sons, and what claims she has upon their devotion. It is a city-state of which he speaks: “We have a form of government which, from its not being administered for the benefit of the few but of the many, is called a democracy…We cultivate taste without extravagance, and study philosophy without effeminacy; wealth is with us a thing not for display but for reasonable use; the acknowledgment of poverty we do not consider disgraceful; but only the want of effort to escape from it.” (Thuc., ii., 37–40.) All through the speech, says Pollock, runs the idea of the city-state being much more than a source of protection. It exists for the culture of men; it is the sphere of the citizen's higher activity. The glory of Athens is that she aims at producing, by means of a free

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and generous education, the highest type of man. Aristotle also says, “The State was founded to protect life: it continues to improve it.” In the words of Herbert Spencer, “complete life in the associated state” is the end of the social organism which we call “the State.”

The account given not long ago of what the Glasgow City Council had done and intended to do for the benefit of the citizens of that important town shows that the spirit of the old Greek democracy still lives in the Aryan race. Indeed, what we see done in our midst for the improvement of civic life — the recreation - grounds, parks, library, art gallery, museum, and the like set apart for public use—the splendid benefactions of public-spirited citizens—are all an acknowledgment that the city is more than a mere dwelling-place, that we are all under an obligation to do what we can for the culture of men.

There are signs, however, not a few that men intend to use increasingly the larger powers of the State for the same end. It is considered by multitudes part of the proper business of the State to abolish abuses and grievances, and to promote the greatest happiness of the greatest number by direct legislation. That was the doctrine of Bentham, and it has taken hold of the mind of millions. It has become an article of belief that “the State has no excuse for being backward in well-doing.”

We come now to that form of government which, after ages of struggle, has established itself in all the leading States of the world. Democracy is in possession of the field. The fact has been heralded in some such fashion as this: “The rule of the many seems now to be regarded as the final and inevitable form of government for all the civilised communities of men: that is held for a fact which may either be eagerly embraced or sullenly accepted. The few misgoverned because it was their interest to do so; the many will govern well because it will be their obvious gain.” Whether these high hopes and confident predictions will be fulfilled the future will show. It will most probably be in the future as in the past, that the course of human progress will not be without lets and hindrances, disappointments and failures. It is easy and pleasant to cherish rosy imaginations, but an “unreined” democracy will unquestionably have its own peculiar difficulties.

The word “democracy” comes to us from the Greeks, and was used by Greek political writers with great exactness. But in the modern usage of the word a vulgarism has crept in which is wholly inexcusable. It is used sometimes to express a class of society with some connotation of opprobrium. In strict propriety it denotes a form of government in which all the

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citizens who enjoy civil rights also enjoy political rights. Two great Greek thinkers, Plato and Aristotle, have left us lists of forms of government, classified as “normal” and “corrupt,” and in each case democracy takes rank as a corrupt form. In Aristotle's view, democracy is the rule of the poor for their own advantage—an anticipation, by the way, of a rather widely-held modern opinion. Later writers, however, have given it a more favourable position.

Reference has already been made to Greek democracy as exemplified at Athens. It must be carefully remembered that the Greek political communities were small, and possessed a large slave population. The inhabitants of a single town constituted a State. Foreigners and slaves were not counted as citizens, and therefore could take no part in legislation or in the administration of justice. In Greece, then, democracy was exhibited on a limited scale, and under conditions totally unlike those of a modern democratic State. Modern statecraft has set itself a problem of formidable complexity. Whether it succeeds or fails the aim is undoubtedly high.

What does history teach as to the merits of a purely democratic government ? It is sometimes charged against democracy that it is necessarily fatal to individual development, to robustness and originality of thought, to spontaneity of action. Its tendency, we are told, is to level down. Such was not the case at Athens. Professor Freeman says on this point, “Pure democracy—the government of a whole people and not of a part only—is a form of government which works up the faculties of man to a higher pitch than any other; it is the form of government which gives the freest scope to the inborn genius of the whole community and of every member of it…The democracy of Athens raised a greater number of human beings to a higher level than any government before or since it gave freer play than any government before or since to the personal gifts of the foremost of mankind.” This is high praise. There is but one drawback to it: it is that democracy at Athens appears to have been too forcing, and therefore lacked the quality of durability. But, however this may be, there is little room for doubting that a strong admixture of the democratic spirit in a government is necessary if a people is to achieve the highest results.

If we turn from Greece to Italy, there too we find the independent city the leading political idea, but Rome, by means of concessions to allies and subjects, was nearer becoming a nation in the modern sense than Greece. The history of the long struggle at Rome between the aristocracy and democracy is highly instructive from every point of view, chiefly from the close parallel it presents to what has taken

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place in England since the Revolution. One thing is proved by it—namely, that the just demands of the people cannot in the long-run be resisted. A special good which resulted from the victory of the plebeians was that out of the patrician and plebeian elements of the body social was formed an assembly —the Roman Senate—which has been described as “the first political corporation of the world.”

In our day the more advanced stages of democracy are represented mainly by the Republics of France, Switzerland, and the United States, and by the Australasian Colonies. Each of these types is well worthy of the closest study, but probably the one that will reach the most important lessons and have the greatest interest for mankind will be that of the United States. Here we have the sturdy, self-reliant AngloSaxon, long trained in the difficult art of self-government, applying on a vast scale the principles of democracy. This great social experiment, if such it must be regarded, is entitled to the most kindly and hopeful sympathy of all lovers of their species. We are hardly justified in predicting the failure of democracy in the modern world, and as exhibited in the Teutonic race, because of the breakdown of the two ancient republics. Teutonic democracy has been developed on different lines. Unlike the Greeks and Romans, the Teutonic did not pass through the urban commonwealth to the stage of national existence. “The nations of the Teutonic race,” says Freeman, “alike in Germany, in Britain, and in Scandinavia, grew from tribes into nations without ever going through the Greek stage of a system of isolated cities.” Where the process of development has been so diverse, the resulting type of democracy, if less brilliant, may prove more permanent. It is certainly less concentrated and stimulating than that of Greece, and on this ground alone might be expected to be more lasting. A widely - scattered population, with most diverse interests, must exercise much coolness and consideration in order to carry on government with any degree of success. It is in just such circumstances and under such conditions that modern democracy lives and acts.

The innate tendency of the Aryan race to self-government has already been touched upon, but in the Teutonic branch the system of representation has enabled the people at large, when unable to be present in person at the law-making body, to have a voice in the government of themselves. Ancient democracies had no representative system. This happy device is distinctive of Teutonic democracy, more especially in recent times; but science has aided and abetted the genius of the race, and rendered the modern development of democracy possible and inevitable. By the telegraph and other means of rapid communication contagious thought is enabled to travel

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from the centre to the most distant extremities of the body politic. Political changes in England may be known in New Zealand in a few hours., The Press, too, exerts its mighty force in fostering and stimulating the democratic spirit. Through it the people can make their thoughts and wishesknown, and so influence and guide their representatives. In this way the community at large becomes a kind of parliament. Political topics and measures are discussed and criticized from a hundred points of view. The spread of education and consequent enlightenment of the people, tending as it does to equalise social conditions, is also a contributory force in the same direction. Acted on by all these agencies, the civilised world itself seems to be in process of unification.

In some such way as this modern democracy is to be accounted for, and under conditions of this kind it is operative. But there is one other cause, very powerful and persistent in its action, which has also, in my opinion, helped to produce the social development going on in our civilisation—I mean the Christian ethic. There can be no question at all as to the existence and potency of this force. Has it also played an important part in the evolution of our democracy ? Contradictory answers will probably be given to this question. But, without making the Christian ethic responsible for all the doings of democracy, or for what may be called the accidents of the movement, the uplifting of the people may be said to be essentially its work. The opinion of the author of “Social Evolution” is, I think, sound in the main: “All anticipations and forebodings as to the future of the incoming democracy founded upon the comparisons with the past are unreliable or worthless. For the world has never before witnessed a democracy of the kind that is now slowly assuming supreme power amongst the western peoples. To compare it with democracies which held power under the ancient empires is to altogether misunderstand both the nature of our civilisation and the character of the forces that have produced it. Neither in form nor in spirit have we anything in common with the democracies of the past, The gradual emancipation of the people and their rise to supreme power has been in our case the product of a slow ethical development, in which character has been profoundly influenced, and in which conceptions of equality and of responsibility to each other have obtained a hold on the general mind hitherto unparalleled. The fact of our time which overshadows all others is the arrival of democracy. But the perception of the fact is of relatively little importance if we do not also realise that it is a new democracy.

The advance of democracy, whether we approve or deplore it, is an undeniable fact. The unmistakable signs or proofs

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of the sovereignty of the people are—(1) The extension of the parliamentary franchise so as to include all citizens except children, criminals, and the insane; (2) the eligibility of citizens of all ranks for nearly all offices of State; (3) the supremacy of legislation.

What are some of the principles of the new democracy ? Amongst these we must enumerate “equality of rights”—a somewhat vague phrase, but which I take to mean that all men are equal before the law or in respect to prohibition and restriction, and that every man has a right to be heard in all matters that affect him. Another principle is that majorities must rule—or, in other words, that the majority for the time being represents the will of the people. A third principle is an increased and increasing use of the machinery of the State in the interests of the masses of mankind. This is done chiefly in the way of compulsory, permissive, or other kinds of legislation. As regards the intervention or limits of the State the greatest diversity of opinion prevails. There are those who would limit the function of the State to the protection of life and property, and there are those who would fly to Government on any and every occasion. Between these two extremes there are many varieties of opinion. The truth seems to be that no hard-and-fast rules can be laid down on the subject. “As to the question in its general bearing,” says Sir Frederick Pollock, “I do not think it can be fully dealt with except by going back to the older question, What does the State exist for ? And, although I cannot justify myself here at length, I will bear witness that for my own part I think this is a point at which we may well say, ‘Back to Aristotle.’ The minimisers tell us that the State exists only for protection. Ariscotle tells us that it was founded on the need for protection, but exists for more than protection—γıνομένη μ∊̀ν ου͊ν του̑ ζη̑ν ἕνεκεν, ου͊σα δὲ του̑ ευ͊ ζη̑ν. Not only material security, but the perfection of human and social life, is what we aim at in that organized co-operation of many men's lives and works which is called the State. I fail to see good warrant of either reason or experience for limiting the corporate activity of a nation by hard-and-fast rules.” It seems to me that the doctrine of pure individualism is as much opposed to what may be called municipal socialism as to State interference. Be this, however, as it may, in this country the State has established an insurance department, and has undertaken the construction and management of railways—and yet the world goes round.

As regards the programmes of democratic legislation, we find economical and social questions mixed up with those which are purely political. Land-nationalisation, co-operation, profit-sharing, limitation of the hours of labour, loans of

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public money to settlers, and the like, frequently appear as matters for special legislation. The fact that large numbers of people have come to think that questions of this kind should be dealt with in the way proposed shows how the beliefs of men as to the powers and duties of the State have been revolutionised.

The new democracy is not quite satisfied with the Constitution as it stands, but it shrinks, very wisely I think, from making any sweeping and sudden changes. The existence of a second Chamber not directly responsible to the people is sometimes felt to be a grievance, more especially when the offending Chamber is in opposition to the popular will. Loud cries are heard from time to time for its reform or abolition, but in cooler moments extreme measures find no supporters.

In all democratic communities the greatest interest is taken in education. It is curious to note that in this respect the modern democratic State is but following in the steps of Aristotle. About one-eighth of his treatise on politics is occupied with the theory of education. One of the marvels of the age is the sacrifice made by the State to provide education for its citizens. Young and small communities, equally with the old and strong, are impressed with the importance of education. In England, France, America, Australia, and New Zealand, primary and higher education takes almost the first place in the consideration of the State. It is a true and healthy instinct that prompts this care for education; and no greater service can be rendered to the community than that of helping to improve and develope the system and methods of education. The theory or ideal of education as held by the State is still very imperfect, and the results of such education as is given are not all that could be desired. Our great men differ on the subject, so it is no wonder if lesser folk are perplexed and make mistakes. Froude relates somewhere that Lord Brougham once said he hoped a time would come when every man in England would read Bacon, but that William Cobbett said he would be contented if a time came when every man would eat bacon. The proper combination of the literary and practical elements in education is still a matter of uncertainty and “hopeful blundering.”

What does the democratic form of government require from the citizens? The political machine is not self-acting. If it is worked by selfish, unprincipled people the results are sure to be disastrous. The well-balanced intelligence, superior to passion and prejudice, such as is required for the best government is very rare. We may safely say that unless the people as a whole are intelligent, thrifty, enterprising, industrious, and above all moral, their efforts at self-government will utterly fail. Mr. Bryce has well said in his reflec

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tions on American democracy, “It is an old saying that monarchies live by honour and republics by virtue. The more democratic republics become, the more the masses grow conscious of their own power, the more do they need to live not only by patriotism, but by reverence and self-control, and the more essential to their well-being are those sources whence reverence and self-control flow.”

It would be fatal to ignore the fact that democracies are liable to special difficulties and dangers. The objection sometimes urged against popular government, that the people at large lack the requisite training and ability, may be met by saying that “it is not necessary they should be competent the essential thing is that they should be interested.” True as this may be, there are, notwithstanding, grave abuses to which democracy as such is peculiarly subject. Experience proves this beyond dispute. To take but one point, the administration of the law: It is of vital importance to a democratic community that when laws are made they should. be strictly and impartially enforced. The stability of the community rests upon this. Any disposition and effort on the part of an orderly people to shield offenders from the due reward of their deeds are wholly mischievous, and tend towards anarchy. It cannot be too often repeated that the firm and just administration of the law is of the first moment to any State.

Does not a danger also Iurk in the change that is coming over the “representative”? He is turning into the paid delegate, a sort of salaried official. We all know the reason given for the payment of members of Parliament. The reason is probably sound, but the danger remains. The candidate for parliamentary honours would now be laughed at who should venture to say, as Burke did to the electors of Bristol, “It ought to be the happiness and glory of a representative to live in the strictest union, the closest correspondence, with his constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him; their opinions high respect; their business unremitted attention. It is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasure, his satisfaction to theirs; and, above all, ever find in all cases to prefer their interest to his own. But his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgment, his enlightened conscience he ought not to sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men living…Authoritative instructions, man dates issued which the member is bound blindly and implicitly to obey, to vote, and to argue for, though contrary to the clearest convictions of his judgment and conscience, these are things utterly unknown to the laws of this land, and which arise from a fundamental mistake of the whole order and tenour of our Constitution.” Any candidate ven

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turing to assert himself thus nowadays, and to speak in this strain to the electors, would probably hear the word “Fudge!”

But, if democracy has its peculiar risks, it has some safeguards in modern life. Whether these will prove completely effective remains to be seen. The first of these is freedom of discussion—the fullest freedom, within reasonable limits, to express opinions. “Experience and discussion may be trusted to make error find its level.” Another safeguard is the decentralisation of power by means of local government. There are many things which local bodies, acting under the delegated authority of the State, can do better than the central Government. Mismanagement on the part of such bodies is more easily discovered and rectified than when the central Government is at fault. Considerations of party and struggle for political power and place do not embarrass the actions of local bodies as they do those of the central Government.

Suppose the success of democracy assured, what benefits may we hope to derive therefrom? Is democracy itself the final form of government, or is there a beyond ? The late Dr. Pearson, in his book on “National Life and Character,” maintains that democracy will find its consummation in State socialism, that the leading nations of the world are tending towards a condition of stationary civilisation, and that the increased importance of the State will prove disastrous to the energy and independence of thought of the individual. “It is now more than probable,” he says, “that our science, our civilisation, our great and real advance in the practice of government, are only bringing us nearer to the day when the lower races will predominate in the world; when the higher races will lose their noblest elements; when we shall ask nothing from the day but to live, nor from the future but that we may not deteriorate.” This is a sufficiently dismal vision of the future. After the fierce struggles and stern discipline of the ages, what more pitiful issue than hopeless, irresistible decay of character? In this connection it is a little pathetic to remember that here in New Zealand there is no one left to whom we may give a vote, and that we are thought to have gone a long way in the direction of State socialism.

It is proverbially hard to confute a prophecy, and most people prefer to speak after the event. But Dr. Pearson's anticipation is not shared by all who venture to forecast the future of man upon earth. A greater teacher than he cherished a very different belief. Tennyson, while he wisely bids us not “deal in watchwords overmuch,” never loses hope in the progress of mankind towards a better and happier condition upon earth:-

We are far from the noon of man: there Is time for the race to grow.

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This is a loftier and truer teaching. The instinct of progress has not been implanted in us merely to be baffled and disappointed. We know that the future, whatever it be, will emerge from the present as the present has emerged from the past. But the Muse of history, if we are to put any faith in her teachings, seems to bid us look with confidence to the future where lies the golden age. “History is the best tonic for drooping spirits.”

Even if completely successful, democracy will not fulfil the expectations of those who are loudest in its praise. It cannot turn life into a playtime. Strenuous effort, labour—patient, steady, intelligent—will be as necessary as ever. All the virtues which have marked man's advance hitherto will still be indispensable. In all that makes life noble and really useful the prize will be to him only who strives. Competition may conceivably be lessened, but that should be only to set free our energies for employment in other directions.

Let us interest ourselves in politics if we will: it is, indeed, our duty to do so. But let patriotism govern our political ideals and actions. Above all, we should remember that national strength and greatness can never be attained, nor can they endure, if our lives are divorced from morality.

Art. XIV.—The Training of Teachers for Primary Schools.

[Read before the Auckland Institute, 5th August, 1895.]

In this colony, as in other democratic communities, the State has assumed the responsibility of providing schools for elementary education. It would seem as if the democratic movement was under some necessit to ally with itself popular education. At any rate, the two go together. In England, Germany, France, Switzerland, the United States, and in the colonies of Australasia it has been the special care of the several Legislatures to devise and establish systems of primary instruction. Large sums of money are freely voted and expended annually on education, and the demands on the public purse under this head keep ever growing. Some of the best intellects are busily employed in adapting the various systems of education to the requirements of the people, and, as fresh educational wants make themselves felt, strenuous efforts are made to satisfy them. In view of these facts,

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democracy, in its many phases, may claim to be realising the dream and wish of the poet:-

O for the coming of that glorious time
When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth
And best protection, this imperial realm,
While she exacts allegiance, shall admit
An obligation, on her part, to teach
Them who are born to serve her and obey.

The foremost countries of the world at the present day are those in which the common school has most widely and deeply rooted itself. Backward and stationary civilisations, if they wish to fall into line and keep step with progressive societies, have to adopt some system of universal and compulsory education. “Education in Japan is plentiful, good, and cheap,” says Sir E. Arnold. A Turkish statesman and patriot, on his death-bed, recently urged his royal master to establish schools throughout Turkey, and thus introduce one of the most potent factors of Western greatness.

Few will question that the State, in thus charging itself with the work of elementary education, is acting well within its rights. The instinct of self-preservation would alone impel the modern democratic State to educate. To avoid relapse into barbarism, to prevent the growth of “a savage horde among the civilised,” the State must make due provision for the enlightenment and moral culture of its citizens.

And, as the State has the right, so it is under the obligation to provide universal education in the interests of healthy and intelligent citizenship. This function and duty cannot be relegated by it to any other organization, or to private enterprise, for the simple reason that the State alone possesses the coercive power required to make a system of popular education effective. While the co-operation of all organizations and individuals is desired and encouraged in the work of national culture, the general conviction is that the control of elementary education must be reserved exclusively for the State. The education thus provided is not a charity. All have a right to it, because all help to pay for it. Hence it is that education, like religion, is now everybody's concern.

Now, the training of teachers for their work is the most essential part of any proper scheme of education. The day has gone by when any one was thought good enough to teach an elementary school. Men who had failed in other occupations had always teaching to fall back upon. “When a man's the sport of heaven, to keep a school the wretch is driven.” People in reduced circumstances thought it right to apologize for earning their living by teaching. All this has been changed. Teaching is now commonly regarded as a serious and honourable occupation or profession—an occupa-

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tion demanding knowledge, skill, enthusiasm, and good moral character. The day is at hand, perhaps, when moral worth will be regarded as of even greater value than knowledge and technical attainments.

The careful training of the teacher should, I think, occupy the first place in the national programme of education. Without duly-qualified and self-devoted teachers, fine buildings and costly appliances will be of little worth. Apart from the service which the able and zealous teacher renders to the intellectual and moral life of the nation, his training is of importance as a kind of national investment. From every point of view it is necessary to have capable men in charge of our schools; and the more capable they are the better.

As regards the preparation of teachers for their work, two points are to be distinguished—namely (a) their general knowledge; and (b) their professional training. If their general knowledge is sound and ample they are more able to profit by their technical instruction, and have more time for practice.

Let us see what provision has been made for the training of teachers in one of the old countries of the world. Germany has led the way in the work of popular education, and there from the time of the Reformation the training of the elementary-school master has been steadily kept in view. There we find the training-school and the training-college for teachers in the highest state of efficiency. The whole course of training, usually extending over six years, is divided into two periods—two or three years being spent in the training-school, and the remainder in the training-college. The object of the training-school is thus set forth: “To provide that kind of general training which is calculated to afford a sure foundation for the technical training of the elementary-school teacher.” In other words, the training-school provides such instruction and training as are supplementary to the elementary school and preparatory to the training-college. With respect to the latter institution, “the object of the instruction given there is to confirm the knowledge acquired in the preparatory course and to give it progressive development, to insure familiarity with the principles of the theory of education and instruction, and to give theoretical and practical directions as to the correct treatment of the separate subjects of an elementary school.” The theoretical training comprises four principal subjects: (a) Pedagogy; (b) theory of instruction; (c) psychology; (d) special method. The practical training consists chiefly of lessons given in the practising-school under the supervision of a master of method. These lessons are afterwards criticized both by the master and by fellow-students.

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But, good as the German training institutions are, they do not fully satisfy the aspirations of the teachers themselves. It should be noted in passing that all the more important educational reforms in Germany have originated with the teachers. Their suggestions have seldom been at first acceptable to the Government, but, in the end, reasonable changes have been made, and the substantial justice of their demands acknowledged.

The report of the United States Bureau of Education published last year contains a historical review of the German and other systems of training for teachers. In the sixth section of the review a summary is given of the opinions of leading educators on training institutions. The German Teachers' Union, a body sixty thousand strong, had submitted certain inquiries to forty-two of the ablest directors of normal schools. Seventeen of those addressed answered all the questions put to them. The rest declined to answer, chiefly to avoid what appeared to them criticism of the Government.

The first question was as follows: “Is it advisable to organize the normal schools in such a way that they can offer professional—that is, pedagogical—training exclusively, or should they also offer academic instruction and general education, which must be the basis of professional work ?” Thirteen of the seventeen replies were in favour of the separation of general education from purely professional training. Among the reasons given were the following: “The purpose of a teachers' training-school is to prepare its students for their profession; the art it has to teach is the art of teaching; the school can accomplish this task satisfactorily only if the general education of its students has to a certain extent been completed before they are admitted; the mixture of general preparation and professional training now existing is the chief obstacle to progress in the training of teachers, because it necessitates a low degree of requirements for the general education—lower than is desirable in the interest of popular education.”

The second question was, “In what manner, in case the first question be answered in the affirmative, shall the general preparatory education be obtained ? Is it desirable to (a) establish special preparatory schools for teachers, or (b) should the existing normal schools be extended downwards by establishing preparatory courses, or (c) is attendance at secondary schools to be commended ? If so, which one—the classical (gymnasium), or the modern (real gymnasium), or the citizens' high school (without Latin) ?” Six replies were in favour of the existing high schools, and all recommended the citizens' high school as the most suitable.

These are the only questions that concern us in New

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Zealand. The section concludes thus: “These opinions, rendered as they are by the foremost normal-school educators of Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, have made a profound sensation among teachers and Government authorities. The educational Press has reproduced them and commented upon them. Even the political Press in Germany has considered them the most authoritative and important contribution to the question of teachers” training of late years, and expressed the hope that the provincial as well as the central Government will base future reforms on the advice of these gentlemen.

“The further fact that this symposium was called for and published by the National Union of Teachers—a union that has nearly sixty thousand members—is most significant, and proves that the teachers themselves are not satisfied with the professional education the State offers them.”

It will seem like an instance of anticlimax when we turn from these high themes to the arrangements made for the training of teachers in New Zealand. We have adopted, probably from motives of convenience and economy, the pupil-teacher system from the Mother-country. This system, which is really formed on the model of apprenticeship in trade, was long ago tried in Germany and abandoned. Even in England it seems to be showing signs of weakness, and is undergoing modification. Her Majesty's Senior Chief Inspector of Schools in the Metropolitan Division, in his report last year, thus wrote: “The training of teachers in the science of teaching still lags far behind the training of teachers in Germany or France. In England we are still dependent for our supply of teachers in elementary schools almost exclusively upon the pupil-teacher system, and it seems that the sources of supply as regards men-teachers are failing…People interested in elementary education look upon this difficulty as one which will at no distant day have to be faced, and the recruiting of elementary teachers from scholars who have enjoyed the advantages of a good secondary education, as in foreign countries, is a matter well worthy of consideration.” So much as regards failure. That the system is being modified will be obvious from the following extract from an article on our voluntary schools which appeared in the Contemporary of February, 1895. The writer (Archdeacon Wilson), himself a highly distinguished schoolmaster, says, “A School Board can not only provide special instruction for its pupil-teachers, but can afford to duplicate its staff of such teachers, and thus give them full leisure for private study.” And in a note the Archdeacon says, “If the Education Department would recognise two pupil-teachers, each working half-time in school and half-time in central classes, as equivalent to one pupil, the

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difficulty of properly educating pupil-teachers in voluntary schools would be diminished.”

What, then, is done by the Education Department of New Zealand, and the educational authorities of Auckland in particular, for the training of teachers? The department holds two examinations annually for Classes E and D, and grants certificates of competency to successful candidates; it recognises the University degree by creating for it the three higher grades—C, B, A; it also recognises the matriculation examination and the Junior and Senior Civil Service examinations, and makes certain concessions in favour of those who have passed these tests; it has framed certain regulations concerning the employment and training of pupil-teachers; lastly, it has made regulations respecting normal schools. Subject to the general provisions of the Education Act and to the regulations of the department, the Education Boards have done what they could to keep up the supply of qualified teachers.

A number of young people are taken on year by year; after a brief period of probation and on the favourable report of a head teacher they are indentured as pupil-teachers, appointed to some school, and generally put in charge of standards. They are required to work five hours daily in school, and are entitled to receive, out of school-hours, five hours' instruction per week from head teachers or their deputies. They are examined annually, and are expected to present themselves as soon as possible for examination in Class E or D. This, I think, is all that is done to aid them by the educational powers that be.

The fact that their qualifications, as shown by examination and Inspectors' marks, are rising, only proves capacity and desire for improvement on the part of the teachers themselves. To get through the different grades they must have recourse to outside help.

The objections to a scheme of this kind are obvious and weighty. Young people, from fifteen to seventeen years of age, whose training is avowedly nil or very incomplete, whose stock of knowledge is very meagre, are put to teach—the very work for which they are least fitted. As our schools are staffed and organized it is impossible for head teachers to exercise any adequate and effective supervision over the teaching of their junior subordinates. The system, if such it can be called, is unfair alike to the young teacher and to the scholar. It is indefensible except on the ground of want of means. It has been tried elsewhere under favourable circumstances and deliberately rejected. This being so, it would be surely well for us to take advantage of the experience of others and avoid repeating educational blunders.

With respect to the general education of the teacher, the

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best agencies are, in my opinion, the secondary school and the university. It will be greatly to the advantage of teachers to share in general culture with the members of other professions. In advocating the fullest possible use of the university and the secondary school in the preparation of our teachers I am but complying with the spirit of the Education Act and of the regulations of the Education Department. In other countries, too, as we have seen, the secondary schools are likely to be more closely linked to the primary schools in the great work of helping to train the teachers of the latter.

In addition to adequate general knowledge, the student who aspires to be a teacher must also have practical training under the direction of some highly-qualified man. To effect this there must be established, as suggested in the regulations of the department, a practising-school, through which all our young teachers should be required to pass.

Under present conditions we cannot hope for the best results, and our educational system, notwithstanding its many excellencies, is maimed and halting. Some reform is needed; but reform to be real and lasting must be preceded by thorough knowledge of the weaknesses and deficiencies of existing arrangements, of what is needed, and of what is aimed at in other countries which are far ahead of us in educational evolution.

Art. XV.—Abel Tasman and his Journal.

[Read before the Otago Institute, 10th September, 1895.]

Plate I.

In fulfilment of a promise made during the last session of this Institute, I have now the pleasure of laying before you a translation, made by myself and my wife, from the original Dutch of that portion of Tasman's Journal relating to the discovery of New Zealand. It is the first time that this has been fully translated.* I shall also give

[Footnote] * Translated from “Journaal van de Reis naar het onbekende Zuidland, in den Jare 1642, door Abel Jansz. Tasman, met de Schepen Heemskerck en de Zeehaen. Medegedeeld en met eenige Aanteekeningen voorzien, door Jacob Swart,” &c., &c. “Met eene Kaart. Te Amsterdam, bij de Wed. G. Hulst van Keulen, 1860.” Tasman's Journal was lost for over two hundred years. When it was found Swart published it in its entirety, as above, in 1860. A copy of this I possess, and from it my translation has been made.

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an account of the Journal generally, of the circumstances under which it was written, and of Tasman himself. During the latter part of the sixteenth and the earlier part of the seventeenth century the Dutch were pre-eminently the rulers of the sea. They had superseded the Spanish and the Portuguese, who so long had been in the van of maritime discovery and adventure. Their ships were better built, found, and commanded than had ever been the case before. Their navigation, laws, and rules were for the time of quite an advanced kind; and, with that quiet perseverance and sturdy courage which, under the name of Dutch phlegm, have always been characteristic of the nation, their merchants had secured and held the trade of the world. England's day was then but in high dawn; and, though now she is, and for long has been, the mistress of the seas, at that time she held but a second if not a third place. Early in the seventeenth century Holland penetrated into the Indian Archipelago, and amidst its numberless fertile islands developed amazingly the wealth of her trade. In 1610 she founded the capital of Batavia on the Island of Java, and, though surrounded by hostile native princes or chiefs, she maintained her position and security in this centre. The affairs of this Dutch East India Company were managed by a Governor-General and Council, who, by persistent courage and enterprise, maintained in those parts of the world that renown which their countrymen had won elsewhere. At no period in its history was the company so prosperous and flourishing as between the years 1630 and 1680. That half-century closed, it became involved in the quarrels and politics of the native Javanese States, and then commenced its commercial ruin. In 1636 Antony van Diemen was appointed Governor-General, retaining office for nearly ten years; and no Governor equalled him in energy and sagacity. It was during his rule that Tasman's voyage, of which we are now to speak, was undertaken.

Tasman was born in 1602 or 1603, at Hoorn, in the north of Holland, a town on the borders of the Zuyder Zee, where so many bold sailors were bred, and where, it has been stated, descendants of his family still remain. But, indeed, we know little of Tasman's personal history beyond that contained in his Journal. In this he has truly bequeathed us his monument, though underneath it lies little more than a shadow. An old engraving of him is to be seen in the Christchurch Museum; and it would seem that some personal description is given by M. Dozy in “Bijdragen de Taal Land en Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch-Indie” (“Contributions to the Language, Country, and People of Dutch India”), 5th series, vol. ii., p. 308; but of this I know nothing. He died at Batavia in 1659. By direction of Van Diemen he was despatched in 1639,

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and soon after his arrival in the settlement, under the command of Captain Matthys Kwast, who was instructed to proceed through the Western Pacific to the Philippines, and there to make search for the fabled Gold and Silver Islands. These are now known as the Bonin Islands, east of Japan. This was most probably Tasman's first voyage under the auspices of the company; at its close he sailed in the Indian seas until 1642, and then commenced his great voyage of discovery.

Here it will be interesting to contrast the mode of present-day sailing with that whereby those who went down to the sea in ships in Tasman's time made their truly perilous voyages. Now navigation has been reduced to a fine art, as well as to a precise science—so fine and so precise that it may be generally affirmed that disaster at sea is the result of carelessness, often of gross carelessness. Those floating palaces which now cross the waste of waters in every direction are timed to reach their destination with the punctuality and almost the speed of a railway-train. A few days, or weeks at most, of safe and pleasant travel now represent the weary months of discomfort, dangers real and imaginary, and the scourges of scurvy and dysentery which were too often the lot of those who led the way. All this was first rendered possible by the invention of those instruments, the sextant and chronometer, which now daily tell the sailor his exact position on the trackless ocean. Add to these his accurate chart and nautical tables, and what evil can befall him, unless through great neglect or rare misfortune? When undertaking early voyages of discovery it was usual that two, three, or more vessels should form the fleet. This was a precaution in all ways wise, contributing as it did to mutual courage, safety, and companionship. The commanders and officers formed a committee, or council as they termed it, and whenever any difficulty or dilemma arose the members of this council were summoned by signal aboard the principal vessel of the expedition, and there decided what course was best to follow. These occasions seem to have been frequent, as we can well fancy. The vessels, with their high poop, high forecastle, and round bows must have looked picturesque enough. They were greatly foreshortened, too, for it was considered that a vessel whose length much exceeded its breadth was absolutely unsafe and not unlikely to capsize. Four or five knots an hour was good average sailing; much more frequently the distance traversed in a day did not exceed fifty or sixty miles. The tonnage of those early vessels varied much: some measured 300 or even 400 tons; but the perils of many a long voyage were encountered in little vessels of no more than 40, 60, or 120 tons burthen. The dietary scale in Tasman's

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time was something as follows: To each man—one good cheese for the whole voyage; three pounds of biscuit, a quartern of vinegar, and half a pound of butter per week; on Sunday, three-quarters of a pound of meat; on Monday and Wednesday, 60z. of salted cod; on Tuesday and Saturday, a quarter of a pound of stock-fish; on Thursday and Friday, three-quarters of a pound of bacon with grey peas; and at all times as much oatmeal as could be eaten. Those were not the days of coffee, tea, or teetotalism, but of strong rum and arrack, which were regularly distributed; and whoever was so lucky as first to descry land from the masthead had his ration doubled. The instruments and methods used for determining the position at sea—the latitude and longitude—were of the most primitive and, one might say, ineffective kind. Cartography was in its infancy, and the few charts that were placed in the sailor's hands were projected on principles so regardless of the proportions of the sphere as to be absolutely misleading and dangerous. The simple device of the log for measuring the rate of sailing through the water was introduced but twenty years prior to Tasman's time. Before that it was usual to estimate the amount by guess. The sun's altitude, and the relative position of the heavenly bodies, which are now calculated with such accuracy by means of the sextant, and which, with the chronometer, give the true position, were then ascertained by very crude instruments—the astrolabe, and, later, the cross-staff; specimens of which I exhibit. The astrolabe was made of a circular piece of metal, 7in. in diameter, divided into quadrants, one of which was divided into degrees, and suspended freely, as one might suspend a watch by its ring. A broad pointer or index, 1 ½in. wide, traversed the face of the instrument, and was divided through the exact middle of its length by a line termed “the line of confidence.” Close to each extremity of the index, and perpendicular to it, a small plate was fixed, with two small holes, one larger than the other, but both being exactly over the line of confidence. These were sights, and when the object viewed was seen in exact line through them—the sun or moon, or a star—the angle was read off. The cross-staff, which was probably used by Tasman, was a squared rod of wood, 3ft. in length, upon which were denoted angles or degrees, and having a sight at the eye-end. Upon this, by means of a slot, slid at right angles a second rod of wood, about 2ft. in length, having a sight at each terminal, and through these sights the object was viewed, the object-rod, if we may so call it, being adjusted upon the other, which was pointed plane to the horizon, and the angle read off. In this rough way was the sun's altitude taken, and probably a rough attempt was often made to take what

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sailors call a lunar distance. An improvement was made on this cross-staff by adding one or two shorter transoms for reading smaller angles. On some of those odd frontispieces which embellish ancient atlases or geographies may be seen a sweet little cherub holding aloft an emblem of the cross apparently, but really this cross-staff. A hundred years after the introduction of the cross-staff came Dr. Hadley's quadrant (about 1731), which has developed into the perfect sextant of to-day. But with his tables of declinations, which were even then calculated, and this simple instrument, Tasman and his brethren succeeded in taking their latitudes with remarkable accuracy, as is evident by inspecting the coast-line of his Staten Land, which I have placed side by side with that of our New Zealand. But how he succeeded with his longitudes is quite a different matter. As we well know, longitudes can only be calculated perfectly by knowing the difference of time at two meridians, and this must be gained by the aid of accurate timekeepers. In Tasman's day, the very few clocks and watches in existence were but of little use in keeping the time. The problem of longitudes at sea was always considered of the utmost importance amongst maritime nations. Even at the beginning of this century it was thought that it would never be solved, owing to the difficulty or impossibility of ever constructing watches that would keep perfect time. As indicating this sentiment, the so-called Board of Longitude advertised, at the beginning of last century, in Queen Anne's reign, that they would give rewards of £10,000, £20,000, and £30,000 respectively to him who should discover a means of taking longitudes at sea to within sixty, forty, and thirty geographical miles. Precision within these limits was not thought of or expected. This liberal offer stimulated invention, and Dr. John Harrison, an ingenious mechanician, who for years devoted himself to making improvements in clocks and watches, succeeded in 1764 in gaining the prize of £20,000 with a watch—or chronometer, as we should now call it—which was twice carried on a voyage to the West Indies. The time kept was admirable, and insured an accuracy of longitude to within ten or twelve miles. One of Harrison's watches, which, by-the-by, cost from £80 to £100 apiece, was carried by Captain Cook on his first great voyage of discovery. Messrs. Wales and Bayly, who accompanied Cook's second expedition, state, in their astronomical observations of the voyage, published in 1777, that the longitude could then be computed to within the fifth or sixth of a degree—that is, to ten or twelve geographical miles. The earliest account I can discover of the use of timekeepers at sea is in 1663, when two watches were used together on the same vessel. The result was not satisfactory, as may be

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learned from the manuscript in the Sloane collection of the British Museum. It is but within the last few years, comparatively speaking, that chronometers have been in universal use.

The last antiquated marine instrument to which I shall refer as used in Tasman's time is the sand-glass. These were constructed of different sizes, so as to measure periods of four hours, one hour, and half an hour. The survival of them at sea is to be seen in the 28-second log-glass, used when the log is taken; and on the kitchen mantelpiece, for boiling eggs. Hour-glasses were used in the last century in churches, placed on the pulpit-ledge in view of the congregation, where they regulated the length of the sermon. Much improvement has been effected in this direction during the last few years, the regulation length of sermons now being about twenty minutes. The time at sea was roughly kept by the half-hour glass, which was always in sight of the steersman. When the last grains of sand had run out he reversed the glass, striking a bell at the same time as a mark of the time. This was repeated until the glass had been turned eight times, and the bell struck eight times. Thus four hours had elapsed, the watch was completed, and the new watch took charge of the ship. And so Tasman, in denoting time, speaks of so many glasses in such-and-such a watch: thus, three glasses in the morning watch would be three half-hours past 4 a.m.—that is, 5.30. These sandglasses were made with the greatest care and accuracy. The upper and lower sections were separated by a thin metallic plate, perforated with a fine pin-hole, through which the sand ran. The sand was carefully selected and dried—iron-sand, I think, being preferred, as being a rounder, more regular grain, and therefore affording the least friction. When the running of this sand through the pin-hole had been adjusted and timed the whole was hermetically closed by lashing, and was further protected by a wooden framework. Now, it is quite possible, and not unlikely, that, conjointly with dead-reckoning, Tasman took his longitude by the help of a four-hour glass of this description, set agoing at noon when about to leave port. Of course, there would be some error, due to the expansion or contraction of the glass, or to failure in turning at the exact moment when the last grains of sand had disappeared. Still, with all faults, this was the only method of securing any reasonable approach to a fixed meridional time. If Tasman did not adopt it, then his only other way of estimating his daily longitude was by means of dead-reckoning—that is, by reckoning the number of miles sailed over an east or west course in twenty-four hours. This rough method has been used by sailors for centuries, and is used at the present

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time whenever a clouded sky interferes with a due observation of the sun. It is untrustworthy at the best, from causes which are very evident. A vessel may make much lee or lost way from some ocean current, which insensibly drifts her out of her course; and there are other sources of error. Hence we shall not be surprised to find that, whilst Tasman's latitudes are very correct, his longitudes are often considerably at fault, even so much as three or four degrees. As will be observed in this map of New Zealand, upon which I have projected his daily course, he is wrong on the average about 3° W.—that is, about 170 miles from the coast. This vast discrepancy will exhibit very clearly the imperfection of nautical methods two hundred and fifty years ago, and that Queen Anne's Board of Longitude might well be content with any means whereby the position at sea might be known within thirty or forty miles of the true one.

Before the discovery of America — the so-called New World—the westernmost point of the then known world was the Island of Ferro, one of the Canaries, and it was therefore selected by old geographers as the prime meridian from which all other meridians were calculated. Afterwards, and somewhat before Tasman's time, the Peak of Teneriffe, also in the Canaries, was selected, probably because of its conspicuous height. It is from this meridian, then, that Tasman gives his longitudes. In the present day all nations agree as a matter of great convenience to calculate from Greenwich, with the exception of the French, who, whilst notating their parallels from Paris, nevertheless add the Greenwich equivalent. Whilst Tasman gives, in both his chart and Journal, his positions as deduced from the Peak of Teneriffe, they must really be computed from the Island of Mauritius, which, as we shall presently see, was his final point of departure after leaving Batavia. So that, to reduce his longitudes to those of Greenwich, we must subtract, say, 21° 2′ from them—made up of, say, 16 ½° for Teneriffe and 4 ½° error for Mauritius. We then have remaining what may be called “personal errors,” caused by inability to calculate his position exactly, and which, as has been seen, often amount to three or four degrees. Another explanation should here be made. The distances sailed are in Dutch miles, fifteen of which are equal to one degree. A Dutch mile is equal to about four English, so that if Tasman gives as his day's work twenty miles we should reckon that he had sailed eighty. In making this translation I have preferred to give Tasman's own unaltered details; those who desire to make the corrections can do so from the data I have given.

In a paper read before this Institute last year I gave some account of Tasman's Journal, and showed that it had never

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been edited and published in its entirety until so recently as the year 1860, when Heer Jacob Swart, of Amsterdam, gave it to the world in the original old Dutch, which not only differs greatly from modern Dutch but is apparently a dialect. From this edition this translation has been made, and I think it may be truly said that it is the first full translation hitherto made. It was with great pleasure I learnt a few weeks ago that the firm of Heinrich Müller, of Amsterdam, is now preparing to publish a limited number of copies of the full text in English. This will be as valuable as interesting. Then, as good things sometimes come together, I saw recently a few sheets of what apparently is to be the future New Zealand Reader for use in our primary schools. These sheets contained some parts of Tasman's Journal, evidently translated from the Swart edition. The portion relating to New Zealand ended, unfortunately, with the massacre in Murderers' Bay. I do not know who the translator is, but his work has been done in the most competent and accomplished way, and it is to be hoped that he will complete it. The translation is sometimes not quite literal, and that in parts which would not be obscured by a literal rendering. Nor do I understand the principle adopted in giving the longitudes: these are not Tasman's, even with the data for corrections above given, nor are they the true longitudes. The distances run are given in English miles. So, then, all the previous renderings of Tasman's Journal prior to that of Jacob Swart in 1860 have been incorrect in various particulars, the chief one being that of excessive abridgment. As regards the bibliography of these, I cannot do better than refer to my paper in the “Transactions of the New Zealand Institute” for 1894, pages 619, 620.

In his edition Jacob Swart prefixes to the Journal a publication of all the documents relating to it. These are of considerable value and interest, and were discovered in the old foliants and letter-books of the company, presumably at the same time that the long-lost Journal was found and forwarded from Batavia to Amsterdam. They consist—first, of a letter from Governor Van Diemen and his Council to the Council of Seventeen at Amsterdam, apprising them of Tasman's departure on his important expedition; second, of a Letter of Instructions to Tasman and his chief officers; and, third, of other letters and papers giving an account of previous discoveries and directions, which it was no doubt thought important that Tasman should have with him. The Instructions are far too lengthy to lay before you here, but they testify most favourably to the wisdom and foresight of Governor Van Diemen and his Council in all matters relating to the geographical knowledge of the time, in fitting out the ships, in suggesting suitable measures in case of accident or failure, and generally in their

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fullness of sagacious advice and command. Even to-day they would well serve as models to copy. The vessels of the expedition were two—the ship or yacht Heemskerck, and a smaller vessel, the flyboat Zeehaen, the former having a crew of sixty, the latter of fifty men. They were victualled for twelve months.

Towards the better understanding of the Journal, I would here explain that Tasman begins and ends his day at midnight—that is, it is the same as our civil day. He reckons his course and the distance run from noon to noon, at which time he took his latitude and longitude. His watches were—the day or morning watch, from 4 to 8; the forenoon or noon watch, from 8 to 12 noon; the afternoon watch, from 12 to 4; the flatfoot, or, as we call them, the dog watches, from 4 to 6 and 6 to 8; the first watch, 8 to 12 midnight; and the second or hound watch, 12 midnight to 4 in the morning. It is curious that of all Teutonic-speaking sailors the English alone use the term “dog-watch” as signifying the hours between 4 and 8 p.m. Other Teutons use the equivalent hund-, hunde-, or honde-wacht, as signifying the second watch—that between midnight and 4 a.m.; and to express their dog-watches, between 4 and 8 p.m., they use plattfuss, plattfoden, or platvoet, meaning “flatfoot.” The neo-Latin or Italic speaking sailors had no such words as “dogwatch” or “flat-foot,” but spoke of the second watch, or of the watch from 4 to 6 or 6 to 8 in the evening. I do not know the underlying meaning of these words, but can fancy they contain the idea of the most restful part of a ship's day, when a dog would be sufficient guard, and when any work on deck would be done without running—all heel and toe, as the pedestrians have it—a flat foot.

The vessels sailed from Batavia on the 14th August, 1642, with instructions to make in the first instance for the island Mauritius, where they were to take in fresh provisions and otherwise refit. At this time Mauritius belonged to the Dutch, and was a convenient recruiting-place for their vessels as they sailed to and fro between Holland and the Batavian settlement. Tasman commences thus: “Journal or description by me, Abel Jansz. Tasman, of a voyage made from the City of Batavia, in the East Indies, for making discoveries of the unknown South Land, in the year 1642, the 14th August. May God Almighty be pleased to give hereto His blessing. Amen.” Mauritius, a distance of about 3,000 miles, was reached, after a splendid run for those days, on the 5th September. This would give an average of about 120 miles a day sailed. Here a month's stay was made, during which the vessels were thoroughly refitted, and pigs, goats, wild-fowl, firewood, and fresh water were brought on

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board. Thus fortified at all points, they left Mauritius on the 8th October, “for which,” says Tasman, “the Lord be praised and thanked.” The course was now south and southeast. On the 27th a considerable quantity of weed was seen, which indicated proximity to land. A council was held, and it was determined to keep a man constantly at the topmast-head on the look-out, and whoever first discovered land, rocks, or shoals should be rewarded with three reals and an extra pot of arrack or rum. Nothing further, however, was seen for nearly a month, and until the 24th November, when Tasman made his first discovery, that of Van Diemen's Land, so called by him after his patron the Batavian Governor. The distance thus run from Mauritius was nearly 6,000 miles, the average daily run being about 140 miles. He named many of the bays and headlands—names retained to this day, such as Frederick Henry and Storm Bay, Maria Island, &c. He explored here until the 4th December, and saw at a distance some of the inhabitants, smoke rising in the woods, steps cut into the trees with flint axes, whereby the natives climbed up them to search for birds' nests; specimens of gum, and so on. Before leaving Van Diemen's Land, on the 5th December, a fort was erected in Frederick Henry Bay, with a flag flying on it. The vessels were again at sea on the 5th December. A council was called, when it was agreed that the course held should still be one due east, and that it should be kept for twenty-six degrees of further longitude; if no further land was fallen in with, a northerly course should be shaped for home. Eight days later, on the 13th December, Staten Land, or New Zealand, was discovered. As the distance run from Van Diemen's Land was about 1,000 miles, it is evident that the average sailing-rate of 125 miles a day had been still maintained.

It will save interruption in Tasman's narrative, and render it more intelligible, if at this point I preface a few further words of explanation. The land—“the great high land,” as Tasman calls it—he would first see between Hokitika and Okarito; and it is not too fanciful to say that that great mountain which two hundred and fifty years later was called by his name was one of the first sights he saw on the wild west coast. Somewhat further north he describes that low point known to us as Captain Cook's Cape Foul-wind, with its outlying steep rocks or cliffs, the Steeples. Westport is not far from this point. “North of this,” as Tasman says, “the land makes a great bight”: this is the Karamea Bight. Then came the “furthermost point, which stood out so boldly that we had no doubt it was the extreme point.” This is now Captain Cook's Cape Farewell, with

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the long spit of sand running from it, upon which is a lighthouse. Next in order is that bay of tragic interest called by Tasman “Murderers',” but now known as Golden Bay, in which is the Township of Collingwood. The scene of tragedy lies close to Parapara, where at this moment a new and far different interest has arisen in the fact that a great and peaceful trade is expected to spring up in connection with the masses of hæmatite which lie around the shore. Thankfully escaping from this dreadful spot, Tasman tacked about in what he called “Zeehaen's Bay,” but which in truth was the north-west portion of Cook Strait. As we shall presently see, Tasman himself suspected that there was a passage through. Proceeding north, Cape Egmont was seen, and was named Cabo Pieter Boreels, after one of the Dutch East Indian Council. No reference is made to the mountain. The high mountain seen on the 27th in lat. 38°, and taken at first for an island, would probably be Mount Karioi, bounded as it is to the north by Whaingaroa Harbour, and south by Kawhia and Aotea Harbours. The Three Kings Islands were Tasman's point of departure from New Zealand. This name was given from the fact that the vessels anchored there on the 5th January, the eve of the Epiphany. You may remember the incidents connected with this religious festival which commemorated the meeting of the three Magi or Wise Men of the East with the infant Christ. Their names were Kaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. The fable says that their bones were removed to the cathedral at Cologne, where they still rest, and where, as in Tasman's time, they are still venerated by all faithful observers of old Christian legends. I may here remark that in all probability the interesting process of name-giving did not take place until after Tasman's return to Batavia. The best description of the Three Kings known to me is that given by Mr. Cheeseman, the curator of the Auckland Museum, in the volumes for 1887 and 1890 of the New Zealand Transactions. Mr. Cheeseman made many additions to our natural-history knowledge of these islands, and he also recognised that part of the Great King upon which Tasman's crew attempted to land when searching for water and vegetables. It is much to be regretted that Swart does not reproduce Tasman's sketches. In a provoking way he says that these are to be found in “Valentijn.” Valentijn's abridged copy of the Journal was published in 1726, and to this rare work the reader is referred. It is to be hoped that this omission will be rectified in Müller's forthcoming edition. Tasman's intercourse with the natives was but of a few hours' duration; yet it was sufficiently long to enable him to give a good personal description. It is, therefore, curious to find that he makes no reference to the adornment of the tattoo.

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Does this indicate its non-existence two hundred and fifty years ago? It is advisable to repeat here that Tasman's miles, which are Dutch, must be multiplied by four to reduce them to English measurement. Other explanatory comments will be found in the previous half of this paper.

The Journal.

December 12th [1642].—Good weather, and the wind south-south-west and south-west, with a sharp breeze. At noon found the latitude 42° 38′, and longitude 185° 17′. Course held east, and sailed thirty-eight miles. The swell of the sea continued from the south-west, so that here no great land is to be expected to the south. Var. 7° north-easterly.

13th.—Found latitude 42° 10′, longitude 188° 28′. Course held east by north, and sailed thirty-six miles. The wind south-south-west, with a topsails' breeze. Towards noon we saw a great, high, bold land, and had it south-east from us about fifteen miles; we gave our course south-east, straight for it. About noon we fired a shot and hung out the white flag, whereupon the officers of the Zeehaen came aboard us, when it was resolved, all agreeing, to make for the said land as soon as possible, as the resolutions of this date further show. In the evening we thought it advisable to order our steersmen, as long as it remained calm, to hold the south-east course, but with increase of the breeze should go due east, so as to keep from going ashore, and to prevent any accident as far as possible. In our judgment, we should not attempt to land on this side, because of the great open sea which here with great rough billows and surf comes rolling in, unless there were some sheltered bays on this side. In the first watch, four glasses having run out [10 a.m.], we stood our course due east. Var., 7° 30′ north-easterly.

14th.—At noon found our latitude 42° 10′, and longitude 189° 3′; course held east, and sailed twelve miles. We were about two miles from the land. It was a very high, double land, but from the thick clouds we could not see the tops of the mountains. We shaped our course northerly, and so close that we could see the surf breaking on shore. In the afternoon, about two miles from shore, we sounded in 55 fathoms, sticky, sandy ground. It was calm. Towards evening we saw a low point, about three miles from us northeast by north. We drifted quietly towards it. In the middle of the afternoon we sounded in 25 fathoms, sticky, sandy ground. We sailed along quietly the whole night, the current setting in from the west-north-west. We neared the land till within 28 fathoms, good anchor-ground; it still being

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calm, and not to go nearer the land we anchored in the dog-watch [4 to 8 a.m.] with a stream-anchor, and waited for the land-wind.

15th.—In the morning, a light land-breeze. We weighed anchor, and did our best to get off the land a little to sea. Course north-west by north. We then had the northerly low point of the day before north-north-east and north-east by north from us. This land consists of high, double mountains, not lower than Formoza Island. At noon found latitude 41° 40′ and longitude 189° 49′. Course held north-north-east, and sailed eight miles. The point of the previous day lay south-east from us. Two and a half miles from this point stretches north a large reef. Here, above water, on this reef some high, steep cliffs, like steeples or sails. Past this point, moreover, a mile to west, there was no bottom. From here also we saw the high land stretch north-north-east from us. We set our course due north, with fine, dry weather and slack water. From this aforesaid low point, with the cliffs, to the north-east the land makes a great bight, and stretches first due east and then again due northerly. This aforenamed point lies under the southern latitude of 41° 50′. The wind west. Here it was easy to see that in this country to the water it seemed a barren land. Besides, we saw no men nor any smoke in the least, and we also saw that they could have no boats there, as we could see no signs of them. In the evening, var. 8° north-easterly.

16th.—Six glasses before the day [2.30 a.m.] we sounded at 60 fathoms, good anchor-ground. At that time the northerly point in sight lay north-east by east from us three miles, and the nearest land from us lay south-east a mile and a half. We drifted in the calm, with good weather and still water. At noon got latitude 40° 58′, and longitude 189° 54′; course held north-north-east, and sailed eleven miles. Drifted through the calm all afternoon. In the evening, at sunset, var. 9° 23′ north-easterly. Got the wind south-west, with increasing breeze. We took the bearing of the furthermost point from us we could see, which was east by north from us. It stood out so boldly that we had no doubt it was the extreme point. We called our council, with the second mates, whereupon we resolved to go north-east and east-north-east to the end of the first watch [8 to 12 p.m.], and then, weather and wind not changing, to sail near the wind, as is further to be seen by the resolution of this date. At night, at the sixth glass [11 p.m. (?)], the weather became calm, so that we remained by the east-north-east course, although in the fifth glass of the dog-watch [second watch, 2.30 a.m.] the point of the previous evening lay south-east of us. From the sharpness

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of the wind we could sail no higher than east-north-east a trifle east. In the first watch [8–12 p.m.] we had one, and in the dog-watch [second watch, 12–4 a.m.] another, sounding in 60 fathoms: fine grey sand. In the second glass of the morning watch [4–8 a.m., say 5 o'clock] we got a breeze from the south-east, and we then tacked again for the shore.

17th.—In the morning at sunrise we were about a mile from the land. We saw in different places smoke rising where fire had been made by the inhabitants. The wind, south from the land, went round to the eastward. At noon we worked out the latitude 40° 32′, longitude 190° 47′. We held a course north-east by east, and sailed twelve miles. In the afternoon, wind west, course east by south along a low sand-hill shore, with fine, dry weather. Soundings, 30 fathoms, black sand; so that by night we might easily sound along the ground to this shore. So we ran towards this sand-point up to 17 fathoms, where, because of the calm, we anchored at sundown. We then had the northernmost of the dry sand point west by north from us, also high land stretching east by south, and the point of the reef south-east from us. Within this narrow point of sand we saw a large, open bay, quite four to three miles wide. East of this narrow sand-point there is a sand-bank which stretches quite a mile east-south-east, 6ft., 7ft., and 8ft. to 9ft. deep. In the evening, 9° north-easterly [variation].

18th.—In the morning weighed anchor, with calm weather. At noon, latitude worked out 40° 49′, longitude 191° 41′. Course held east-south-east, and sailed eleven miles. In the morning, before weighing anchor, we had resolved with the officers of the Zeehaen that we should endeavour to land and find a convenient harbour, and when near shore should send the shallop in advance, as is further amplified in the resolution of this date. In the afternoon our shipmaster, Ide Tiercxsz, and pilot-major, Francoys Jacobsz, with the shallop, besides the Zeehaen's boat with the supercargo Gilsemans and one of their second mates, went on before to seek for an anchorage and watering-place. At sunset, it being calm, we anchored in 15 fathoms, good holding-ground. In the evening, about an hour after sundown, we saw several lights on the land, and four boats along the shore, of which two came towards us, and the other two—our own—returned on board. They reported that they had found not less than 13 fathoms water, and that they had been about half a mile from the shore at the setting of the sun (which sank behind the high land). About one glass after they had returned on board the people in the two prows began to call to us, and that with a coarse, rough voice, but we could not understand in the

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least what they said. However, we called to them again in answer, whereupon they cried again several times, but came no nearer than a stoneshot. They also repeatedly blew on an instrument which was like a Moorish trumpet. We let one of our sailors (the one who could play on the trumpet) play some pieces in answer. Those on the Zeehaen made their second mate do the same. (He had formerly been a trumpeter on shore, and had been made at Mauritius a second mate by the Council of the Port and Shipping). After this had been repeated on both sides several times, and as the evening shade was falling more and more, those in the boats finally cleared and went away. We ordered our people (for security, and to be well on guard) to keep entire quarterly watch (as is usual at sea), and that the munitions of war, such as muskets, pikes, and cutlasses, should be got ready. We let off some pieces on the top deck and reloaded, so that all accidents might be forestalled and we might defend ourselves in case these people might attempt anything. Var., 9° north-easterly.

19th.—This morning early a boat of these people, having thirteen men, came about a cast away from our ship. They called out several times, which we could not understand, the speech having no resemblance to the vocabulary given to us by their Highnesses the Governor-General and Council of India. But this is not to be wondered at, as it was the language of the Salomon Island. These people were (so far as we could see) of ordinary height, but coarse of voice and strong, their colour between brown and yellow. They had black hair, fast bound right up on the crown of their heads, in manner and fashion of the Japanese on their heads, but with a long, thick tuft of hair in which was stuck a large, thick white feather. Their boats were two long narrow prows fastened together, over which were placed some boards or other seats, so that those above can see through the water under the canoes; their paddles were a full fathom long, and sharp at the end. With these boats they could obtain great speed. Their clothing (so it appeared) was some of mats, others of cotton, whilst most were naked to the waist. We pointed out to them many times that they should come on board, showing white linen and some knives from those given us in our cargo. But instead of coming nearer they returned at last to shore. Meanwhile the officers of the Zeehaen came on board us (by order of the previous evening), and a council was held, when it was resolved to go as near shore as we could, as there was good anchorage, and these people (as it seemed) sought our friendship. Soon after taking this resolution we saw another seven boats come from the shore, whereof one (high in front, and pointed), manned with seventeen men, pulled behind the

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Zeehaen, and a second (wherein were thirteen stout men) came up not half a cast from our ship, who called to each other several times. We showed them (as before) white linen, &c., yet they remained still. The master of the Zeehaen sent his quartermaster with his boat and six sailors back to the ship, to direct the mate, in case these people should come alongside, not to allow too many on board, but to be prudent, and well on his guard. Just as the Zeehaen's boat put off, the natives in the nearest prow to us called out and signalled with their paddles to those who were behind the Zeehaen, but what their meaning was we could not understand. Just as the Zeehaen's boat pushed off again, that one lying between the two ships began to pull furiously towards it, and when about half-way from us struck the Zeehaen's boat furiously with their stems, making it lurch greatly at the same time; whereupon the foremost man in this villainous prow thrust the quartermaster, Cornelis Joppen, several times fiercely in the neck with a long, blunt pike, so that he fell overboard. Whereupon the others of them attacked the boat's crew with short, thick pieces of wood (which we at first took to be blunt parangs) [a kind of chopping-knife used by the Malays for cutting wood, &c.] and with their paddles, and overcame the boat, in which fray three of the Zeehaen's people were killed and a fourth mortally wounded through hard blows. The quartermaster and two sailors swam towards our ship, and we sent our shallop to them and picked them up alive. After this outrageous and detestable affair the murderers let the boat drift. They had one of the dead dragged into their prow, and another drowned. We, and those on the Zeehaen, seeing this, shot briskly with muskets and cannon, but, however, probably did not hit any, as both returned to shore out of shot. We fired many shots from our fore-upper-deck and bow guns near and amongst their boats, but did not strike. Our master, Ide Tercxsen Holman, rowed with our shallop, well manned and armed, to bring back the Zeehaen's boat (which, luckily, these cursed men had let drift), and presently returned on board with it, finding in it one of the dead and one mortally wounded. We weighed anchor and got under sail, as we judged we could not establish any friendship with this people, nor could get water or refreshments. Our anchors weighed, and being under sail, we saw twenty-two prows alongshore, whereof eleven, swarming with men, came off to us. We kept quiet until some of the first were within shot, when with our pieces we fired one or two shots from the gunners' room, but without effect. The Zeehaen fired too, and hit, in the largest prow, one who stood with a white flag in his hand, so that he fell down. We also heard the grape-shot

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strike in and against the prow, but what further happened is unknown to us, as after getting this shot they returned speedily to land, two of them setting up sails fashioned like tinganghs [a Malay boat: our “dingy” is derived from this]. They remained quiet alongshore without visiting us again. About noon the master, Gerrit Jansz, and Sr. Gilsemans again came on board us. We sent also for their chief mate, when we called the council, and resolved as follows: That the detestable deed of these natives that morning on four of the Zeehaen's men should teach us to hold the inhabitants of this land as enemies; that we shall therefore keep easterly along the shore, following the coast-line, to see if we can find a convenient spot to obtain water and refreshments, as is further mentioned in the resolutions. At this place of murderers (to which, moreover, we have given the name of Murderers' Bay) we lay anchored in south latitude 40° 50′, longitude 191° 30′. We steered our course from here east-north-east. At noon reckoned latitude 40° 57′, longitude 191° 41′. Held a southerly course, and sailed two miles. In the afternoon the wind was from west-north-west. We then steered, on the advice of our steersmen, and our approbation, north-east by north. At night we went on, as the weather was fine; but about an hour after midnight we had soundings in 25 to 26 fathoms; hard, sandy ground. Soon after the wind was north-west. Had soundings in 15 fathoms. We immediately steered our course west, in the contrary direction from that by which we had entered, awaiting the day. Var., 9° 30′ north-easterly. This is the second land sailed about and discovered by us. We have given it the name of Statenlandt, in honour of their High Mightinesses the States-General. Thus it is possible that this land is part of the great Statelandt, but it is uncertain. This same land seems to be a very fine country, and we trust that it is part of the great coast of the unknown Zuytlandt (South Land). We have given this course the name of Abel Tasman course, because he is the first to navigate it.

[In this place, in Tasman's Journal, are found the drawings of the plates which Valentijn has given us on pp. 49, &c., under No. 6F, No. 5E, No. 5Eb, and No. 7G. The plate No. 6F is not so complete as that of the manuscript journal. The reader, of course, knows that the name of Staten-land has since been changed to that of New Zealand, and it consists of two large islands, which are separated by a strait or passage now named Cook Strait. It was in the opening to the westerly entrance of this strait that Tasman lay anchored with his two ships when the New - Zealanders, without the slightest warning, fell upon his shallops, wherefore in the account he named that part Murderers' Bay. That portion

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of the sea found between the islands of Van Diemen's Land and New Zealand was named by him Tasman's Track, a name which remains to this day, and serves to remind us all of that brave man who was the first to sail round New Holland, and to accomplish the voyage between New Holland and New Zealand.—Jacob Swart.]

20th.—This morning we saw land lying all around us, so that we have sailed perhaps thirty miles into a bay. We had at first thought that the land where we anchored was an island, not doubting that we should find a passage into the great South Sea. But to our great disappointment it proved otherwise. The wind being westerly, we endeavoured to get back through the same passage by which we had before sailed in. At noon found ourselves in south latitude 40° 51′, and longitude 192° 55′. We held our course east-half-north and sailed fourteen miles. In the afternoon it was calm; the sea ran strong into the bay, so that we could not advance, but drifted back with the tide. At noon we turned northwards and saw a round, high island* about eight miles from us west by north, which we had sailed by the previous day. This little island lies about six miles east of the place where we were anchored. In the same latitude in this bay, into which we had sailed so far by mistake, the land seemed everywhere fine and good: on the sea-coast low, barren land; moderately high inland. Sailing along the coast there is anchorage from 60 to 50 fathoms to 15 fathoms, becoming dry about a mile and a half to two miles from the shore. At 3 in the afternoon got light breezes from the south-east, but, as the sea ran very rough, we made but little or no progress. In the night we drifted along calmly; in the second watch [12–4 a.m.] the wind was west, going round to the northwards.

21st.—At night in the dog-watch [12–4] had a westerly wind with a strong breeze. Steered to the north, in the hope that the land, which the day before was north-west from us, should there fall away to the north, but it extended to the north-west. After the cook had dished we tacked and turned again from the land. It began to blow stronger, so we ran south-west over towards the south shore. At noon found latitude 40° 31′ and longitude 192° 55′. Held a northerly course, and sailed five miles. It was foggy, so that we could see no land. Late in the afternoon again saw the south coast, and had the island, which the day before was about six miles west from us, about four miles south-west by south. We sailed towards it, bringing it to bear north-north-west from us, and anchored by some cliffs in 33 fathoms, sandy ground, mixed with shells. Here it is full of islands and rocks. We struck our sail-yards,

[Footnote] * Stephen Island.

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for a storm threatened from the north-west and west-north-west.

22nd.—Wind north-west by north, and blowing so hard that there was no appearance of going on under sail, and it was difficult enough for the anchor to hold. We made our ship snug. We here lay in south latitude 40° 50′ and longitude 192° 37′. Course held south-west by south, and sailed six miles. At night we got the wind so hard from the north-west that we struck the topmasts and let go another anchor. The Zeehaen did the same.

23rd.—Still dark, foggy, drizzling weather, the wind north-west to west-north-west, and that with such a storm that to our great regret we could not advance.

24th.—Still hard, unsteady weather; the wind still north-west, and stormy. In the morning had a calm interval. Hoisted a white flag and got the officers of the Zeehaen on board us, and it was proposed that, as the flood came from the south-east, there might probably be a passage through, and whether it would not be best, wind and weather permitting, to search for this, and to see if we could not get fresh water there: as may further be seen by the resolutions drawn up thereupon.

25th.—In the morning we reset our topmast and yards, but it still looked so gloomy that we dare not lift anchor. Towards the evening it became calmer, so that a portion of our cable was shortened.

26th.—In the morning, two hours before day, we got the wind east-north-east, a light breeze. We weighed anchor, got under sail, and steered towards the north, intending to sail northward by this land. With the day it began to rain, and the wind went round to the south-east, and then south to south-west with a stiff breeze. Had soundings in 60 fathoms. We set our course by the wind to the west. At noon, latitude 40° 13′, longitude 192° 7′. Held a north-north-west course, and sailed ten miles. Var., 8° 40′. At night lay-to with easy sail.

27th.—In the morning made sail at daybreak, and steered north; the wind south-west, with a strong breeze. At noon found latitude 38° 38′, and longitude 190° 15′. Course held north-west, and sailed twenty-six miles. Set our course at noon north-east. At night lay-to, with little sail. Var., 8° 20′.

28th.—In the morning made sail at daybreak; set our course to the east, so as to get sight of the land which we had previously seen in 40°; it stretched still further to the north, and then to the east. At noon we saw, east by north from us, a high mountain. We took it at first to be an island, but afterwards saw it was part of the mainland. We were

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about five miles from shore. We threw the lead in 50 fathoms, fine sand mixed with clay. This high mountain [Mount Karioi?] lies in south latitude 38°. This coast stretches, so far as I could see, south and north. It became calm, with a light air from north-north-east; we tacked to the north-west. At noon anchored, latitude 38° 2′ and longitude 192° 23′. Course held north-east by east, and sailed sixteen miles. Towards evening the wind came north-east and north-east by east, and began to blow harder and harder, so that at the end of the first watch [8–12 p.m.] we had to take in our topsails. Var., 8° 30′.

29th.—In the morning, at daybreak, we took off our bonnet-sails [small sails beneath the foresail], so that we had to take in our foretopsails. At noon we computed the latitude to be 37° 17′ and longitude 191°, and we ran over to the westward. Course held north-west, and sailed sixteen miles.

30th.—In the morning the weather was something more moderate. We set our topsails, rigged our bonnet-sails. Had the Zeehaen to lee of us. Wind west-north-west, with a topsails breeze. At noon found the latitude 37° and longitude 191° 55′. Course held north-east, and sailed seven miles. Towards evening again saw the land north-east and north-north-east from us. We therefore ran north and north-east. Var., 8° 40′ north-easterly. [Tasman here gives two sketches of the Staten-land (New Zealand)—first, as it appeared in 38° 30′ south latitude, and second, in 36° south latitude.—Jacob Swart.]

31st.—At noon we tacked about to the north, and the wind west-north-west, a slack breeze. Noon, found latitude 36° 45′, and longitude 191° 46′. Course held north-west, and sailed seven miles. In the evening we were about three miles from the shore. Four glasses of the first watch [10 p.m.], again tacked to the north. In the night sounded in 80 fathoms. This coast here stretches south-east and north-west. The land is in some places high, and in others sandhills. Var., 8°.

January 1st [1643].—In the morning drifted in the calm along this coast, which here stretches north-west and south-east. It is an even coast, without shoals or sandbanks. At noon had latitude 36° 12′, and longitude 191° 7′. Course held north-west, and sailed ten miles. About noon the wind came south-south-east and south-east. We steered our course west-north-west to be further off shore, and here a heavy surf was running. Var., 8° 30′ north-easterly.

2nd.—Calm weather. In the middle of the afternoon a breeze came from the east. We steered north-north-west at the end of the first watch [12 p.m.], course north-west, so as not to come too near shore, and to avoid any accident, as in

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the evening we had the land north-north-west from us. At noon, latitude 35° 55′, and longitude 190° 47′. Course held north-west to west, and sailed seven miles. Var., 9°.

3rd.—In the morning saw the land about six miles from us east by north, and were astonished to find ourselves so far from shore. At noon found latitude 35° 20′, longitude 190° 17′. Course held north-west to north, and sailed eleven miles. At noon got the wind south-south-east, and steered our course east-north-east, so as to run again towards the shore. In the evening we had the land north and east-south-east from us.

4th.—In the morning we were near a cape, and had an island north-west by north from us, whereupon we hoisted the white flag for the officers of the Zeehaen to come aboard us, and resolved with each other to stand for the said island and see if we could not get there fresh water, vegetables, &c. At noon found latitude 34° 35′, longitude 191° 9′. Course held north-east, and sailed fifteen miles; the wind south-east. Towards noon we sailed calmly. We found ourselves here in a very strong current, setting us to the west. There was also a heavy sea drawing from the north-east, which gave us not a little hope that there might be a passage here. We had this point east-north-east from us lying in south latitude 34° 30′. The land here fell away to the east. In the evening the pilot-major, with the secretary of the Zeehaen, went close by the island, and could not observe that what we wanted was to be had there. Agreed with the officers of the Zeehaen that if we got a good wind in the night it would be best to go on. Var., 8° 40′ north-easterly. [Here is found in the manuscript the chart and representation of No. 8H and No. 9J, but without the ships, which Valentijn added here to give a little adornment.—Jacob Swart.]

5th.—This morning still drifted in the calm, but about 9 o'clock had a light breeze from the south-east. We agreed with our friends of the Zeehaen to steer for the island. About noon we sent our shallop with the pilot-major, and the Zeehaen's boat with Gilsemans, the supercargo, to inspect the island, and see if water was to be had there. In the evening they returned on board and reported that they had gone close to land, being always on the watch that none of the natives should fall upon them, and had entered a small, safe bay, where fine fresh water was found, which fell from steep hills in great abundance; but, from the surf on the shore, it was dangerous and troublesome to water there; so they rowed further round the island, seeking if they could find any other convenient place. On this land in various places, and on the highest hills, were about thirty to thirty-five

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persons, men of tall stature, so far as they could see, with staves or clubs, who called to them in gruff, loud voices which they could not understand. In walking they took great steps and strides. In rowing round they saw a few more people on the hills, whereupon they resolved (as may well be believed) to be well on their guard, and to hold their boats and small weapons in readiness. On this island they reckoned there would not be more people than had shown themselves, for on rowing round our people saw no dwellings, nor cultivated land except that near the fresh water. Here, on both sides of the waterfall, there were everywhere square enclosures after the manner of our country, green and pleasant. But what kind of vegetables they could not tell from the distance. It was quite possible their dwelling-places were round here on account of the fresh water. In this aforesaid bay there were two prows lying, hauled upon shore—one navigable, the other broken. They saw no other boats any where. Our people then returned. We immediately endeavoured to get under the land, and about evening anchored a short pedereroe [a piece for firing stones and gravel] shot from shore in good ground. We at once made preparations for taking in water next day. The island lies in south latitude 34° 25′, and longitude 190° 40′.

6th.—At early morning we sent both boats—to wit, ours and the Zeehaen's—to the watering-place with casks to get water. Each one mounted with two pedereroes, six musketeers. The rowers had pikes and side - weapons. With one shallop were Pilot-major Francoys Jacobsz, and the master, Gerrit Jansz. As they rowed towards the land they saw, standing in different places on the heights, big men, each with a long stick like a pike, who seemed to be watching us, and, as our people passed by, called loudly to them. But when they had got about half-way to the watering-place, between a safe point and another great high crag or little islet, the current ran so strongly against the wind that the boats could scarcely stem it; whereupon the pilot-major and Gerrit Jansz, master of the Zeehaen, with the other officers, held counsel, resolving not to imperil the boats and men, as they had a long voyage before them, and the ships could not afford their loss; and so they returned on board, the more so as a heavy surf was rolling on the land near where the watering-place was, and, the breeze beginning to increase, they would have found it difficult to reach land. We signalled from our ship by hoist-the flag and firing a cannon that they should come back; but they were then near us, and seen to approach. The pilot-major, with our boats, came on board, reporting that, from the wind and the innumerable hard rocks all around, without any sandy ground, it was too dangerous, and they would be subject to the peril of being attacked by the natives, and of having

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the water-casks injured and broken to pieces. We immediately ordered the officers of the Zeehaen and the second mates to come aboard us, when we summoned the council, and resolved to lift the anchors, and with an easterly course to run to latitude 22°. Following the foregoing resolution, that we should keep due north to south latitude 17°, and then should steer a due-west course, and run straight in right on the Coques [Cocos] and Hoorense [Horne] Islands, and there obtain water and refreshments; or, if we should earlier come upon any other island, that we should endeavour to do the same there: as is specified in the resolution of this date, lately referred to. Near noon we got under sail, having the island at noon about three miles from us due south. In the evening, at sunset, it was six to seven miles south-south-west from us, the rocks and the island lying south-west and north-east from each other. At night, pretty calm, wind east-south-east. Held our course by the wind north-north-east, the sea running from the north-east.

Such, then, is the entire and literal translation of that part of Tasman's Journal which relates to his discovery of New Zealand. Time forbids that I should give more than the briefest account of his continued voyage, which is full of interest. Steering north-east, he discovered in succession Pylstaart, now Tropic-bird Island, where are found those birds (Phaethon rubricauda), which occasionally make for the very north of New Zealand, and whose tail-feathers are so highly prized by the Maoris as an ornament for the hair; then three islands of the Tongan Group—Tongatabu, Ana-moka, and Eoa—which he called Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Middelburg. The stay in this group was lengthy and grateful, and made some amends for the inhospitable reception in New Zealand. Here fruit, water, and provisions were procured in abundance from the friendly natives. On the 6th of February Prince Willem's Islands—the Fijis—were discovered. The general course then maintained was west-north-west. Several islands were passed, and the coast of New Guinea reached on the 14th April. For more than a month he sailed along the northern coast, and gives an exceedingly interesting description of the country and natives. Well-recognised points and islands were then fallen in with, and on the 15th June, 1643, the vessels dropped anchor at Batavia, after an absence of two years save two months. “God be praised and thanked for a safe voyage. Amen!” is Tasman's last entry. His Journal is written in a plain, quaint, intelligible style, and abundantly shows that the writer was a bold and accomplished seaman as well as a fortunate discoverer.

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In 1644 he was again despatched to examine the north coast of New Holland, and to explore what is known to-day as Torres Straits. The papers connected with this important exploration have never, so far, been discovered. But the painstaking research made of late years into various departments of long-forgotten history may yet succeed in giving us another and Tasman's last Journal. Proud of the discoveries of their countrymen, which were enriched so specially by those of Tasman, the Dutch sought to perpetuate them in imperishable marble. In 1648 they erected at Amsterdam their magnificent Stadhuis or Town Hall. Part of the embellishments consisted of a map of the world, projected as a planisphere and deeply cut into the stone floor. Each of the hemispheres was 22ft. in diameter, and they contained all that had been discovered of New Holland, Van Diemen's Land, and New Zealand. But the traffic of thousands of feet finally effaced this curious map, and when, in 1773, Sir Joseph Banks visited Amsterdam no trace of it remained, nor had the oldest inhabitant any personal knowledge of it. Fortunately, M. Thevenot copied the most material portion, and this appears in his “Divers Voyages Curieuses,” Paris, 1663. It is also found in an old British Museum map, and in outline in Janssen's “Atlas,” 1650. The labour of preparing this account of Tasman and his work is amply rewarded in laying it before an audience which on so many previous occasions has granted me a patient hearing. If it should reach the hands of those whose business it is to traverse our west coast, I hope they may be interested in comparing the details of their own log with those of an old seaman of two hundred and fifty years ago.

[Since this paper was written I have corresponded with Messrs. Frederik Müller and Co., of Amsterdam, who are preparing for publication the édition de luxe of Tasman's Journal above referred to. They say, “The papers of the Dutch East India Company are now in the Hague State archives. A journal of the 1644 voyage was never found, only the binding wherein it had been bound once was found by the old Mr. Frederik Müller in the State archives some twenty-five or thirty years ago.”—T. M. H.]

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Art. XVI.—On an Account of a Massacre at the Entrance of Dunedin Harbour in the Year - 1817.

[Read before the Otago Institute, 11th June, 1895.]

Plate II.

In searching the old files of the Otago Witness for 1858 I came across the following account of a massacre at the Otago Heads, at the entrance to Dunedin Harbour, or, as the account calls it, “Port Daniel.” Though evidently written in a guarded manner, the narrative appeared to me to be probably founded on fact, and I therefore made inquiry into the matter, to obtain, if possible, corroborative evidence. The scene of the episode is called “Port Daniel, a place only known to Europeans within the last seven years.” I made many inquiries from old residents, but cannot hear that this name was ever given to the harbour, nor does it appear on any of the old charts or plans. The usual name for the inlet appears to have been “the River.” I then made inquiries in Tasmania, through the librarian of the public library, Mr. Taylor, and he very kindly sent me a copy of the original article as it appears in the files of the Hobart paper, agreeing in every respect with that in the Witness. He also gave me the references to the shipping news of that date, in which the “Sophia” cleared for New Zealand on the given date, and also the date of her return. He said that the ship and her owners were well known, and that he had every reason to believe that the account given was a correct one. It may be mentioned that Mr. Kelly was the man who made an adventurous voyage round Tasmania in an open boat in the year 1815.

The extract from the Otago Witness* is as follows:—

Adventure at Otago Forty Years Ago.

“(From the Hobart Town Courier.)

“The ‘Old Stager’ has handed to us a narrative of events that happened to him on the south-east coast of New Zealand, part of which was published on his return to the port in Bent's Hobart Town Gazette and Southern Reporter of 28th March, 1818. Full details of the narrative were not furnished, but now for the first time are completed from his ‘ancient log.’ Port Daniel, where the scene of the adven

[Footnote] * 21st August, 1858.

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ture is laid, is now better known as the peaceful settlement of Otago; the reader will therefore read ‘Otago’ for ‘Daniel.’ The ‘Sophia’ (Mr. James Kelly, master) sailed from Hobart Town on the 12th November, 1817, on a sealing voyage, and anchored at Port Daniel, on the south-east side of the southern part of New Zealand, on the 11th December (a place only known to Europeans within the last seven years). The master, Mr. Kelly, with his boat's crew, went on shore the same day, and met with a friendly reception from the natives, which they attributed to the knowledge the latter had of one of the crew, named W. Tucker, who had been well treated by them, and engaged their apparent friendship on former visits, and who was called by these people ‘Wioree.’ On the following day Mr. Kelly went in his boat with six men (amongst them Tucker) to Small Bay,* outside of the harbour's mouth, and distant from the vessel about two miles. The natives here also received them kindly, and to them Tucker appeared equally well known, being challenged generally by name, ‘Wioree.’

“Mr. Kelly made the chief of the village a small present of iron, and proceeded to his-dwelling to barter for potatoes, leaving one man to look after the boat. On reaching the house of the chief Mr. Kelly was saluted by a Lascar, who told him that he had been left there by the brig ‘Matilda,’ Captain Fowler. During a long conversation Mr. Kelly inquired after a boat's crew that was said to have been lost near Port Daniel, and learned that Brown, who had charge of the boat, with six men, had been killed and eaten by the natives. The Lascar then offered his services in bartering for potatoes for the vessel, and appeared familiar with the native tongue.

“By this time a great number of natives had assembled in the village, about sixty of whom were in the yard of the chief's house, where the boat's crew were standing. In an instant a horrid yell was raised by the natives, when Mr. Kelly, John Griffiths, and Veto Viole were thrown down by the mob.

[Footnote] * I am inclined to think the “Small Bay” must be the smallest of the three bays on the north side of the Heads, now called “Murdering Beach” (Whareakeake). Mr. F. R. Chapman, who has a most intimate knowledge of the topographical features of the coast-line, doubts this, and would be inclined to fix one of the small beaches on the south side of the Heads.

[Footnote] † Potatoes. De Surville was, with Cook, supposed to have been the introducer of the potato to the Maoris of the North Island and the northern part of the South Island. Many old Maoris contend that tiwas were known and largely cultivated before the advent of Europeans. The Maoris certainly had a number of named varieties as early as 1820, and here we find them in Otago in 1817 able to supply large quantities to whalers as a recognised article of trade.

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Tucker, with the remaining two (Dutton and Wallon) were also seized, but got out of the mob and ran to the boat, where they found the man Robinson, who had charge, reeling on the beach from a wound in the head. Thinking it impossible that any of the rest could escape, they immediately launched the boat. In the meantime Mr. Kelly was engaged in a dreadful contest with the natives, and, luckily having about him a new billhook, he miraculously effected his escape, being only speared through the left hand, after wounding his principal opponent on the head. In escaping through the gate of the yard Mr. Kelly saw Veto lying on the ground, but did not see Griffiths any more. The feelings of Mr. Kelly on reaching the beach under such circumstances, at the moment of the boat being launched, may be better conceived than described. Tucker was still on the beach. Dutton, Wallon, and Robinson were in the boat, backing her out of the surf. Mr. Kelly made the boat, and was dragged by her through the surf, calling on Tucker to follow, who, however, would not attempt to do so till too late, a number of savages immediately rushing down on the beach armed with spears and hatchets. Tucker kept calling to them not to hurt Wioree, but, regardless of his entreaties, he was speared in the right thigh by the man whom Mr. Kelly had wounded on the head, and who was then covered with blood, and immediately knocked down in the surf, where Mr. Kelly and his three men in the boat saw the unhappy Wioree cut limb from limb and carried away by the savages, having only had time to utter, ‘Captain Kelly, for God's sake, don't leave me.’

“Mr. Kelly and his three men before mentioned now returned to his vessel, and found on board a number of natives of the village they had first visited on the previous day. Those natives, on Mr. Kelly getting on board the brig, pretended to be very friendly and asked what had become of Tucker, Griffiths, and Peter Viole, as they missed them out of the boat. On being told that they were killed by the natives on the opposite side of the river, and that Mr. Kelly and Robinson were wounded, they became very much excited (there being at the time about a hundred and fifty natives on board, the decks, rigging, tops, and yards were full of them). Mr. Kirk, the mate of the brig, said to Mr. Kelly, ‘They are going to take the vessel from us.’ Mr. Kelly immediately called all his men to quarters, and formed a solid square on the quarterdeck under the main boom. Their head chief, whose name was Corockar,* called to his men to

[Footnote] * Corockar = Karaka. There have been several chiefs of this name amongst the Maoris of this part. The present Maoris seem to know something of this or a similar incident, but are not clear as to the localities.

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make the attack and seize us man to man. The natives stood so close around us that they could not make use of the weapons that they had in their hands; neither could we use our firearms, as we stood so close together. There was now only one chance left for us. We were all sealers on a sealing voyage, and each man kept two large sealing-knives slung by his side. Seeing that there was no alternative, Mr. Kelly called to his men to draw their knives and cut away, which had the desired effect. The natives began to fall so fast before the knives that a great number jumped overboard and were drowned, and many were swept out to sea by the strong ebb tide that was then running, and no chance of their getting on shore, as the tide was running five to six knots on the ebb.

“The gallant chief Corockar, seeing that his men were completely defeated, made a desperate attempt to kill one of our men with a tomahawk, but was seized by his arms, thrown down in the cabin, and locked up in the store-room till next morning. We then threw overboard sixteen bodies that were killed by the knives. The number who jumped overboard and were drowned must have been about fifty, and as many were wounded in the fight. We were fortunate, however, to find that only two of our men were slightly wounded in the affray. After cleaning up and washing down the decks, we sat down and congratulated each other on the very narrow escape we had from being taken and murdered by these savages.

“We kept a good watch during the night, in case of being attacked by a large number of canoes that were laying on the beach in front of the town. The next morning about 6 o'clock a large number of natives were gathered round the canoes. We expected that they were going to make an attack on the brig, and that they thought their chief Corockar was killed: they cried out often for him to come on shore.

“We tied his hands and let him come on deck. When they saw him there was great rejoicing. He called to them to bring a large canoe-load of potatoes alongside, to pay us, as we thought, for his liberation. A canoe was launched off the beach, with two men to paddle her off to the brig. On the canoe nearing the vessel, one of the men that was stationed aft called out ‘The canoe is full of men!’ We all rushed aft, and saw the canoe had a large number of men lying in her bottom covered over with mats. Our firearms being all ready loaded, lying on the deck, we lifted them and fired a volley into her. The natives, who were all armed with short spears and clubs, jumped over the sides of the canoe, and tried to pull it alongside the brig. Had they succeeded, they must have boarded and taken the vessel in spite of all that we could do. There were nearly forty of them, and only fourteen

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in all of our crew. Several of them were shot and run through with boarding-pikes in trying to get up the sides of the vessel. Corockar jumped overboard to get to the canoe, but was shot in the neck. Two of his men swam to him and took him on shore in a most gallant manner, but he died next morning of his wounds. Thus we had another narrow escape of being taken and murdered. We kept a good watch all night, expecting to be boarded and taken at daylight.

“Next morning, being the 24th of December, 1817, a great number of natives were on the beach making a great noise, seemingly lamenting and crying because of the death of their chief Corockar. They were preparing to launch their canoes. We thought they were coming off to try and take the brig, and thought it better to stop them if possible. We immediately manned our two boats, and, taking arms and ammunition, pulled close to the beach where the canoes were lying. It was thought most expedient to destroy all their navy at once, to prevent them from making the attempt. As soon as the boats came near the beach the natives all ran away over the bank. We landed one boat's crew, and kept the other boat afloat to cover the men on the beach with their muskets. We then commenced with two long cross-cut saws cutting the canoes up, each into three pieces. They were forty-two in number, large and small, all of which we destroyed, and, as we wanted firewood, we split them up and took them on board. As soon as they saw all the canoes destroyed they rushed with clubs and spears up to their necks into the water trying to-get hold of the boats, but they did not succeed in wounding any of our men.

“They having become more excited and inflexible at this attempt to seize our boats, we determined at once to land, set fire to the town and burn it to the ground. This was the 26th of December, 1817. It was a fine, clear summer day, blowing a fresh, hot wind from the north-west. We landed nine men, but kept the boats afloat. On our approach the natives all ran to the rising hills, and left us in full possession of the town. This town consisted of about six hundred fine houses, and perhaps a finer town never was seen in any part of New Zealand. The fire was lighted at the weather end, and in about four hours the beautiful City of Otago, as we then called it, was laid in a heap of ashes. We now required fresh water for our sea stock. There were several freshwater holes on the beach where the canoes were lying. We observed the water in those holes of a curious colour, and recollected that Tucker had told us the natives were in the habit of poisoning the water if they expected their enemies were coming to invade them. This poisoning was done with a

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large blue berry,* broken up and thrown into the water, which had the effect of poisoning both man and animal that drank of it. On this information from Tucker we declined taking or using any of the water. On the 27th December, 1817, at daylight, we weighed our anchor and left Port Otago, and sailed for Chatham Island. Hundreds of natives came down on the shore to see us off. We fired a volley of musketry towards them to say ‘Good-bye.’

“We have little to add to the narrative. Captain Kelly regrets having listened to the persuasions of Tucker and the wish of the other men to go on shore the second day without firearms, to which the loss of three unfortunate men may be attributed. Tucker's confidence, however deceived, was founded on some experience, and Captain Kelly has some reason to believe that these natives (though certainly not to be depended upon) were fired in their revenge by the recollection of two or more of their people being shot by Europeans.”

Thus ends the first article. In a subsequent number of the Witness, many years later, the story is given as follows, with a few additional points, and offering another motive for the killing of Tucker:—

“After Mr. Kelly's voyage in a boat round Tasmania, in the year 1815–16, he was given the command of the ‘Sophia,’ owned by Mr. Birch, of Hobart Town, and sent on a sealing cruise to New Zealand. One of his crew was a man named Tucker, who had in a previous voyage stolen from the natives at Riverton a preserved head, and only saved his life, as utu, or reprisal, from the natives by the vessel getting away before the theft was discovered. This was in 1811, and the baked head was the first offered for sale in Sydney. Whether Tucker thought that the theft had been forgotten or his offence condoned does not appear, as he had the hardihood to return and claim the friendship of the natives whose kindness and confidence he had outraged on a former occasion. At first the relations between the natives and the captain and the crew appeared of the cordial kind, and a Lascar, who was living among the tribe, volunteered to act as interpreter, as Kelly wanted some potatoes in barter. On making inquiry after a boat's crew that had been lost in the neighbourhood, it transpired that the man who had had charge of the boat had been killed and eaten, with all the crew. Unwarned by this event, Kelly put confidence enough in the natives to go among them unarmed, when a shout or a signal was given, and Kelly and two men who went with him—Dutton and

[Footnote] * I do not know any large blue berry of a poisonous nature in New Zealand.

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Wallon—were also seized, but got away from the mob and into the boat, where they found the man Robinson, who had charge, reeling from a blow on the head. The whole party was evidently meant for slaughter and food; but Kelly fought his way out, being half-armed with a billhook, which served him in good stead. Mr. Calder says, ‘In the desperate hand-to-hand encounter which took place Kelly lost three of his people, and with great difficulty regained the ‘Sophia,’ from the deck of which* he was doomed to see one of his men (one of whom was his brother-in-law Tucker) cut limb from limb and carried away by the savages.’”

In conclusion, I may say that, taking all the circumstances into consideration, I think the vessel must have anchored in the stream about opposite to the present Maori settlement; that the captain and crew went ashore the first day on the south side; the next day they rowed about two miles outside the Heads to the north, to Murderers' Beach, when the massacre took place, out of sight of the ship; and that the settlement of Corockar (“the beautiful City of Otago of six hundred houses”) was about where the huge drift of sand is now, on the south side of the entrance.

Art. XVII.—On the Forests of New Zealand.

[Read before the Otago Institute, 14th May, 1895.]

The islands of New Zealand have, from the time of the earliest voyagers, been noted for their magnificent and impressive forests. Seen, as the country was, mainly along the coast, and up the estuaries and sounds, the hills and valleys appeared clothed with an almost unbroken dark-green mantle. The climate, though varied, was everywhere favourable to a luxuriant Flora, and stored up in the shady depths of the forest were vast reserves of moisture, which encouraged the growth of all plant-life, and acted as a reservoir for all the streams and rivers.

[Footnote] * Here the writer is probably incorrect, and meant that the captain saw Tucker cut up from the boat in which he was escaping (as in the first account), not from the deck of the vessel. In the first place, the vessel was two miles off, and probably not in view, and, even if it were, it would be difficult to see a man cut up at a distance of two miles; secondly, the natives would hardly defer the operation till the captain regained the ship.

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The gloom of an American pine-forest was not there, as most of the bush areas in New Zealand, at the lower levels, are of a more or less mixed nature, and not confined to any one species of tree. The forest glades were shaded and cool, but the undergrowth of shrubs was vigorous, and ferns of many kinds grew in countless numbers and in all positions, forming mats on the ground, climbing up the trunks of tree-ferns or trees, or perching themselves in the fork of some giant pine or broadleaf, shared their breezy post with, perhaps, an Astelia or some other plant, whose seed had by some chance lodged there, in a suitable place for its development. Life was rampant everywhere. The giant pine, which had struggled and grown skyward during the ages, and had at last died and fallen crashing to the ground, formed in its decay a nursery for the growth of its successors, and numbers of small and lowly forms of plant-life. We can scarcely picture to ourselves any commencement of this domination of the dry land by the vegetable creation, and, doubtless, the areas under bush varied considerably from time to time in accordance with the existing geological conditions; but probably for a long time before the advent of man to New Zealand the land area, as we now see it, was much the same in extent, and largely covered with bush. The advent of savage man would make very little difference in the scene. His tools were feeble, and his wants were few; the only factor of destruction that would make any material difference would be the starting of fires by artificial means, either intentionally or by accident. In this part of the country destructive fires could only occur in exceptional seasons; but some such cause must be put forward to account for the disappearance of the timber from a very large area of Southland and Otago. There is, I believe, a tradition of the whole country between Southland and Canterbury having been swept by “the fire of Tamatea.”

This tradition of a great fire is, however, also found in the North Island, and is considered by experts to relate to an experience in some other country, and to refer to some great fire caused by a volcano. The introduction of agricultural operations has produced certain changes by diverting drainage-channels, draining swamps, and altering generally the original local conditions.

It would be an interesting study, and surely not difficult to accomplish with the co-operation and help of members of the Institute and their friends, to mark on a map the areas in Canterbury and Otago which even now show lingering traces of forest-growth in the shape of buried stumps and huge logs, the heart-wood—often charred—of great trees. In many parts of the North Island great quantities of sound timber is to be found buried, and was much sought after

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by the Maoris for carvings and work requiring well-seasoned wood.

During the Maori occupation of New Zealand the natives found in the bush a large quantity of their food-supply, and possessed an accurate knowledge of the trees and shrubs growing in it.

Having thus very briefly noticed what may be called “the past” of the New Zealand bush, let us take a glance at the present position, and what may be the future of it. At the present time the supply of first-class timber easily accessible is by no means large, and, in view of the recent developments in the timber trade, in paving-blocks, and the official attempts to encourage the export trade, it is of special importance that some attention should be given to the subject of utilising the forests to the best advantage. The forestry question is one which has sprung into existence as a science within the last half-century, and has been made the subject of careful study by some of the Continental nations. In India the Government have carried out in a most successful manner the practical management of their extensive forests and plantations, and recently the subject has been forced upon the attention of the United States, and is receiving due attention.

The Governments of New Zealand have already done a little in the way of obtaining reports on the character and areas of their forests, and have very wisely reserved certain areas of bush as climatic reserves, and a department was organized for the conservation of forests, which after a short existence was abolished. The objects aimed at were excellent, and it will yet be found necessary to carry them out, but possibly on different lines.

According to official returns,* there yet remains of the heritage which the colonists have acquired, in the Auckland District, 5,220,000 acres. These forests are described as being full of valuable woods, including all that remains of the kauri, the pride of the New Zealand forests; and I am glad to notice that the report says all the bush is useful for building, fencing, or household purposes; and that upon the Crown lands there is still kauri standing valued at one million and a quarter. The report also remarks that the only really good Crown lands fit for settlement in the north are still covered with forest, and must be cleared and sown before any return can follow. I do not know these lands, but on general principles I hope that they may be preserved as forests, and land for bona fide settlement found elsewhere.

In Taranaki, the gross area of the district is 2,430,000

[Footnote] * New Zealand Year-book, 1894.

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acres, and 1,850,000 acres are still bush, 170,000 acres of bush having been already cleared. A forest reserve of 72,000 acres, a circle with a six-mile radius from the top of Mount Egmont, has been made, and has, I find, a Forest Board of Conservators. Of land still available for settlement, 921,000 acres of forest-land remains to be dealt with. Fifty thousand acres may be suitable for agriculture, and 871,000 will be good pastoral land. From this the writer evidently looks forward to a time when the whole of this vast area of bush has been destroyed, and replaced by grass and crops.

In Hawke's Bay there are extensive climatic reserves in the mountain-ranges, and to the north are the primeval forests in which the Ureweras live, at the back of Waikare-moana. The forests known as the Seventy-mile Bush have already yielded an enormous quantity of sawn timber, and a very considerable area of excellent totara forest has been completely destroyed. From the look of the small patches which have here and there escaped destruction by axe or fire, it is more than probable that with proper management the mature timber might have been utilised and the immature trees brought into maturity; and it is a matter for serious inquiry whether the labour, time, and money spent in destroying the bush and putting the land into grass gives a better return than could be got from the valuable timber that might be produced from the land under practical scientific management, together with the utilisation of the by-products and the partial use for grazing purposes. The northern portion of the Seventy-mile Bush supplies not only the greatest quantity but the best quality of the valuable totara timber, and a properly managed area devoted to the growth of this tree would eventually be of great value and benefit to the State.

In the Wellington District, out of 6,000,000 acres, more than half are still under bush, and a large quantity of splendid timber is to be found within this area. Much of it will, however, be always inaccessible owing to the rugged nature of the country.

In the Marlborough District there was formerly about 400,000 acres of forest, but a very large quantity has been cut, and a considerable area cleared.

The forest-land of Nelson comprises about 3,250,000 acres.

The Province of Westland is almost entirely forest-clad from the snows of its mountain-ranges to the sea, and is estimated to contain 2,395,000 acres; and but little, comparatively speaking, has been done in the way of either utilising or destroying any of this important national asset. The heavy rainfall (120in.) on the coast decreases the risk from forest fires, which are assuming serious proportions in dry seasons in Wellington and Hawke's Bay.

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Crossing the great range of the Southern Alps we come to a different climate and country, and in the eight or nine million acres in Canterbury the estimated area of forest-land is under half a million acres—an area chiefly made up by patches of bush at the heads of the rivers and on the mountain-slopes.

The treeless plains of Canterbury continue across the Waitaki, and the whole of Northern and Central Otago are practically treeless, and consequently dry—cold in winter and hot in summer. Of the 9,000,000 acres included in the Otago Province only a small portion is forest-land. The Catlin's and Tautuku forests contain a considerable amount of marketable timber, though in the former district the timber most easily accessible has been cut. To the westward there are several considerable patches about the lakes, and the southern and western regions of Southland have still a good deal of bush, but, including Stewart Island, there is only half a million acres out of about 7,000,000 comprised in the district.

The forests in the more immediate vicinity of the centres of civilisation have of necessity been cut out and worked to supply the requirements of trade; and in the goldfields district the scanty trees have been destroyed for mining purposes. To their legitimate use no objection can be taken, however one may regret the manner in which it has been done; but when the beautiful scenery of some of our lakes has been temporarily ruined, in part by fires, raised either intentionally or unintentionally, it is a different matter, and one which cannot be too widely discussed and deprecated. The instances which we have already had of the ravages fire may make in a few hours in a forest which has been the growth of centuries render it imperative that every care should be taken, under proper directions, for the conservation of the natural beauties in each and every place when they are not in the way of the advancement of the settlement of the country.

In this connection it is satisfactory to notice the plantation reserves made in various parts of Otago, and the apparent impetus given within the last few years to tree-planting by the institution of Arbor Day. That the interest of settlers can be aroused in tree-planting and improving bare and waste places is apparent. Observation also shows that, with the best intentions, ignorance of the kinds of trees most suitable for such planting is widespread; and to a certain extent this is not to be wondered at, as it is quite impossible to recommend a selection of any considerable number of trees that would certainly grow and prosper under unknown conditions of soil, aspect, or climate.

The neat gardens at our railway-stations, and the local

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efforts of the Amenities Society, are having a decidedly good effect already on the environs of Dunedin, and thus indirectly on all those who may see, as we in Dunedin have seen, the waste places, if not “blossom as the rose,” at least become places where the eye may refresh itself with the sight of well-grown and well-cared-for trees and flowering shrubs. Turning again to the forests of the country, and regarding them as the property of the nation, what do we find to be the state of affairs? The area of forest-covered land at the present time is, roughly speaking, twenty and a half millions of acres. The State forest reserves, including those made for climatic purposes, amount to 1,141,778 acres. The area of the North and South Islands, with Stewart Island, being about 66,341,000 acres, there is, therefore, nearly a third of New Zealand still bush, and reasonable provision seems to have been made by the State for the protection of river-sources, &c. Several Governments have also encouraged plantation of areas in treeless districts by either bonuses or grants of land. The Vogel Government in particular employed a well-qualified expert—Captain Campbell Walker, of the Indian Forestry Department—to report on the forests; and, although the examination was unavoidably a hurried one, and there was great difficulty in getting reliable statistics, the report presented was a valuable one. It points out that, though there was no immediate prospect of a dearth of timber or of injurious effects from clearing, it was imperative that State reserves should be made, not only for domestic reasons, but with a view of providing revenue for the initial expenses and maintenance of a scientific department of forestry, and for the replanting denuded hill-sides and plains destitute of timber. He also points out that no forests, however large, are inexhaustible unless worked under systematic principles which insure precautions being taken against waste in the procuring of the timber and proper methods followed for reproduction and protection against fire and damage from animals. Again, in the case of the so-called inexhaustible forest of the wet West Coast, a great proportion is situated in very inaccessible places, and is of little or no commercial value as timber; besides which, in the case of narrow valleys with steep, shingly sides, covered with but a thin coating of vegetable deposit, we cannot be too careful how the forest is removed, the result of any general or extensive clearing being that the little soil there is is soon washed away, leaving bare hill-sides of no value for any purpose, and resulting, by the rapid pouring-off of the rain-water, in most disastrous floods, followed by long and often equally disastrous droughts.

This is so well known and recognised on the Continent of Europe that what is known as “selection felling,” by which

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individual trees only are removed as they mature, is the system universally in force, and experience teaches us that any departure from it under such circumstances is very dangerous, and should be invariably avoided if possible. This must strike any one who has studied the subject; and no conclusion is more firmly impressed on my mind than that, whilst New Zealand has a splendid and most valuable property in her forests as they exist now (1877), she must be very careful in her management of them, and no longer proceed blindfold in their disposal and removal, otherwise she will not only lose them, without any adequate return or income to the public or colonial purse, but very much beside in the way of equable climate, and ample but not excessive supply of water, which years of labour and heavy expenditure will hardly replace.* In endeavouring to arrive at any understanding of the manner in which the forests, public and private, are dealt with in New Zealand, reference must be made to this report; and it is evident from the valuable summary given at page 45 by Mr. Thomas Kirk, F.L.S., that at that time there was nothing like a uniform system of controlling the use or the abuse of the national forests.

With regard to the future of our forests, there is one danger which becomes year by year more imminent, for as the settlement of the country progresses fires are started on every hand, either to burn the felled bush or scrub or for grass-burning. It is from uncontrolled fires that I apprehend most danger to the forests and greatest destruction to the scenery and natural features. In consequence of the fearful forest fires which ravaged five of the American States on the Canadian border last year, the National Government will probably be moved to override with a comprehensive Act the legislation of the various States, and make some general provision for taking precautions against such disasters; and any Bill for this purpose that bears the stamp of expert scientific knowledge will no doubt receive the support of the senators. This matter, and the prevention of “lumber-stealing,” is attracting much attention in America just now, the American Association for the Advancement of Science and the Irrigation Congress having indorsed a plan proposed by one of the Harvard professors for the management of the forest reserves already made and to be made. It contemplates the transfer of all these reserves to the War Department, and their supervision or management by army officers, to be educated in the principles of scientific forestry at West Point Military Academy or elsewhere, the force of labourers to be employed to consist of a forest guard, locally enlisted. A number of

[Footnote] * Report of Captain Campbell Walker, C.-3, Parl. Rept., 1877.

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letters from experts have already appeared on the subject in the American magazines, and all seem to recognise that a disciplined force judiciously handled could control many of the disastrous fires which occasionally ravage the country, although they do not agree on the details of administration. Matters have been dealt with in British India much more practically, and regulations against forest fires have been enacted for the last twenty years—at least, in all the provinces under our control, and also to a certain extent within the native States. As a result of these regulations, and the careful management of the Indian Forest Department, 23,144 square miles of State forest in India were protected from fire in 1891, at a cost of nine rupees per square mile, and this in addition to large areas of evergreen forest where no danger from fire exists. The chief of the American Bureau of Forestry has recently stated that the annual loss to the Government by thieves is from ten to fifteen million dollars, whilst that by fire is probably twice as much more. To protect the 20,000 square miles of Government forest land a paltry force of twenty to twenty-four watchmen is employed, and even these are not armed with sufficient authority. They are barely able to reclaim some hundred thousand dollars' worth of timber annually from depredation, which only suffices to pay the expenses of the maintenance of the service. Proper protection would require an outlay of two or three million dollars, and would preserve twenty to fifty million dollars' worth of property in each year.

It is not suggested that the above are parallel cases to ours in New Zealand, and fortunately the majority of our forests are green and not so highly inflammable as the vast pine-tracts of America; still, those who have paid any attention to the subject will recognise that, if in the neighbourhood of valuable or specially beautiful bush the local population were properly organized and instructed, much might be done to minimise the great damage which has from time to time been suffered, not only financially, but from the æsthetic point of view. It is much to be regretted that the New Zealand settler has been encouraged to do his best to destroy utterly every green thing upon his section, and that he looks forward with anxious fears and hopes to the burning of not only his timber and brushwood, but in many cases most of his mould or soil. No doubt the cleared bush-land will give him a chance of forming beautiful grassy paddocks, with a heavy sward of English grasses. It is true that New Zealand bush will not, as a rule, bear tampering with, and that trees or clumps, if left, will soon perish; but it would be well if those who hold bush-land which is to be felled would carefully examine it and see if there are not some naturally isolated portions which could

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be spared—at any rate for the present. I even hope that before long, when bush-lands are put up for sale, in all large blocks such natural reserves will be described, and, if not reserved or protected, that the purchaser will have his attention drawn to the possibility of conserving that portion and the desirability of its being done.

It may, perhaps, be of some interest to the members if I give you some account of how some of the European nations manage their timber resources, and how far civic rights override private interests.

In Germany the schools of forestry are in the highest state of development, and expert knowledge is easily procurable, and is widely diffused through the Empire; and probably it is owing to this that the actual laws regarding the use of private forest property are less stringent than among other nations who have paid less attention to the subject. The various Governments own and manage in a conservative spirit about one-third of the forest area, and they also control the management of another sixth, which belongs to cities, villages, and public institutions, in so far as these committees are obliged to employ expert foresters, and must submit their working-plans to Government for approval, thus preventing improvident and wasteful administration. The principle on which the control is based is one which we recognise when we limit by law the indebtedness any community or town may incur. The other half of the privately-owned forests is managed mostly without interference by trained foresters, who receive their education in one of the eight higher and several lower schools of forestry which the various Governments have established.

In Bavaria, Baden, Würtemberg, and other principalities, clearing without the consent of the authorities and devastation of private forests are forbidden, and there are also some regulations regarding the maintenance of protective forests; but, altogether, the laws are not stringent.

In Prussia, which represents two-thirds of Germany, private forests are absolutely free from governmental interference. When, however, a neighbour fears that by the clearing of an adjoining forest his land may be injured he can call for a viewing jury, and possibly obtain an injunction against the clearing, if such anticipated damage is proved. The Government can also make application for such a process in cases where damage to the public can be proved from a wilful treatment of a private forest. The tendency of the Government has in practice been rather towards persuasive methods. Thus, in addition to buying up or acquiring by exchange and reforesting waste lands—some 300,000 acres have been so reforested during the past twenty-five years—the Government gives assistance to private owners

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in reforesting their waste land. Popular opinion is now calling for a closer supervision and an extension of the control of the State over the use of private forest property.

The status of forest legislation is very different in Austria, where, with a larger proportion of mountainous territory, the results of the unrestricted exercise of the free-will of the private owners are more severely felt. The Mediterranean coast, which was ever well wooded and watered, rich and fruitful, and famous for its mild climate, has been changed into an arid and sterile plain, interspersed with stony and parched hillsides, the replanting of which was well-nigh made impossible by the opening of the country to the hot, dry winds. This and other experiences led in 1852 to the adoption of a forest law, by which strict supervision is provided for over the forests owned by communities and also over those owned by private individuals. Not only are the State forests (less than 30 per cent. of the forest area) rationally managed, and local administration supervised, but private owners (holding 32 per cent.) are prevented from devastating their forest property to the detriment of their neighbours. No clearing for agricultural purposes can be made without the consent of the district authorities, from which, however, there is an appeal to a civil judge as arbitrator. When dangers from land-slides, avalanches, or torrents are feared, and private owners cannot bear the expense of precautionary measures, the State may expropriate. Any cleared or cut forest must be replanted or resown within five years. On sandy soils and mountain-sides clearing is forbidden, and only cutting of the ripe timber is allowed. When damage is feared from the removal of a forest-belt which acted as a breakwind, the owner may not remove it until the neighbour has had time to secure his own protection. That neglect in taking care of forest fires subjects the offender not only to fine but to paying damages to the injured goes without saying. In addition, freedom from taxation for twenty-five years is granted for all new plantations, and premiums are paid under certain circumstances. The authorities aid in the fighting of fires as well as in destroying insect-pests. Finally, to insure a rational management of forests, the owners of large areas must employ competent foresters, whose qualifications must satisfy the authorities, opportunity for the education of such being given in seven higher-, three middle-, and four lower-class forestry schools.

In Hungary also, where liberty of private-property rights and strong objection to Government interference had been jealously upheld, a complete reaction set in some years ago, which led to the law of 1880, giving the State control of private property, as in Austria.

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Italy furnishes perhaps the best object-lesson of the relation between forest-cover and water-flow. In 1888 it was generally recognised that steps must be taken to arrest the destruction of the forests on the hills, and by the laws then passed the Department of Agriculture, in conjunction with the forestal committee of the district, is to designate the territory which, for public reasons, must be reforested under Government control. Private owners may associate themselves for the purpose of reforestation of areas, and may then borrow money at a low rate of interest from the State Soil Credit Institution. The Forest Department contributes three-fifths of the cost on the condition that the reforestation is done according to the plans of, and within the time specified by, the Government. Where the owners do not consent or fail to do the work, the department has the right to expropriate and reforest alone—the owners having, however, the right to redeem within five years by paying expenses up to dáte. The department has also the right to restrict pasturage in alpine forests, paying, however, for damage sustained by the owner. Under the above regulations half a million acres have been replanted.

It was in 1888 also that Russia put an end to liberty to cut, burn, destroy, and devastate. The law as it now stands is administered, as far as protective forests go, by a forestry council, consisting of law officers, officers of the general administration, and the local forestry administrators. For private forests, not classed as protective, the right to clear is to be dependent on the consent of the council; while, too severe cutting, or the cutting of too large a proportion of timber without a view to reproduction, is forbidden. If any devastation takes place replanting becomes obligatory, and the Government forester may execute the planting at the expense of the delinquent owner. Assistance is given towards rational forest-management, and the Government sustains four higher, seven middle, and thirteen lower forestry schools.

In Switzerland sporadic enactments of individual cantons to check forest devastation are found as early as the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries, but it is only within the present century that the matter has been seriously taken in hand by the different cantons. In 1876 a Federal law was passed which gives the Federation control over the forests of the mountain region, embracing eight entire cantons and parts of seven others, or over a million acres of forest. The Federation itself does not own any forest-land, and the cantons hardly a hundred thóusand acres—somewhat over 4 per cent. of the forest area, two-thirds of which is held in communal ownership and the rest by private owners. The law is quite remarkable as illus-

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trating the rational principles upon which the little republic works, maintaining close relationship between the general and cantonal governments. The Federal authorities have supervision over all cantonal, communal, and private forests so far as they are “Protective forests”; but the execution of the law rests with the cantonal authorities, under the inspection of Federal officers. “Protective forests” are those which, by reason of elevation and situation on steep mountain-sides, or on marshy soils on the banks of brooks or rivers, or where a deficiency of woodland exists, serve as a protection against injurious climatic influences, damages from winds, avalanches, land-slides, falls of rock, inundations, &c. The cutting in these forests is regulated so as to insure a conservative use and to prevent destruction. Where needful reforestation is mandatory, the Federal and cantonal governments share in the expense, or may expropriate, with payment of full indemnification to the owners. No diminution of the forest area within the established area of supervised forest is permissible, and replanting is prescribed where necessary; nor can township or corporation forests be sold without the consent of the cantonal authorities. The national government contributes from 30 to 70 per cent. of the cost for the establishment of new forests, and from 20 to 50 per cent. for planting in protective forests. Where special difficulties in reforestation are encountered, or where the planting is deemed of general utility, the cantonal government assumes the obligation of caring for and providing improvements in the plantings. The employment of educated foresters is obligatory, and, to render this possible, courses of lectures to the active foresters are maintained in the cantons. There is also an excellent forestry school at Zurich.

In France, before the Revolution, the Forest Code of 1669 enjoined private owners to manage their forests upon the principles on which the Government forests were managed, which was by no means a very rational management, according to modern ideas, yet was meant to be conservative and systematic. During the Revolution a law forbidding clearing for twenty-five years was enacted; and later laws, the most important of which are those of 1860, 1862, and 1882, establish the control of the State over all “protective forests,” and make mandatory the reforestation of denuded mountains. Not only does the State manage its own forest property (one-ninth of the forest area) in approved manner, and supervise the management of forests belonging to communities and public institutions (double the area of the State forests) in a manner similar to the regulation of forests in Germany, but it extends its control over the large area of private forests by forbidding any clearing except with the consent of the forest administration.

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The reforestation of denuded mountain-slopes is encouraged by the granting of financial aid or of plant material, in proportion to the general good resulting from the work. If it is found necessary to take land and plant it (in cases where the owners are unwilling or unable to do the work), the Government do the work and hold the land until the cost is repaid.

The Government, if desired, or where success depends on it, superintends the planting, and also regulates the use of these protective forests afterwards. The success of the Government in replanting the sandy wastes in the south of France is well known; and in a recent report of the British Consul at Bordeaux he refers to the forests, which cover about a third of the department, especially the Landes District, where the soil is wholly unfitted for ordinary cultivation. Here, he says, forests of pines (P. maritima) have in recent times been planted, and the wood and the resin obtained from them have now become an important, and in some instances the sole, source of revenue of the people of those districts. In the parts distant from towns and other inhabited places resin is chiefly produced, while in places nearer to Bordeaux or other shipping ports, where means of transportation exist, the production of pit-props, railway-sleepers, telegraph-poles, and wood for fuel form the chief business. A new oil, called pine-oil, is now being made from the refuse of resin after the latter has been employed in making turpentine. It is a good illumi-nant, cheaper than kerosene, and non-explosive. A large quantity of the young pines are used in making certain kinds of paper.

In order to gain the confidence and co-operation of the communities and proprietors in planting fresh areas, annual meetings were held in different parts of the country, in which the Government agents explained the advantages and methods of reboisement and discussed the local conditions and difficulties. These meetings proved a great success, and much advanced the cause of rational forestry. As a result of these meetings, and of the education resulting from them, it was found that in 1888 an area of about 365,000 acres had been reforested, of which 90,000 were private and 125,000 communal property, the rest belonging to the State.

The cost per acre for reforesting was somewhat less than £2, and the State has expended already about £2,000,000. It is estimated that 800,000 acres more are to be reforested, and an additional expenditure of seven millions and a half is necessary before the damage done to the agricultural lands of eighteen French departments by reckless forest-destruction will be repaired.*

[Footnote] * For the details concerning the European countries I am much indebted to an article by B. E. Fernow, in the Century Magazine, April, 1894.

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In recent years the Government of India has paid much attention to the preservation of its valuable forests, and is now reaping the benefit in the large income derived from the sale of timber. The establishment of the Government department of forestry is of recent date, brought about by the destruction of the forests for fuel, for charcoal, and other wasteful courses. In 1844 and 1847 the subject was first taken up by the Governors of Bombay and Madras. In 1864 an Inspector-General of Forests was appointed, and in 1867 the regular training of forestry officers was commenced in the schools in France and Germany, where it is still continued.

At present discriminate timber-cutting is allowed, but the burning of hill-bush is stopped, the forest areas are surveyed and marked out, plantations laid out and maintained, and forestry-conservation otherwise carried on.

Forests are classified as “reserved” and “open.” The former are the immediate property of the State, and are managed by the Forestry Department, their development being a source of revenue. Cattle are excluded from them, undergrowth destroyed, and the cutting of timber strictly regulated. The open forests are less strictly guarded, but certain kinds of timber-trees are protected. Large sums are spent annually in new plantations, and in planting young trees to replace those cut. In 1878 there were 12,000,000 acres of reserved forests; the revenue was £660,000, and the expenditure £400,000, showing a fair nett profit. Ten years later (1888) there were 43,520,000 acres of State-forest land, the nett revenue, after deducting all working-expenses, being £400,000. The forestry officials generally hold that the effect of forest-denudation on rainfall is doubtful, and much disputed. Contrary to what might have been expected, there is no evidence to show whether the actual rainfall has increased or decreased in consequence. They all agree, however, that forest-denudation has acted injuriously by letting flood-waters run off too rapidly, and that these waters are practically lost.

Three-quarters of a century ago, immense tracts of Southern India were overspread with jungle, and the slopes of the Ghauts were universally timber-clad. The most of the level woodland has since been cleared for cultivation, and the timber cut down for fuel. But another and scarcely less evil has resulted. Formerly the water was more or less protected from evaporation by the sheltering trees. Its flow on the surface was mechanically reduced by the jungle-grass and tree-trunks; it had time to sink into the earth, thereby insuring the permanence of the natural springs. Not till this was done did the residue find its way to the rivers, and then at a comparatively tardy pace. Now, however, as a

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rule, the rivers are in violent flood for about as many days as they used to be for weeks in moderate flood.

Turning again to New Zealand, we find that the extensive burnings of the tussocks and small scrub has produced similar conditions in many of our rivers, the rainfall flowing almost immediately into the channels, and not being detained by coarse or dense vegetable growth. Fortunately, however, there are few places in this country where extensive replanting is required for protective purposes. But in this part of the South Island, the Otago and Canterbury Plains, much may be done by the planting of timber trees suited to the locality, the wood of which will be of service for manufactures or industries. The experience of the European countries and of the United States seems to show that a central administration is essential, administering a well-drawn scientific Forest Act, in conjunction with such local authorities as may be advisable, the chief aim being to indicate the proper methods of dealing with the timber now most easily accessible so as to prevent undue waste, and, wherever possible, to encourage the work of reproducing the forests; also to arrange for easy access to the best forests, and to provide for their safety from fire or unauthorised destruction. What is required may be shortly stated under the following heads:—

Forest-management, which would deal with all parts of forest science which influence the control and working regulations, including finance.

Forest-utilisation, which would deal with the technical qualities of timber, consumption of wood, the felling and shaping of trees, the disposal and transport of wood, the harvesting of by-products, such as resins and turpentines, &c.

Forest-protection against fires and man, against animals, insects, fungi, having regard also to climatic considerations.

Lastly, sylviculture, or the creation, regeneration, and recovery of woods adapted to the varying local circumstances. For this part of the country this branch of the subject has the greatest importance, and demands an exact knowledge of the principles of the science.

Forestry, besides these branches of study, is largely based upon empirical knowledge, and to insure the best results forest science or theory must go hand-in-hand with practical forestry, neither the one nor the other by itself making a forest expert. The importance and absolute necessity of this is shown by the courses followed at the various forestry schools in Europe, at all of which practical instruction is strongly insisted on.

There is one other cognate subject that I should like to say a few words on, and that is irrigation. If fruit-growing and vine-culture is to be such an important factor with those

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who live “over the garden-wall” in Central Otago it will be necessary in many places to provide for irrigation. The annual reports of the United States Irrigation Survey, from the commencement in 1888, are to be seen in our library, and if those members who are interested in the subject will consult these volumes I am able to promise them an interesting and valuable series of memoirs on the progress of the investigation of the hydrographical and topographical problems of irrigation. Amongst other things, attention is called to the more modern methods of gauging river-flows, and the great discrepancies sometimes found to exist in this respect between theory and actual results.

The question also of the water-supplies for our towns is one of great importance, but has scarcely received the attention it is entitled to. I trust that the local authorities will take care that the catchment areas of our town reservoirs are kept well covered with either bush or native scrub; otherwise, as I have pointed out, the rainfall over the whole area is thrown off more quickly than it should be, and the town suffers either from a flood or a water-famine. None of the catchment area should be used for grazing either sheep or cattle. The alpine and subalpine forests are, of course, of great importance in regulating the supply of water available for gold-mining operations, and should be strictly conserved and increased where possible.

In thus glancing at some of the points connected with the forest question in New Zealand, and at the manner in which other countries have been compelled to grapple with the question, I trust that I have not been too diffuse for the short time at our disposal; but my object will have been gained if our members, and members living in Central Otago in particular, will endeavour to gather information bearing on the questions and send it to the society, and so long as I continue in office I shall have much pleasure in doing my best to collect and arrange such facts; and I trust that in the not-very-distant future some member will be found who will take the matter in hand, and upon those data write a paper showing what is required to be done in definite districts, and how best to do it. It is only by recording and studying past successes and failures that progress is to be made; and a record of the experiments made by the various County Councils, Road Boards, and private individuals would have a permanent value; and it would be an interesting work, involving, however, some labour and time, to collect the information regarding the kinds of trees that have been planted, and those most successful. We must all hope that the days when nothing but Pinus insignis and Cupressus macrocarpa were planted are passed away.

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In the matter of the forests at large, I have already said that I think there is little fear of destruction by legitimate use, but ravages from fire, especially in alpine districts, are to be dreaded, and must be guarded against. I would urge members to assist, when the time comes, in any way that they can, the organization of a scientific Government control of all the mighty forests of this land of ours. If the services of properly-trained men were obtained, and the administration of the State forests well organized, they might, I am sure, be made within a very short time to return a substantial nett income, more especially as the recent developments in the timber trade in England seem to promise a new opening for New Zealand woods, and, unless the opportunity is lost by either carelessness or dishonest shipping, important results may follow. It should be remembered that England imports twenty million pounds' worth of timber annually.

Art. XVIII.—On the Rise and Progress of our Knowledge of the Oceanic Areas.

[Being the Presidential Address delivered before the Members of the Otago Institute, 12th November, 1895.]

Inhabiting as we do one of the outposts of civilisation, an island remote from continental areas, situate in a commanding position in the great Southern Ocean, our thoughts and actions are largely influenced by our essentially marine environment, and, apart from the commercial advantages that an extensive coast-line gives us, most of us have an interest in the exploration and unravelling of the mysteries of the sea. Thanks to the wonderful development of all branches of science during the latter half of the present century, we may now hope for things which only in the days of our fathers would have been deemed impossible. It may perhaps interest you if this evening I briefly trace some of the leading features in the Mstory of geographical exploration by the voyagers of the bygone ages, and finally note some of the results of the most memorable voyage of modern times—a voyage which has done so much to establish the foundations of the science of oceanography—the voyage of H.M.S. “Challenger.”

Commercial reasons have in nearly all cases been the cause which led the hardy sailor to adventure his life in his frail bark amid the dangers of unknown coasts, and in the

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dawn of history we find several of the more civilised nations gradually extending their borders, and, though records of their geographical knowledge do not exist, we may feel assured that traditional information was being accumulated concerning local areas.

Geographical knowledge among primitive races is always circumscribed, and essentially local, and we have no glimpse of any considerable maritime discoveries of any extended area, or of any journeys of exploration, until we come to the time when the Phoenicians spread along the shores of the Mediterranean. Before this time they are said by Pliny to have voyaged from island to island in their original abodes within the Persian Gulf by means of rafts.*

Tradition, as well as the earliest records, represent this people as clever navigators long before the oldest Greek or Hebrew records. They are generally supposed to have fully explored the Erythræan Sea before they ventured on the waters of the Mediterranean. The 27th chapter of Ezekiel shows how the trade of the Levant was in their hands; and then, having traversed the Mediterranean and made themselves masters of the commerce of the day, they passed out into the waters of the Great Sea through the Pillars of Hercules, and founded Tartessus as a base for future voyages.

At a later date they went further afield; but a writer about twenty years ago tried to prove in an elaborate paper that the Phoœnicians had reached Central America by way of the north of Australia and Easter Island, and many similar attempts have been made to extend their voyages to parts of the American Continent. They sailed boldly to the Canaries, and a passage in Theophrastus seems to indicate that the curious patches of floating seaweed known as the Sargasso Sea were known to the ancients. The Phœnicians steered during the night by a star in the Little Bear, which was called by the Greeks in after-times the Phœnician star. The course steered was, however, probably never very far from land. When the Greeks in their turn became a maritime power they directed their course by a position of the constellation of the Great Bear, until, in the time of Thales, they adopted the Little Bear as their guide.

The knowledge of places, currents, dangers, winds, and other cosmographical details must have been handed down by tradition from one generation of sailors to another, and the knowledge received by the Greeks when the Greek civilisation

[Footnote] * Pliny, Hist. Nat., vii., 56.

[Footnote] † Gaffarel, “Compte Rendu du 1er Congrés des Americanistes,” Nancy, 1875.

[Footnote] ‡ Theop., Hist. Plant., iv., 6, 7.

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developed must have included many observations and deductions based upon experience of solid value and importance. Yet the brilliant intellects of the Greek philosophers did not construct any very creditable theoretical conception of the scientific problems of the ocean. Together with the facts, no doubt, a number of “travellers' tales” and myths had established themselves; but, as Humboldt says, “Popular myths mixed with history and geography do not belong altogether to the ideal world. If vagueness be one of their characteristics, if the symbols which cover the reality be wrapped in a veil more or less thick, they show, nevertheless, the dawn of cosmography. The statements of primitive history and geography are not entirely ingenious fictions; the opinions which have been formed about the actual world are reflected in them.”

Putting aside, as poetic accretions round the nature-myth of the history of the Golden Fleece, the classic accounts of the voyage of the Argonauts, we come to the poems of the Trojan cycle, and in the Homeric works we find the conceptions of the Greeks at that time as to the Cosmos. He describes the form of the earth as being like the shield of Achilles, with the river Oceanus for its rim.* Mr. Gladstone considers the shape of the shield to have been an oval or a parallelogram. The conception of a great circumfluent river, he thinks, was probably founded on a combination of a double set of reports: the one of great currents setting into the Thalassa or Mediterranean Sea, and seeming to feed it, such as those of Yeni-kale, the Bosphorus, Gibraltar; the other of outer waters, such as the Caspian, the Persian Gulf, and probably the Red Sea. As the external ocean-river served as the support to the celestial vault, we must conclude that these conceptions of the world were derived from Oriental sources. These ideas of an internal sea, with archipelagoes and a surrounding ocean-river, were perpetuated among the people down to the time of Hecatoeus. It is not long, however, before we hear of lands beyond the outer ocean and in Hesiod we may probably see the first germ of the Atlantis myth, now to be rediscussed by the publication of Plongeon's work in Central America.

With the rise of the Grecian power we find mercantile relations opened up with Egypt, the “China” of the civilised world at that period; and about 630 B.C., Herodotus tells us, the western portion of the Mediterranean, with the great. Tyrian port of Tartessus, in the south of Spain, became known to the Greeks. The story of the founding of Massilia not only shows the noble sacrifices made by the Phoceans, who abandoned their city rather than submit to the conqueror's yoke, but shows that the voyage of nearly the whole length

[Footnote] * Il., xix., 374.

[Footnote] † Herod., iv., 152.

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of the Mediterranean was not dreaded, and that their geographical knowledge of the western end of the sea was probably fairly complete. That there were local difficulties and dangers which rumour and distance unduly magnified was probably expressed by the popular saying in Pindar,* “Neither wise man nor fool gets beyond the Pillars of Hercules.”

It is not necessary to go into the curious fancies of the Ionian school of philosophers concerning the form of the earth. Pythagoras and his followers seem to have been acquainted with the idea of the spherical form of the earth, and it is believed that they adopted this view from the intercourse which enabled them to learn the astronomical information possessed by the Chaldeans and Egyptians.

Scientific inquiry began to emerge from the mists of philosophical speculation, and about four hundred and fifty years before the present era we find a more scientific spirit animating the literary men of the day. At this period appears Herodotus, of Halicarnassus, a great name among the writers of antiquity, who, besides his more common titles of the father of history—and lies—may be regarded as the founder of the science of physical geography. Here in his writings we get the ὀργνıά, the sailor's measure, the fathom, as the measure of both length and depth. In his writings the circumfluent ocean disappears, and he says, “I cannot help laughing a little at those who undertake to describe the contours of the lands without any facts to guide them; for example, who represent the ocean as embracing the entire world in its course—who make it round, as if drawn with a pair of compasses.” In both his historical and geographical work he seems to have preferred drawing from the living fount of oral tradition, but without perceiving the necessary shortcomings of such a record. In the matter of his credibility, it is necessary to distinguish between the trustworthiness of the historian himself and the trustworthiness of his authorities. As to the former, there is no occasion for doubting his personal good faith, or for disbelieving his assertion that he reproduced faithfully all that he heard. He exercises no scientific criticism of his authorities, nor does he allow for the weakness of oral tradition. But, while we may believe that Herodotus repeated what he had heard, it is impossible to have the same confidence in his authorities. Modern research has shown that he has been led into many mistakes by ignorant or malicious informants, and in his historical writings a distinctly Periclean bias is visible. Further afield were the voyages of Scylax, of Caryanda, down the Indus and into the Persian Gulf; and the expedition sent

[Footnote] * Olymp., iii., 80.

[Footnote] † Herod., iv., 36.

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by the Phocean colonists of Massilia to the North Sea, under Pytheas, the illustrious astronomer, who at that distant period had determined the latitude of Massilia with such exactitude that twenty centuries after Gassendi found it correct to within a few seconds. On this adventurous voyage Pytheas coasted Britain and crossed to the German coast, the “amber coasts” of the Baltic. It has been claimed that Pytheas attributed the tidal phenomena he met with to the influence of the moon, thus anticipating Newton by two thousand years.

It is probable that the Carthaginian explorer Himilco had visited or tried to visit the “tin country,” and had passed through the straits northward for the purpose; but there is every reason to believe that any information gained by this expedition was jealously guarded* as long as possible, and that Pytheas had not their experience to assist him. In another direction Nearchus was making a famous voyage of discovery under the auspices of Alexander.

The philosophers of the school of Aristotle came to the conclusion that the earth was a spheroidal body occupying the centre of the universe, round which the other celestial bodies revolve. They were no doubt influenced by the results of the voyages of Euthymenes and Pytheas. They established its spherical form by the fact that all things gravitated towards the centre, and by reference to the shadow of the earth during eclipses.

The habitable world was confined to the temperate zone: all beyond the tropic to the south was uninhabitable from heat, while the land below the Great Bear was uninhabitable from cold. They admitted a temperate zone in the Southern Hemisphere, but do not state if it is inhabited.

Humboldt believed that the following passage must have had much influence in leading up to the discoveries of Columbus: “It appears,” says Aristotle, “those are not so very far wrong who suppose the region about the Pillars of Hercules and that about India to be contiguous, and that there is but one sea (in the part opposite to the inhabited world); and they point by way of proof to the elephants, these animals being found in both regions, though at the extremes of the earth, this fact showing that the extremes are really near each other.

Aristotle's own researches in the fauna of the ocean were of scientific value, as he named and described more or less minutely 116 kinds of fishes, about twenty-four Crustaceans and worms, about forty Mollusca and Radiates, making a total of 180 species, inhabiting the ægean Sea. His immortal

[Footnote] * Clements Markham, R. Geo. Journal, 1893, vol. i., No. 6.

[Footnote] † Arist., De Coel., ii., 15.

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memory is recalled to the zoological student in the masticatory apparatus of Echinus, known as Aristotle's lantern. Such was the authority of the Aristotelean views that they were held and reproduced by the Romans down to the close of the Middle Ages.

All maps or charts previous to Aristotle's time were merely pictorial sketches devoid of scale or proportion; but a pupil of Aristotle's—Dicœarchus—divided the representation of the known world by a longitudinal line in the sense of our equator, along which stadia were marked. By this means it was possible to express relative distances more precisely than formerly. This departure was followed up by Eratosthenes, of Cyrene, director of the library of the museum at Alexandria, who, encouraged by the patronage of the Ptolemies, arranged the geographical facts collected by the generals of Alexander, using the prime longitude of Dicœarchus, which passed through Rhodes. To this he added three others, passing respectively through Alexandria, Syene, and Meroe. He also traced at right angles to these a meridian line passing through Rhodes and Alexandria southwards to Syene viá Meroe. Eratosthenes reformed the principles of geography, and gave it a more systematic form. He adopted the view of Aristotle and Euclid regarding the figure and position of the earth, looking upon it as a sphere placed in the centre of the universe, around which the celestial bodies moved every twenty-four hours, the sun and moon having independent motions of their own. For all practical purposes, his views differed only from those of modern geographers in having a geocentric instead of an heliocentric standpoint.

When the Romans had extended their dominions to Egypt they were able to acquire the geographical knowledge possessed by the school of Alexandria; but the genius of the conquering people was not directed towards scientific research, nor did they encourage navigation and commerce with the same ardour as their predecessors. The science of oceanography was not advanced among them as among the Greeks by the speculations of philosophers, or by the study of natural phenomena for their own sakes. It was only the luxury of imperial Rome, which gave rise to the demand for the varied products of all the countries of the known world, that led to active trade by land and sea. It seems natural to expect that the Romans, who carried their victorious armies throughout nearly all the world known to the ancients, should have left some important documents relating to the physical aspects of nature in the regions over which they extended their conquests. Although the Roman rule extended over a great extent of coast bordering on the Atlantic, they never organized any voyages of discovery into the outer sea, after the manner

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of the Carthaginians and Greeks. They were essentially a warlike and practical people, with politicians, jurists, encyclopædists, and historians, but few philosophers who occupied themselves with the operations of nature.

Horace's system of winds, several passages of Virgil on meteorology, the statements concerning geological phenomena in Ovid, and notices of diluvial action on the surface of the globe in Vitruvius, all show, a spirit of observation and inquiry; but, generally speaking, if we deduct what the Romans had received from the Greeks, there is little relating to ocean-ography that can be regarded as original among the writings of Latin authors. The military operations each occasioned a new survey and a new itinerary, though it was not till the reign of Caracalla that these itineraries were elaborated into accurate topographical documents.

As Vivien de St. Martin remarks, never was there such an opportunity for a great work on descriptive geography as during the reign of Augustus. The Roman rule then, spread as it was over more than half of the then known world, and attached to the remainder by political and commercial relations, created most propitious conditions for an undertaking of this kind by furnishing to the geographer a ready means of investigation. A man appeared to carry out the work for which the time was ripe, but the man was a Greek—Strabo, of Amaseia—who, in his seventeen books, has given us the most important geographical work of antiquity.

In the first century of our era was written the earliest work or treatise devoted exclusively to geography. It was written by Pomponius Mela,* a native of Spain. In this work we find the first notice of the opinion, so prevalent in aftertimes, as to an impassable zone intervening between our world and the alter orbis of the Antichthones in the temperate zone of the Southern Hemisphere. Passing on to the last great geographer of antiquity—Ptolemy—we find him devoting two of his numerous works to geography, and improving the ars delineandi and the tabulas geographicis; and he is the first to use the words “latitude” and “longitude” as purely technical terms. From this point the progress of geographical knowledge is carried on on two separate lines. The great outburst of Mohammedan conquest was followed by an Arabian civilisation, Which had its centres at Baghdad and Cordova. The Arabs brought astronomy and mathematics to bear on its problems, and established observatories. They measured an arc of a great circle of the earth; they studied Ptolemy; they applied themselves to define with accuracy the discoveries of travellers; and thus geography became in their hands a

[Footnote] * De Situ Orbis.

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living science. Abulfeda quotes no less than sixty geographical authors, many of whom lived in the thirteenth century.

In European countries the knowledge of geographical facts was limited to a few who were held fast in the chains of theology; and for centuries after the fall of Constantinople the darkness of the “dark ages” engendered strange and erroneous conceptions, which were only dissipated when, with the invention of printing, science once more lifted her head in Europe. The early Fathers of the Church—the autocrats of learning in those days—imagined that they had detected certain discrepancies between the discoveries of science and the words of holy writ. The particular point on which their suspicion fastened was the existence of the Antipodes. It was assumed that no communication was possible, or ever had been possible, between the Northern Hemisphere and any southern part of the globe. Even if other continents existed, they were supposed to be cut off from the European or Asian lands by an ocean lying under the tropical zone, of insupportable heat, and therefore impassable. On this assumption it was impossible that a population could have been derived from the stock of Adam, and consequently the whole theory of its existence was opposed to the language of holy writ, which throughout assumes that God hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth (Acts, xvii., 26).

Lactantius, in the fourth century, was so carried away by his zeal for what he believed to be the truth that he impugned the theory of the sphericity of the earth, and denied it as a physical impossibility.*

St. Augustine, while equally determined in his rejection of the Antipodes, is more cautious in the statement of his reasons. He argues that, even if the world is spherical, it does not follow that there should be land on the opposite side of it; and, even if there be land, it does not follow that it should be inhabited—nay, inasmuch as none could cross from this side to that, it must needs be uninhabited. Geography was henceforth forced into a mould of a pseudo-orthodoxy, and both map-makers and writers were discouraged and fell into a narrow groove until they were forced out of it by the glorious discoveries of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The tenacity with which the Patristic doctrines were maintained was exhibited in the treatment which Columbus received. His proposal to circumnavigate the world was referred to a council of divines in Salamanca, who pronounced it to be not only chimerical,

[Footnote] * Instit., iii., 24.

[Footnote] † De Civ. Dei., xvi., 9.

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but even profane, as being contrary to Scripture and the opinions of the Fathers. Yet at that time a breach had already been made in the mediæval theory by the progress of maritime discovery: navigators had penetrated into the torrid zone, and had reported it to be not impassable; and thus the very groundwork of the difficulty which the Fathers had experienced had been removed. It may be a matter of surprise that the Arabian system should have coexisted side by side with the Latin and yet have exercised so little influence over it. The inhabitants of Western Europe came into contact with the Arabs in Spain, in the Holy Land during the period of the crusades, and more particularly in Sicily, where one of the most illustrious of their geographers, Edrisi, lived and worked, under the patronage of Roger, Count of Sicily, in the middle of the twelfth century. We do, indeed, meet with occasional notices which show that the Arab system was not wholly unknown, Roger Bacon, in his Opus Majus,* completed in 1267, speaks of Arym, the most important point in the construction of an Arab map, and he shows himself acquainted with its position on the earth's surface, and its use in the study of geography. He was also familiar with the lines of latitude and longitude, and particularly notes that the Latins had not yet adopted the system.

The geographical work of Ptolemy had not yet been rendered accessible to the general body of students by being translated into Latin. The European system was incompatible with scientific principles: nothing less than a revolution was required, and that revolution was effected, partly by the revival of the study of Ptolemy—whose geographical writings were translated into Latin in 1405—and partly by the progress of maritime discovery. It may be of interest to take a passing glance at a peculiar feature of mediæval cartography, in which Jerusalem is represented as occupying the central part of the habitable world. Whether the tenet was originally based on the language of Scripture, or whether the language of Scripture was applied in confirmation of a preconceived opinion, I know not. At all events, it is not the only instance in which men have conferred honour on their holy places by regarding them as occupying the central boss or umbilic of the habitable world. It was thus that the Greeks regarded their Delphi—ὀμφαλὸς χθονός— the Hindoos their Merou, and the Persians their Kangdiz. It was not unnatural, therefore, that the Jews, and still more the Christians, should attribute the same property to Jerusalem, which

[Footnote] * Jebbs, edition Venice, 1750, p. 134.

[Footnote] † Pind., Pyth., vi., 3; cf. Soph., œd. Tyr., 480; and æscb., Choeph., 1034.

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for centuries had been the focus of their aspirations, their anxieties, and their most earnest hopes and devoted exertions.

Scripture seemed to sanction this feeling. We find the following passages quoted for the purpose: “This is Jerusalem; I have set it in the midst of the nations round about her” (Ezek. v., 5). The 12th verse of the 74th Psalm in the Vulgate runs thus: “Operatus est salutem in medio terræ”; and again, in the 12th verse of the 38th chapter of Ezekiel, the Vulgate has “umbilicus terrae” for the Hebrew word “tabur” —the midst of the land.

A fourteenth-century writer describes Jerusalem as “punetus circumferentiæ,” and exaggerates the historical claims to centrality by representing Judea as having been the seat of each branch of the human race, and the favoured scene of God's manifestation in the works of creation and redemption in the past, and of final judgment in the future. Mediæval cartographers gave effect to these views by placing Jerusalem as nearly as possible in the centre of the map, and this remained the custom till the middle of the fifteenth century. Assuming that Jerusalem occupied the central portion of the habitable world, and taking into consideration its position on the verge of Asia and in the line of the Mediterranean, it follows that Asia held one-half of the world, and Europe and Africa, being divided by the Mediterranean, must almost equally divide the remaining half; and accordingly, in the Alexandrian romance popular in Europe in about the thirteenth century, we find—

At Asyghe al so muchul is
So Europe and Affryh I wis.*

Also in the Cursor Mundi—

For Asie is withouten hope
As myche as Aufrik and Europe.

The world was thus divided symmetrically into three parts, and is so represented in many of the small maps in the illuminated manuscripts of the period. The preponderating size of Asia was attributed to its being the inheritance of Shem, the first-born. Although many geographers wished to consider Europe and Africa as one, thus making two halves only, the above-mentioned writer brings Scripture to bear on the point, and settles it in favour of the three divisions, on the ground that Ham and Japhet had their separate domains.

The habitable world was limited within a circle drawn from Jerusalem as a centre, and with a radius equalling the distance thence to the Strait of Gibraltar. Here was—

[Footnote] * Lines 55 and 56, Weber's Metrical Romances, vol. i.

[Footnote] † Cursor Mundi, 1. 2097, MS. R., 3, 8, Trin. Coll., Camb.

[Footnote] ‡ Gervaise of Tilbury, Ot. Imp., ii., 2

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The strait pass where Hercules ordain'd
The boundaries not to be overstepped by man;*

beyond which lay the “deep illimitable main,” “the unpeopled world,” of which the learned as yet knew nothing. Eastward the limit was fixed at the mouth of the Ganges. In this direction, therefore, mediæval geography, as it stood towards the close of the thirteenth century, had not only not advanced beyond the point at which Ptolemy left it, but had actually receded.

Although the usual form of the habitable world as depicted in the Middle Ages was circular, a quadrangular shape was sometimes adopted, based upon too literal an acceptation of the passage of the Scripture which speaks of the “four corners of the earth.” There is yet another form in which a map was constructed, and which was perhaps more correct. On the Matthew Paris maps we are told that the world, in its truest form resembles an extended military cloak (chlamys extensa). The chlamys consisted of a central square with wings added to it, wider at the bottom than at the top, the whole shape being a greatly truncated triangle. This idea was probably derived from Macrobius, who in his turn borrowed it from Strabo (ii., p. 113).

Another point of interest is the orientation of the maps. Our predecessors, with few exceptions, placed the east in that position at the top of the map. Biblical considerations again decided this. The primeval abode of man was in the east, the terrestrial Paradise still remained there. On this subject of the location of the terrestrial Paradise there is a large mass of mediæval literature; but in the whole of it there is no doubt of its being an existing contemporaneous fact. Mandeville (cap. xxx.) says that he had not visited it himself on account of his unworthiness, but he describes it at length on the information of trustworthy persons. The four rivers of Paradise were usually identified with the Euphrates, Nile, Ganges, and Tigris, and the difficulty as to the widely remote sources of these rivers was solved by assuming that the rivers on leaving Paradise were submerged, and reappeared at these points.

The traces of this belief are to be seen even in the person of Columbus, for we learn in Irving's “Life of Columbus,” book iv., chapter 4, that when the great navigator encountered the flood of the River Orinoco, in the Gulf of Paria, he thought it could be none other than the fount of Paradise.

Of the renaissance of enterprise and the desire for know

[Footnote] * Dante, “Inferno,” xxvi.

[Footnote] † De Somn. Scip., ii., 9, where Macrobius is commenting on Cicero's description, “Angusta verticibus, lateribus latior” (De Republica, vi., 20).

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ledge in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and of the part which science took in giving confidence to the sailor to stretch out to seek for lands afar, I may not at this time say much. As an illustration, however, of what were considered difficulties, it may be noted that all the expeditions sent out at various times from Portugal to round Cape Bojador, up till the year 1433, returned unsuccessful because of a reef which extended six miles seaward and barred the passage. With the discoveries of Golumbus the whole fabric of geographical conceptions was shattered, and amid the growing light of scientific knowledge in Europe the fragments were reconstructed into a more adequate representation of the true forms of the continents and oceans. To us under the Southern Cross the 25th of September, 1573, is a day of note, for on that day the fearless Spaniard, Vasco Nunez de Balbao, beheld from the summit of the Sierra Quarequa a boundless ocean extending towards the setting sun—an ocean first ploughed by the keels of the ships of Magellan many years after, and subsequently named by Pigafetta “the Pacific.” “For three months and twenty days we sailed,” he says, “about four thousand leagues on that sea, which we call the Pacific, because during all the time of our navigation we did not experience a single storm.

The voyage of Magellan, from a geographical point of view, was the greatest event in the most remarkable period of the world's history, and far surpassed all others in its effect on oceanographical conceptions.

The memorable discoveries in the thirty years from 1492 to 1522 doubled at a single bound the knowledge of the surface of the earth, and added a hemisphere to the chart of the world. The fiery zone of the ancients had been crossed, a death-blow was dealt to Ptolemy's view that the Indian Ocean was an enclosed sea; the southern temperate zone of Aristotle and Mela had been reached. The sphericity of the earth and the existence of the Antipodes were no longer theories, but demonstrated facts. The impression produced by these great events can be traced in men's minds in all the great intellectual and moral changes which characterized the transitional period known as the Renaissance, and relit the torch of learning in Europe.

The geographical work of the sixteenth century was continued, but with less ardour, during the seventeenth century. The Dutch made discoveries in the “Great Ocean” of the western half of Australia. Tasman, in 1642, showed that Australia and Tasmania were surrounded by the ocean to the south; but the west coast of New Zealand, which he visited, was believed to be a part of the great southern continent.

The desire for more detailed geographical knowledge seems

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to have slumbered again till the latter half of the eighteenth century, when the first of the memorable scientific voyages was initiated in the time of James Cook.

We must, however, not forget the expedition of Edward Halley, in 1699, to improve our knowledge concerning longitude and the variation of the compass: this was a purely scientific voyage. Of the geographical discoveries made since that time in these seas we have been favoured with several papers by Dr. Hocken, and it will therefore be permissible for me to pass on to the Victorian era, and the rapid increase in the scientific knowledge of the bed of the great ocean—a branch of oceanography but newly born. It may here be not out of place to remind you that the very bulk of the ocean as compared with the visible land gives it an importance which is possessed by no other feature on the surface of our planet.

Dr. John Murray has lately, after a laborious calculation from the most recent data, shown that the cubical contents of the ocean is probably about fourteen times that of the dry land. This statement appeals strongly to the imagination, and forms perhaps the most powerful argument in favour of the view—steadily gaining grounds—that the great oceans have, in the main, existed in their present form since the continents settled down into their present form. When it is considered that the whole of the dry land would only fill up one-third of the Atlantic Ocean, the enormous disproportion of the two great divisions of sea and land become very apparent. The deepest parts of the ocean at present known are in all cases near land: at 110 miles outside the Kurile Islands the deepest sounding has been made, of 27,930ft.* The sea with the greatest mean depth appears to be our vast Pacific, which covers 67 millions of the 188 millions of square miles comprising the earth's surface. Of the 188 millions, 137 millions are sea, so that the Pacific comprises just one-half of the water of the globe, and more than one-third of its whole area. We cannot regard the soundings which have been taken by the various scientific expeditions, and which are still being taken as opportunities offer, as anything but the units of what is required. In the Central Pacific there is an area of 10 ½ million square miles in which there are only seven soundings; while in a long strip crossing the whole North Pacific, which has an area of nearly 3 million square miles, there is no sounding at all. The immensity of the mass of waters in the Pacific, both in bulk and area, is difficult to realise, but it may assist us when we learn that the whole of

[Footnote] * On the 14th December, 1895, H.M.S. “Penguin” reports a sounding of 29,400ft., at which depth the sounding-wire snapped.

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the land of the globe above the water-level, if shovelled into the Pacific, would only fill one-seventh of it. English science has recognised that of all the worlds she has to conquer the secrets of the ocean are of great importance to her welfare, not only for the safety of her navy and mercantile marine, but for the future extension of the magic girdle of modern times which has embodied in itself the shoes of swiftness and the cap of invisibility of the fairy tale, and which has practically annihilated time and distance in commercial transactions.

From almost every branch of physical science come questions which can only be solved by researches into the conditions which obtain in the ocean.

If the charts of the present day be compared with those in existence before Cook's time, the perfection now attained will be easily noted. This important branch of oceanography has been very greatly developed through the extension of geographical and geodetical knowledge under the impulse of commerce, colonisation, and interoceanic relations. Nearly all the regions of the ocean are accurately represented in our charts, even the polar regions so far as explored. The bathymetrical charts of Maury and Delesse and the wind and current charts of the Hydrographic Office all show great advances in those branches of knowledge. The latest cartographical elements introduced into our charts are those relating to the depth and nature of the bottom, which were specially investigated during the voyage of the “Challenger.” The study of deep-sea deposits has been brought about by the requirements of navigation and the more modern applications of electricity, and now constitutes an important branch of oceanography.

The very important scientific voyage of the “Challenger” took place in the years 1872–76; and the scheme proposed “for the investigation of the biological, chemical, and physical conditions of the great oceans of the world” was successfully carried out. As soon as possible, the collections made and the facts observed were placed in the hands of the most eminent men in each department of science; and after more than twenty years of labour the final volumes have been issued. The unanimous testimony of the scientific world to-day is that the work taken in hand has been well and truly done. Never, says the leading zoologist in England, never did an expedition cost so little and produce such momentous results for human knowledge. The expenditure on the preparation and publication of the reports has been relatively greater, but the authorities of the Treasury may rest assured that the whole of the scientific world sets the very highest value on these volumes; and that, had it suited the dignity of an Imperial Government to treat the work on a commercial basis, instead

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of liberally presenting copies of it to scientific institutions throughout the world, the publications could have been made to pay their own expenses by sales. Practically, the whole of the work of arranging for the proper description of the great mass of zoological material brought home has fallen to Mr., now Dr., John Murray, and he has brought to a successful conclusion the issue of the fifty quarto volumes in which specialists in all parts of the world have described the treasures brought home. In zoology particularly the researches of the “Challenger” have enabled a new division to be made of the fauna of the ocean into three groups: a group that drifts, a group that swims, and a group that is anchored.

The first group, or the Plankton, embraces all those pelagic forms that float about at the mercy of the winds and tidal currents, drifting with the tide on the “shifting currents of the restless main.”

The second group are the Nekton, also pelagic in their habits, but able to swim against the currents or migrate from place to place.

The third group, the Benthos, are animals and plants that are fixed to the bottom, or that live within circumscribed limits on the bottom, and are unable to migrate at will, nor can they be carried about by the sweep of a current or tide.

With regard to the Plankton, Professor Haeckel says, “With the exception to the deep-sea Keratosa, my own contributions to the Challenger' work concern the Plankton, and have proved that it is just the smallest pelagic animals which possess the greatest importance for oceanic life. As I wandered for ten years though this wonderful new empire, populated by more than four thousand species of Radiolaria, for the most part previously unknown, and as I daily admired the incredible variety and elegance of their delicate forms, I had the happy and proud sensations of the explorer who is the first to travel through a new continent peopled by thousands of new and curious forms of animals and plants.” The abysmal deeps again contain a new world inhabited by Benthos, strangely-formed genera, and species who have slowly migrated through various environments to the ocean-depths.

In geology the information obtained regarding the deposits now forming on the ocean-floor has been of great importance, but those who hoped that the dredge would drag from the ocean caves “the monsters vast of ages past,” and that the hauls would yield many living forms of Tertiary types, have been disappointed. The botanical work has been mainly in the direction of extending our knowledge of the flora of the oceanic areas at a distance from land-masses; and in some cases additional information has been recorded on the floras of the more remote islands. The results of the expedition

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from a naval point of view are numerous and important, and more especially with regard to the delineation of the contour-curves of the great ocean-basins, and the series of memoirs on the oceanic circulation. The brilliant success of the “Challenger” expedition and its report gives us good ground for hoping that one of Her Majesty's ships might be employed in filling up some of the gaps which naturally occurred in the explorations, and that, above all, some assistance should be given to follow out the important lines of inquiry opened up by the results of the soundings taken in the southern seas in the neighbourhood of the Antarctic. As I have said on another occasion, important magnetic and meteorological problems demand investigation in the Antarctic, and I for one would desire to see British sailors set out from this British colony to once more force the icy gates of the South and beard the ice-king in his solitary realms.

Art. XIX.—A Comparison of the Magnetic Screening produced by Different Metals.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 6th November, 1895.]

When a conductor is placed in a varying magnetic field the currents induced in it tend to keep the field constant. If the field varies slowly the effect is slight; but in fields produced by rapidly-alternating currents the “screening” is very marked.

In these experiments the fields were produced by leydenjar discharges. Magnetized steel needles were used as “detectors” (Rutheriord, Trans. N.Z. Inst., 1894, p. 488). Magnetized steel needles are much more suitable for this purpose than unmagnetized, for a field too weak to magnetize a needle to any appreciable extent is capable of producing considerable demagnetization.

The discharge passed through a coil of several turns, inside which a magnetized steel needle was placed, and in whichever direction the needle lay it was partially demagnetized; but the demagnetization was greater when the needle was placed in that direction in which the field, due to the first semi-oscillation of the discharge, demagnetized it. Hereafter this direction will be referred to as “direction a”; the direction in which the field due to first semi-oscillation tended to magnetize the needle as “direction b.

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If a metallic screen was placed inside the coil, so as to surround the needle, the demagnetization produced by the discharge was less.

The screening depends on the thickness and on the conductivity of the screen, and on the frequency of the discharge.

The condenser, which consisted of ordinary 40oz. leydenjars, was charged by a Voss influence machine, and connected in series with several coils wound on glass tube of 21mm. diameter. In the circuit was a spark-gap, of length 3.7mm., and the diameter of the knobs was 2.8cm.; hence the potential at discharge was about 43.5 electrostatic units, or 13,000 volts. (J. J. Thomson, “Recent Researches,” p. 77.) It was found that the effect of the discharge varied less with, this length of spark than with a shorter spark.

The needles used were of glass-hard pianoforte-steel wire. They were magnetized to saturation by placing them in a coil (of 191 turns, and of length 9.9cm.) through which passed a current of from six to ten ampères, produced by a Grove's battery or by an accumulator. The needles, for convenience in handling, were sealed in fine glass tubes.

The needle, after being magnetized, was placed at a distance of 102.5cm. from the needle of a magnetometer. The magnetometer readings were taken by the ordinary lamp-and-scale method. The needle was then placed in one of the coils in the leyden-jar circuit and a discharge was passed. The needle was again tested by the magnetometer and the new reading noted. Great care had to be taken in replacing the needle, and in order to avoid error the magnetometer was kept in a fixed position throughout the experiments, while the needle was placed in a groove cut in a bar attached to a stand, which was itself screwed down to the table on which the instrument stood.

The screens were metal cylinders, which could be placed inside the coils. They were formed by winding thin sheets of metals on glass tubes.

Great care had to be taken to make the contact at the junction good; if there is merely touching contact the screening is much reduced.

The screening produced by different metals was compared as follows: Tubes were wound with different numbers of layers of tinfoil. The reductions in the deflection produced on the magnetized needle when surrounded by these and placed in a certain coil (of 2.04 turns per centimetre) were observed. Similar experiments were made with cylinders of other metals, and the numbers of layers of tinfoil producing the same effect were calculated by interpolation.

The diameter of the tubes on which the metals were wound was 14.4mm., and the length of metal 16cm. The

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tinfoil was pasted on to the tubes. In the case of the other metals used—lead, zinc, silver, and copper—the junction was made by soldering. The only other metal that could be obtained in thin sheets was aluminium, and the difficulty in making a junction precluded its use. Unfortunately, only one thickness of each of the metals could be obtained, and that was so great that only one layer could be used.

The thickness of the metals somewhat restricted the scope of these experiments, and rendered the method less sensitive than it would otherwise have been; while, in order to get sufficient reduction of deflection with the needle placed in direction b, it was necessary to use as a condenser four leydenjars arranged in parallel. The thicknesses of the metals used were—

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

Copper 0.0134 Millimenters.
Silver 0.0108 "
Zinc 0.0430 "
Lead 0.0957 "
Tinfoil 0.0116 "

In the first set of experiments the condenser consisted of two leyden-jars arranged in parallel. The length of the needle used was 60.4mm., and it was placed in direction a, for with the needle placed in direction b the copper, zinc, and silver were thick enough to screen off all effect, while in the case of the lead the screening was at least 95 per cent. The observations made are here tabulated:—

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

Number of Layers of Tinfoil. Original Deflection. Reduced Deflection. Reduction.
0 201 102 99
5 201 129½ 71½
6 201 134 67
8 201 141 60
9 201 144 57
10 201 147 54
Metal. Origninal. Deflection. Reduced Deflection. Reduction.
Silver 201 141 60
Copper 201 144½ 56½
Zinc 201 143 57
Lead 201 133 68

The results obtained from these observations were that the silver produced the same screening as 8 layers of tinfoil; that the copper was equivalent to 9.2 layers, the zinc to 8.8 layers, and the lead to 5.8 layers.

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A second set of experiments was made with four leyden-jars, arranged in parallel, placed in the circuit, and the needle placed in direction b. The length of the needle used in this set of experiments was 74.5mm. The observations are here tabulated:—

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Number of Layers of Tinfoil. Original Deflection. Reduced Deflection. Reduction.
0 252 155½ 96½
5 252 225½ 26½
6 252 231 21
7 252 235 17
8 252 239 13
9 252 243 9
10 252 246½
11 252 250 2
12 252 252 0
Metal. Original Deflection. Reduced Deflection. Reduction.
Silver 252 241 11
Copper 252 244 8
Zinc 252 243 9
Lead 252 231½ 20½

The results of this set of experiments were that the silver was equivalent to 8.5. layers of tinfoil, the copper to 9.3 layers, the zinc to 9 layers, and the lead to 6.1 layers.

These experiments show that the thicknesses of different metals required to produce the same screening are proportional to the specific resistances of the metals.

In the next table the equivalent thicknesses obtained by experiment are compared with those calculated by taking the thickness proportional to the specific resistance:—

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Equivalent Number of Layers of Tinfoil.
Metal. Deduced from First Set of Experiments. Deduced from Second Set. Deduced by taking Thickness Proportional to Sp. R.
Silver 8.0 8.5 8.2
Copper 9.2 9.3 9.5
Zinc 8.8 9.0 8.7
Lead 5.8 6.1 5.6

Professor J. J. Thomson, in a paper on “The Resistance of Electrolytes to the Passage of very Rapidly - alternating

– 182 –

Currents” (Proceedings, Royal Society, 17th January, 1889, vol. xlv.), investigates mathematically the screening produced by a conducting-plate, and shows that it is proportional to the thickness, and that if plates of different metals produce the same screening their thicknesses will be proportional to their specific resistances.

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The screening mentioned by Professor Thomson is measured by the decrdase of electro-motive force, while in these experiments the screening is measured by the decrease of magnetic force; and it is possible to have very considerable screening of electro-motive force and at the same time very little screening of magnetic force, for the magnetic field may be large though its rate of change is small. Professor Thomson (see paper mentioned above) found that a thickness of 1/1700 of a centimetre of Dutch metal screened off all electromotive force, and the thinnest films of metal he could obtain screened off all effect.

Art. XX.—Magnetic Viscosity.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 4th September, 1895.]

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This research—was undertaken to see if steel or soft iron exhibited any appreciable magnetic viscosity when under the influence of very rapidly changing fields. Ewing had shown that there was a slow creeping-up of the magnetization for some seconds after the magnetizing force had been applied; but considerable difference of opinion has been expressed as to whether the area of the hysteresis curve would be less for a slow cycle than for a very rapid cycle of less than 1/1000 of a second.

I had already designed the apparatus and the method of reducing the experiments before a copy of the Proceedings of the Royal Society, 20th April, 1893, reached New Zealand. I there found an account of experiments by Messrs. Hopkinson, Wilson, and Lydall, which in a great measure anticipated what I had intended doing. Later, when I received a copy of Gray's Absolute Measurements, I found an account of recent researches on the same subject (vol. ii., 753–758).

Messrs. Evershed and Vigneroles had shown that there was very little difference between the energy lost in magnetic

– 183 –

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hysteresis at periods from 2 seconds to 1/100 of a second. Hopkinson had obtained quite a marked difference between a slow and a rapid cycle, and had conclusively shown that the difference observed was not due to any time effect on the ballistic needle (Proc. Roy. Soc., 20th April, 1893). As the subject of the dissipation of energy due to magnetic hysteresis with varying periods is one of considerable interest, I determined to continue my experiments on the subject, especially as I was enabled to deal with intervals of time much shorter than those in Hopkinson's experiments.

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In order to carry out these experiments a special form of apparatus for measuring short intervals of time was designed. It was necessary for the research to be able to measure the times of rise of currents in circuits whose self-induction was chiefly due to the amount of iron in the circuit. The “time-apparatus” was found to work very satisfactorily, and by its means time-intervals of less than 1/10000 of a second could be with certainty determined.

Description of the Time-apparatus.

A B, C D were two solid copper levers, pivoted at A and D respectively. The lever A B was kept pressed against a copper rod F by means of the spring H. The lever C D was kept pressed against the point E of a screw S by means

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Fig 1

of the spring K. A vertical nickel wire W G, of length 6ft., passed between the extremities B, C of the levers, and was tightly stretched. A falling weight L M slid freely on this vertical wire. The shape of this weight is shown on the right-hand side of Fig. 1 A hole passed longitudinally through the falling weight, and, in order to prevent undue friction, the hole in the centre of the mass of metal was larger than at the ends, so that the wire could only touch the metal at the extremities L M.

In order to hold up the falling weight at any height on the vertical wire an electro-magnet was made to slide on the wire, and was held in position at any point by a screw. On turning off the current the weight fell instantly without communicating any movement to the wire.

When the ends of the levers B, C were exactly in the same horizontal plane the falling weight knocked the levers

– 184 –

from E and F simultaneously. If by means of the screw S the lever C D was depressed below A B, the falling weight reached the lever A B first, and after a certain definite interval the lever C D.

The interval of time was calculated as follows:—

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Fig 2

Let A B, C D be the two levers when horizontal. Let the screw be given n turns, so that the lever C D is then in the position C' D. Let E and E' be the ends of the screw in the two positions. Let θ be the angle C D C'. Let h = height of weight above the first lever. The velocity with which the weight reaches the lever A B is given by √2gh, assuming the body falls freely under the influence of gravity. As the distance between the levers was never greater than ½ in., and h was generally 3ft., we may assume the velocity to be sensibly constant over the interval.

Let d = distance between threads of screw:

Then E E' = nd.

Let C D = l; E D = l1; let C' M be vertical distance between the two levers:

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C' M = C' D sin. θ = l nd/√l12 + n2d2 = l/l1 . nd {1 − ½ n2d2/l12 + &c.}

Now, nd in these experiments was never more than ½in., and l1 = 4.81in. The value of the correction due to C moving over the arc of a circle may therefore be neglected.

The time taken to move over the vertical distance C' M, assuming velocity constant, is given by

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t = ndl/l1 √2gh

In the actual experiments

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d = 1/40in.; l = 6.125in.; l1 = 4.81in.; h = 3ft.; ∴ t = n × 0.000192 nearly.

∴ the time to cross over an interval corresponding to one turn of the screw is 0.000192 seconds. The screw-head was

– 185 –

divided up into twenty divisions, and the apparatus was quite delicate enough to show a difference for every division of the screw-head when determining the times of rise of currents of very short duration.

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The apparatus could therefore readily measure intervals of time up to 1/1000.00 of a second.

Now, this gives the time-intervals as derived from theory. In practice the time-intervals corresponding to one turn must be slightly greater, due to the retardation of the falling weight. The causes of the retardation are—(1) friction of the wire against falling weight; (2) the work done in knocking away the first lever; (3) friction of air, &c. As the wire was well oiled and placed exactly vertical, cause (1) is very small; as the weight was very heavy compared with the lever A B, the correction for (2) cannot be very great; and (3) is quite insignificant.

Later, experimental verification will be given that the calculated values are very nearly the same as the true values.

For the success of the experiments it was not necessary that the absolute values of the time-intervals should be known, but only that successive turns of the screw should correspond to equal intervals of time, and this, from the nature of the instrument, is very nearly true.

In order to determine the hysteresis curve for soft iron and steel when the current varied very rapidly, the time of rise of the magnetizing current for soft iron and steel rings was obtained by use of the time-apparatus.

Arrangement of Experiment.

A battery of five Grove cells was connected to the binding-screws A and B of the time-apparatus. A wire led from B

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through a non-inductive resistance r, thence round the iron ring which is to be experimented on, and back through a resistance-box R to the binding-screw A.

– 186 –

From one terminal L of the non-inductive resistance r a wire was taken to the back of the screw S. From the other terminal M a wire was led through a resistance-box R, and thence to one terminal of a ⅓ microfarad condenser, the other terminal of which was connected to the binding-screw D in the lever of the time-apparatus.

A ballistic galvanometer was connected to S and D.

Since the levers A B, C D were of solid copper they acted as very low resistance shunts to the circuit R M L and the ballistic galvanometer respectively. When the battery current is turned on only a very minute amount of the current passes round the circuit L M R, since its resistance is many thousand times greater than that of the lever A B.

We may therefore assume, for all practical purposes, that when the shunt A B is in position there is no current round the circuit L M R.

(1.) Suppose the two levers to be exactly level, so that the falling weight knocks them from their contacts simultaneously. When the shunt A B is removed the current commences to rise in the circuit A M B, the equation of rise being given by

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C R = E − dN/dt

where C = current at any instant;

R = total resistance in the circuit;

E = total E.M.F. of battery;

N = total induction through the iron ring.

In all experiments the inductance of the connecting wires was very small, and can be neglected. The E M E at the terminals of the non-inductive resistance r is given at any instant by

e = Cr.

Since the shunt ED is knocked from its contact E at the same instant as A B, the whole quantity of electricity required to charge up the condenser to the steady difference of potential between the terminals L M of the non-inductive resistance r flows through the ballistic galvanometer.

The throw of the galvanometer needle is therefore proportional to the maximum E.M.F. between the terminals. L, M.

(2.) Now, suppose the lever C D is depressed by giving one turn to the screw:

On releasing the weight, the lever AB is knocked from B. a certain definite interval before the lever C D is reached.

During the interval the current has been rising steadily in the circuit B M R.

The condenser is charged through the shunt ED, the E.M.F. e between its coatings at any instant being proportional to the current in B M R.

– 187 –

(The wires connecting the non-inductive resistance r to the condenser were short, so that we may assume, without any sensible error, that the difference of potential between the coatings of the condenser at any instant is equal to the E.M.F. between the terminals L and M of the resistance r.)

When the lever CD is reached, the remainder of the quantity of electricity required to charge up the condenser to the steady difference of potential passes through the galvanometer.

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The thrown of the galvanometer is therefore proportional to the value of dN/dt at that instant.

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By gradually increasing the distance between the levers by turning the screw we get a series of values corresponding to dN/dt for different values of time.

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When the current has fully risen dN/dt = o, so that we then get no throw in the galvanometer, as the whole quantity flows through the shunt. Since the value of dN/dt is known at any instant, the induction N through the iron for that instant may be calculated, and, since the corresponding current is known, we have all the data required to plot out the hysteresis curve for a very rapid cycle.

Experimental Verification.

In order to see to what degree of accuracy the time-apparatus could be depended on, the time of rise of the current in a coil of known self-inductance was compared with the theoretical time of rise as determined from the equation

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C = E/R (1 − e−R/L.t

The coefficient of self-induction L was very accurately determined. The mean value of L was found to be 2.315 × 107cm. The period of the ballistic galvanometer needle in this and all succeeding experiments was 7 seconds. The sensitiveness of the shunt-levers of the time-apparatus was tested, and they were found to work perfectly, no correction having to be made.

The resistance of the whole circuit was 15.65 ohms, and a battery of two Daniells's cells was used in this case.

The following are the results of a series of observations of the deflection of the galvanometer, and the number of turns of the screw at which the deflections were observed. Each observation is a mean of two experiments at least, and the curves in many cases were determined several times:—

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Turns of Scrw. Throw of Galvanometer.
0 99 ½
1 82
2 74
3 65
4 58 ½
6 46 ¼
8 34 ¼
10 25
13 19 ¼
17 12 ¼
20 9 ½

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The current has here only risen to nine-tenths of its maximum value. It was not convenient to have the levers separated by more than twenty turns, so that the whole curve is not completely determined. It has been shown that the throw of the galvanometer at any instant is proportional to dN/dt: i.e., to L dC/dt in the case of a coil of constant inductance L.

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A curve can therefore be constructed whose abscissæ represent time and ordinates current. The theoretical curve of rise, calculated from the equation CR = E - L dC/dt is plotted alongside the experimental curve.

The close agreement between the two curves shows that the time-apparatus may be relied on to give very accurate

– 189 –

results. It also shows that the time-intervals theoretically calculated are the true intervals, and that successive turns of the screw correspond very accurately to equal intervals of time.

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Table for Curves 1.
(Dotted curve is the theoretical curve, and the other the experimental curve.)
Turns of Screw. Observed Values. Theoretical Values.
2 8.8 6.1
4 12.8 11.45
6 17.3 16.15
8 20.7 20.3
12 26.8 27.1
16 32.9 33.3
20 37.6 36.4
26 40.5 40.8
34 44.1 44.5
40 45.5 46.3

In the experiments on magnetic viscosity rings of soft iron and steel were taken, and the times of rise of the magnetizing current determined as explained previously.

Particulars of Soft-iron Ring.

Composed of iron wire 0.008in. in diameter, wound into a ring and thoroughly insulated from eddy currents by shellac varnish.

Mean diameter of ring, 8cm.

Sectional area of ring, 0.079 sq. cm.

Wound with, three sets of coils of 511 turns altogether.

The magnetizing force corresponding to one ampère of current round the ring was 25.5 C.G.S. units.

Particulars of Steel Ring.

Composed of fine steel wire 0.01in. in diameter, insulated with shellac varnish.

Mean diameter, 8.3cm.

Sectional area of ring, 0.14 sq. cm.

Wound with two sets of coils; total, 365 turns.

The static hysteresis curve for the soft iron and steel was very accurately determined. A special method was used, which allowed each individual point in the curve to be determined several times in succession.

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From experiments with the time-apparatus it will be seen that the current rose to a maximum in the ring in about 1/1000 of a second; so that the secondary current must have

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all passed through the ballistic galvanometer long before there could have been any appreciable movement of the needle.

The hysteresis curve for the very rapid cycle was determined for the same maximum values of induction as the static curves, and under exactly the same conditions.

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Curve 2 (A A) represents the relation between the values of dN/dt and t (time) for the soft-iron ring.

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Since dN/dt* may be called the back E.M.F. in the circuit at any instant, when t = o, dN/dt = E, the total E.M.F. of the battery. The value of the current flowing in the circuit at any instant is therefore known when dN/dt is known. It will be observed that the value of dN/dt changes rapidly at the beginning, and then very slowly when the steep part of the hysteresis curve is reached. The value of dN/dt changes again very rapidly at the point where the hysteresis curve bends over, and gradually falls to zero as the iron reaches its saturation-value for the maximum magnetizing force.

Curve 2 (B B) is deduced from the curve A A. If we take any point in the curve A, the magnetizing force is known, and the value of the total induction through the iron corresponding

[Footnote] * In figures of curves erroneously printed as dw/dt or dn/dt

– 191 –

to that magnetizing force is proportional to the area of the curve included between the axes, the curve A A, and the abscissa drawn through the point.

The values of B and H for any point may thus be determined.

The ordinates of the curve B B are drawn proportional to the induction, and the abscissæ to the magnetizing force.

From the curve.2 (B B) curve 5 is plotted, showing the relation between B and H for the rapid cycle. The static ballistic curve is drawn alongside for comparison.

– 192 –

Curve 3 shows the corresponding relations for the steelwire ring as curve 2 for the soft iron. Curve 6 shows the hysteresis curves for the slow and rapid cycles for soft steel. Curves 4 and 7 show the relations for a soft-iron ring when the maximum magnetizing forces is much lower than for the first two sets of curves. The value of H in this case was just sufficient to carry the magnetism of the iron up the steep part of the hysteresis curve.

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Table for Curve 5.
Static Ballistic Curve. Rapid-cycle Curve.
Magnetizing Force = H. Total Induction = B. Magnetizing Force = H. Total Induction = B.
0 − 12936 0 − 12936
2.35 − 9834 2.5 − 10709
2.75 − 8316 3.46 − 8060
3.76 − 264 3.85 − 4930
4.3 + 5808 4.43 − 115
6.21 + 10032 5.39 + 4467
8.1 + 12016 6.74 + 8013
10.53 + 13464 9.05 + 11806
16.62 + 15492 20.21 + 15117
21.05 + 15840 30.61 + 16080
29.14 + 16304 36.38 + 16682
44.4 + 17163 42.54 + 17103
43.7 + 17132
44.4 + 17162
– 193 –

Several more curves for soft iron and steel, with different maximum magnetizing forces and different periods, were also obtained, but, as they showed the same effect as the curves 5, 6, 7, they are not given here.

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Table for Curve 6.
Static Ballistic Curve. Rapid-cycle Curve.
Magnetizing Force = H. Total Induction = B. Magnetizing Force = H. Total Induction = B.
0 − 11076 0 − 11076
7.8 − 10127 9.54 − 10326
10.63 − 9638 15.91 − 8826
12.45 − 8946 20.1 − 7474
14.94 − 7881 23.22 − 4076
16.6 − 6890 24.34 − 976
18.26 − 3817 25.4 + 2174
20.75 + 5603 27.52 + 5274
24.07 + 10543 28.5 + 8374
29.05 + 11608 30.73 + 10224
36.52 + 12567 54.1 + 12374
48.8 + 13019 64.7 + 12724
96.3 + 13952 75 + 13174
83.5 + 13524
88.5 + 13774
– 194 –

The general results of these experiments conclusively show that soft iron and steel exhibit quite appreciable magnetic viscosity in rapidly-changing fields. The effect is far more marked in the case of steel than in soft iron.

The greatest departure of the slow-cycle from the rapid-cycle curve is shown at the “knee” of the magnetizing curve.

When finely-divided iron or steel is subjected to rapidly-alternating currents the loss of energy due to magnetic hysteresis is greater than for slow cycles. In the case of steel the loss of energy would be quite 10 per cent. more than for slow cycles, and in soft iron not so much.

In later experiments it was shown that the effect observed was in no way due to any screening of the interior mass of metal from indtiction. The iron wire of which the ring was composed was of too small diameter to exhibit any appreciable screening effect, due to induced currents, for the period investigated.

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Table for Curve 7.
Static Ballistic Curve. Rapid-cycle Curve.
Magnetizing Force = H. Total Induction = B. Magnetizing Force = H. Total Induction = B.
0 − 11952 0 − 11952
2.1 − 9992 2.61 − 9845
3.21 − 5680 3.71 − 8546
3.68 − 692 4.01 − 4602
4.35 + 5492 4.33 − 1204
5.29 + 7844 4.65 + 1794
6.7 + 10045 5.2 + 4805
9.25 + 12548 6.7 + 7810
14.44 + 14704 8.08 + 10186
10.31 + 12050
14.44 + 14704

In my paper published last year (Trans. N.Z. Inst., xxvii., art. lix.) it was shown that iron could be magnetized and demagnetized when the magnetism was reversed more than 100,000,000 times per second. Soft iron and steel exhibit the effect of magnetic viscosity quite strongly for a frequency of 1,000; but whether the loss of energy due to hysteresis increases

– 195 –

with the period is not yet known. The molecule of iron can swing completely round in less than a hundred-millionth part of a second; but it is quite probable that the magnetizing force required to produce any given induction is considerably greater for a frequency of 100,000,000 than for a frequency of 1,000. For very rapid frequencies the screening effects are so great that only a very thin skin of the iron is magnetized, and the effect of successive oscillations makes the interpretation of the results very difficult.

Various Uses of the Time-apparatus.

Not only was the time-apparatus a very simple means of determining the times of rise of currents in circuits when a steady E.M.F. was applied, but with different connections the duration of secondary induced currents at make and break of the primary could be examined under any conditions required. Very interesting information in regard to the screening effects of solid iron in rapidly-changing fields was deduced, and the subject of the gradual decay of magnetic force in magnetic and non-magnetic conductors, when the magnetizing force was removed, was experimentally verified. The behaviour of the magnetic metals when subjected to rapidly-changing fields is of great practical importance, and the need of very fine lamination of the iron for high rates of alternation is clearly shown in all the experiments.

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The principle of the time-apparatus can also be used to determine the velocity of projectiles at various points of their path. If two conductors, acting as shunts to the battery and galvanometer circuits respectively, be placed in the path of the projectile at a convenient distance apart, the time taken to traverse the distance between the two could be readily determined by observation of the amount of rise of the current during the interval. In a circuit of known inductance and resistance, the observed deflection of the galvanometer would be proportional to e − R/L. t; and, snace R/L is a constant for the circuit, t could readily be determined, and thus the velocity known. This method is purely electrical, and is capable of great accuracy. The determination of the constants of the circuit is a simple matter, and there are no sources of error introduced.

Time of Rise of Currents in Various Circuits.

In the experiments on magnetic viscosity the times of rise of currents in circuits containing iron were determined. It was observed that the nature of the curve of rise varied greatly.

– 196 –

with the maximum current, and also depended on whether the iron in the circuit was solid or finely divided.

To illustrate the difference between the curves of rise for different maximum currents curve 8 is appended.

In curve 8 (A) the maximum magnetizing force is 132.6 C.G.S. units. After the steep part of the magnetizing curve is passed the current rises extremely rapidly, as is evident from the almost vertical line. Time of rise = 0.00173sec.

Curve 8 (B): Maximum magnetizing force, 38.7 units. None of the changes are so sudden as in the first curve. Time of rise = 0.00192sec.

Curve 8 (C): Magnetizing force, 15 units, which is just sufficient to ascend the steep part of the hysteresis curve. The current rises very gradually, and there are no sudden changes in the curve.

The times taken by the currents to rise in the three cases are nearly equal, notwithstanding the fact that the resistance in one case is nearly nine times that of the others.

In the above curves the iron was finely laminated, but when the iron is solid the current rises very rapidly for the first few ten-thousandths of a second, and then increases very slowly to its final value. This is due to the fact that only the surface-layers of the iron are magnetized at first, and the induction penetrates but slowly into the mass of the metal, due to the screening effect of induced currents.

With large solid electro-magnets the current takes in many cases over a second to rise to its maximum, and after

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the first 1/5000 of a second the curve of rise is nearly a straight line.

The curve of rise in the case of short cylindrical iron rods like the cores of induction-coils resembles very closely curve 1, for the inductance is sensibly constant.

If a closed secondary is wound over the primary the current rises much more rapidly than when the secondary is open, as we should expect from theory.

Duration of Induced Currents at Make and Break.

The time-apparatus could not only be used for determination of times of rise of currents in various circuits, but also for determining the duration of the current in the secondary at make and break.

The method is a very simple, one, and the duration of the secondary current may be determined under whatever conditions we please, since the resistance and inductance of the galvanometer does not affect the duration of the current in the circuit which is being experimented on.

One terminal of the battery is connected to F, and when the lever A B is in position the current passes along the lever B A, through the primary P, and through a resistance-box back to the other electrode of the battery.

The secondary circuit is connected through a resistance-box R and the shunt-lever C D. The ballistic galvanometer, is a shunt off the lever E D.

The resistance in the secondary Q E D R may be adjusted, to any required value.

When the falling weight is released, on reaching the lever A B it breaks the primary. The induced current at break commences to circulate in the secondary round the circuit Q E D R.

No appreciable part of the current flows through the galvanometer, as the resistance of the lever C D is extremely low.

– 198 –

When the weight reaches the lever C D it breaks the secondary circuit Q E D R, and the remainder of the quantity of electricity induced at break flows through the ballistic galvanometer.

By varying the turns of the screw—i.e., the interval between the break of the primary and secondary—the quantity of electricity which has passed through the secondary during the different intervals is easily determined.

It must be noted that the galvanometer does not influence the curve so obtained, as the deflection of the galvanometer is proportional to the quantity of electricity which has passed before the galvanometer is placed in the circuit.

The duration of the induced current in the secondary is dependent on the self-induction and resistance: the greater the resistance the shorter the duration and the greater the inductance the more prolonged the duration.

Let L and N be the self-inductance of the primary and secondary circuits respectively, and M the coefficient of mutual induction; let R and S be resistances of primary and secondary; let x and y be the currents in primary and secondary: If E be the E M F of the battery, the equation of rise in the primary is given by

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L dx/dt + Mdy/dt + Rx = R;

and the equation of rise in the secondary

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Ndy/dt + Mdx/dt + Sy = o;

From these two equations x and y may be found when L, M, and N are constants. When iron, solid or finely divided, is in the circuit, the values of L, M, and N are variable, and the values of x and y cannot be determined.

The duration of the current in the secondary was determined under varying conditions of lamination of the iron, and a few of the more important results are given.

The duration of the induced current at break, when there was no iron in the circuit, was first examined. Two solenoids were wound over one another, and the secondary was of sufficient number of turns to give a convenient deflection in the ballistic galvanometer when the current was broken.

Curve 9 (A) shows the quantity of electricity that has passed in the secondary for different intervals of time.

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Curve 9 (B) is the current-curve, and is deduced from 9 (A); for the current flowing in the circuit at any instant is given by C = − dQ/dt, where Q is the quantity of electricity that circulates in the secondary.

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It will be observed that the current rises rapidly to a maximum, and then slowly decreases in value through a long interval of time.

When more than two-thirds of the quantity of electricity had already passed through the secondary, the slightest variation of the screw often caused large alterations in the deflection.

This irregularity in the deflections was evidently due to the fact that the current in the secondary was oscillating very rapidly.

It was not thought necessary to investigate the oscillations further, as the subject has been treated experimentally by Helmholtz, Schiller, and others.

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Curve 10 shows what a marked difference there is in the current-curve in the secondary when iron is in the circuit.

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A secondary was wound over the laminated core of a small induction-coil, and the duration of the secondary current determined. The current-curve exhibits two maxima, and is far more irregular than curve 9 (B). This was first thought to be due to some experimental error, but further investigations showed that the same peculiarity was exhibited by all the curves obtained. Curves were also obtained when finely-laminated iron and steel rings were used. The duration of the secondary could be varied by altering the resistance. When a large resistance was placed in the secondary the duration was very short. In the cases above considered the induced currents lasted about 1/1000 of a second.

When solid iron is in the current the duration of the secondary is greatly prolonged, and is independent in a great measure of the resistance of the secondary.

A solid iron ring was taken and wound with appropriate magnetizing and ballistic coils. It was found that the secondary was of long duration. When 1,000 ohms were added to the current very little difference was observed.

If the lines of force had passed suddenly out of the primary, as in the case of the laminated core, the duration of the-secondary induced current would have been diminished by increasing the resistance in the secondary; and yet in the case of the iron ring the effect was scarcely appreciable.

Clearly, then, the lines of force must pass out of the primary very slowly to account for the observed effect. The magnetic force in the iron changes very slowly when the current is broken, on account of the induced currents in the mass of the metal tending to prevent the decay of magnetic force through the iron.

Decay of Magnetic Force in Iron and Copper Cylinders.

The very slow rate of decay of the magnetic force in an iron cylinder, which was observed in the experiments on the induced current at break, led to a series of more detailed experiments on the rate of decay of magnetic force when a uniform field was suddenly removed.

The subject is treated mathematically, p. 352–358, in Thomson's “Recent Researches,” but I am not aware that the subject has been experimentally verified.

Suppose a metal cylinder be placed in a solenoid, and a steady current be sent round the solenoid. If the current is suddenly broken there are induced currents in the mass of the metal tending to maintain the original state of the magnetic field, and instead of sinking abruptly the field decays very slowly.

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In order to experimentally test the rate of decay of induction in such a cylinder, a solenoid 10cm. long was wound uniformly with wire, ten turns to the centimetre. A secondary coil was wound over the primary, sufficient to give a convenient deflection in the galvanometer. On breaking the steady current flowing through the primary an induced current circulates through the secondary, and the duration of this secondary current depends on the resistance and inductance in the secondary circuit.

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If sufficient non-inductive resistance be added in the secondary the duration of the induced current may be readily reduced to less than 1/20000 of a second.

If the copper cylinder be now introduced into the solenoid the duration of the secondary is considerably prolonged, and its curve of rise and decay may be determined by the same method which has been used before.

The arrangement for the experiment is exactly the same as in fig. 4.

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1,000 ohms non-inductive resistance was added in the secondary circuit, and the duration of the secondary was less than 1/10000 of a second. The solid copper rod was now placed in the circuit, and at break the induced current was found to be considerably prolonged, due to the time taken for the magnetic force in the cylinder to decay.

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From the fact that when there is no metal the whole current has passed in less than 1/10000 of a second, we see that the current circulates in the secondary almost instantaneously after the lines of force pass out of the primary. When the copper cylinder is placed in the solenoid the quantity of electricity that flows in the secondary for any definite interval is proportional to the number of lines of force that have passed out of the primary in that interval.

Let N = total induction through secondary; let a and b be the areas of primary coil and copper cylinder respectively:

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The induction through the copper = b/a. N.

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The part of the induction N (1 − b/a) decays very suddenly but the induction through the copper decays gradually.

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On pages 356, 357, “Recent Researches,” a table is given for the theoretical calculated values of the rate of decay for a series of values t/T where

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T = 4πμr2/σ, where r is radius of the cylinder.

Now, for this experiment, assuming μ = 1, σ = 1,600,

T = 0.0069sec. approximately:—

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Theoretical Table
t/T Total Induction.
0.00 1.0
0.02 0.7014
0.04 0.5904
0.06 0.5105
0.08 0.4470
0.10 0.3941
0.20 0.2178
0.30 0.1220
0.40 0.0684
0.50 0.0384

Copper Cylinder.

Curve 11 shows the rate of decay of the total induction through a copper cylinder 1.875cm. in diameter. The close agreement between the theoretical and experimental curves is a confirmation of the mathematical theory, for the difference between the two is quite within the limits of experimental error. The induction falls rapidly at first, and then very slowly, so that a long interval elapses before the induction has fully fallen.

In 0.00074sec. the induction has fallen to half its original value.

Soft-iron Cylinders.

Curve 12 shows the rate of decay of induction in soft-iron cylinders of diameter 0.676cm. and 0.573cm. respectively. The rate of decay is much slower than in the case of copper, on account of the high permeability of the iron, although the diameter and conductivity are less for the iron than the copper.

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The greater the radius of the cylinder the longer the induction takes to decay.

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In this case the induction falls extremely rapidly, and in about 1/10000 of a second has fallen to half its original value. The subsidence of the remainder is much more gradual.

Soft-iron and Steel Rings.

Curve 13 shows the fall of induction for soft-iron and steel rings of sectional diameter 0.93cm. It will be observed that the rate of decay of the induction is much slower when the magnetic circuit is complete, as in the iron and steel rings, than in short cylinders of metal.

Summary of Results.


For finely-laminated iron, the lines of force pass out into the secondary circuit very rapidly after the magnetizing current is broken. It was experimentally shown that the

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iron did not take more than 1/10000 of a second for the rearrangement of the molecules into their final position; so that there is no appreciable time-effect in the demagnetization of finely-laminated iron.


In solid iron cores the induction decays very slowly compared with non-magnetic metals.


In iron and steel the decay is very rapid at first, and then very gradual.


The rate of decay of induction is more rapid in a short cylinder of iron than in a ring of the same dimensions, and is more rapid for steel than for soft iron of the same diameter.


The decay of induction in iron is purely due to the reaction-effect of induced currents in the mass of the metal, and is in no way due to any true time-effect in molecular rearrangement.


Art. XXI.—New Zealand Sponges: Third Paper.

[Read before the Wellington Philosophical Society, 8th December, 1895.]

Plates III. and IV.

It is proposed to deal in the present paper with the New Zealand Reticulate Ascons, so far as they are yet known to the writer. It is not necessary to review here the various schemes that have been proposed for the classification of these sponges. I simply state, therefore, that I follow the plan proposed by Bowerbank, and followed by Poléjaeff and others, of regarding the ascons as constituting a single genus, and adopt Dendy's subdivision into simple, reticulate, and radiate, and, with the modifications that I am about to mention, his further subdivision of the Reticulata. In Dr. Dendy's classification* the ingrowths of mesoderm, covered or not by collared cells, constitute an important feature. In the New Zealand ascons, at all events, this feature is too variable to be a reliable element, in classification, and it is probable that the same variableness in this respect exists in the ascons of other countries. The mesodermal ingrowths may not be found at all in one specimen, and in another, undoubtedly of the same species, they may be found to be very well marked indeed. I think I am right in saying that Dr. Dendy does not now attach to this feature the weight that he attached to it when the Monograph was begun.

Abandoning this feature as an element in classification, Dr. Dendy's scheme, as applied to the New Zealand sponges, takes this form:—

Order Homocœla.
Genus Leucosolenia.
Section II. Reticulata.

Division I.—Pseudoderms not present. Leucosolenia clathrus.

Division II.—Pseudoderms present.

[Footnote] * See “Monograph of the Victorian Sponges,” Trans. Roy. Soc. of Vict., vol. iii., p. 1.

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Subdivision 1.—“The exhalent openings through which the water leaves the sponge are true oscula—i.e., they lead directly into a space lined by collared cells, and formed by the union of a number of ascon-tubes.”

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Leucosolenia challengeri. Leucosolenia intermedia.
" cerebrum. " laxa.
" proxima. " depressa.

Subdivision 2.—“The exhalent openings through which the water leaves the sponge are pseudoscula—i.e., they lead at first into a space not lined by collared cells, but, presumably, by ectoderm. This space is a pseudogaster. It really lies outside the colony, and is formed, probably, by the upgrowth of the colony around it. The ascon-tubes open into the pseudogaster.” Leucosolenia rosea.

I hope to have an opportunity, in a future paper, of making some remarks on the histology of the New Zealand reticulate ascons.

Leucosolenia clathrus, Schmidt. (“Supplement der Spongien des Adriatischen Meeres,” p. 24.)

As Mr. Carter has pointed out,* Schmidt's sponge is not the one afterwards described and figured by Haeckel. In Haeckel's sponge the ends of the spicules are obtusely rounded, or even knobbed, and the rays are often wavy.

I see no reason for regarding as different from L. clathrus a white ascon of considerable size that occurs freely along the shores of Cook Strait, in the neighbourhood of Wellington. Its spicules are more sharply pointed than the one figured by Schmidt; but they are almost exactly like those of a specimen, sent me by Dr. Dendy, of a sponge collected at Budleigh Salterton by Mr. Carter, and identified by him as Schmidt's L. clathrus. Moreover, the specimen referred to shows mesodermal ingrowths exactly like those of Wellington specimens —Dendy's type E. The sponge shows at death the colour-changes described by Carter.

I also place under L. clathrus, for the present at all events, the large white ascon that occurs so freely in Paterson's Inlet, Stewart Island. In this handsome sponge the spicules are often blunt, and approach those of L. coriacea, and the mesodermal ingrowths are less pronounced than in the Wellington sponge. Moreover, it differs from the Wellington sponge in the fact that its oscules are conspicuous, and borne at the apex of pronounced papillæ.

[Footnote] * A.M.N.H., 5, xiv., p. 17.

[Footnote] † “Kalkschwämme,” ii., p. 30.

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Leucosolenia challengeri, Pol.- (“Report on the Calcarea of the ‘Challenger’ Expedition,” p. 38.)

This sponge occurs in Cook Strait, in the neighbourhood of Wellington. The “Challenger” specimen is from Cape York. My specimens are all of the Auloplegma form. I have not yet seen the Soleniscus form, which is that of the “Challenger” specimen. Length of the sponge, as found near Wellington, about 20mm. Half the length is made up by the slender, solid peduncle. Of two specimens that I have sectioned, one has no mesodermal ingrowths, and the other has ingrowths of Dendy's type F.

Leucosolenia cerebrum (Ascaltis cerebrum), Haeckel. (“Kalkschwämme,” ii., 54.)

A sponge with the apical rays of the 4-radiate spicules beautifully spined in their distal portion occurs — not very freely—in Cook Strait. These apical rays echinate the inner surface of the ascon-tubes in the usual manner. I have no hesitation in referring it to Haeckel's Ascaltis cerebrum. A pseudoderm is always present, so far as I have been able to observe, but I have not noticed the irregularity in the pseudodermal spicules referred to by Haeckel. I have found these spicules regular and massive, with the tips of the rays incurved in the regular tripod fashion. Size, 0.08mm. × 0.002mm. They closely resemble those of L. intermedia (Plate IV., fig. 2). Well-marked ingrowths of the mesoderm, of Dendy's type E, occur.

Haeckel's locality for this sponge is Lesina, in the Adriatic.

Leucosolenia proxima, Dendy.

If my identification of this sponge is right, it forms in New Zealand handsome yellow- or orange-coloured colonies from 10mm. to 25mm. in diameter, and with numerous oscules. The spicules of the pseudoderm have the rays slightly incurved, so that the centre is raised a little from the plane in which the points of the rays lie; the rays themselves taper rather less regularly than in the type, and they are a little more sharply pointed. It is quite possible that this is a different sponge from L. proxima, but at present I do not regard the differences as specific.

The canal system shows ingrowths of type E and also of type F.

The sponge forms colonies of two external characters: light-yellow in colour and loose in texture, and orange in colour and compact in texture. Slight differences in spiculation occur, but not constant and pronounced enough to justify,

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according to my present view, the separation of the two forms, much as they appear at first sight to differ.

Locality: Cook Strait.

Leucosolenia intermedia, n. sp. (Plate IV., fig. 2.)

Sponge compact; yellow or yellowish-white when alive. Oscules numerous, each one at the apex of a small conical papilla: they often become obscured at death. There is a well-marked pseudoderm, characterized by stout tripod spicules. The spicules are all triradiates.


The rays of the stout, pseudodermal spicules are strongly incurved, and are of about the same length as those of the deep spicules; they are blunt. The spicule forms a massive tripod, stouter than that of L. tripodifera, and with the rays a little more widely spread. Viewed from below, in certain positions the effect of perspective is to give a sagittal appearance that is illusive (figs. 2d-2f). A few stout 3-radiates are regular, and have straight rays (fig. 2a). Size, 0.13mm. × 0.04 mm.

The spicules of the deep parts of the sponge are regularly-tapering 3-radiates, with fairly sharp points. Size, 0.09mm. × 0.01mm. The canal system is of Dendy's type E.

In spiculation this sponge occupies a position intermediate between L. pulcherrina and L. proxima. From the former it is broadly distinguished by the fact that its pseudodermal spicules are larger instead of smaller than its deep ones, and from the latter by the marked tripod character of the pseudodermal spicules. This last characteristic seems also to distinguish it from L. stipitata.

Locality: Cook Strait.

Leucosolenia laxa, n. sp. (Plate IV., fig. 1.)

Texture loose; colour white. A pseudoderm, characterized by oxeote spicules, is present, but is not well developed except at the sides of the sponge. Mesodermal ingrowths occur sparingly, and they may or may not be covered by collared cells. Skeleton consisting of 3-radiate, 4-radiate, and oxeote spicules, the two former occurring throughout the sponge, and the last being confined to the pseudoderm, and echinating feebly the surface of the sponge.


Triradiates: Regular; rays tapering evenly to a sharp point; 0.17mm. × 0.015mm.

Quadriradiates: Basal rays sometimes slightly curved, tapering evenly to a sharp point, 0.15mm. × 0.013mm.; apical ray straight, 0.1mm. × 0.013mm.

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Oxea: Clavate, generally obtuse at both ends, uneven; 0.37mm. × 0.025mm.

This sponge is closely allied to Haeckel's Ascandra reticulum, from which, however, it may easily be distinguished by the character of its oxea. In A. reticulum these are fusiform, even in outline, and pointed at both ends. In L. laxa they are clavate, wavy in outline, and obtuse at the broader end, generally at both. Dr. Dendy's L. dubia is very like this sponge, but its quadriradiates are occasional and not constant.

The external appearance of this sponge is that of L. clathrus.

Leucosolenia depressa, Dendy. (Monograph.)

Occurs in the neighbourhood of Wellington.

Leucosolenia rosea, n. sp. (Plate III.)

This sponge forms spreading masses, which may attain a diameter of 75mm. The surface is for the most part remarkably even, but it rises into rounded lobes and ridges, along which the pseudoscula are placed. The pseudoscula are generally oval in shape, and are from 0.6mm. to 8mm. long. Around the margin of each is a pseudoscular membrane, slightly developed, and not rising above the general surface of the sponge. The pseudopores are evenly distributed over the whole surface. The pseudoscula open into pseudo-gasters. A colony often contains a large number of these spaces. The canal system is of Dendy's type D.

When alive the sponge is of a pale-pink or salmon colour, and the colour remains for a long time in dried specimens.


Triradiates: The pseudoderm consists mainly of enormous 3-rayed spicules, which show an approach to the tripod condition. Their outline is often wavy, and the broadest part of the ray is often at about a third of the distance from the base to the point. The points of the rays are blunt. Length of ray, 0.3mm.; greatest breadth, 0.07mm.

Deep triradiates: The 3-radiates of the inner part of the sponge are regular and sharp-pointed; the rays tapering evenly. 0.2mm. × 0.018mm.

The triradiates of the wall of the pseudogaster, and especially those around the pseudosculum, often become sagittal, the oral rays being curved, either towards or away from each other, and the basal ray being shortened. In these regions of the sponge occurs a curious 2-rayed spicule, the third ray having failed to appear, or, having appeared, to develope. Fig. h shows a spicule in which the third ray is incipient.

Quadriradiates: These are generally rather smaller than the 3-radiates, and the main rays are a little less sharp. The

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apical ray, however, is very slender, and sharply pointed: it is slightly curved. Basal rays, 0.14mm. × 0.01mm.; apical ray, 0.11mm. × 0.008mm.

Explanation of Plates III. and IV.
Plate III.

Leucosolenia rosea.

a-c, spicules of pseudoderm.

d, e, regular 3-radiates of parenchyma.

f, g, sagittal 3-radiates.

h-k, arrested or abnormal spicules.

l-n, 4-radiates (a.r. = apical ray).

Plate IV.

Leucosolenia laxa.

1a-1c, oxea of pseudoderm.

1d-1f, 3-radiates.

1g-1i, 4-radiates (a.r. = apical ray).

Leucosolenia intermedia.

2a, large regular radiate of pseudoderm.

2b-2f, pseudodermal “tripod” spicules viewed at different angles.

2g-2h, """ in profile.

2i-2j, 3-radiates of parenchyma.

Art. XXII.—Notes on New Zealand Land Planarians: Part II.*

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 3rd July, 1895.]

The present contribution to our knowledge of the land planarians of New Zealand deals exclusively with a number of specimens collected during a month's stay at Springburn, at the foot of Mount Somers, in November and the early part of December of last year (1894). In the immediate vicinity of the thick bush-scrub of the Alford Forest the locality appeared a good hunting-ground for cryptozoic animals, and experience showed that this was indeed the case. The very luxuriance of the vegetation, however, with its unlimited hiding-places for cryptozoic animals, made the task of collection more difficult than it would have been in a clearer neighbourhood, where the animals are concentrated, as it were, in a comparatively few spots.

[Footnote] * For Part I. see Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xxvii., art. xvii.

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The majority of the species collected have already been described in the first part of these notes, but even concerning these a certain amount of additional information was obtained.

Geoplana triangulata, var. australis, Dendy.

This large, handsome variety was met with in abundance, being perhaps the commonest form in the locality. The colour of the dorsal surface was usually dark-purplish-brown in its median portion, while the margins and ventral surface ranged from pale-yellow to orange. Some specimens were found associated with dead beech-leaves, which, in their two prevailing shades of orange and dark-brown, almost exactly matched the colours of the planarians. Possibly we have here a case of protective resemblance. It is interesting to note that all the specimens found were without the dark speckling on the margins and ventral surface. Thus they agree with the Dunedin form. In Christchurch, on the other hand, none but the speckled form has yet been found, though the species is very common.

Geoplana latissima, n. sp.

When at rest, very broad and short, flattened, not triangular in section; when crawling, long and narrow, strongly convex above, flat beneath. Length of a specimen when crawling, 62mm.; breadth of another at rest, 11mm. Eyes small and rather few, arranged in almost single series around the anterior extremity.

Dorsal surface orange, shading into pinkish anterior tip, and with narrow yellow margins. A very narrow deeper-orange stripe may be visible in the mid-dorsal line in the posterior part of the body. Ventral surface very pale yellow, nearly white, without markings.

In spirit the shape of the body is very characteristic—very short and broad, and with the two ends curled in ventrally. The anterior end is bluntly pointed, hollowed underneath and convex above. The posterior end is much more bluntly rounded off, and has a slight median notch in the margin (present in four out of five specimens, the other being injured posteriorly). The very narrow lateral margins are thin and prominent, and slightly upturned. Both apertures are situate far back, the peripharyngeal at about the junction of the middle and posterior thirds, and the genital perhaps slightly nearer to it than to the posterior extremity.

At first sight this species resembles Geoplana triangulata, var. australis, but in life the orange colour is really very characteristic, while in spirit the shape of the body is still more so. It is the broadest land planarian in proportion to

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its length which I have seen, the length in spirit being scarcely more than twice the breadth.

Geoplana alfordensis, n. sp.

When crawling, long and narrow, convex above and flattened below. One specimen measured, when crawling, about 33mm. in length by 2mm. in breadth. The ground-colour of the dorsal surface is very pale yellow, with a pair of rather broad dark-reddish or chestnut-brown stripes. The width of the median band of ground-colour varies a good deal in the three specimens. Anterior tip pink. Ventral surface very pale yellow, without markings. Eyes as usual, but comparatively few and inconspicuous.

In spirit the body is of approximately uniform width, except where it tapers just at the anterior and posterior extremities. It is oval in transverse section, convex dorsally and ventrally, and with rather prominent lateral margins. The peripharyngeal aperture is well behind the middle of the body. The position of the genital was not very satisfactorily determined.

Geoplana purpurea, Dendy.

I identify four specimens as a slight colour variety of this species. The colour in life was very dark brown, nearly black, on the dorsal surface, with narrow dirty-white median stripe. The ventral surface was lighter brown, and the anterior tip pale-brownish.

Geoplana quinquelineata, Fletcher and Hamilton.

I identify with this common Australian species two small specimens. The largest was only about 30mm. long when crawling. At rest, flattened on both surfaces, but not markedly quadrangular. Ground-colour very pale yellow all over, with five dark-grey stripes on the dorsal surface, the median one narrowest. Anterior tip pink.

Geoplana graffii, Dendy.

Three fairly typical, although rather small, examples of this species were met with.

Geoplana graffii, var. somersii, nov.

This variety, represented by three specimens, differs from the typical form in the suppression of the pale longitudinal bands on both surfaces. The body in spirit also appears to be narrower in proportion to its length, and hence less leaf-like. The colour is greyish-brown all over, with minute white specks; paler on the ventral surface, but also speckled. The white specks or dashes are more strongly developed in the mid-dorsal line than elsewhere, perhaps indicating the lost

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median stripe. The peripharyngeal aperture in spirit is some what behind the middle, and the genital rather nearer to it than the posterior extremity.

Geoplana iris, n. sp.

Closely resembling G. graffii, to which it is evidently nearly allied, in size and shape and in the general markings of the dorsal surface, but differing strikingly in the details of pattern. In the mid-dorsal line is a rather narrow pale band of brownish yellow or orange, sometimes edged with iridescent green. On each side of this is a broad band of dark chocolate-brown, in all specimens edged on the outside with iridescent blue, and about twice the width of the median band. This is followed again by a narrow marginal band of orange, which may also have greenish iridescence on its outer edge. The ventral surface is pale, dull orange, without markings. The anterior tip is dull-orange or dark pinkish-brown. The peripharyngeal aperture is decidedly behind the middle, and the genital about half-way between it and the posterior end.

Geoplana inæqualistriata, Dendy.

This species was originally described from a single specimen found crawling on an asphalt path near Christchurch, and it therefore gives me peculiar satisfaction to be able to record the discovery of a fine specimen in its native haunts, beneath a rotten log near the edge of the Alford Forest.

When at rest it was broad and flattened; when crawling, long but fairly broad, broader behind than in front, strongly convex above, flattened or concave below, measuring about 80mm. by 5mm. Dorsal surface brownish-grey with white stripe and dashes arranged exactly as in the type. Ventral surface white, with abundant small brownish-grey specks, which are absent from the prominent narrow margins, and almost absent from a narrow median band. Anterior tip pink. Eyes as usual. In spirit the body contracts but little. The ventral surface is slightly concave, with very prominent margins, the dorsal surface convex. The peripharyngeal aperture is situate decidedly behind the middle, but well in the middle third, and the genital aperture is at about one-third of the distance from it to the posterior end. The white markings became, in parts, distinctly yellow in spirit.

[Since the above was written I have found, on 30th June, another specimen of G. inæqualistriata in my garden at St. Albans, where the type specimen was obtained. The last-found specimen was lying under a large stone. I placed it in a tin collecting-box with some parsley leaves and left it on the verandah, intending to preserve it in spirit next day. There

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was, however, a severe frost in the night, and the animal was dead and liquefying the next morning.]

Geoplana subquadrangulata, Dendy.

This common species is represented in the Springburn district by two varieties:—

(a.) Has the three dark stripes on the dorsal surface as usual, with abundant dark speckles between the median and paired stripes. The lateral surfaces also have numerous dark speckles, concentrated so as to form a discontinuous lateral stripe. The ventral surface is without speckles.

(b.) Is remarkable for the great breadth of the paired dorsal stripes, which extend inwards until they are separated from the median narrow stripe by only a very narrow band of ground-colour. The ground-colour is very pale yellow, the stripes dark-grey or olive-brown. The lateral surfaces are slightly speckled with grey; the ventral surface is not speckled.

Several specimens of each variety were met with.

Geoplana mariæ, Dendy.

This species, which was originally described from a single specimen from near the Otira Gorge, was not uncommon at Springburn. Its most striking characteristic is the shape of the body in spirit—very thick, strongly convex on both surfaces, and very blunt at both ends. Most, if not all, of the Springburn specimens exhibit a paler band at the junction of the dorsal and ventral surfaces. In my first description I compared the shape of the body to that of G. fletcheri, but this is a mistake, as it is really very different, especially in spirit. In the markedly posterior position of the apertures, however, there is a real resemblance between the two.

Art. XXIII.—Note on the Discovery of Living Specimens of Geonemertes novæ-zealandiæ.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 3rd July, 1895.]

In the last volume of the “Transactions of the New Zealand Institute”* I described, under the name Geonemertes novæ-zealandiæ, the first specimens of a land nemertine ever re

[Footnote] * Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xxvii., p. 192.

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corded from these islands. Two specimens were described, both of which were found amongst spirit-preserved collections of land planarians, for which they had evidently been mistaken. No record has hitherto been made of the appearance of the living animal—indeed, it had never been recognised in the living state until I had the good fortune, in November last, to meet with two specimens in their native haunts. The animal was found under fallen and decaying timber, near the edge of the Alford Forest, at the foot of Mount Somers, and near the Township of Springburn (South Island), associated with land planarians and other cryptozoic animals. It is a curious fact that, even after minutely examining and describing the spirit specimens, I at first mistook the living animal for a planarian. So close is the general resemblance in habits, shape, and markings that I did not discover its true nature until I came to examine it more carefully at home. The following description of the living worm will perhaps help to prevent such mistakes in the future:—

The body, both when at rest and when crawling, is long and slender. The larger of the two specimens when at rest measured about 37mm. in length and 3mm. in breadth, and when crawling 53mm. in length and 2mm. in breadth. The head is rounded, not constricted off from the body, but distinguished by its colour. It bears a narrow vertical slit in front, which is the common opening of the mouth and proboscis-sheath. It also bears four eyes, which are easily recognisable in the living animal, and of which the two upper and inner are smaller and less distinct than the two lower and outer.

The ground-colour of the dorsal surface is pale-yellow, with four longitudinal stripes of dark purplish-brown. The dark stripes of the inner pair are broad, and separated from one another by a narrow median band of yellow; those of the outer pair are very narrow, and separated from the inner each by a very narrow yellow line. The narrow dark stripes lie very near the margins of the dorsal surface. The stripes all cease abruptly a short way behind the eyes, and the head is pale brownish-yellow, quite a distinct tint from the dorsal ground-colour. The ventral surface of the body is nearly white.

The animal crawls very slowly, and leaves behind it a slimy track. As it progresses the head is moved from side to side.

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Art. XXIV.—New Zealand Diptera: No. 1.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 5th June, 1895.]

Plates V.–VII.

When one considers the great geographical isolation of New Zealand, and the discoveries that have been made of remarkable types among the higher classes of animal life as represented here, it seems peculiar that such little attention has been paid to the collection and classification of the lower classes of animal life. Although one cannot hope to parallel the discoveries of the moa and Sphenodon among the lower and more humble representatives of the animal kingdom, yet it is only to be expected that some of the lower animals will show great and remarkable variation from those types that have been collected and described in Europe and America. Entomology seems to have suffered from neglect even more than the other branches of zoology; for, though we have—thanks to the labours of Captain Broun and Mr. Fereday—fairly complete descriptions and classifications of the Coleoptera and Lepidoptera, none but spasmodic attempts have been made to collect and describe any other of the large orders of insects. The Diptera especially have been neglected, probably owing to the inconspicuous nature, and the usually out-of-the-way habitats, of most of the species belonging to this order. In 1881 Captain Hutton collected all the descriptions that had been written of the insects captured in New Zealand during the voyages of the “Astrolabe” and other ships and expeditions in these waters. To these descriptions he added a few of his own, and published the whole collection as a catalogue of the Diptera of New Zealand, together with similar catalogues of the Orthoptera and Hymenoptera. Since that time a few dipterous insects have been described by different authors in the “Transactions of the New Zealand Institute,” but the total number now described does not amount to more than a hundred and twenty-five species, of which only twenty belong to the Nemocera. In 1892 Mr. Hudson, of Wellington, published a “Manual of New Zealand Entomology,” in which figures and observations on the life-history of several species were given. Amongst these were some new species; but no descriptions were given of them. Two years ago I commenced to make a collection of our native species of flies, intending at the time to send them to England to

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have them named. On mentioning this to Captain Hutton he pointed out the disadvantages of having them named in Europe, and advised me to work them up myself. This task I have found even more difficult than I anticipated, and my comparative inexperience in the distinguishing and description of specific characters is the only apology for the inaccuracies and blunders that I must necessarily make in the following classification and description of those Diptera that I have been able to obtain. I intend to publish from time to time papers on the various families of Diptera. These I hope to supplement every year by species that have been discovered during the preceding year; so that, ultimately, these papers may perhaps attain to the completeness of monographs on the different families of Diptera.

The classification I have adopted is that used by Mr. F. A. A. Skuse in his papers on the Australian Diptera. These papers have in every case been the model to which I have endeavoured to attain, and I must here express my keen appreciation of the work he has done in collating and systematizing the writings and classifications of other dipterologists in Europe and elsewhere. He has certainly very greatly lightened the task of all subsequent workers at the Diptera in the Australasian Colonies. He has kindly assisted me in all cases where there seemed to me a doubtful issue, and has offered to afford me every assistance in his power. Many pages of these papers, more especially those that deal with the descriptions and classifications of the families and genera, have been taken almost directly from his papers, and he has generously acquiesced in this wholesale cribbing.

As far as possible, every genus will have a type-species illustrated by a diagram, giving a general idea of the appearance of the insect, and displaying those characteristics that are made use of in the classification of the particular group to which the insect belongs. In general these diagrams have been drawn from dried specimens, and do not, therefore, give with any exactitude the form of the abdomen and other soft parts that are liable to shrinkage during the progress of drying. For specific characters the diagrams, though drawn with considerable care, cannot always be trusted. It would, perhaps, have been better to have omitted drawing the body of the insect, and to have given diagrams illustrating the neuration of the wings alone, as done by Mr. Skuse; but my work has already shown how useful such diagrams may be if made use of with proper caution.

I very deeply regret that I am at present unacquainted with the life-history of any but a very few of the species that I shall describe. I shall be able, however, to give diagrams illustrating the life-history of what are, I hope, fairly typical

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species of each of the families. These diagrams have in every case been drawn from living specimens. All the material that I at present possess has been collected by myself, chiefly in the neighbourhood of Lincoln College; but during the summer vacation many specimens have been collected in various widely-separated parts of the colony. I have not thought it advisable to arrange keys for reference until so many specimens have been collected that they may be considered to form a fair percentage of the total number of species in the colony.

In regard to collecting specimens, I have, like Mr. Skuse, found that glass tubes are the most suitable apparatus. Some bruised laurel-leaves should be placed in the bottom of the tube, and over these a layer of blotting-paper. This will absorb the moisture given off by the laurel-leaves, and therefore protect the insects from the injury that always results to them from contact with fluid. Most of the smaller and many of the larger species can be collected by placing the tubes over them with care whilst they are settled on some object. They will usually not rise until the tube completely covers them, and after a little fluttering about they will die. Specimens captured in this way should be fixed as soon as possible with gum on thin white cardboard. Gum of tragacanth, with a trace of corrosive sublimate, is the most suitable substance, as it does not cause any glaze on the surface of the cardboard. Only a very small spot of gum is necessary, and the legs and wings should be spread out as much as possible, but not at the risk of mutilating the specimen. The larger and more active insects can be easily caught with a gauze or muslin net of the ordinary make, but the net should not have a ring of too large diameter, otherwise it will be found exceedingly cumbrous in bush districts, where most of the Diptera Nemocera are found. I have collected large numbers of specimens from windows looking out on to shady and moist gardens. If the top is left slightly open it will be found that many insects enter and flutter about on the glass-panes, where they are very easily captured. I shall be very happy to supply glass tubes and other requisites to any one who will be good enough to catch a few of these insects for me.

The only literature I have been able to obtain on the Diptera are Walker's “Insecta Diptera Britannica,” Theobald's “Account of British Flies,” Hutton's “Catalogue of New Zealand Diptera,” some of Osten-Sacken and Loew's “Monographs of the Diptera of North America,” and Mr. Skuse's admirable “Monographs of the Australian Diptera.” These last so ably summarise the work of the best-known American and European authors on the Diptera that I shall in every case adopt the classification employed in them, and thus render the New Zealand Diptera very easily comparable

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with the Australian Diptera. Although I shall always regret not being able to obtain more works of reference, the papers that Mr. Skuse has written contain so much reliable information on the classification and arrangement of the genera that I feel I shall avoid most of the errors that would have been unavoidable without some firm basis and summary of other methods of classification.

The following table will show the classification adopted by Mr. Skuse, which is the one that I shall adhere to in my papers on the New Zealand Diptera:—

Order Diptera.
Section I. Orthorhapha.
Division I. Nematocera.

Subdivision 1. Oligoneura.

Families.—Cecidomyidæ, Sciaridæ, Mycetophilidæ, Simulidæ, Bibionidæ.

Subdivision 2. Polyneura.

Families.—Blepharoceridæ, Culicidæ, Chironomidæ, Orphnephilidæ, Psychodidæ, Tipulidæ, Dixidæ, Rhyphidæ.

Division II. Brachycera.

Subdivision 1. Cyclocera.

Families. — Xylophagidæ, Cœnamyidæ, Stratiomyidæ, Acanthomeridæ, Tabanidæ.

Subdivision 2. Orthocera.

Families.— Leptidæ, Asilidæ, Midasidæ, Nemestrinidæ, Bombylidæ, Therevidæ, Scenopinidæ, Cyrtidæ, Empidæ, Dolichopodidæ, Lonchopteridæ.

Section II. Cyclorhapha.
Division I. Proboscidea.

Families. —Syrphidæ, Myopidæ, Conopidæ, Pipunculidæ, Platyperzidæ, œstridæ, Tachinidæ, Dexidæ, Sarcophagidæ, Muscidæ, Anthomyzidæ, Cordyluridæ, Helomyzidæ, Sciomyzidæ, Psilidæ, Micropezidæ, Ortalidæ, Trypetidæ, Lonchæidæ, Sapromyzidæ, Phycodromidæ, Heteroneuridæ, Opomyzidæ, Sepsidæ, Diopsidæ, Piophilidæ, Ephydridæ, Geomyzidæ, Drosophilidæ, Oscinidæ, Agromyzidæ, Phytomyzidæ, Asteidæ, Borboridæ, Phoridæ.

Division II. Eproboscidea.

Families.—Hippoboscidæ, Nyeteribidæ.

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Order Diptera.

Wings two, mesothoracic, membranous, with radiate veins; posterior wings wanting, represented by a pair of small clavate filaments called halteres; mouth suctorial; metamorphosis perfect; larva apodal; pupa inactive.

Section I. Orthorhapha.

The pupa-case opening longitudinally.

Division I. Nematocera.

The flies belonging to this division are characterized by the possession of long thread-like antennæ, consisting of several joints, in many instances oramented with whorls of long, delicate hairs, especially in the males. Nearly all are to be recognised without much difficulty by their long and slender body and limbs, small rounded head, and elevated thorax. As typical examples may be mentioned the mosquitoes (Culicidæ), daddy-long-legs (Tipulidæ), and midges (Chirono midæ). They are usually to be met with in all damp and shady situations, though they display considerable variety in habitat, appearance, and characters, as will be shown when the families are considered in detail. As these conditions in regard to habitat are thoroughly satisfied in many parts of New Zealand, it is only to be expected that we should possess an abundance of species and genera. The proper collection of the species would probably occupy many years, and the following papers will deal with what is probably quite a small percentage of the total number of species in the colony:—

Family 1. Cecidomyidæ (Gall Midges). — Small, delicate species. Antennæ generally long and necklace-like. Often no ocelli. Legs very long and slender; coxæ short; tibiæ slender, without spurs. Wings well haired, with very few veins. The larvæ are generally parasites on plants, but in a few cases live on dead vegetable matter beneath the bark of decaying trees. The irritation produced by the larvæ is frequently the cause of galls and other monstrous growths on plants. The perfect insects are found abundantly in shady places in forests, and are also frequent on window-panes facing shady or overgrown gardens.

Family 2. Sciaridæ (Shade Midges). — Generally small. Antennæ moderately long, curved, with cylindrical bead-like joints. Ocelli, three. Legs moderately long, slender; tibiæ with or without spurs. Wings often dark, usually without hairs, their neuration approaching that of the last family. The larvæ and pupæ are found in decaying vegetable matter, especially in rotten potatoes. Perfect insect very abundant during the whole summer, especially in damp, shady localities.

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Much more active than the insects of the last family. The larvæ of some species have got the name of “army-worm” in Europe, from their habit of travelling together in large numbers. Represented by a large number of species in New Zealand.

Family 3. Mycetophilidæ (Fungus Gnats).—Size, small to moderate; usually rather robust. Ocelli, three or two. Antennæ short. Proboscis short. Legs rather long; coxæ elongated; tibiæ spurred. Wings often shaded, and sometimes pubescent; without discoidal cell, but neuration more elaborate than in the two preceding families. The majority of the larvæ live upon fungi or decaying vegetable matter. Some form a web of slimy material, and are occasionally phosphorescent. Perfect insect very active, and often capable of leaping. Found abundantly in damp and shady situations. Represented by several genera and numerous species in New Zealand.

Family 4. Simulidæ (Sandflies).—Size small. Body black, thick, and short. Antennæ cylindrical, short. Ocelli, none. All parts of the body fully developed. Legs short; hind tibiæ and first joint of the tarsus broad; tibiæ without spurs. Wings broad, abundantly but rather obscurely veined. The larvæ live in clear water, becoming fixed to plants when about to transform into pupæ. Perfect insect capable of inflicting severe wound. Found abundantly in all regions where there is clear or running water. The-family contains only one genus, which is well represented in New Zealand.

Family 5. (Bibionidæ).—Moderate or small size. More robust than the preceding families. Antennæ short. Ocelli, three. Prothorax large. Wings large, but rather obscurely veined. Larvæ found on the ground or in dung. Perfect insects with a sluggish flight. Common on flowers. Very probably an archaic type.

Family 6. Blepharoceridæ. — Small. Antennæ long and slender. Eyes alike in both sexes. Ocelli, three. Legs long; coxæ short; posterior tibiæ generally with strong spurs. Wings broad and long, in neuration approaching the Myceto-philidæ. Skuse says very little is known of these species. I have not yet captured any specimens.

Family 7. Culicidæ (Mosquitoes).—Very slender; moderately sized. Antennæ moderately long. Mouth-parts of female containing all the organs found in the Diptera. Ocelli, none. Thorax stout. Legs long and slender. Wings slender, usually with scales; veins more than six in number. The larvæ are abundant in all stagnant water, in which they move with a peculiar jerking motion. The perfect insects are abundant in low-lying bush districts. The males feed on vegetable matter, especially honey. The females are capable

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of inflicting a severe bite. Represented by a moderate number of species in New Zealand.

Family 8. Chironomidæ (Midges).—Small. Antennæ slender, beautifully adorned with hairs in the male. Proboscis fleshy and short. Ocelli, none. Abdomen and legs long and slender. Wings slender, veins as in Culicidæ, but no scales, though hairs are often present. Larvæ and pupæ generally aquatic, but some feed on dung and decaying vegetable matter. Perfect insect common in the neighbourhood of water. Some specimens capable of biting.

Family 9. Orphnephilidæ.—Small. Antennæ short. Ocelli absent. Proboscis little projecting. Thorax elevated. Legs rather short. Wings long and narrow; veins uniformly distinct. Little appears to be known of this family. I have no species belonging to it.

Family 10. Psychodidæ (Moth Midges).—Very small flies. Antennæ long, whorled with hairs. Ocelli, none. Body clothed with coarse hair. Legs rather long; tibiæ without spurs. Wings broad and hairy, with many longitudinal veins. Larvæ living in fungi and rotten wood. Perfect insect frequently found on walls and windows. Represented by a few species in New Zealand, one at least of which is very common.

Family 11. Tipulidæ (Daddy-long-legs).—The largest flies in this division, and in linear dimensions, if not in bulk, the largest flies of the order. Antennæ long and thread-like, often furnished with long hairs, or pectinated. Almost all without ocelli. Proboscis fleshy, rather prominent, and sometimes long. Thorax with a V-shaped transverse suture. Legs extremely long and fragile; tibiæ often spurred at the tip. Wings long, with a very complete neuration; discoidal cell present in most cases; basal cells very long. Larvæ and pupæ found in the ground, in rotten wood, in water, or in the leaves and stems of plants. Species extremely abundant in New Zealand, being found in numbers in all damp and shady situations.

Family 12. Dixidæ.—Medium-sized gnats. Antennæ long. Ocelli wanting. Proboscis rather prominent. Body slender. Legs long and slender. Wings somewhat large, occasionally spotted; six longitudinal veins; discoidal cell wanting. Larvæ aquatic. I have only found three specimens in New Zealand, all of which were taken on windows. According to Skuse they are common in Australia.

Family 13. Rhyphidæ.—Moderate-sized flies. Antennæ moderately long. Ocelli, three. Legs rather long and slender. Wings rather long and broad, with a discoidal cell. This family contains a single genus. The larvæ feed on vegetable matter, cow-dung, &c. Perfect insects found in outhouses and

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sheds, in damp, dark places in bush, also in caves, and in similar localities.

Key to the Families of Nemocera.

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

A. Thorax without any transverse suture.
   a. Tibiæ not spurred.
      * Wings haired.
         Longitudinal veins few. Cecidomyidæ, 1.
         Longitudinal veins numerous. Psychodidæ, 10.
      ** Wings naked.
         § No ocelli.
            1. Legs hairy; antennæ with not more than 12 joints.
               Costal vein continued round the margin of the wing. Culicidæ, 7.
               Costal vein terminating near the apex of the wing. Chironomidæ, 8.
            2. Legs rather short; antennæ short.
               Costal vein continued round the posterior border. Orphnephilidæ, 9.
            3. Legs short; antennæ with not less than 12 joints. Simulidæ, 4.
         §§ Ocelli present.
               No discoidal cell. Bibionidæ, 5.
               A discoidal cell. Rhyphidæ, 13.
   b. Tibiæ spurred.
      § No ocelli.
         All tibiæ spurred. Dixidæ, 12.
      §§ Ocelli present.
         Anterior tibiæ spurred. Blepharoceridæ, 6.
         All tibiæ spurred. Mycetophilidæ, 3.
         With or without spurs. Sciaridæ, 2.
B. Thorax with a V-shaped transverse suture. Tipulidæ, 11.


As regards the technical terms employed, I feel I cannot do better than transcribe the following pages from Skuse's paper. The terms described are those made use of by Osten-Sacken and Loew in their monographs of the Diptera of North America.

1. The Head.

The back of the head opposite the thorax is the occiput, and is prominently perceptible in both Diptera and Hymenoptera carrying their heads free. That portion of it lying over the attachment of the head is the nape (cervix). The front forehead or brow (frons) is that part of the head stretching from the antennæ as far as the occiput, and is limited laterally by the compound eyes. The crown (vertex) is that part of the head on which there are usually the simple eyes (ocelli), generally three in number. The limit between the occiput and front is styled the vertical margin (margo verticalis). Most of those Diptera undergoing their metamorphosis within

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the lower skin possess, immediately above the antennæ, an arcuated impression-line, which seems to separate from the front a small, usually crescent-shaped piece termed the frontal crescent (lunula frontalis). When the eyes meet on the front so as to divide it into two triangles the superior one is called the vertical triangle (triangulum verticale), the inferior the frontal triangle (triangulum frontale). The anterior portion of the head, reaching from the antennæ to the border of the mouth or oral margin (peristomium), is the face (facies). The antennæ are separated into two series of joints, the first consisting of the two basal joints, called the joints of the scapus, and the following those of the flagellum. Beneath the antennæ there are sometimes found longitudinal grooves (foveæ antennalis) for their reception. The sides of the head from the eyes downwards are called the cheeks (genæ). A somewhat swollen ring sometimes surrounds or partly encompasses the swollen eyes, and is termed the orbit (orbita), the successive parts of which are the anterior (orbita anterior sive facialis), inferior (inferior s. genalis), posterior (posterior s. occipitalis), superior (superior s. verticalis), and frontal (frontalis) orbits. Where no such ring is visible a distinct colour or some peculiar structure marking the nearest surroundings of the eyes is described on the orbit. The parts of the mouth (os) employed for sucking are called the sucker or proboscis; when attached to a long and generally cylindrical projection of the head it is called a snout (rostrum), and must be distinguished from a true proboscis. They may project from a wide aperture occupying a great part of the under-surface of the head, called the mouth-hole (cavitas oris). The common fleshy root of the oral parts is connected by a membrane with the border of the mouth. This membrane has a shield sometimes almost carneous; it is then termed the clypeus, or shield (clypeus prœlabrum). It is either entirely connected by the anterior border of the mouth, and is then movable, or it projects over it as a ridge, and it is then generally immovable. Generally the largest of the mouth-parts is the fleshy underlip (labium or hypostoma), made up of the stem (stipes) and the knob (capitulum labii), formed of two suctorial flaps (labella). Close by are to be seen the palpi, which are important to notice, being frequently very characteristic. The tongue (lingua), upper jaws (mandibulæ), lower jaws (maxillœ), and upper lip (labrum) are not only inconspicuous, but generally difficult to recognise, and are rarely of value in distinguishing species. According to Meinert, the pharynx is separate from the first metamere, on which the labium and labrum are situated; on the second metamere the maxillæ and their palpi are placed; while on the third are situated the mandibles.

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2. The Thorax.

The mesothorax is very largely developed in this Order, being so much larger than the prothorax and metathorax that it forms the greater part of this division of the insect's body. On account of this it is designated the thorax, different names being given to characteristic parts of the prothorax and metathorax. The former frequently forms a neck-like prolongation that bears the head, and is then called the neck (collum). In some cases the four corners of the mesothorax, or the shoulders (humeri), are covered by a lobe of the prothorax (lobus prothoracis humeralis), distinctly separated from the mesothorax. If this lobe be so soldered to the mesothorax that it is impossible to detect a distinct line between them, except in their general colour or hair, it is styled the shoulder callosity (callus humeralis). When the prothorax applies closely to the anterior border of the mesothorax it has then the name of collar (collare). An important character in its presence or absence is a transverse furrow (sutura transversalis) frequently found crossing the middle of the upper side of the mesothorax, and terminating on each side just before the base of the wing. On each side of the breast, beneath the shoulder, there is a spiracle (stigma prothoracis). The plate on the side of the breast is called the pleura. The scutcheon (scutellum) is separated from the back of the mesothorax by a furrow, and is situated between the wings. A part of the metathorax is to be found beneath the scutellum; it is called the metanotum. It generally descends obliquely, is often convex, and has on each side a more-or-less inflated space, called the lateral callosity of the metanotum. The poisers, or halteres, have their origin beneath this callosity, and in front of each of them we find the spiracle of the metathorax. The membranous covers sometimes found above this spiracle have the name of covering-scales (squamæ or tegulæ).

3. The Abdomen.

The upper side is generally so called, the name of belly (venter) being given to the lower side. The terminal joint is furnished in the male with appendages destined to take hold of the female in copula, and if they take hold in the form of pincers and these are not bent under the body they are called forceps; in the female, with the organ for laying eggs (ovipositor), which may be either called the bearer (tenebra) or the style (stylus), according to its shape.

4. The Wings.

These organs need more close and special study than any others in the distinction of species. The diagram (Plate VII.,

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fig. 4) illustrating the veins and cells of the dipterous wing is wholly ideal, and combines all the characters that are found in the different families of the Order. The parts to which the numbers refer are named in the explanation of the plate. Some observations as to the relative value of the different veins and cells in describing characters of genera and species are given in Skuse's paper on the Australian Cecidomyidæ (vol. iii., Trans. Lin. Soc. N.S.W.).

Family Cecidomyidæ.

1. Ovum.

Longer than broad, ends rounded, orange-red, yellow, or whitish. The eggs are laid on the surface of leaves, in the flowers of grasses, or beneath the bark of trees. The larva usually escapes in a few days. In some species there is a single annual generation, but in others eggs are laid at two or more distinct times of the year. I have never been fortunate enough to observe the eggs on any plants, but some of my specimens deposited eggs after capture.

2. Larva.

The larva is rather a slender maggot, generally white in colour, but often orange or red. The body consists of fourteen segments, most of which are provided with stigmata. Head is small and retractile, provided with soft and rudimentary mouth-organs. A slender, corneous organ usually projects from the first thoracic segment. This is called the anchor process, or breast-bone. The function of this organ is not yet certainly determined. Baron Osten-Sacken remarks that its homology is unknown, and suggests that it is used for locomotion. He points out that it may represent the mentum, and is therefore homologous with the boring mentum of the larvæ of some Tipulidæ. Miss Ormerod suggests that the organ is used to injure plant-tissues, in order that the nutritive juices may be obtained more readily and in greater abundance. The terminal segment of the body is frequently provided with stiff hairs, that aid apparently in locomotion.

Some of the species undergo their metamorphosis from larva to pupa in cocoons; others bury themselves in the ground; while others have no special covering, and undergo the change in the same place in which they have completed their larval growth.

Many years ago parthenogenesis was described in cecidomyid larvæ. It appears to be of much the same nature as that so well known in the various species of Aphis flies. The ovaries of the larvæ develope fully, and produce six or more buds. These also grow and again produce buds, from

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which a new generation developes. Sometimes as many as five generations can be distinguished beneath the transparent skin of a larva.

3. Pupa.

In the pupa nearly all the organs of the imago can be distinguished—eyes, antennæ, wings, legs, all being easily discernible. The insects appear to remain a very short time in the pupa stage.

4. Perfect Insect.

Skuse states that, so far as his observations go, the insect lives but a short time in the perfect state. With that conclusion the observations I have made on our New Zealand species lead me to concur unreservedly. The insects are particularly abundant in early spring, especially in the mornings and evenings. They can be found in numbers in all dark and shady places, many of them entering open windows that face shrubberies and being easily caught on the glass panes. Some species, however, can be found throughout the summer, but the number of species commonly found in summer is very much less than the numbers to be found in the spring. Their flight is usually feeble, and is never in a direct line, the insect darting hither and thither all the time it is on the wing. They do not seem to fly any distance, but the wind is probably a very important factor in their distribution. Mr. Skuse describes the extraordinary habits these insects have in New South Wales of hanging in cobwebs and vibrating in such a manner as to become more inconspicuous. Owing probably to hasty observation, I have never found them in such situations. I deeply regret that I have hitherto been unable to spare the time to investigate the life-history of any of the native species of Cecidomyidæ. The larvæ, as is well known, are usually parasites on the foliage of flowering-plants. As a result of the irritation produced by the larvæ on the tissues of the plant, monstrous growths, or galls, are produced.

As regards the geographical distribution of these flies, it may be said that species occur in every region of the globe where the Diptera have been investigated. In Australia Mr. Skuse has described ninety-five species, which he says represent in all probability but a very small proportion of the total number of species present in that country. Up to the present time no species have been described from New Zealand, but the present paper contains descriptions of twenty-three species. As these have all been collected within twelve months, the total number of species in the colony would probably be considerably over a hundred. These insects offer many difficulties to the collector, for, in the first place, their size is so minute that it is frequently a matter of no small

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difficulty to see them with the naked eye. On account of their fragile nature they are extremely hard to set, and if left in a glass tube where there is any trace of moisture they quickly become dismembered, and their wings are injured. It is advisable to carry the materials for setting the insects whilst collecting, as one can then be sure of setting good specimens still uninjured. If in my excursions last summer I had been provident enough to carry the materials for setting with me I should probably have double the present number of species to describe. During the forthcoming spring and summer, however, I hope to profit largely by my experience of last year.

Structure of Imago.

The head is small, broader than long; round when viewed from the front. Eyes generally lunate or reniform, more or less contiguous on the front. Ocelli wanting in the subfamily Cecidomyina, but extant in the Lestremina. Proboscis short, thick, fleshy, directed towards the pectus. Palpi prominent, four-jointed, the first joint short, the last usually the longest. Antennæ long, moniliform or cylindrical, generally verticillate-pilose, seldom without verticils, ten- to thirty-six-jointed, of which the basal joints are more or less cupuliform; flagellar joints sometimes pedicelled in the male and sessile in the female, sometimes of the same structure in both sexes. The thorax rounded, in some species gibbose, sometimes extending over the head in the form of a hood; without a transverse suture. Halteres never completely bare, often considerably haired or scaled; the pedicel long and slender, the club large. Legs generally very long and slender; coxæ short, femora not thickened, tibiæ without spurs, tarsi five-jointed, the metatarsal joint much shortened in the first subfamily; claws weakly developed, with apparently only one cushion. Wings incumbent, proportionately long and broad, rounded at the apex, cuneiformly narrowed at the base; as a rule hyaline, though sometimes pellucid, with a pale bluish or brownish tint; generally beautifully iridescent; sometimes marmorated; more or less covered with irregularly-arranged hairs; occasionally scaly; all the anterior margin scalous; deeply ciliated at the apex and posterior margin. The number of longitudinal veins amounts to at least two, or at most five—never less than four in the second sub-family, or more than four in the first sub-family. In both sub-families the last two longitudinal veins coalesce for more than half their length, forming beyond a more or less distinct part. The additional longitudinal vein of the Lestremina is inserted between the second and third veins of the first sub-family, and is furcate in all genera but Campylomyza. A longitudinal

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wing-fold generally has its position just in front of the third longitudinal vein, and often partially encloses the latter, or, less frequently, obscures it entirely from view. No species has more than one transverse or cross vein, which lies between the first and second longitudinal vein; but it is frequently most indistinct, or sometimes altogether wanting. Abdomen elongate, composed of nine segments; in the male cylindrical, provided with large holding-forceps; in the female acuminate, with a protruding or non-protruding ovipositor, rarely without two small lamellæ. The whole body with a covering of fine, delicate hairs, or less frequently scales or scaly hairs, the latter occurring more often on the under-surface of the abdomen and legs.

The prevailing body-colours seem to be shades of yellow and red, darkening into brown proportionately as the integument becomes more horny. The expanse of the largest species exceeds four lines, while that of the smallest is less than a line. Regarding the relative numbers of the two sexes, the females seem to be far more abundant than the males.


Skuse gives an excellent summary of the systems of classification of this family that have been adopted by previous authors, and for information on these I must refer to his paper. The following is the classification he adopts, and the one that will be adopted in this paper:—

Sub-family I. Cecidomyina.

Wings with not more than four longitudinal veins, the two last frequently combining in the beginning of their course, forming a more or less distinct fork. No ocelli. First tarsal joint much shortened.

  • Genus 1. Heterapeza.

    Antennæ moniliform or sessile, 2 + 8 or 9 jointed. Legs short; third joint of tarsus very long. Wings with two longitudinal veins.

  • Genus 2. Miastor.

    Antennæ 2 + 11 jointed, verticillate in the male. Legs slender in male, but more robust in female. Wings almost bare, with three longitudinal veins.

  • Genus 3. Cecidomyia.

    Antennæ long generally, verticillate, 2 + 9 to 2 + 36 jointed. Wings with three or four longitudinal veins.

    • Section I. Wings with three longitudinal veins, the third either forming a fork or becoming more or less obsolete towards the tip.

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      • Sub-section A. Cross-vein, if present, placed between the root and tip of the first longitudinal vein.

        • Sub-genus 1. Gonioclema (Skuse).

          Antennæ of female 2 + 11 jointed, verticillate, pilose. Second longitudinal reaching margin at the apex of the wing; cross-vein distinct; third longitudinal not branched.

        • Sub-genus 2. Cecidomyia (Loew).

          Second longitudinal vein reaches the margin of the wing a little before its tip. Generally the same number of joints in male and female, the joints being pedicelled or sessile.

        • Sub-genus 3. Diplosis (Loew).

          Second longitudinal vein reaches the margin of the wing at or beyond its tip. Antennæ of male 2 + 24 jointed; joints pedicelled; single joints alternating with double ones, or all joints simple. Antennæ of female 2 + 12 jointed; joints cylindrical, pedicelled.

        • Sub-genus 4. Asphondylia (Loew).

          Second logitudinal vein reaches the margin of the wing a little beyond its tip. Antennæ of both sexes with the same number of joints; the latter cylindrical, sessile, with a short pubescence and without verticils.

        • Sub-genus 5. Hormomyia (Loew).

          Second longitudinal vein reaches the margin of the wing either at or beyond the tip. Thorax more or less gibbose, frequently extending over the head in the form of a hood. Joints of male antennæ pedicelled, those of female pedicelled or sessile.

        • Sub-genus 6. Necrophlebia (Skuse).

          Second longitudinal vein reaching margin of wing beyond its tip; third longitudinal vein without anterior branch. Antennæ in female 2 + 12 jointed; joints pedicelled, with two verticils.

        • Sub-genus 7. Chastomera (Skuse).

          First longitudinal vein very wide of costa; second longitudinal reaching margin beyond apex of wing; no trace of anterior branch of fourth longitudinal. Antennæ in female pedicelled, verticillate.

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        • Sub-genus 8. Colpodia (Winn).

          Second longitudinal vein forms a curve before the cross-vein, and joins the margin a little beyond the tip of the wing; cross-vein rather long, oblique.

      • Sub-section B. Cross-vein very oblique, originating at the root of the first longitudinal vein.

        • Sub-genus 9. Dirhiza (Loew).

          Second longitudinal vein hardly undulating before the cross-vein. Joints of antennæ sessile, or almost sessile, in both sexes.

        • Sub-genus 10. Epidosis (Loew).

          Second longitudinal vein sinuous before the cross-vein. Joints of antennæ pedicelled in both sexes; number variable.

    • Section II. Wings with four longitudinal veins.

      • Sub-genus 11. Asynapta (Loew).

        Cross-vein sometimes like that in Section A, then the second longitudinal is not sinuated; sometimes as in Section B, second longitudinal is then sinuated.

    • Genus 4. Spaniocera (Winn).

      Antennæ filiform, 2 + 11 jointed; joints cylindrical, without verticils. Second longitudinal vein reaching the margin considerably before the apex.

    • Genus 5. Lasioptera (Meig).

      Antennæ 2 + 14 to 2 + 32 jointed; joints sessile, with short verticils. Three longitudinal veins, the first and second so near the costa as to be hardly discernible.

Sub-genus Clinorhyncha (Loew). Mouth prolonged into rostrum.

Sub-family II. Lestremina.

Wings with at least four longitudinal veins and at most five, sometimes with a rudimentary vein behind the fifth; the additional vein is situated between the second and third of the last sub-family. Ocelli nearly always present. First tarsal joint not shortened.

  • Genus 1. Campylomyza (Meig).

    Fourth longitudinal vein forked. Antennæ 11 - 20 jointed; joints pedicelled in both sexes in some species—in some male pedicelled, female sessile, in others both sessile.

  • Genus 2. Tritozyga (Loew).

    The upper branch of the fork forms a curve almost in the shape of an S.

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  • Genus 3. Catocha (Hol.).

    The upper branch of the fork forms a single smooth curve. Male antennæ 16-jointed, verticillate, joints pedicelled; female antennæ 10-jointed, pilose.

  • Genus 4. Lestremia.

    Second longitudinal vein joining the margin much before the apex of the wing; third longitudinal with a very long fork.

  • Genus 5. Cecidogona.

    Antennæ 2 + 9 jointed; joints verticillate, with very short pedicels. Second longitudinal reaching margin close to apex; branches of third longitudinal very long, almost parallel to one another.

The number of genera and sub-genera at present represented by specimens in my collection is comparatively small, but I have no doubt that many vacant spaces will before long be filled up. The entire classification of species at present known is given above, so that little difficulty will be experienced in classifying species that may be discovered subsequently. In the descriptions given below I have only mentioned those various divisions that are represented by species in my collection. I have not yet discovered any species of Cecidomyia. Campylomyza, on the other hand, is represented by several species.

Sub-family I. Cecidomyina.

Wings with not more than four longitudinal veins, the two last frequently combining in the middle of their course, forming a more or less distinct fork. No ocelli. First tarsal joint much shortened.

Genus 2. Miastor, Meinert.

Eyes separated in both sexes by a broad forehead. Antennæ 2 + 11 jointed; the basal joints cupuliform; the flagellar joints in the male ovate, with short pedicels and long verticillate hairs; in the female moniliform, subsessile, with short verticils. Prothorax arched. Legs slender in the male, shorter in the female; the tarsal joints of unequal length. Wings almost bare, appearing granulate under a high power. Three longitudinal veins; cross-vein sometimes present.

Miastor agricolæ. Plate V., fig. 1.

Antennæ, 0.026; expanse of wing, 0.033 × 0.013; length of body, 0.030in. Antennæ nearly black, nearly as long as the body, oval, becoming nearly globose towards the tip; last joint elliptical; verticils moderately long. Thorax nearly black,

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with a few long black hairs, becoming fuscous towards the abdomen. Scutellum pink. Halteres whitish, thinly clothed with black hairs; club moderate. Abdomen dull-red, moderately haired. Legs dusky-yellow; first, third, and fifth joints about equal length, slightly longer than the fourth, second nearly twice as long as the first; clothed with moderate black hairs. Wings hyaline, with a few scattered black hairs on the surface. First longitudinal vein one-third the length of the wing, dark-brown; second longitudinal apparently arises some distance below first longitudinal, at about one-third of its length; third longitudinal close to margin, very indistinct before joining with it.

I am rather doubtful as to whether this species is classified correctly. I hope to obtain other specimens during the ensuing summer, and make another more detailed examination.

Miastor difficilis, n. sp.

Antennæ, 0.027; expanse of wing, 0.045 × 0.016; body, 0.027 × 0.005. Antennæ light-grey, as long as the body; joints near the base elongate, elliptical, about twice the length of the pedicels, becoming nearly globose towards the tip; verticils about twice the length of the joints, spreading. Thorax dark-brown, a few long hairs, without any apparent arrangement, arising from it. Scutellum brown in the centre, bordered with grey. Halteres white, with long pedicels; club large, elongate, pyriform in shape. Abdomen with first two segments nearly black, remainder orange-red, sparingly clothed with dark hairs. Legs pale-yellow, with numerous short black hairs; first joint of tarsus very short, others indistinguishable from one another. Wings hyaline, slightly hairy. First longitudinal vein indistinct, close to costa, about one-third the length of the wing; second longitudinal vein arising from about a third of length of first longitudinal, some distance below it; third longitudinal close to margin, bends sharply downwards before ending in the margin.

I have only a single specimen of this insect: I am not quite satisfied as to its position. (Lincoln, January.)

Genus 3. Cecidomyia, Meig.

Antennæ long, moniliform or cylindrical, generally verticillate, rarely without verticils, from 2 + 9 to 2 + 36 jointed. Wings with three or four longitudinal veins, generally a longitudinal fold between the second and third longitudinal veins.

Section I.

Wings with three longitudinal veins, the third either forming a fork or becoming more or less obsolete towards the tip.

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Subsection A.

Cross-vein, if present, placed between the root and tip of the first longitudinal vein.

Sub-genus 2. Cecidomyia, Loew.—Antennæ 2 + 9 to 2 + 22 jointed; generally the same number of joints in the male and female; joints pedicelled or sessile alike in both sexes, or pedicelled in the male and sessile in the female.

Cecidomyia destructor, Say. (Plate V., fig. 2.)—Length, 3mm. Eyes brownish-black. Front of head black, and clothed with long black hairs. Palpi yellowish, of four joints, partly covered by minute black scales, entirely covering the terminal joint. Antennæ yellowish-brown to almost black, composed of seventeen joints, with short black verticillate hairs; the first two joints very thick, first cup-shaped, second globular, third smooth, cylindrical, and elongated, gradually becoming smaller and ending in a long tapering point longer than any of the preceding. Proboscis minute, and rose-coloured. Thorax black, with grey tints in certain lights; white hairs on the sides, and also scattered on the ventral region. Scutellum black, hairy. Halteres yellowish - pink, with occasional black scales. A light-red line running from the neck to the base of the wing, along the side of the thorax. Abdomen pinkish, consisting of eight segments; the first segment is nearly black, the remaining segments are marked by a large square black spot on each side—these nearly unite on the seventh and eighth segments; the last two segments have a curious V-shaped marking, with two small lines, one on each side of it, and placed on a somewhat darker area than the general colour of the segments. Oviduct pale-reddish, yellow-brownish at the tip, composed of three joints; the last is pointed, and without lamellæ. Legs pink to light-red, clothed with black hairs. Second longitudinal nearly straight, then bends down and reaches margin before apex.

This insect has occurred in the colony within recent years. It is undoubtedly introduced. I have seen no specimens.

Sub-genus 3. Diplosis. — Second longitudinal vein reaching the margin of the wing either at or beyond the apex. Antennæ of the male 2 + 24 jointed; joints pedicelled; simple joints alternating with the double ones, or all the joints quite simple—in the latter case the joints only have one hair-whorl; joints sometimes with the hair-whorls equally long on the upper and under sides; often decorated with long stiff hairs on the upper side. Antennæ of the female 2 + 12 jointed; joints subsessile, or having very

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short pedicels, cylindrical. Wings either unspotted or variegated.

A. Second Longitudinal Vein reaching the Margin of the Wing at or before the Apex.

1. Flagellar joints of the antennæ alternately singly and doubly jointed.

a. Wings unspotted.

Diplosis dubia, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 3.) Female. Antennæ, 0.033; expanse of wing, 0.060 × 0.024; body, 0.036 × 0.010. Antennæ dark-brown, the two basal joints of the flagellum being longer than the others; all the joints cylindrical, the pedicels being half the length of the joints; verticils small. Front part of thorax black, becoming ferruginous-brown posteriorly. Scutellum ferruginous. Halteres white; pedicels long, with rather small pyriform clubs, clothed, like the pedicels, with scattered black hairs. Abdomen ferruginous-brown, with a few hairs giving silvery reflections. Legs long, clothed with black hairs giving silvery reflections; femora longer than the tibiæ; first joint of tarsus very short, second joint four or five times the length of the first, third about one-third the length of the second, fourth and fifth slightly shorter than the third. Wings with yellowish tinge, very small hairs. Veins yellowish; first longitudinal one-third length of the wing, close to costa; second longitudinal joining margin just before the apex; transverse vein joins first longitudinal at two-thirds of its length from the base.

I have only one specimen, taken at Lincoln, October.

Diplosis difficilis, n. sp. Male. Length of antennæ, 0.064; expanse of wings, 0.055 × 0.019; body, 0.031 × 0.005. Antennæ brownish, with moderately-long black verticils; double joints about the same length as their pedicels, but single joints considerably shorter; last joint ending in an appendage about as long as its pedicel. Head black, smooth. Thorax yellowish-brown, darker anteriorly; a patch of black curved hairs on each shoulder, but otherwise surface of thorax smooth. Scutellum light yellowish-brown, smooth. Halteres with long pedicels ending in a comparatively small club; dirty-white in colour, clothed sparingly with black hairs. Abdomen yellowish-brown; posterior part of the segments darker, clothed with black hairs, giving silver reflections. Legs about three times the length of the body, slender, light-yellow, but appearing nearly black from the large number of black hairs situated on them; tibiæ slightly swollen at the tip. Wings hyaline, with slight yellowish tinge. Veins brownish; first longitudinal ending a little before half the distance along the costa; second longitudinal reaching the

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margin of the wing at the apex; branch of third longitudinal very indistinct. Surface of wings clothed with long black hairs; fringe long.

I have only one specimen, of a male insect. (Lincoln, February.)

Diplosis melana, n. sp.—Antennaæ, 0.035; expanse of wing, 0.077 × 0.029; body, 0.033 × 0.020. Antennæ dark-brown; joints of flagellum cylindrical, more than twice the length of their pedicels, ornamented with a few short verticillate hairs; terminal joints slightly shorter than the others, and conical in shape. Head black, with short hairs rising from its posterior border. Thorax black, and hairless except for a few tufts arising from the shoulders. Scutellum dark-grey. Abdomen, black, ferruginous on the flanks; a few hairs on the sides of the segments with silvery reflections. Halteres with short pedicels clothed all over with black and grey hairs; club pyriform, small. Legs moderately long, dark-brown, covered rather thinly with black hairs; femora rather stout; tarsi lighter in colour than the proximal joints. Wings with a grey tinge, a few short hairs scattered over their surface. Veins yellowish-brown except the second longitudinal, which is black; first longitudinal joining the costa about half-way from the base of the wing, the transverse vein, which is almost colourless, joining it at about two-thirds of its length; second longitudinal reaching the margïn at the apex of the wing; apex of forks of third longitudinal below end of second longitudinal.

I have only one female specimen. (Lincoln, November.)

Diplosis minuta, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.026; expanse of wings, 0.050 × 0.018; body, 0.030 × 0.011. Antennæ black; joints of flagellum with short pedicels, about one-third the length of the joints; cylindrical, ornamented with short black verticils. Anterior portion of thorax black, becoming red towards the extremity; a few white scattered hairs on its surface. Scutellum red. Halteres with slender pedicels; club small, pyriform, covered like the pedicels with scattered black hairs. Abdomen with the anterior segments dark-brown, but becoming red towards the posterior end; a few scattered hairs with silvery reflections situated on its surface. Legs rather short, dull-yellow in colour, covered with hairs black in colour but giving silvery reflections; tibiæ slightly shorter than the femora; first and fifth joints of the tarsus about the same length, second joint about twice the length of the third, which is longer than the fourth. Wings hyaline, with yellow reflections. Costa and second longitudinal dark-brown in colour, the others light - grey; first longitudinal ending at about one-third along the costa; second longitudinal ending at the apex; branch of third longitudinal forms

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very acute angle with the trunk. Wings covered with slight pubescence.

Separated from D. dubia by shorter legs and smaller size; from D. difficilis by character of hairs on wings. (Lincoln, November.)

B. Second Longitudinal Vein reaching the Margin of the Wing beyond the Apex.

Diplosis fragilis, n. sp. (Plate VII., fig. 3.) Male. Antennæ, 0.049; wings, 0.066 × 0.027; body, 0.033 × 0.006. Antennæ with the joints longer than their pedicels, double joints nearly the same length as their pedicels; sub-globose; double joints cylindrical, with transverse suture, smoky-grey in colour; verticils not numerous, moderately long, black. Thorax ferruginous, dark in front but becoming lighter posteriorly. Scutellum semicircular, opaque, white. Halteres with long slender white pedicels; club pyriform, with small conspicuous thick black hairs. Abdomen with first segment ferruginous, the two succeeding segments much darker; the usual scattered hairs are present arranged on the posterior borders of the segments. Legs long and slender, light-yellow; fomur and tibia about equal in length; first joint of the tarsus very short, second slightly shorter than the tibia, other joints much shorter, the fifth being the shortest. Wings perfectly hyaline, a few short black hairs being scattered over the surface. First longitudinal about one-third the length of the wing, marginal cross-veins situated half-way along it; second longitudinal at first straight, but afterwards strongly arcuated, ending a little beyond the apex; apex of feet of third longitudinal situated exactly below the end of the first longitudinal.

I have several specimens, collected at Lincoln during November and December.

Diplosis hirta, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.033; wings, 0.071 × 0.027; body, 0.038 × 0.011. Antennæ, dark-brown; joints of scapus fuscous; flagellar joints about twice the length of their pedicels, with one circle of long black verticils attached to the base; joints cylindrical, but constricted in the middle; terminal joint with distinct projection from its end. Thorax dark-brown, with two tufts of long black hairs arising on each lateral margin. Scutellum opaque, white. Halteres with long pedicels bearing a club thickly covered with black hairs. Abdomen dark-brown, with its segments much more hairy than in the other species. Legs dark-brown or black, covered with short black hairs—these are longer on the femora than elsewhere; joints of the legs as in D. fragilis. Wings smoky, their surface very densely covered with a brown pubescence; long, stiff, black hairs project from the costa, and there is a deep fringe extending right round the

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posterior border of the wing. First longitudinal less than one-half the length of the wing; second longitudinal arcuated at the tip, ends slightly beyond the apex; anterior branch of third longitudinal very indistinct; transverse vein situated less than half-way along the first longitudinal.

I have two specimens, taken at Lincoln during November.

Diplosis scoparia, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.036; wings, 0.088 × 0.038; body, 0.059 × 0.012. Antennæ dark-brown; joints about twice the length of their pedicels, cylindrical in shape, but slightly constricted in the middle; verticils short and scattered; terminal joint of the antennæ bears a pointed projection at its end. Palpi pink. Thorax dark-brown, with two narrow pink stripes, widely separated at the anterior end, but converging considerably towards the scutellum; a few hairs on the lateral margins and on the pink stripes. Scutellum pink, with a row of hairs on its semicircular posterior margin. Halteres with long slender red pedicels, bearing a pyriform club clothed rather thickly with black hairs. Abdomen bright-pink, the posterior margins of the segments, as usual, bearing a few long hairs. Legs dark-brown; femora and tibiæ about equal in length; joints of the tarsus as in D. fragilis. Wings smoky, rather thickly covered with a brown pubescence. First longitudinal rather less than half the length of the wing; second longitudinal at first straight, but afterwards strongly arcuated, ending considerably beyond the apex; fork of third longitudinal slightly beyond the end of first longitudinal; cross-vein situated less than half-way along first longitudinal.

I have two female specimens of this insect, which were taken at Lincoln in November.

Diplosis wanganuiensis, n. sp. (Plate VII., fig. 2.) Female. Antennæ, 0.049; wings, 0.096 × 0.035; body, 0.071 × 0.014. Antennæ dark-brown; joints of the scapus dull-yellow, nearly orbicular; basal joints of the flagellum more than double the length of those near the apex; basal joints much more, and apical joints slightly more, than double the length of their pedicels; terminal joint with a small projection; verticils small and scattered. Palpi the same colour as the joints of the scapus, as long as the antennæ up to the first joint of the scapus. Thorax ferruginous, with two converging light lines; perfectly glabrous. Scutellum ferruginous, without hairs. Hal-teres with long slender white pedicels, the clubs being darker owing to the presence of black hairs. Abdomen pink, with long slender ovipositor; very few hairs on the segments. Legs light - brown, long and slender, very slightly hairy. Wings pellucid, glabrous, or slightly hairy. Costa and second longitudinal light-red; first longitudinal a little more than

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one-third the length of the wing; second longitudinal strongly arcuated, joining the margin some distance beyond the apex; third longitudinal very slightly bent upwards at the fork.

I obtained two specimens of this insect in a swamp at Wanganui.

Diplosis flava, n. sp. Male. Antennæ, 0.092; wings, 0.115 × 0.037; body, 0.059 × 0.013. Joints of the scapus sub-globose, bright-yellow; flagellum cinereous; double joints rather shorter than their pedicels, single joint about a quarter the length of their pedicels; length of double joints near the base about three times their breadth, near the apex the length is about double the breadth; terminal joint longer than the three or four double joints immediately preceding it, becoming at its apex a colourless projection closely resembling a broken-off piece of pedicel. Palpi long and slender, light-yellow. Thorax yellow, perfectly glabrous, rather darker on the lateral margins. Halteres with very long and slender pedicels, bearing a small pyriform yellow club. Scutellum white, perfectly glabrous. Abdomen pink, with several bristly yellow hairs on the margins of the segments. Legs long and slender, yellow, but rather thickly clothed with small black hairs. Wings almost glabrous, hyaline. Veins colourless, except the basal portion of the costa, which is yellow; first longitudinal less than half the length of the wing; second longitudinal strongly arcuated, joining the margin some distance beyond the apex of the wing; transverse vein half-way along the first longitudinal; fork of third longitudinal beyond the end of the first longitudinal.

I obtained a single specimen of this insect in a swamp at Wanganui.

Subsection B.

Cross-vein very oblique, originating at the root of the first longitudinal vein.

Sub-genus Epidosis.—Second longitudinal vein sinuous before the cross-vein. Joints of the antennæ pedicelled in both sexes, their number variable.

Epidosis magna, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 4.) Male. Length of antennæ, 0.138; expanse of wings, 0.153 × 0.055; length of body, 0.068. Antennæ 2 + 22 jointed, longer than body, pale-brown; long pedicels; joints about half the length of the pedicels, sub-globose; verticils long, arranged in two whorls on the joints; scapus joints near base of the flagellum almost cylindrical; joints longest in centre, decreasing in size towards apex. Palpi moderately-long. Basal three joints of the flagellum covered with scattered black hairs. Thorax deep-brown, with two tufts of long black hairs, one tuft at each side; collare glistening-white; centre of thorax marked by a cuneiform stripe

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of fuscous brown, down the middle of which there is a narrow black line; sides of the fuscous-brown stripe marked by a single row of long black hairs. Scutellum glistening-white, with long black hairs on posterior portion. Halteres long, densely haired; club moderate. Abdomen light yellowish-red, densely covered with long grey or black hairs. Legs long and slender, everywhere covered with short black hairs, which are more numerous on the fore femora and less numerous on the tarsal joints than elsewhere. Wings pellucid, densely pubescent; violet, red, and blue reflections. Costal veins testaceous, but becoming red towards the apex of the wing; cross-veins pale, nearly straight, diverging from first longitudinal about four times the length of cross-vein from end of first longitudinal; second longitudinal thin, with a deep bow before cross-veins, reaches wing-margin beyond the apex; both branches of the third longitudinal indistinct.

Female. Size of body, 0.121; ovipositor, 0.044; antennæ, 0.146; wings, 0.153. Joints of antennæ, 2 + 25; pedicels short; joints cylindrical near base, but becoming orbicular at the apex; last joint two and a half times length of previous joint, subconical. Thorax darker than in the male, cunei-form stripe separated into two narrow linear fuscous-brown stripes approaching one ánother, and becoming lost opposite the base of the wings. Abdomen darker than in male, but otherwise similar. Ovipositor long, needle - shaped, same colour as abdomen. Verticils not so long as in male.

Epidosis agricolœ, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.052; body, 0.090 × 0.011; wings, 0.119 × 0.011. Antennæ longer than the head and thorax, 2 + 11 joints; joints nearly cylindrical, with short pedicels; pedicels of lower joints shortest, those of central joints largest; joints gradually decreasing in size from below upwards; verticils few and scattered. Palpi bright-red, with a few scattered black hairs. Collare testaceous. Thorax a uniform pink colour, with two shallow and narrow grooves extending from the collare, where they are widely separated, to the base of the wings, where they are close together; a few scattered black hairs on the grooves and sides of the thorax. Scutellum rather brighter in colour than the thorax, with a few hairs on the posterior border. Halteres long, with white glabrous pedicels; club white and glabrous. Abdomen of a lighter pink than the thorax, with a few scattered hairs on the segments. Legs long and slender, covered rather thickly with short black hairs. Wings pellucid, thinly covered with black hairs. Second longitudinal vein bent in a short arcuation before junction with cross - vein, afterwards strongly bowed, and terminating beyond the apex of the wing; both

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branches of third longitudinal vein indistinct; costal and second longitudinal veins red; transverse vein short, joining first longitudinal three times its own length from end of first longitudinal.

Lincoln, November.

Epidosis ordinaria, n. sp. Male. Antennæ, 0.046; body, 0.049 × 0.008; wings, 0.109 × 0.036. Antennæ 2 + 11 joints; joints of scapus nearly white; lowest joints of flagellum nearly cylindrical, shortly pedicelled; pedicels of middle joints longer, and joints shorter and oval; terminal joints small and oval; verticils few but long. Palpi moderately long, testaceous. Thorax dark-brown, becoming lighter posteriorly, with a few scattered black hairs. Scutellum opaque, white, with one or two black hairs, sometimes bordered with red. Halteres fuscous, pedicel densely covered with short black hairs; club moderate, covered with short black hairs. Abdomen pink, with scattered grey hairs. Legs long and slender, clothed with black hairs. Wings pellucid, densely covered with brown hairs, which are especially long in the fringe on the inner margin. Veins testaceous to red; second longitudinal slightly arcuated before junction with transverse veins, afterwards broadly arcuated, and ending slightly beyond apex of the wing; transverse vein short, about a quarter length of first longitudinal from rising-point of transverse to costa.

Most noticeable points: Colour of the scutellum and halteres, and veins of the wing. Common, October to March.


Epidosis aurea, n. sp. (Plate VI., fig. 3.) Antennæ broken; wings, 0.110 × 0.048; body, 0.051 × 0.024. Antennæ unfortunately broken in my single specimen; joints of scapus red in colour, with a few black hairs; flagellar joints all oval, with pedicels about half as long as themselves; joints cinereous in colour, with few but long verticils of a black colour. Palpi testaceous. There are eight flagellar joints remaining on one antenna, all of which are similar in size and shape. Anterior portion sides and posterior portion of the thorax orange-yellow in colour, a central dark-brown mark extending from the collare to a little anterior to the point of insertion of the wings, its length being about three times its breadth; on each side one black mark about the same size as the central brown mark, but situated more posteriorly; between the central and lateral marks orange-yellow stripes with a few golden hairs. Scutellum golden-yellow, with a few golden hairs. Halteres light-orange; pedicels long, and, like the club, clothed sparingly with black hairs. Abdomen dark-red, with a few grey hairs scattered over the segments. Legs long and slender, fuscous,

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covered with short grey and black hairs. Wings covered all over with short black hairs. Veins brown, distinct; second longitudinal vein nearly straight before junction with cross-vein, afterwards arcuated; transverse cross-vein about one-sixth length of first longitudinal from point of origin of transverse vein to junction with costa.

I have at present only a single specimen of this distinct species, which was captured at the foot of Mount Torlesse early in March.

Section II.

Wings with four longitudinal veins.

Sub-family II. Lestremina.

Wings with at least four longitudinal veins, or at most five; sometimes a rudimentary vein behind the fifth. The additional vein is placed between the two veins corresponding to the second and third of the first sub-family, and is generally furcate. Ocelli nearly always present. First tarsal joint not shortened.

I. Ocelli extant.

A. Wings with four longitudinal veins; the third not furcate; the fourth furcate, representing the fourth and fifth longitudinal veins of other genera coalescent for the first half of their course.

Genus I. Campylomyza, Meigen. (Plate VII., fig. 1.)

Antennæ 2 + 6 to 2 + 23 jointed, moniliform, verticillate; joints ovate, lentiform, or cylindrical, with long pedicels in the male and sessile in the female, or sessile in both sexes.

Wings large, considerably rounded at the apex; in some cases the base of the wing is cuneiform, in other cases the posterior angle is prominently rounded; hairs often scaly; long cross-vein.

A. Wings cuneiformly narrowed at the base.

Campylomyza tenuis, n. sp. Body, 0.038 × 0.013; antennæ, 0.027; wings, 0.049 × 0.025.

Antennæ grey, 2 + 9 joints; basal joints of flagellum rather large, globose, not quite so long as their pedicels; gradually decreasing in size towards the apex; ornamented with long verticils directed forward and just reaching a little beyond the base of the succeeding joint. Thorax short and broad, black or dark-brown, but paler on the lateral margins; a few long black hairs arise from its surface. Scutellum large, semicircular, grey. Halteres white, with very elongated pyriform clubs, on which some black hairs are situated. Abdomen pale, testaceous, with black hairs scattered over its

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surface. Genital appendages elongated. Legs slightly paler than the abdomen; femur rather stout, shorter than tibia; very few hairs on any of the joints. Wings slightly smoky. First longitudinal rather distant from the costa, about half as long as the wing; second longitudinal ends slightly beyond the apex of the wing; basal portion more than five times the length of the transverse vein; third longitudinal very pale, issuing from the basal portion of second longitudinal at a little beyond half its length, disappearing before the margin; fourth longitudinal with a long anterior branch, nearly straight, posterior branch distinct, and strongly arcuated. Surface of wing covered with black hairs.

Lincoln, November.

Campylomyza lincolniensis. Male. Antennæ, 0.048; wings, 0.044 × 0.025; body, 0.027 × 0.006.

Antennæ brown; joints of scapus slightly compressed; joints of flagellum thirteen in number, large, globose, decreasing in size from below upwards; pedicels nearly twice as long as the joints; verticils black, long, pointing forwards, just reaching the base of the succeeding joint; terminal joint much smaller than the rest, oval, rather longer than its pedicel, its verticils slender. Thorax about as broad as long, black, but ornamented with a few golden-yellow hairs. Scutellum semicircular, black. Halteres with slender pedicels and a circular white club. Abdomen black, slightly haired. Legs light-brown, rather short and robust, not hairy. Femora rather longer than the tibiæ. Wings pellucid. First longitudinal joins the costa at about half its length, part beyond the transverse vein about twice its length; second longitudinal bent at junction of third longitudinal and of transverse vein, afterwards strongly arcuated, joining margin beyond the apex; basal part about five times the length of transverse vein; third longitudinal arising at ábout two-thirds of its length; third longitudinal very faint, disappearing before reaching the margin; fourth longitudinal faint, anterior branch nearly straight. Surface of wings covered sparingly with black hairs.

Lincoln, November. Only two specimens.

Campylomyza minuta, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.011; wings, 0.035 × 0.014; body, 0.028 × 0.005.

Antennæ dark-brown, 2 + 7 jointed; joints of flagellum with very short pedicels, broader than long, ornamented rather sparingly with long radiating verticils; terminal joint oval, rather longer than the others, and ornamented in the same manner. Thorax dark-brown, with lateral margins much lighter. Halteres with slender white pedicels and a small white club. Abdomen smoky-brown, darker at the posterior

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border of the segments. Legs short, the same colour as the abdomen, rather hairy. Wings hyaline. First longitudinal about half as long as the wing, part beyond the transverse vein about as long as the transverse vein; second longitudinal vein distinct, only slightly bent, joining the margin distinctly before the apex of the wing; third longitudinal very indistinct, disappearing long before the margin is reached; fourth longitudinal indistinct, anterior branch long and nearly straight. Surface of the wings covered with a few scattered black hairs.

I have only one specimen, taken at Lincoln in February.

Campylomzya nitida, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.028; wings, 0.038 × 0.018; body, 0.033 × 0.008.

Antennæ dark-brown; joints of flagellum thirteen in number, oval, about twice the length of their pedicels, ornamented with a few straight radiating verticils; terminal joint smaller than the others, without any projection. Thorax black and shining, without any hairs. Scutellum light-brown, oval. Halteres with a moderate pedicel and a small white club. Abdomen cinereous, narrowing considerably posteriorly, surface with a few scattered hairs. Legs light-brown; femora and tibiæ robust, with a few scattered black hairs; first joint of tarsus double the length of the second; the others are always slightly shorter than the preceding joint, except the last, which is longer than the fourth. Wings slightly smoky. First longitudinal less than half the length of the costa; transverse vein long, but slightly shorter than that part of the first longitudinal beyond the point of junction; second longitudinal very distinct, distant from first longitudinal, joining margin at the apex; third longitudinal very indistinct, disappearing long before the margin; fourth longitudinal fairly distinct, but both branches disappear before they reach the margin. Surface of the wing with scattered black hairs.

Lincoln, February.

Campylomyza hirta, n. sp. Wings, 0.044 × 0.019; body, 0.038 × 0.006.

Antennæ apparently 2 + 11 joints; joints of flagellum dark-brown, almost sessile, ornamented with a few short verticils; terminal joint equal to the others in size. Thorax dark-brown, almost smooth. Scutellum dark-brown. Halteres with a large club, almost black from the clothing of short hairs. Abdomen nearly cylindrical, but bulging out at the segments; dark-brown, but lighter than the thorax and scutellum. Legs short, dull light-yellow, ornamented with rather long black hairs; all the joints are rather stout. Wings hyaline, surface covered with long black hairs. First

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longitudinal vein about half the length of the costa, part beyond junction with transverse vein slightly longer than transverse vein; basal portion of the second longitudinal about four times as long as the transverse vein, only slightly arcuated, joining the margin before the apex of the wing; third longitudinal very indistinct, proceeding from the second longitudinal about two-thirds of the length of second longitudinal; fourth longitudinal very indistinct, anterior branch rather long and only slightly bent.

I have only one specimen, and its antennæ are so contorted as to render it almost impossible to count the joints or measure their length. Lincoln, February.

Campylomyza squamata, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.037; wings, 0.057 × 0.025; body, 0.042 × 0.011.

Antennæ light-brown, 2 + 10 jointed; joints of scapus lentiform, not hairy; joints of flagellum nearly globose, about half as long as their pedicels, last two joints much smaller than the rest, and with much shorter pedicels; terminal joint oval; all flagellar joints ornamented with long verticils directed forward and reaching to about the middle of the succeeding joint. Thorax black, almost destitute of hairs. Scutellum dark-brown. Halteres with short pedicels and small club. Abdomen black, covered with black hairs; geni-talia orange. Legs light dull-yellow, the posterior pair being much longer than the two anterior pairs; femora and tibiæ robust, covered with short black scaly hairs, very loosely attached. Wings pellucid. Veins light-brown, rather inconspicuous owing to the thick covering of scaly black hairs spread over the surface of the membrane; first longitudinal slightly more than half the length of the wing; transverse vein situated rather more than its own length from the end of the first longitudinal; second longitudinal ending at the apex; third longitudinal arising about two-thirds of the length of the basal portion of second longitudinal, disappears long before reaching the margin; anterior branch of fourth longitudinal distinct, arcuated, reaching the margin; posterior branch only slightly bent, does not reach the margin.

I have only one specimen, taken at Lincoln in September.

B. Wings rounded at the base.

Campylomyza magna, n. sp. Female. Antennæ, 0.017; wings, 0.088 × 0.039; body, 0.083 × 0.016.

Antennæ dark-brown, 2 + 10 jointed, nearly cylindrical; joints of scapus only slightly hairy; flagellar joints sessile, covered with a short pubescence; terminal joint the smallest. Palpi short and stout, brown. Thorax black, a central wedge-shaped portion shining, but the rest dull. Halteres with a

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short brown pedicel, but a large cinereous club. Abdomen cylindrical, terminating in a short ovipositor. Abdomen clothed with short black hairs. Legs short and rather robustr dark-brown; first joint of the tarsus about half as long as the tibia and about double the length of the second joint; very few hairs on any of the joints. Wings smoky. Second longitudinal and costa dark-brown, the others lighter; distinct indication of auxiliary vein, but it does not join the costa; first longitudinal rather more than half the length of the wing, bending down at the junction of the transverse vein, which is only one-fifth of the length of remaining portion of first longitudinal; basal portion of second longitudinal about one-third of the length of vein, only slightly bent, joins margin before the apex of the wing; third longitudinal very indistinct, arising from second longitudinal at a little beyond a third of length of basal portion, cannot be followed more than a third of the distance to the margin; fourth longitudinal distinct, anterior branch only slightly bent, posterior branch almost at right angles, disappears before reaching the posterior margin of the wing. Posterior angle of the wing pronounced. Surface covered with a minute brown pubescence.

I have only one specimen of this large distinct species, taken at Lincoln in December, 1893.

Campylomyza robusta, n. sp. Male. Antennæ, 0.024; wings, 0.070 × 0.031; body, 0.055 × 0.011.

Antennæ black, 2 + 11 jointed; flagellar joints almost globose; pedicels about a quarter the length of the joints; all the joints are covered with hairs, but there are no verticils; subterminal joint oval, and longer than the others, which are slightly compressed longitudinally; terminal joint much smaller than the others, apparently without a pedicel. Thorax black, clothed sparingly with light-coloured hairs. Scutellum black. Halteres with short thick brown pedicels, ending in rather a large oval cinereous club. Abdomen very dark brown, covered with scattered black hairs. Legs light-brown; femora about the same length as the tibiæ, thick, clothed sparingly with light-coloured hairs. Wings with a distinct anal angle, rather smoky, covered with black hairs. First longitudinal less than half the length of the wing, part beyond point of origin of transverse vein about four times the length of transverse vein; second longitudinal slightly bent, ending a very little before apex of the wing, very distinct; third longitudinal very indistinct, arising a little beyond middle point of basal portion of second longitudinal; both branches of fourth longitudinal distinct, but the posterior branch does not reach the margin.

Lincoln, February.

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Campylomyza ordinaria, n. sp. (Plate V., fig. 5.) Male and female. Antennæ, 0.012; wings, 0.063 × 0.029; body, 0.052 × 0.007.

Antennæ light-brown, 2 + 10 joints; first joint of scapus large, globose, second much smaller; lowest joint of flagel-lum lighter than the rest, oval, others subglobose, with pedicels about half their length; ornamented with numerous verticils about twice as long as the diameter of the joints; terminal joint oval, much smaller than the rest. Thorax dark-brown, with a few hairs. Scutellum semicircular, brown. Halteres with a short pedicel bearing an elongated pyriform club, light-brown in colour, and pubescent. Abdomen dark-brown, ornamented with numerous brown hairs. Legs more elongated than usual; femora and tibiæ robust; very light brown or pale-yellow, thinly clothed with rather long light-coloured hairs. Wings rather smoky, clothed with rather a thick covering of light-brown hairs. Slight rudiment of auxiliary vein; first longitudinal less than half the length of the wing, part beyond point of origin of transverse vein about twice the length of the transverse vein; second longi-tudinal slightly curved, ending at the apex of the wing. Third longitudinal indistinct, disappearing a little distance from the margin; fourth longitudinal indistinct, anterior branch nearly straight, reaching the margin, posterior branch nearly at right angles to it, and disappearing close to the margin.

Two specimens, one male and one female. Lincoln, February.

Genus Lestremia, Macquart.

Antennæ moniliform, verticillate, in the male 2 + 14, in the female 2 + 9 to 2 + 10 jointed; the joints in the male almost ovate, pedicelled; in the female more cylindrical, with short pedicel. Wings large, moderately broad, with prominent posterior angle. First longitudinal vein very short; second longitudinal short, running rather close to costa, joining the border much before the apex of the wing; third longitudinal vein with a very long fork; cross-vein small beyond the middle of the first longitudinal vein.

Skuse records no species from Australia, but says the genus is represented by a few American and European species.

There seems to be some doubt as to whether ocelli are present in the European species. As shown in Plate VI., fig. 4, three ocelli are always present in the New Zealand species.

Lestremia novæ-zealandiæ, n. sp. (Plate VI., fig. 1.) Female. Antennæ, 0.033 (largest), 0.014 (smallest); wing, 0.126 × 0.050 (largest), 0.071 × 0.028 (smallest); body, 0.122 × 0.022 (largest), 0.060 × 0.014 (smallest).

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Antennæ dark-brown; joints cylindrical, with very short pedicels; terminal about half as long again as the penultimate joint; a circlet of short verticils arises from the basal portion of each joint. Lower portion of frons black. Three ocelli, situated in a triangle just above point of insertion of the antennæ. Compound eyes far apart, emarginate, the antennæ being situated in the bend in the outline. The antennæ are nearly surrounded by a single row of facets, bead-like in appearance. Palpi light-yellow. Thorax dark-brown, hood-shaped; two stripes of lighter colour inclined to one another like the sides of a wedge, the point directed posteriorly; on these stripes long hairs are situated. Scutellum dark-brown, with a row of hairs along posterior margin. Halteres with short pedicels ending in elongate pyriform clubs; light - brown in colour, with scattered black hairs. Abdomen dark-brown, anterior portion of third and succeeding segments light-brown. Surface of all the segments with slender light-coloured hairs. Legs not much longer than the abdomen; light-brown femora, rather shorter than tibiæ; latter light-pink at the tip; first joint of tarsus more than double the length of the second, others all shorter than the one preceding them. Wings pellucid, covered with scattered short black hairs. Costal and second longitudinal pink; rudiment of auxiliary vein present; first longitudinal more than one-third the length of the wing, cross-vein near its tip very oblique; second longitudinal ending long before the tip of the wing; third longitudinal branching out of second just before junction with cross-vein, fork long, both branches wavy, anterior branch ends at the tip of the wing; fourth longitudinal commencing nearer base of wing than third longitudinal, nearly straight, almost disappears before reaching the margin; fifth longitudinal distinct, strongly arcuated; sixth longitudinal short, lying close alongside fifth longitudinal. Posterior angle of the wing very distinct.

Lincoln. Fairly common, especially in very early spring, but is found all the year round.

Male. Antennæ, 0.055 (largest), 0.035 (smallest); wing, 0.077 × 0.030 (largest), 0.060 × 0.024 (smallest); body, 0.052 × 0.011 (largest), 0.046 × 0.011 (smallest). (Plate VI., fig. 2.)

Antennæ light - brown, 2 + 14 joints; joints cylindrical, with pedicels twice their length; all the joints appear double; ornamented with rather long verticils arising from the constriction in the middle of the joint; terminal joint oval, larger than those immediately preceding.

At first I thought that there were three distinct species, which, on examination, proved to differ only in size. This,

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however, is very marked, though not constant enough to constitute distinct species. In all other particulars but size all my specimens are exactly identical; the antennæ, veins of the wings, and other organs show no variation. I have not been able to examine the palpi in any but a very few specimens, but, so far as I have been able to ascertain, the structure is constant.

All measurements given above are in inches.

Explanation of Plates.
Plate V.

  • Fig. 1. Miastor agricolæ, female.

  • Fig. 2. Cecidomyia destructor, male. The only object of this diagram is to illustrate the difference between this genus and Diplosis.

  • Fig. 3. Diplosis dubia, female.

  • Fig. 4. Epidosis magna, male.

  • Fig. 5. Campylomyza ordinaria, female.

These figures were all drawn from dried specimens. Their chief object is to illustrate the difference between the various genera to which they belong. They should not be relied on for specific characters.

Plate VI.

  • Fig. 1. Lestremia novæ-zealandiæ, female.

  • Fig. 2. " " male.

  • Fig. 3. Side view of Epidosis aurea (antennæ broken).

  • Fig. 4. Head of Lestremia novæ-zealandiæ: o, occiput; e, compound eye; f, frons; g, ocelli; a, antennæ; p, palpi.

Plate VII.

  • Fig. 1. Portion of antenna of Campylomyza.

  • Fig. 2. Portion of antenna of male of Diplosis wanganuiensis.

  • Fig. 3. Male of Diplosis fragilis.

  • Fig. 4. Diagram of ideal dipterous wing.



First costal cell.


Second costal cell.


Third costal cell.


Marginal cell.


Submarginal cell.


First posterior cell.


Second posterior cell.


Third posterior cell.


Discal cell.


First or large basal cell.


Second basal cell, or anterior of the small basal cells.


Third basal cell, or posterior of the small basal cells.


Anal or axillary corner of the wing.


Alar appendage (alula).



Transverse shoulder-vein.


Auxiliary vein.


First longitudinal vein.

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Second longitudinal vein.


Third longitudinal vein.


Fourth longitudinal vein.


Fifth longitudinal vein.


Sixth longitudinal vein.


Small or middle transverse vein.


Hinder transverse vein.


m, n, o. Costal veins.


Anterior basal transverse vein.


Posterior basal transverse vein.


Rudiment of a fourth trunk.


Axillary incision.


Anterior branch of third longitudinal.


Anterior intercalary vein.


Posterior intercalary vein.

Art. XXV.—New Zealand Diptera: No. 2.—Myceto-philidæ.

[Read before the Philosophical Institute of Canterbury, 5th June, 1895.]

Plates VIII.-XIII.

In common with the other families of smaller flies, the Mycetophilidæ have suffered sadly from neglect at the hands of New Zealand entomologists. The only species hitherto recorded as existing in this colony were described by Captain Hutton in the “Catalogue of the New Zealand Diptera.” He there gives descriptions of two species, one of which he places in the genus Mycetophila, and the other in the genus Platyura. The specimens from which Captain Hutton drew his descriptions are fortunately still extant in the museum of Lincoln Agricultural College, so I have been able to examine them; but I am unable to agree with Captain Hutton as to the place he assigns them in the classification of the Mycetvphilidæ. For reasons that will be given later on, I have deemed it necessary to establish new genera for both these flies, as they possess characters that certainly will not allow them to be placed in any previously-described genera. So far as my observations on the New Zealand representatives of this family have gone, I have been struck with the great diversity of type and structure that is exhibited by our species, for out of seven sub-sections into which the family is divided six are

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abundantly represented in this colony. This is the more remarkable when one considers that all the Australian forms hitherto described are included in four of these sub-sections. In the majority of these divisions there are insects that differ-radically from any previously-established genera, and for these new genera have been established, though with considerable reluctance in one or two cases. The insects of this family can easily be distinguished from all others by their strongly-curved thorax, and legs armed with strong spurs, as well as by the arrangement of the veins of the wings. They can be taken very commonly on windows facing shady gardens at almost any time throughout the year. They are abundant in the early spring, and at Lincoln a few stragglers will be found as late as the middle of June. At Wanganui no less than ten distinct species could be found as late as the middle of July, and would doubtless be as numerous right through the winter. In their native haunts they can be taken abundantly by sweeping the undergrowth and ferns in all damp bush throughout the summer and the greater part of winter. Though usually small insects, one of our native species is more than an inch in expanse of wings, and to a casual observer would appear to belong to the Tipulidæ rather than to the Mycetophilidæ.

In the present paper I give descriptions of thirty-five species, of which the majority belong to old-established genera. They are distributed as follows: Macrocera, 4 species; Bolitophila, 1; Ceroplatus, 3; Platyura, 4; Scio-phila, 1; Tetragoneura, 1; Brachydicrania, 1; Aphelomera, 1; Mycetophila, 6. Of these genera, species of Macrocera, Cero-platus, Platyura, Sciophila, and Mycetophila have been described from Australia and the Old World. Species of Bolitophila and Tetragoneura have been described from the Old World, but not from Australia; while the genera Heteropterna and Brachydicrania have been established for insects recently described from Australia. Of the new genera established in this paper, the first three belong to the sub-section Myceto-binæ, in which there were but three previously-existing genera, containing but few species, all of which have been described from the Old World, Australia, so far, not having been shown to possess any. Two of the new genera are in some respects highly peculiar, and without doubt form a very interesting feature of the New Zealand Diptera. The other new genera belong to well-represented sub-sections, and have many characteristics in common with previously-described genera, but, owing to the rigid manner in which the genera of this family are described, and the slight variations that are considered sufficient to justify their separation, they cannot be placed in any of the old genera. Some of the genera here

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described may very possibly be discarded subsequently, when our insects have been further investigated. Many that are here described as species may afterwards be reduced to varieties, while some of my varieties may very probably be raised to the rank of species. But, though blunders have been made, none of the genera and species described in this paper have been separated from others without considerable thought and care where the issue seemed in any way doubtful.


Winnertz, the great authority on this family of flies, divided it into a large number of genera, separated from one another by what at first sight appear to be comparatively in-significant characteristics. His classification has been adopted by all subsequent workers at the family, and has always been found thoroughly satisfactory. Although it may seem in some ways unnecessary to establish so many genera, yet if some were eliminated the remainder would contain such an enormous number of species that it would be necessary to establish sub-genera and other minor divisions in order to provide for their thorough, systematic classification. The family is divided by Winnertz into three sections, according to the characters of the alar venation. All of these sections are numerously represented in New Zealand. The last sub-section of all, Myceto-philinæ, is divided into three classes, according to the number and position of the ocelli. It is this division that seems to me somewhat unsatisfactory so far as some of our New Zealand species are concerned. In one genus, for instance, which I have called Anomala, there are two species evidently closely allied, but differing in size, coloration, and other specific characters; in addition to merely specific distinction, however, the larger species has only two ocelli, and the other undoubtedly has three, and on account of this difference would, if Winnertz' classification were strictly adhered to, have to be placed not only in distinct genera, but even in different classes. As the two species are evidently so closely allied I have included them both in the same genus, and hope subse-quently to come across other species showing a transition, and therefore justifying my classification. The first section is divided into five sub-sections, of which all but the first have New Zealand representatives. The second sub-section, Myce-tobinæ, as far as I can ascertain, embraces but a few species, which are placed in three genera. I already possess four distinct and in some respects peculiar species belonging to this sub-section, and have found it necessary to establish three new genera for their reception. From the comparatively limited area over which I have searched compared to the vast extent of forest-land in this country, I feel confident that

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many more species, and probably genera, will yet be discovered belonging to the sub-section Mycetobinæ. Generally the Mycetophilidæ are excessively abundant in the colony, owing probably to the great extent of damp bush-covered country, and wherever search is made new species are discovered in comparative plenty.

The following is a résumé, taken from Skuse's “Monograph of Australian Mycetophilidæ,” of Winnertz' classification of the family. Only those genera are described that have so far been shown to possess representatives in this colony. Where genera of my own are mentioned their probable relation to other genera is indicated.

  • Section I.—Second longitudinal vein arising from the fourth longitudinal vein, at the middle of it, or more or less before the middle of it. Marginal cross-vein elongated, very obliquely situated. Inner marginal cell dilated. Anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein seldom missing (in Diadocidia only). Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein issuing from the base of the second longitudinal vein. Fifth longitudinal vein generally perfect. Ocelli on the front.

  • Section II.—Second longitudinal vein arising from the fourth longitudinal vein near the root of the wing. Marginal cross-vein not elongated. Inner marginal cell not dilated. Anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein always present, very small, situated very near the marginal cross-vein; consequently the marginal cell is very short. An-terior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein issuing from the fourth longitudinal vein beyond, at, or before the middle of it. Fifth longitudinal vein incomplete. Three ocelli on the front.

  • Section III.—Second longitudinal vein, marginal cross-vein, fifth longitudinal vein, and inner marginal cell as in the last section. Anterior branch of second longitudinal vein always missing; therefore only two submarginal cells. Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein arising from the fourth longitudinal vein beyond, at, or before the middle of it, rarely missing, more rarely still the anterior branch of the third longitudinal vein missing. Ocelli three, or only two—namely: (A) Three on the front; (B) three, one on the inner margin of each of the compound eyes, the third always very small, situated in the middle of the anterior margin of the front; (C) two, one on the inner margin of each of the compound eyes.

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Summary of the Genera at present known in New Zealand.

Section I.
Sub-section I. Diadocidinæ.
Sub-section II. Mycetobinæ.

Anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein large, ending in the costa, and forming with the second longitudinal a fork having its base at or beyond the marginal cross - vein. Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein and the third longitudinal vein issuing from the second longitudinal vein. Fifth longitudinal vein perfect. Inner marginal cell large. Surface of the wing hairy, or only microscopically pubescent.

Genus Nervijuncta, gen. nov.

Anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein and the second longitudinal vein forming a fork having its base beyond the marginal cross-vein; base of the fork lying just before the base of the third submarginal cell. Surface of the wing hairy. Third longitudinal vein arising from the second longitudinal vein beyond the apex of the inner marginal cell.

This genus is closely allied to Ditomyia, but differs from it in the third longitudinal vein arising beyond the apex of the inner marginal cell.

Genus Cyrtoneura, gen. nov.

Auxiliary vein long, complete. Anterior branch of second longitudinal very long. Fork formed by branches of second longitudinal with its apex lying behind the apex of the fork of the third longitudinal vein. Both branches of second longitudinal vein highly arcuated. Surface of wings slightly hairy.

This genus is very different from any previously described. It should probably occupy the first place in the sub-section.

Genus Huttonia, gen. nov.

Auxiliary vein absent. Fork formed by the branches of the second longitudinal vein, long. Anterior branch of third longitudinal represented by a rudiment extending a short distance into the disc from the posterior margin. Posterior branch of third longitudinal also disconnected, but longer than the anterior branch. Anterior branch of fourth longitudinal also disconnected, but longer than the others.

This genus is also very distinct from any previously described. It should occupy the last place in the sub-section.

Sub-section III. Bolitophilinæ.

Genus Bolitophila, Meig.

Anterior branch of second longitudinal vein short, lying almost vertically to the costa or to the first longitudinal vein (occasionally absent), and forming with the second longitu-dinal

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a fork with a long petiole. From the second longitudinal vein, bent angularly in the vicinity of the root, issue the anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal and the third longitudinal vein. Fifth longitudinal vein perfect. Inner marginal cell large, moderately dilated. Surface of wing microscopically pubescent. Antennæ very long, setiform.

This genus is represented by one species in New Zealand; none have been described from Australia. The New Zealand species has no anterior branch of second longitudinal and the antennæ are not long.

Sub-section IV. Macrocerinæ.

Genus Macrocera, Meig.

Anterior branch of second longitudinal vein small (occasionally absent), lying in an oblique position, running into the costa, and forming a fork with a long petiole with the strongly-curved second longitudinal. Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein arising from the second longitudinal vein near the base; the third longitudinal vein arising from the same vein a little anterior to the anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal. Fifth longitudinal vein perfect. Inner marginal cell small, moderately dilated. Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent, rarely more hairy. Antennæ very long, filiform.

This genus is almost cosmopolitan. It is represented by several species in New Zealand and Australia.

Sub-section V. Ceroplatinæ.

Anterior branch of second longitudinal vein small, joining the costa or first longitudinal, forming a fork with a long petiole. Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein arising nearer the base of the latter. Fifth longitudinal vein complete or incomplete. Inner marginal cell short, moderately dilated. Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent.

Genus Ceroplatus.

Antennæ broadly flattened. Palpi not incurved. Legs long and slender. Auxiliary vein reaching the costa before the origin of the third longitudinal vein.

This genus is represented by several species in New Zealand. In the present paper I describe three.

Genus Platyura.

Antennæ not broadly flattened, somewhat compressed, 2 + 14 jointed. Palpi incurved. Auxiliary vein usually united to the first longitudinal by the subcostal cross-vein. Anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein short, ending either in the first longitudinal or in the costal vein. Third submarginal cell with a very short petiole.

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Section II.
Sub-section VI. Sciophilinæ.

Genus Sciophila.

Tip of the costal vein uniting with the tip of the second longitudinal vein at the apex of the wing. Base of the second posterior cell nearer to the root of the wing than the base of the third submarginal cell. Auxiliary sometimes complete and terminating in the costa above the marginal cell, and sometimes incomplete. Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent. Intermediate coxæ of the male sometimes with an upward-bent spine.

I have only one species belonging to this genus, and of that I have grave doubts, but I place it here until I can obtain better specimens.

Genus Parvicellula, nov. gen.

Costal vein extending considerably beyond the apex of the second longitudinal vein, but not reaching the apex of the wing. Auxiliary vein rather stout, almost one-third the length of the wing. Subcostal cross-vein situated near the apex of the inner marginal cell. Petiole of second longitudinal vein very short. Fourth longitudinal vein unbranched.

I have only one species of this genus. It is rather common at Lincoln towards the end of the summer.

Genus Tetragoneura, Winn.

Costal vein extending far beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein, but not as far as the apex of the wing. Auxiliary vein small, bent posteriorly, ending in the first longitudinal vein far before the marginal cell, or shortened to a tooth. The marginal cell far beyond the middle of the first longitudinal vein. Inner marginal cell much lengthened. Fork of the third longitudinal vein with a moderately long petiole. Base of the second posterior cell lying before the base of the third submarginal cell. Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent.

I have only one species of this genus.

Section III.
Sub-section VII. Mycetophilinæ.

A. Three ocelli on the front.

Genus Aneura, gen. nov.

Costal vein reaching the apex of the wing. Auxiliary vein more than one-third the length of the wing. Subcostal cross-vein absent. Second longitudinal vein ending in the costa some distance before its apex. Fourth longitudinal vein forked.

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I have only one species of this genus. It is distinguished from nearly all the other genera of this sub-section by the absence of the subcostal cross-vein.

Genus Euryceras, nov. gen.

Costal vein extending beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein, but not reaching the apex of the wing. Auxiliary vein ending in the costa at about one-third the length of the wing; subcostal cross-vein situated about half-way along it. Basal portion of the second longitudinal vein and the marginal cross-vein equally long. Inner marginal cell short. Third longitudinal complete. Surface of the wing distinctly hairy. Antennæ compressed.

I have only one species of this genus.

Genus Anomala, nov. gen.

Second longitudinal joining costa not far before the apex of the wing. Costa nearly reaching apex of wing. Subcostal cross-vein missing. Inner marginal cell somewhat lengthened, but its apex lies some distance before base of second sub-marginal cell. Fork of third longitudinal vein short, its. petiole rather long. Base of the second posterior cell situated before the origin of third longitudinal vein.

This genus includes two species, both of which are common. It is closely allied to Leia, Ateleia, and Cælosia.

Genus Aphelomera, Sk.

Costal vein extending far beyond the tip of the second longïtudinal vein, but stopping before the apex of the wing. Auxiliary vein joining the costa a short distance before the marginal cross-vein; no subcostal cross-vein. Marginal cross-vein situated very much before the middle of the first longitudinal vein. Third longitudinal vein detached from the second longitudinal, starting in the wing-disk beyond the marginal cross-vein; no anterior branch. Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein quite detached, appearing as a short piece of a vein joining the margin. Fifth longitudinal vein very rudimentary. Wing microscopically pubescent. Abdomen with six segments.

I have only one species belonging to this Australian genus.

Genus Cycloneura, nov. gen.

Auxiliary vein represented by a rudiment. First longitudinal vein ending at about half the distance along the wing. Second longitudinal vein detached at the base, ending some distance before the apex of the wing, and before the end of the costa. Third longitudinal vein detached at the base, ending a little beyond the apex of the wing; posterior branch missing. Fourth longitudinal vein detached at the base.

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Fifth longitudinal vein complete, joined beyond half its length by a vein probably corresponding to the posterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein.

I have only one species of this genus.

Genus Paradoxa, nov. gen.

Auxiliary vein represented by a rudiment. Costa ending some distance before apex of the wing. First longitudinal vein ending in the costa about half-way along the wing. Second longitudinal ending in the costa some distance before its end. Third longitudinal vein with rather short petiole and long fork; posterior branch slightly detached at its base. Fourth longitudinal not forked. Fifth longitudinal as in Cycloneura.

I have only one species of this genus.

B. Three ocelli, one on the inner border of each of the compound eyes, the third one situated in the middle of the anterior border of the front.

Subcostal cross-vein missing. Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent. Abdomen of the male with six segments.

Genus Zygomyia, Winn.

Tips of the costal and second longitudinal veins uniting far before the apex of the wing. Auxiliary vein incomplete, bent anteriorly, gradually disappearing or only forming a tooth. Apex of the inner marginal cell not situated beyond the base of the second submarginal cell. Petiole of the fork of the third longitudinal very short. Anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein wanting. Fifth longitudinal vein incomplete. Sixth longitudinal vein in most cases longer.

I have two species belonging to this genus.

C. Two ocelli, one on the inner border of each of the compound eyes.

Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent. Costal vein not extending beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein. Subcostal cross-vein missing.

Genus Mycetophila, Meig.

Auxiliary vein incomplete, bent anteriorly. Apex of the inner marginal cell lying over the base of the second sub-marginal cell. Branches of the fourth longitudinal fork inclined towards one another at their tips. Fork of the third longitudinal vein with a very short petiole, or almost sessile. Base of the second posterior cell before, under, or a little beyond the base of the second submarginal cell. Fifth longitudinal vein incomplete, broken off before the base of the second posterior cell, or disappearing. Abdomen of the male with six segments.

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Genus Brachydicrama, Sk.

Auxiliary vein incomplete, very short, bent posteriorly. Apex of the inner marginal cell lying over the base of the second submarginal cell Fork of the third longitudinal vein with a very short petiole. Second posterior cell small, its base situated far beyond the base of the second submarginal cell. Branches of the fourth longitudinal fork divergent. Fifth longitudinal incomplete, long, ending just before the base of the second posterior cell. Sixth longitudinal vein longer. Abdomen of the male with six segments.

Genus Brevicornu, nov. gen.

This genus is separated from Mycetophila by the character of the antennæ.

Characters of the Family.

The larvæ of the Mycetophilidæ are generally cylindrical, attenuated towards both extremities, soft, fleshy, smooth or a little wrinkled, moist, often viscous, more or less translu-cent, with twelve more or less clearly determinable segments in addition to the head. Stigmata placed—one pair on the first segment of the thoracic region, and one pair on each of the abdominal segments from the first to the seventh inclusive. Head horny. Short mandibles and palpi occasionally present, and also rudimentary antennæ. The larvæ differ very much in appearance and form, not only in the different genera, but also in different species of the same genera.

The only observations that have hitherto been published are some notes by Mr. G. V. Hudson on the larva of Bolitophila luminosa (Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xxiii., p. 47). This larva is abundant in all damp and dark bush-gullies in many parts of the colony. It lives suspended in a glutinous web, formed of material which is probably secreted by the salivary glands, though it seems to cover the whole surface of the body. It is whitish and transparent, about ¾in. in length, with short rudimentary antennæ. It emits a brilliant phosphorescent light, and hence has obtained the popular name of the “New Zealand glow-worm.” I have not been able to ascertain what the larva feeds on, but probably on small mould and other fungi that abound in the localities where the larvæ are found. The only other species whose larvæ are known to me is Ceroplatus dendyi. Professor Dendy found numerous specimens under logs in beech-forest on Mount Alford. One of the larvæ that he gave me pupated in due time, and the imago escaped from the pupa-skin in February; one other pupated, but did not hatch. The larvæ are about lin. or 1 ½in. length; in general shape like those of Bolitophila luminosa, but more cylindrical, and marked with rings of ferruginous brown.

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I have seen similar larvæ in other localities, but have been unable to keep them. Like B. luminosa, the Ceroplatus larva forms a glutinous web in crannies of the log under which it lives, and in this web it habitually lives. It seems unable to-crawl on any hard surface, but remains suspended in its web, and when it moves it enlarges the web first. These larvæ are not luminous, in this respect differing from the larvæ of C. mastersi, Sk. The exact function of the glutinous web I can do no more than guess at. It may, as mentioned above, assist in locomotion; it may enable the suspended larva to keep out of the reach of enemies such as planarian worms or predaceous insects. A diagram of the digestive organs of a Myceto-philid in Theobald's “British Flies” shows extremely large-salivary glands, and he remarks that these glands usually extend the whole length of the body; the glutinous material is probably secreted by them. The pupa of both B. luminosa and C. dendyi is suspended in the web formed by the larva.

About eight hundred species of Mycetophilidæ are at present known. Many of the genera appear to be almost cosmopolitan. All the largest genera of Europe are represented in New Zealand. Judging from the very varied types I have already collected, I should think that New Zealand will prove to be far richer in species than Australia, for, though the number of species described by Skuse in all probability represent but a small proportion of the total number, those described are confined to comparatively few of the subsections.

External Structure.

The head is narrower than the thorax, round or oblong or flattened hemispherical on the fore part, situated deep in the thorax. Front of both sexes broad. Eyes round or oval, frequently emarginate on the inner side or reniform, set with short hair. Ocelli three, or only two: in the former case they are either disposed in a triangle, in a bent or sometimes a straight line on the front, or two are situated one on the border of each of the compound eyes, and the third, placed in the middle of the anterior border of the front; in the other case, always at the inner border of each of the compound eyes. Proboσcis short, retired, rarely elongate or beak shaped. Palpi three- or four-jointed, prominent, generally incurved, the first joint always very small. Antennæ generally arcuated, straight, or diverging sideways, 2 + 10 to 2 + 15 jointed; the joints of the scapus distinctly set off; flagellar joints pubescent, sometimes verticillate - setose. Thorax ovate, more or less arched. Prothorax with close short pubescence, sometimes with longer hair, perhaps mixed

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with setiferous hair. Metathorax highly arched or perpendicular. Scutellum generally small, semicircular, sometimes large, rounded, triangular, generally setiferous; no transverse suture. Abdomen six- or seven - segmented, rarely eight-segmented, cylindrical or compressed at the sides, narrower at the base. Male with a large or small anal joint holding forceps; female with an ovipositor with two terminal lamellæ; the hair, except in a few cases, short and lying close. Legs sometimes long and slender, sometimes short and robust. Coxæ very strong and elongated. Femora broadly flattened, usually strong. Tibiæ spurred, and with lateral spines, rarely without the latter; fore ones with a spur and a very short spine, two hind ones with two spurs and one to four ranges of lateral spines on the outside, and generally with one range on the inner side; rarely all the tibiæ unarmed. Tarsi long and slender, or short and strong; metatarsus frequently prickly. Wings ovate, longer or shorter than the abdomen, with a broad, rounded, more or less cuneiform base. Five or six longitudinal veins, the fifth generally, the sixth always, rudimentary; three cross-veins, of which the humeral and submarginal are always present. Third and fourth longitudinal veins almost always, and the second longitudinal sometimes, forked. No discoidal cell. The first and fourth longitudinal veins are always complete, and form the most important veins issuing from the root of the wing. The costal vein either extends quite to the apex of the wing or stops rather short. The auxiliary vein is often incomplete. Second longitudinal vein issues from the fourth longitudinal vein near its middle or close to its base—in the former case it is broken in an angle, in the latter case it arises obliquely; it joins the costa at or before the apex of the wing. The anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein issues rarely near the root of the second longitudinal vein. When the second longitudinal vein issues from the middle of the fourth longitudinal vein it is at the base coalescent with the anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein, and the third longitudinal vein has its origin a little below or above the marginal cross-vein, and its fork lies higher up in the wing-disc. In this arrangement the second longitudinal vein is rarely simple, but usually sends out an anterior branch, which runs into the costa or into the first longitudinal vein; this branch may be short or long. When the second longitudinal vein issues from the base of the first longitudinal vein the third longitudinal vein issues from the angle before the marginal cross-vein. Rarely the anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein is missing, still more rarely the anterior branch of the third longitudinal vein; infrequently one of these branches is or both are detached at the base. Fifth longi-

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tudinal generally only rudimentary. Between the fourth and fifth longitudinals there is generally a longitudinal fold appearing like a vein under and close to the fourth longitudinal vein. Sixth longitudinal vein rudimentary or entirely missing.

When the marginal cell is divided by an anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein the cell thus formed is regarded as the first submarginal cell; otherwise the cell between the second and third longitudinals is the first submarginal cell. In some genera the cells are reduced to one submarginal and one posterior cell.

Summary of Genera Described in this Paper.
Sub-section Mycetobinæ.

Cyrtoneura, gen. nov.

Nervijuncta, gen. nov.

Huttonia, gen. nov.

Sub-section Bolitophilinæ.

Bolitophila, Europe and America.

Sub-section Macrocerinæ.

Macrocera, Europe, America, and Australia.

Sub-section Ceroplatinæ.

Ceroplatus, Europe, America, and Australia.

Platyura, Europe, America, and Australia.

Sub-section Sciophilinæ.

Sciophila, Europe, America, and Australia.

Parvicellula, gen. nov

Tetragoneura, Europe and America.

Sub-section Mycetophilinæ.

Aneura, gen. nov.

Euryceras, gen. nov.

Anomala, gen. nov.

Paradoxa, gen. nov.

Cycloneura, gen. nov.

Aphelomera, Australia.

Zygomyia, Europe.

Brachydicrania, Australia.

Mycetophila, Australia, Europe, and America.

Brevicornu, gen. nov.

Cyrtoneura, gen. nov.

Head oblong, broader than long, front not flattened. Eyes large, oval, emarginate, meeting above the antennæ. Ocelli three, large, the central one being situated in front of the

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others. Epistome setose. Proboscis prominent, rather longer than the palpi. Palpi four-jointed; first joint short, about as broad as it is long; second joint long and greatly swollen, broadest in the middle; third joint rather shorter, cylindrical, much narrower than the first two joints; fourth joint slender, cylindrical, longer than any of the others. Antennæ shorter than the thorax, 2 + 15 jointed; first joint of scapus cupuliform, twice as long and twice as broad as the second, which is also cupuliform; joints of flagellum cylindrical, length about three times the breadth, covered with a dense pubescence, central portion of each joint with stout setæ. Thorax strongly arched, its surface covered with a thin pubescence; lateral margins, with stout setæ. Scutellum small, fringed with long setæ. Metathorax acclivous. Abdomen rather slender, broadened rather posteriorly, slightly pubescent, seven-segmented. Forceps of male large, almost flabelliform, not chelate, covered with setæ. Legs long and slender; coxæ stouter than the femora, setiferous at the tip and on the outer surface; femora very slender, slightly pubescent; tibiæ long and slender, in fore-leg shorter than tarsus, in intermediate leg about as long as tarsus, and in posterior leg nearly twice the length of tarsus, fore and intermediate tibiæ with practically no spines, but posterior tibiæ with two ranges; spurs rather short; tarsi pubescent, with a few small prickles. Wings about as long as abdomen, rather scaly near posterior margin, and hairy near the apex, remarkably rounded at the apical end, and cuneiformly narrowed at the base. Auxiliary vein rather more than one-third the length of the wing, disappearing just before reaching the margin; first longitudinal more than two-thirds the length of the wing; inner marginal cell one-third the length of the wing; petiole of second longitudinal less than the length from apex of inner marginal cell to the commencement of the third longitudinal; anterior branch of second longitudinal long, arcuated, running very gradually into costa; posterior branch very strongly arcuated, joining costa almost at the apex; costa slightly extended beyond point of junction; fork of third longitudinal slightly beyond fork of second; fourth longitudinal only slightly arcuated; fifth longitudinal more strongly arcuated, reaching margin some distance beyond apex of inner marginal cell; sixth longitudinal slender, long, but incomplete.

I have at present only received a specimen of one species belonging to this genus.

Cyrtoneura hudsoni, sp. nov. Plate X., fig. 4; Plate XIII., figs. 1, 2.

Length of antennæ, 0.179; size of body, 0.874 × 0.062; expanse of wing, 0.752 × 0.172.

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Antennæ 2 + 15 jointed; first joint of scapus yellow, slightly longer than broad, cyathiform; second joint orange, short, cylindrical, length about equal to its diameter; both joints of scapus almost naked; all joints of flagellum black, but the first has a ring of light-yellow at its lowest end; length and diameter of joints decreasing slightly from below upwards; all the joints are covered with a black pubescence, and have a few stiff black hairs near the middle. Proboscis moderately long, grey above but black below. Palpi fourjointed; first joint grey, narrow, and short; second joint orange, long, and greatly swollen, clothed with yellow and black hairs; third moderately short and narrow, dark-brown, with a black pubescence; fourth about twice the length of the third, covered with black pubescence. Eyes emarginate, separated by a very narrow line just above the antennæ. Ocelli three, two lateral large, central one moderate; situated almost in a line. Vertex narrow. Thorox dark-brown, with a narrow yellow line down the centre, and two broad lateral lines meeting in a semicircle in front, and tapering towards one another posteriorly; another longitudinal lateral stripe just above the wing; the yellow is bordered with dark-brown, which becomes lighter away from the yellow stripes; surface covered with small black hairs, and a row of strong hairs is situated on each lateral margin. Scutellum and metathorax dark-brown. Epimera mottled dark-brown and light-yellow. Halteres with a slender pedicel, terminating in an orange-coloured club, dark at the base, and covered with a short pubescence. Abdomen of seven segments, dark-brown on the median line, but light-yellow on each side. Forceps of the male orange in colour. Legs long and slender; coxæ stout, light-yellow in colour, but shaded with dark-brown; femora dark-yellow, the two posterior pairs being dark in the centre; tibiæ brown, long and slender, clothed with short black hairs; the anterior tibiae have a single spine, the posterior have two short spines each; short stiff hairs at intervals; tarsi dark-brown, clothed with black hairs of two siaes. Wings very broad at apex, but cuneiformly narrowed at the base, clothed with scattered scales, especially near the inner margin, and with hairs near the apex. Auxiliary vein rudimentary; first longitudinal ending in costa at about five-sixths the length of the wing; second and third longitudinals with a common petiole; anterior branch of second longitudinal very long, bending slightly downwards at the tip; posterior branch strongly bent, ending just before the end of the costa, near the apex of the wing; fork of the third longitudinal nearer the apex of the wing than that of the second; both branches feebly developed, and ending close behind the apex of the wing; both branches of fourth longitudinal well developed;

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fifth longitudinal rudimentary. Large patch of brown at the apex, and another patch nearer the base.

This very fine and remarkable species has, so far, only been taken near Wellington. Mr. Hudson has kindly lent me a specimen for drawing up this description. I have no hesitation in creating a new genus for its reception.

Nervijunota, gen. nov.

Head nearly round, front not flattened. Eyes large, emarginate, almost meeting just in front of the ocelli. Ocelli three, large, situated almost in a line on the front. Palpi four-jointed, short-first joint small; second longer and considerably swollen, the broadest part being in the middle; third joint rather shorter than the second, cylindrical, and rather narrow; fourth joint longest, very slender. Antennæ shorter than the thorax; first joint of scapus short and broad, cupuliform; second joint twice the length of the first and not so broad, almost cylindrical; flagellum slender, cylindrical, 2 + 15 jointed, length of joints about three times their breadth, joints decieasing in diameter towards the apex of the antenna, pubescent, several stout setæ situated near the centre of each joint. Thorax highly arched, pubescent, with strong setæ on the lateral margins. Scutellum slim, circular, bordered with setæ on posterior margin. Metathorax acclivous. Abdomen rather flattened, seven-jointed, slender in front but becoming broad posteriorly, Forceps of male twojointed, first joint almost spherical, crateriform at the apex, densely hairy; second joint double the length of the first, cylindrical, hairy. Legs slender; coxæ much stouter than the femora, almost naked; femora about twice the length of the coxæ pubescent; tibiæ slender, in fore-leg rather more than half the length of the tarsus, in intermediate leg very slightly longer than tarsus, in posterior leg rather longer than tarsus and with two rows of few but rather long and-slender spines; spurs very distinct; metatarsus long, that of intermediate and posterior legs with a few minute prickles. Wings larger than the abdomen, rounded at the apex and cunetfortnly narrowed at the base, pubescent on the surface. Auxiliary vein a short tooth not joining the costa nor the first longitudinal; first longitudinal joining the margin at about twothirds the length of the wing; inner marginal cell about onethird of the length of the wing; third longitudinal arising from the second beyond the apex of inner marginal cell; anterior branch of second longitudinal slightly arcuated, joining margin some distance in front of first longitudinal; posterior branch of second longitudinal joining the tip of costa almost at the apex of the wing; fork of third longitudinal situated just beyond the fork of the second, branches not

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divergent; fourth longitudinal almost straight; fifth longitudinal arcuated; sixth incomplete, not reaching to apex of inner marginal cell, situated some distance from fifth longitudinal.

This genus is evidently closely allied to Ditomyia, but differs from it in the point of origin of the third longitudinal vein.

Nervijuncta nigrescens, sp. nov. Plate VIII., fig. 1.

Length of antennæ 0.055; dimensions of body, 0.170 × 0.030; expanse of wing, 0.155 × 0.057.

Antennæ 2 + 15 jointed; first joint of scapus short, cyathiform, fuscous; second more than twice the length of the first, fuscous, but with a broad cinereous border on the upper end; all joints of flagellum black, slightly decreasing in length and diameter from the base upward; each joint with several small scattered hairs, and a zone of stiff hairs about the middle point. Palpi four-jointed-first joint small, nearly round; second joint long and rather broad, black, with long black hairs at its anterior end; third joint black, more slender, nearly naked; last joint cylindrical, brown, with a few stout black hairs at its anterior end. Eyes large, emarginate. Ocelli three middle smaller than the two lateral, situated nearly in a row. Eyes almost contiguous, behind the antennæ. Vertex dark-brown, densely pubescent. Anterior portion and sides of thorax bright-golden, covered with golden hairs; central portion of thorax and scutellum dark-brown, the former ornamented with a few long stiff black hairs. Metathorax brown, but lighter than the mesothorax. Lower portions of epimera almost black. Abdomen very narrow anteriorly, but broadening posteriorly, consisting of seven segments; anterior portion of each segment dark-brown; posterior margin has a narrow band, smoky-grey in colour; all segments covered with moderately-long black hairs. Legs rather long and thin; anterior coxæ light-yellow, posterior coxæ becoming brown at the tips; femora dark-brown, long and narrow, covered with short stout black hairs; anterior tibia slightly longer than the femur, bearing one short spine at its end; posterior tibia much longer, ornamented with two spines, and bearing scattered short stiff bristles; all tibiæ and tarsi nearly black; first joint of tarsus very long, others decreasing gradually in size, thickly clothed with very short black hairs. Wings nearly entirely brown, surface clothed with scattered black slender hairs. Auxiliary vein rudimentary; first longitudinal nearly three-quarters the length of the wing; second and third longitudinals with a common but very short petiole arising from the apex of the inner marginal cell; petiole of second

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longitudinal about the same length as its anterior branch; posterior branch ends in the termination of the costa just before the apex of the wing; third longitudinal very slender, apex of its fork slightly nearer the apex of the wing than apex of fork of second longitudinal; inner marginal cell apparently open between second and fourth longitudinals; both branches of fourth longitudinal strong, ending in the margin; fifth longitudinal not complete, and very thin. Forceps of male dark at base, but yellow towards their apex. Genital appendages of female dark-orange.

Huttonia, gen. nov.

Head oval, almost round. Eyes emarginate, with a narrow line of division between them above the bases of the antennæ. Palpi moderately long, four-jointed; first joint very short, almost orbicular; second rather long and swollen, length about twice the breadth; third joint about as long as the second, narrow and cylindrical; third joint slender, rather longer than the others. Front short. Ocelli three, nearly in a straight line, the central one rather smaller than the others. Antennæ about as long as the thorax, 2 + 16 jointed; joints of scapus cupuliform, about as long as broad, slightly setose; flagellum rather long, joints about twice as long as broad, pubescent, a few setæ situated near the middle point of each joint, terminal joint very small and nipple - like. Thorax highly arched, pubescent, with setæ on the lateral margins. Scutellum small, semicircular, with setæ on the hind margin. Metathorax acclivous. Abdomen slightly flattened, seven - segmented, narrow in front but becoming broadened posteriorly. Forceps of the male large, almost flabelliform, pubescent. Legs long and slender; coxæ stout, setose on the outer edge and on the apex; femora about twice as long as the coxæ, slightly compressed, pubescent; tibiae long and slender, longer than the tarsi in the intermediate and posterior legs, and covered with two ranges of short and rather slender spines; spurs unequal, long; tarsi with small prickles on the under-surface. Wings rather narrow, cuneiform at the base and gracefully rounded at the apex, surface pubescent. Auxiliary vein entirely absent; first longitudinal short, running into the costa about half-way along the wing; inner marginal cell about one-third the length of the wing; anterior branch of second longitudinal running into the costa about two-thirds along the wing, posterior branch strongly arcuated, joining the tip of the costa at the apex; anterior branch of third longitudiual a mere rudiment extending a very little distance into the disc of the wing, posterior branch commencing in the disc a little beyond the fork of the second longitudinal; fourth longitudinal not quite joining the margin, disappears just before reaching the inner

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marginal cell; fifth longitudinal strong, slightly arcuated; sixth longitudinal rudimentary, represented by a straight line of black hairs.

This genus is in some degree a connecting-link between the foregoing genera. I have not got sufficient material to ascertain its exact position.

Huttonia tridens. Plate VIII. fig. 2.

Platyura tridens, Hutton (Cat. N.Z. Diptera).

Length of antennæ, 0.078; size of body, 0.0245 × 0.038; expanse of wing, 0.225 × 0.071.

Antennæ 2 + 16 jointed; joints of scapus thick and cyathiform, light-yellow, fringed with black hairs; joints of flagellum compressed, oval in outline, the first nine joints yellow at the base, the centre is coloured brown, and the apical portion again is yellow; there is no sharp line of demarcation between the yellow and brown bands. Palpi yellow; first joint dark - yellow long and thick, covered with short black hairs; second rather shorter than the first and slender, with very few black hairs; third and fourth same thickness as the second but much shorter, the latter being rather pointed; a few black hairs on third and fourth joints. Eyes emarginate, almost meeting above the bases of the antennæ. Front black round the ocelli, shading to black posteriorly. Collare light-yellow. Anterior portion of the thorax light-yellow, but bordered with a narrow streak of brown; three longitudinal bands blending together anteriorly behind the yellow band; central longitudinal band much shorter than the lateral ones, not extending more than half-way down the thorax; whole thorax covered with short black hairs. Epimera light-yellow above, but black just above insertion of the coxa. A very few long stout black hairs on the lateral and posterior margins of the mesothorax. Scutellum smoky-brown, fringed with six very long black hairs. Metathorax and pleuræ dark-brown. Halteres with rather a slender pedicel, bearing a densely cinereous club. Abdomen dark-brown, the posterior half of each segment yellow; a thin covering of black hairs on all the segments. Forceps of male light-yellow, ending in a black claw, and covered with short black hairs. Legs rather long; coxæ yellow, with, a few black hairs on the outer side; femora darker, about twice the length of the coxæ; tibiæ darker, with short black hairs and longer spines; spurs moderately long, black; tarsi rather short, covered with short black hairs and a few spines; ground-colour dark-yellow. Wings slightly longer than the abdomen, with a slight dusky tinge, covered rather sparingly with black hairs. Veins dark-brown. A dark patch on the anterior branch of second longitudinal, extending to posterior

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branch and to costa; another fainter patch about half-way between this and the apex, reaching from second longitudinal to costa; other fainter patches on the two branches of the third longitudinal.

I have only one specimen of this fine insect. It is the same specimen as that from which Captain Hutton's description of Platyura tridens was drawn. It was taken at Wellington. The very exceptional features in its neuration compel the creation of a new genus for its reception.

Genus Macrocera, Meig.

Head broad, oval, flattened on the fore part. Eyes oval, a little emarginate on the upper side above. Ocelli three, of unequal size, in a triangle on the front, the foremost one smaller. Palpi four-jointed, cylindrical; the first joint small, the following ones of equal length, or the fourth somewhat lengthened. Antennæ 2 + 14 jointed, very long, frequently much longer than the body, projecting forward, arcuated; the first joint of the scapus spheroidal, the second more cupuliform; the first flagellar joint cylindrical, the upper ones setiform, pubescent, a little setiferous on the under side, the last two joints densely covered with hair and setæ. Thorax oval, highly arched. Scutellum small, almost semicircular. Metathorax highly arched. Abdomen flattened, almost cylindrical in the female, broadest in the middle, with seven segments in both sexes. Legs slender, long, the fore ones short; tibiæspurred, the spurs small, lateral spines wanting. Wings hairy, or only microscopically pubescent, large, broad, with a very broad base; usually rather longer than the abdomen, half open in repose. Auxiliary vein complete, terminating in the costa, and united to the first longitudinal vein by the subcostal cross-vein; costal vein extending far beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein, and almost reaching the apex of the wing; second longitudinal vein very much arched, forming a long-stalked fork, the anterior branch, always very short, lying in a very oblique position, terminating in the costa. fifth longitudinal vein more or less undulated.

This genus is evidently well represented in New Zealand, as I already possess specimens of four distinct species. One species, M. antennatis, is very fine, possessing antennæ three times as long as its body. Another species, M. scoparia, which, so far as I have been able to judge, is extremely common throughout the colony, is remarkable owing to the fact that the anterior fork of the second longitudinal vein is entirely wanting. This peculiarity, Mr. Skuse writes me, is not unknown in the Macrocera, but is apparently rare. I am unable to quote any other species showing the same peculiarity.

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A. Wings microscopically haired

a. Wings unspotted.

Macrocera montana, sp. nov. Plate VIII., fig. 3.

Length of antennæ, 0.247; size of body, 0.215X0.038; expanse of wing, 0.161 × 0.084

Antennæ considerably longer than the body; joints of scapus short, dark-brown; lower joints of flagellum darkyellow with black tips, clothed with scattered black hairs; last six or seven joints dark-brown to black, clothed with much longer hairs. Front brown. Thorax bright - yellow, slightly darker on the median line; on each side of it there is a line of stiff black hairs which taper towards one another, but do not coalesce; lateral margins of thorax bordered with long stiff black hairs. Pleuræ black. Scutellum fringed with a border of long stiff black hairs. Metathorax black with yellow sides. Abdomen very slender, compressed; each segment with anterior portion yellowish - brown, becoming dark - brown posteriorly, clothed with long scattered black hairs. Coxæ dull-yellow, black towards the tips; femora light-yellow, covered with short black hairs; tarsi and tibiæ brown, covered with dense black hairs. Wings shorter than the body, dull-yellow, with a microscopic pubescence. Veins umber-brown, with a row of black hairs on each; auxiliary vein joining the costa beyond the origin of the cross-vein; tip of first longitudinal vein not dilated; costal vein reaching the apex of the wing; inner marginal cell with a very pointed apex.

I have only one specimen of this insect, which was taken in a shady, damp gully on the Rimutaka Mountains, at an elevation of about 2,000 ft. It is rather closely allied to M. delicata, Skuse, of New South Wales.

Macrocera howletti, sp. nov.

Length of antennæ, 0.242; size of body, 0.219 × 0.023; expanse of wing, 0.165 × 0.074.

Antennæ longer than the body; joints of the scapus yellow, very short; basal joint of flagellum dark - brown, densely clothed with short black hairs; all other joints much lighter in colour, central joints lightest; last five joints covered with moderately-long bristly hairs. Ocelli situated in a triangular black spot, but all the rest of the head is lightor orange-yellow. Thorax variously marked with yellowish-brown and golden-yellow marks; a very faint indication of the longitudinal lines of black hairs noticeable in the last species; lateral margins bordered with long black hairs. Scutellum light yellow, bordered with long black hairs. Pleuræ and metathorax orange-yellow. Halteres with pedicel

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almost white at the base, becoming cinereous towards the top; club much compressed, cinereous, thinly clothed: with black hairs. Abdomen narrow, anterior part of each segment light-yellow, darkening to brown in the posterior portion; scattered stiff black hairs on all the segments. Coxæ light-yellow, with scattered black hairs; femora slender, with short black hairs; tibiæ and tarsi straw-coloured, densely clothed with stout but short black hairs. Wings smoky. Auxiliary vein not complete; transverse veins bounding inner marginal cell very slender; apex of first longitudinal not dilated. Apex of wing rounded. All veins straw-colour, with a single row of black hairs.

I have only one specimen, taken in the Ruahine Mountains, in January. This is very closly allied to the last species, but is separated from it by the colour of the antennas and thorax, rounded tip to the wing, and very feeble development of the basal portions of the veins, and the incomplete auxiliary vein. If intermediate forms are subsequently discovered this may have to be linked with the last species.

B. Wings distinctly haired.

a. Wings unspotted.

b. Wings spotted.

Macrocera antennatis, sp. nov.

Length of antennæ, 0.660; size of body, 0.218 × 0.04; expanse of wing, 0.260 × 0.088.

Antenæ three times the length of the body; joints of scapus orange - coloured, very short and thick; joints of flagellum all dark - brown, thickly clothed with short black hairs; joints becoming darker towards the apex of the antennæ, arid the hairs longer and more numerous. Ocelli situated very close together on a small raised black triangular area. Crown cinereous, becoming orange posteriorly. Thorax dark-orange, marked variously with light-yellow; one median and two lateral lines of short black hairs; black hairs sparingly scattered over the thorax. Scutellum, metathorax, and pleuræ all dark-orange. Halteres with stout pedicel bearing oval-shaped cinereous club, clothed witb black hairs. Abdomen depressed; first segment light-yellow; anterior portion of subsequent segments black, posterior portion yellow; last two segments black. Forceps of male orange. Abdomen sparingly clothed with long black hairs. Legs long and slender; coxæ short and stout, with a few stout black hairs; femora long and slender, clothed, like the tibiæ and tarsi, with numerous black hairs. Wings with faint tawny tinge; one small black patch at the apex, another at the junction of the second and third longitudinal veins, proceeding upwards

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and towards the apex; apical half of wing thinly clothed with short black hairs. Auxiliary, vein reaching the margin of the wing above the apex of the inner marginal cell; apex of first longitudinal considerably dilated; anterior branch of second longitudinal very short; fifth longitudinal complete, reaching the margin close to the fourth longitudinal.

I have only one male specimen of this very fine and distinct species. It was taken on the Ruahine Mountains, in January.

Macrocera scoparia, sp. nov. Plate IX., fig. 1.

Length of antennæ, 0.220; size of body, 0.121 × 0.032 expanse of wing, 0.165 × 0.066.

Antennæ about twice the length of the body; joints of scapus light-orange, very short and robust; flagellar joints long and slender; basal joints light-brown, but apical joints nearly black, all clothed with stout black hairs. Palpi short, black. Vertex black. Thorax golden-yellow; a broad brown stripe commences just behind the collare and extends down the centre of the thorax nearly to the scutellum; a lateral dark-brown stripe on each side, but not extending far beyond the point of insertion of the wings. Seutellum dark-brown. Metathorax dark-brown with yellow sides. Pleuræ dark-brown. Halteres smoky - white; club elongated, oval in shape, covered with short black hairs; first and third and sometimes other segments light- or dark-yellow; other segments black. Forceps of male yellow. Abdomen clothed with rather long black hairs. Legs pale - yellow, becoming darker towards the tarsus, covered all over with short black hairs; spurs of tibiæ short, dark-yellow; first joint of tarsus long, others very short. Wings longer than the body, almost hyaline, but shaded at the apex and at the petiole of the second longitudinal; covered all over with short black hairs. Auxiliary vein ending just before apex of inner marginal cell; apex of first longitudinal slightly dilated; second longitudinal without anterior branch; posterior branch ending some distance before the apex; costal vein ending a little before the apex.

This species is extremely common apparently throughout the colony. It may very commonly be taken on windows during all the summer months. It is easily distinguished from all other Macrocerce with which I am acquainted by the fact that the second longitudinal has no anterior branch.

Genus Bolitophila, Hoffm.

Head small, roundish, fore part flattened. Eyes broadly oval, a little emarginate on the upper side above. Ocelli three, arranged on a somewhat bent line on the front. Palpi

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prominent, incurved, cylindrical, four-jointed; first joint very small, the following of about equal length; the fourth the longest. Antennæ setaceous, pubescent, in the male as long as, in the female shorter than, the body; 2 + 15 jointed; the joints of the scapus cyathiform; the flagellar joints cylindrical, the terminal one very small, almost gemmiform. Thorax small, oval, highly arched. Scutellum small, roundish. Metathorax acclivous. Halteres large. Abdomen very long and slender; in the male linear, subcylindrical, eight-segmented without the anal joint; in the female nine-segmented, the last segment small. Legs long and slender; tibiæ with very short weak spurs, the fore tibiæ with a single range of spines on the inner side, and the hind pair with one range on the inner and two ranges of shorter and weaker spines on the outer side. Wings large, microscopically pubescent, as long as or somewhat longer than the abdomen, with obtusely cuneiformly narrowed base; incumbent in repose. Costal vein uniting with the tip of the third longitudinal at or somewhat beyond the apex of the wing; auxiliary vein complete, joining the costa, united to the first longitudinal by the subcostal cross-vein; third longitudinal vein with an anterior branch (which is sometimes wanting), the branch short, almost vertical, ending in the tip of the first longitudinal vein or in the costa; small cross-vein, short, situated almost midway between the origin of the third longitudinal vein and the inner end of the second posterior cell; fourth longitudinal vein starting from the base of the fifth longitudinal vein; fork of the fifth longitudinal vein united at its base to the fourth longitudinal vein by a small cross-vein; sixth longitudinal vein perfect.

The only New Zealand species of this genus that I have seen is B. luminosa, (Sk.). The only specimens of this fly, so far as I know, were reared from larvæ by Mr. G. V. Hudson, of Wellington. The larvæ are abundant throughout the colony in dark, damp gullies, but whether they all belong to the same species is not so far determined. Though the larvæ are abundant the fly seems scarce, as I have never taken any; but this may be because the insect is a night-flier. The larva and metamorphosis of the insect are fully described by Mr. G. V. Hudson (Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xxiii., pp. 43–49, pl. viii.).

Bolitophila luminosa, Skuse (Trans. N.Z. Inst., vol. xxiii., p. 47). Plate IX., fig. 2; Plate XIII., fig. 4.

Length of antennæ, 0.090; size of body, 0.380 × 0.040 expanse of wing, 0.250 × 0.070.

Antennæ very slender, as long as the head and thorax combined; joints of scapus yellow, tinged with brownish; flagellar joints elongated, progressively diminishing in thick

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ness, brown. Hypostoma brown. Palpi yellow. Front and vertex black. Thorax black or very deep brown, levigate, with a median yellow line; the humeri and lateral borders pale - yellow or whitish; two convergent rows of short black hairs from humeri to scutellum; some black bristly hairs above the origin of the wings. Pleuræ deep-brown tinged with pale-yellow. Halteres pallid, the club black. Abdomen slender, subcylindrical, five times the length of the thorax, dusky-brown; the segments distinctly, especially the hindermost ones, tinged with yellowish anteriorly, densely clothed with very short black or brown hairs. Extremity and lamella of ovipositor yellow. Legs long and very slender; coxæ pale-yellow or whitish, the fore and intermediate pairs with the extreme apex and the hind pair with almost the apical half dusky-brown, trochanters dusky-brown; femora pale-yellow or whitish, the hind pair black at the apex; tibiæ and tarsi black, tibial-spurs black; in the fore-legs the tibias and metatarsi of about equal length, the tarsi twice the length of the tibiæ. Wings shorter than the abdomen, pellucid, with a delicate yellowish tint, and almost the apical half infurcated with grey. Costal vein uniting with the tip of the third longitudinal vein somewhat beyond the apex of the wing; auxiliary vein terminating in the costa opposite or somewhat beyond the inner end of the second posterior cell, the subcostal cross-vein situated near its base; first longitudinal vein running straight into the costa, near a point before the tip of the posterior branch of the fourth longitudinal vein; third longitudinal vein greatly arcuated near its base, strongly arcuated near its tip; posterior branch of fifth longitudinal vein abruptly reaching the margin.

Though well acquainted with the larva, I have never taken the mature form of this insect. Mr. G. V. Hudson, of Wellington, has hatched out some of the larvæ, from one of which this description was drawn by Mr. Skuse.

Genus Ceroplatus, Bosc.

Head small, broadly oval, flattened on the fore part. Eyes oval, sometimes a little emarginate on the inner side above. Ocelli three on a curved line on the front. Palpi short, not incurved, with three or four joints; first joint small, the others large. Antennæ projecting forwards, shorter than the head and thorax together, very flat and broad, broadest in the middle, 2 + 14 jointed; joints of the scapus cotilliform, in some species the first joint prolonged in front; flagellar joints almost annular, the last joint conical or gemmiform. Thorax oval, highly arched. Scutellum almost, semicircular. Metathorax arched. Abdomen cylindrical, or a little flattened,

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with seven segments in both sexes. Legs long; tibiæ spurred, the spurs of unequal length; lateral spines missing or exceedingly small, one range on the inner side of the fore tibiæ, one on the inner side and two on the outer of the hind tibiæ. Wings microscopically pubescent, shorter than the abdomen, base broad and rounded off, incumbent in repose. Costal vein extending beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein, ending before the apex of the wing; auxiliary vein complete, terminating in the costa before the origin of the third longitudinal vein; subcostal cross-vein missing; second longitudinal vein forming a long-stalked fork with a short anterior branch, the latter running into the costa, sometimes into the first longitudinal vein; petiole of the third submarginal cell always short; fifth longitudinal vein complete.

I have specimens of three species of this genus, all of which are of small size.

Ceroplatus dendyi, sp. nov. Plate IX., fig. 3.

Length of antennæ, 0.046; size of body, 0.198 × 0.038; expanse of wing, 0.160 × 0.66.

Antennæ dark; scapus with lowest joint moderately long and very thick second joint about as long as broad, black, with a faint tawny tinge; joints of flagellum considerably dilated and flattened, broadest at the base, and gradually decreasing in width towards the apex; surface pubescent, with stiffer hairs on the margins, all joints of flagellum black. Ocelli in a triangle, central, much smaller than the two lateral. Crown dark-brown or black, pubescent. Thorax dark-brown, with two lighter patches over the point of insertion of the wings, and two broad indistinct lighter lines commencing near the collare and coalescing some distance in front of the scutellum. Thorax densely covered with black hairs. Scutellum black, its posterior broader, fringed with black hairs. Metathorax brown. Pleuræ dark-brown. Halteres with almost white pedicels; club brown for basal three-quarters, spical quarter white. Abdomen black, with brown patches on the middle segments. Forceps of male cinereous Abdomen and forceps covered thinly with black hairs. Legs moderate; coxse straw-coloured, with black hairs, darker at the tips; femora, tibiæ, and tarsi straw-coloured, but covered with black hairs that become more numerous towards the distal extremities; one spur on each anterior tibia, and two, the inner larger than the outer, on each posterior tibia; all black. Wings smoky, with a large dark patch at the apex, and another smaller one proceeding transversely from the costa to the petiole of the third longitudinal. Auxiliary vein joining the costa just before

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the origin of the third longitudinal vein; anterior branch of second longitudinal short, joining the costa a little beyond the apex of the first longitudinal; costal vein extending some distance beyond the apex of second longitudinal, but not quite reaching the apex of the wing; posterior branch of third longitudinal and subsequent veins do not quite reach the margin; sixth longitudinal terminating some distance before the margin. Surface of wing microscopically haired.

I have only two specimens of this insect, one of which was reared by Dr. Dendy from larvæ, and the other by myself. The larvæ are found beneath logs, and apparently live on the small mould fungi that grow in such localities. The insect is closely allied to Ceroplatus mastersi (Skuse) of New South Wales. The larvae from which my specimens were bred were-found by Dr. Dendy in Alford Forest. Unlike the larvæ of O. mastersi, those of the present species are certainly not luminous. The form of the larvæ is totally different from that of the diagram given in Theobald's “British Flies,” vol. i., page 96 Geroplatus hudsoni, sp. nov.

Length of antennæ, 0.056; size of body, 0.168 × 0022; expanse of wing, 0.143 × 0.049.

Antennæ about as long as head, and thorax very similar to those of G. dendyi. Thorax, scutellum, and pleuræ black, the two former covered with stiff black hairs. Halteres with a stout pedicel bearing a black pubescent knob. Abdomen black, the posterior portion of each segment being dark-grey; abdomen covered with stiff black hairs. Legs rather long; coxæ black, hairy towards the extremity; femora with the two extremities black but light-yellow in the central portion, covered all over with short black hairs; tibiss and tarsi straw-coloured, clothed with short stiff black hairs. Wing; slightly smoky; an indistinct patch of dark colour near the apex, which disappears at the anterior branch of the third longitudinal, and does not extend further from the apex than the fork of the second longitudinal; another patch extending' from the junction between second and third longitudinals nearly to the former patch; both patches much lighter than in C. dendyi. First longitudinal very close to margin of the veing brown, not black as in C. dendyi

I have only one specimen of this insect, taken by Mr. G. V. Hudson in the neighbourhood of Wellington. It closely resembles G. dendyi, but can be distinguished by its smaller size, darker colour, narrower and lighter wings, and the colour of the coxæ.

Ceroplatus leucoceras, sp. nov. Plate XIII., fig. 3.

Length of antennæ, 0.044; size of body, 0.170 × 0.022; expanse of wing, 0.110 × 0.044.

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Joints of scapus dark-brown, short and robust, upper edge of each joint fringed with brown hairs; flagellum greatly flattened, first six joints light-yellow, bordered at the edge with short black hairs; next six joints black, fringed with black hairs; last two joints light-yellow, the terminal one bearing a nipple-like projection; first and thirteenth joints considerably darker than any of the others; broadest part of antennæ about the fourth and fifth joints of flagellum; Head black, covered with black pubescence. Thorax black, lighter in front, with very indistinct dark-brown markings covered with moderate black hairs. Scutellum black, bordered with black hairs. Metathorax dark-brown. Pleureæ cinereous. Halteres with stout pedicels; knob oval, cinereous at the base but white at the tip. Abdomen rather elongated, black, third fourth and fifth segments with the anterior portion dusky-white; everywhere covere with black hairs. Forceps of male dark, cinereous, densely pubescent. Legs rather short; coxæ cinereous at the base, almost black at the tip; femora black above, but dusky below; tibiæ and tarsi dusky; all joints of the leg covered with black hairs; all spurs black, moderately long. Wings slightly smoky; large patch of dark shading at the apex, extending as far as the fork of the second longitudinal vein, becoming lighter towards the inner margin; another patch extending from the junction between the second and third longitudinal to a little beyond the fork of the third longitudinal, reaching very little below the third longitudinal but extending to the margin; a small patch, comparatively light, near the end of the posterior branch, of the fourth longitudinal. Auxiliary, first, second, and posterior branch of fourth longitudinal vein very distinct and prominent; anterior branch of second longitudinal reaching the margin about one and a half times its own length from the apex of the first longitudinal; costa extending a little beyond apex of second longitudinal, not reaching apex of the wing. Surface of the wing microscopically haired.

I have only one specimen of this very distinct and beautiful little species: It was obtained in native scrub close to Wanganui in January.

Genus Platyura, Meig.

Head small, broadly oval, the fore part flattened. Eyes oval, a little emarginate on the inner side above. Ocelli three, of unequal size, near together in a triangle on the broad front, the middle one smaller. Palpi prominent, incurved, fourjointed; the first joint small, the second shortened-oval, as long as or somewhat shorter than the third, the third and fourth joints cylindrical, the fourth longest. Antennæ as long as the head and thorax taken together or even longer, rarely

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shorter; arcuated, projecting forwards, somewhat compressed at the sides, or cylindrical, gradually diminishing towards the tip 2 + 14 jointed; joints of the scapus distinctly set off, the first cyathiform, the second one more cupuliform; the flagellar joints compact. Thorax oval, highly arched. Scutellum small, almost semicircular. Metathorax arched. Abdomen slender, with seven segments in both sexes, flattened, claviform, in the male somewhat cylindrical at the base, rarely entirely cylindrical, always terminating in a forceps. Legs-long; femora somewhat thickened, shorter than the tibiæ; tibiæ spurred; very small lateral spines, one inner and two outer ranges on the fore tibiæ without spines, and the hind pair with two ranges of lateral spines which are so small as to be only perceptible with a lens. Wings somewhat broad, base rounded off, as long as the abdomen or a little longer, incumbent in repose, microscopically pubescent. Costal vein extending beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein terminating some distance from the apex of the wing; auxiliary vein ending in the costa, rarely broken off, usually united to the first longitudinal vein by the subcostal cross-vein; anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein very short, ending either in the first longitudinal vein or in the costa; third, subrnarginal cell always with a very small petiole; fifth longitudinal vein complete or incomplete:

This genus is well represented in New Zealand. In thosespecies of which I have been able to make a thorough examination the males and females differ considerably in appearance. Several kinds can be found on window-panes.

B. Anterior, Branch of the Second Longitudinal running into the costa.

a. Fifth longitudinal vein reaching the posterior margin.

Platyura magna, sp. nov. Plate XIII., figs. 5–7.

Male. Length of antennæ, 0.095; size of body, 0.374 × 0.040; expanse of wing, 0.258 × 0.0079.

Antennæ rather shorter than head and thorax together; joints of scapus short, cinereous, cyathiform; joints of fiagellum very slightly dilated, black, naked, terminal joint longer than the others, rounded anteriorly; fourth and fifth joints mark the broadest part of the flagellum. Palpi dark-orange, with a few scattered short black hairs. Head black, shining. Thorax with a broad central black stripe extending from the collare almost to the scutellum; two broad lateral stripes commencing some distance behind the collare and coalescing about opposite the insertion of the wings with the central stripe; rest of the thorax dark orange, with a silvery sheen the whole surface covered with black hairs. Seutellum black, bordered with a fringe of stout

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black hairs. Metathorax and pleuræ yellow, but with a bright-silvery sheen, due to the presence of a minute silvery pubescence. Halteres with a stout orange pedicel, terminating in a moderate knob, orange at the base but darker at the apex, covered with a black pubescence. First two segments of abdomen slender, black; third segment dark-orange, with a dense covering of black hairs; fourth segment bright-orange, with few black hairs; fifth segment dark-orange; the last two segments black, and covered thickly with black hairs. Base of forceps dark-orange, becoming black at the apex, and ending in two horny chelæ. Legs moderately long; coxæ orange, with a few black hairs at the tip; femora dark-orange, covered with short black hairs; tibiæ and tarsi dark-orange, but the close covering of hairs on the tarsi makes them appear almost black: spurs stout, black. Wings with a fulvous tinge, especially near the costal margin; a black patch extending from the fork of the second longitudinal to trie apex, very dark near the costal margin, but shading away towards the inner margin; another feebly-shaded spot near the end of the fifth longitudinal, extending a little beyond the fourth longitudinal, but not extending any distance towards the anterior margin. Veins yellow at the base, but shading into black at the apex of the inner marginal cell: costal vein terminates where the second longitudinal joins it; two branches of the third longitudinal terminate close together, and the apices of the fourth and fifth longitudinals close together. Wings microscopically haired.

Female. Length of antennæ, 0.079; size of body, 0.385 × 0.071; expanse of wing, 0.242 × 0.094.

Joints of scapus bright-orange, covered with short black hairs; joints of flagellum as in the male. Head black, but thorax orange, with silver sheen marked with dark-orange in much the same way as the male is marked with black. Scutellum dark-orange, fringed with black hairs. Metathorax and pluræ with a beautiful silvery sheen. All segments of abdomen dark-orange inottled with black, and covered with black hairs. Legs rather darker all over than in male. Wings with more pronounced fulvous shade, and less conspicuously shaded than in male. Sides of abdomen covered with a less-evident silvery tomentum than the pleuræ.

I have only one male and one female specimen of this fine and remarkable insect; they were taken together, at an elevation of about 1,000ft., on the Ruahine Mountains, in the month of January.

Platyura agricolce, sp. nov.

Male. Length of antennæ, 0.064; size of body, 0.203 × 0.033; expanse of wing, 0.157 × 0.055.

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Antennæ 2 + 14 jointed; joints of scapus about as long as broad, black, fringed with black hairs; joints of flagellum moderately stout, base of lowest joint fuscous, all the rest black, slightly pubescent. Second joint of palpus black, third and fourth joints about equal in length, light-yellow covered with minute yellowish pubescence arid a few scattered black hairs. Epistome black, covered with black hairs. Vertex smoky-grey with moderately long black hairs, and covered with minute silvery pubescence. Thorax covered with minute silvery pubescence, except a median and two lateral black stripes whose surface is shining; one median line of strong black hairs, which are also scattered all over the surface except on the black stripes. Scutellum black, but covered with minute silvery pubescence and fringed with strong black hairs. Metathorax and pleurææ black, but with pubescence. Halteres with stout pedicel bearing large oval fulvous clubs apparently naked. Abdomen black, but often with dull - orange patches on the posterior portions of the third, fourth, and fifth segments; all segments with numerous black hairs. Forceps of male large, dull-orange at the base, but darkening upwards, becoming black at the tips. Legs rather long; coxæ sti-aw-coloured, darker on the outer surface; femora straw - coloured, covered with short black hairs; tibise and tarsi darker and more thickly covered with black hairs; several rows of spines on the tibise; spurs rather long, black. Wings with yellowish tinge, surface covered with minute black pubescence. All veins strong, black but lighter near the base; costal vein extending beyond junction with second longitudinal, but ending abruptly before the apex; anterior branch of second longitudinal about equal in length to petiole of third longitudinal.

Female. Length of antennæ, 0.050; size of body, 0.108 × 0.044; expanse of wing, 0.176 × 0.073.

Antennæ more slender than those of the male; joints of scapus light-brown; basal and terminal joint of the flagellum much longer than any others; basal joint dark-brown, others black. Thorax tawny, the black marks being represented by dark-brown stripes which unite in a broad patch, in front of the scutellum. Scutellum tawny, with a fringe of black hairs. Metathorax and pleuræ dark-brown. Halteres as in the male. Abdomen much broader and of a lighter colour than in the male, all the segments being bordered posteriorly with tawnyred. Legs and wings as in the male, but apex of the wing much rounder.

I have assumed that these are male and female forms of the same insect, for, though both forms are extremely common about Lincoln, I have never captured a female of the one or a male of the other. They can be taken all through

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the summer at Lincoln, but I have not taken them elsewhere.

Platyura flava, sp. nov.

Length of antennæ, 0.038; size of body, 0.137 × 0.016; expanse of wing, 0.115 × 0.042.

Antennæ 2 + 14 jointed; joints of scapus yellowish-grey, first joint rather broader than long, second about as long as broad, both covered with a silvery pubescence; joints of flagellum black, with a pubescence giving silvery reflections. Head black, with a very short, rather inconspicuous, silvery pubescence. Thorax light-yellow anteriorly, darkening to dark-yellow posteriorly, shaded with black, but without-any distinct or definite, markings; whole surface covered with moderately stiff black hairs. Scutellum dark-brown, fringed with black hairs. Metathorax and pleuræ dark - tawny. Halteres with a stout pedicel bearing a club, yellow at base but almost white at the top. Abdomen dark-tawny on the back but lighter on the sides, and the posterior margin of each segment almost black; thinly covered with black hairs. Coxæ bright-yellow, with a few black hairs on the outer side near the tip; femora darker, covered with short black hairs; tibiae and tarsi with light ground-colour, but rather thickly clad with black hairs, the former with a few scattered spines in addition; spurs black. Wings almost hyaline. Auxiliary vein rather faint; first longitudinal joining costa about twothirds of its length; anterior branch of second longitudinal about as long as part of costa between its apex and that of first longitudinal; costal vein extending some distance beyond the apex of second longitudinal, but not reaching apex of the wing; all the veins dark-brown or black.

I have only one rather imperfect specimen of this insect, taken at Lincoln in August. A specimen taken at Wanganui differs but slightly from this insect, and is perhaps a representative variety of the North Island.

Genus Sciophila, Meig.

Head small, flattened on the fore part, sitting deep in the thorax, of rounded oval shape owing to its high vertex. Eyes remote in both sexes, oval, a little emarginate on the upper side above. Ocelli three, arranged near one another in a triangle on the broad front, the anterior one very small. Proboscis very short, not prominent. Hypostoma more or less broad. Palpi prominent, incurved, four-jointed, the first joint very small, the second shorter than the third, the fourth as long as or longer than all three together seldom shorter than them. Antennæ projecting forward, arcuated, those of the male always longer than those of the female, in the latter often

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only as long as the head and thorax together, somewhat compressed, 2 + 14 jointed; joints of the seapus distinct, cyathiform, setose at the apex; flagellar joints cylindrical, with downy pubescence. Thorax highly arched, oval. Scutellum small, semicircular. Metathorax acclivous. Halteres with an oblong club. Abdomen slender, with seven segments, narrowed at the base, generally claviform, especially in the male, somewhat flattened posteriorly; in the male terminating in a short forceps, in the female in a short non-projecting ovipositor with two terminal lamellæ. Legs long; femora with a fringe of hair on the lower side; tibiæ spurred, the fore pair with two, the hind pair with three ranges of lateral spines, of which those on the inner side are particularly short and delicate; coxæ elongated, the fore pair hairy on the front, the intermediate pair only at their apex, the hind pair with a row of setaceous hairs on their outer sides. In the male of some species the coxæ of the intermediate legs have on the inner side a long arcuated spine; these spines terminate in a double hook-shaped curved point, usually of a dark colour. Wings microscopically pubescent, longish-oval, with roundedoff base, a little longer than the abdomen. Tip of the costal vein uniting with the tip of the second longitudinal vein at the apex of the wing, rarely before it; auxiliary vein terminating in the costa not beyond the anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein; base of the second posterior cell lying either before, under, or beyond the origin of the third longitudinal vein, but always before the base of the third sub-marginal cell, and never so far forward as to come under the anterior branch of the second longitudinal vein; fifth longitudinal vein incomplete, usually broken off opposite the middle of the second posterior cell, sometimes disappearing before the base of the second posterior cell.

Sciophila fagi, sp. nov. Plate X., fig. 1.

Size of body, 0.174 × 0032; expanse of wing, 0.132 × 0.074.

Joints of scapus short, not more than half their length, light-yellow, with a few black hairs; first joint of flagellum yellow but clouded, subsequent joints black, length about four times their breadth, covered with very fine glistening black hairs. Palpi long and slender, clouded straw-colour; first joint short, slightly hairy; second joint about twice the length of first, scattered black hairs on its surface; third joint more slexider and twice the length of the second; fourth joint still more slender and darker in colour, about half as long again as the third. Vertex almost black. Thorax yellow, marked with tawny; two lateral rows of black hairs inclined to one another and meeting before the scutellum, also a median

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row, but much shorter, not half the length of the thorax; sides of thorax with scattered black hairs. Scutellum testaceous, with two long black hairs on its posterior margin. Metathorax almost black posteriorly; pleuræ brown. Halteres with stout pedicels bearing black hairs; clubs almost white, with short stout black hairs. Abdomen of seven segments, the posterior portion of each segment being darkyellow. Forceps of male black, covered with black hairs. Legs long and slender; coxæ very light yellow, with black hairs; femora, tibiæ, and tarsi darker, more densely eoveredl with hairs; a few short black spines on the tibiæ, and shorter-ones on the tarsi; spurs black, but rather short. Wings smoky, covered with black hairs. Auxiliary vein rather faint, rather more than one-third the length of the wing; first longitudinal ending rather near the apex of the wing; second longitudinal ending in costa slightly before apex of wing; costa continued to apex; subcostal cross vein below apex of auxiliary; anterior branch of third longitudinal disappears about half-way from the fork to the margin of the wing; posterior branch very faint; anterior branch of first longitudinal almost straight, posterior rather wavy; fifth longitudinal straight, but not nearly reaching the margin.

I have only one specimen of this insect, and, unfortunately, the antennæ are not entire. The peculiarities of its neuration perhaps entitle it to be the type-species of a new genus.

Sciophila (?) hirta, n. sp. Plate IX., fig. 5.

Size of body, 0.132 × 0.030; expanse of wing, 0.165 × 0.069.

Antennæ not perfect; joints of scapus dark-brown, nearly cylindrical, breadth nearly as great as their length; flagellum nearly cylindrical, no appreciable gap separating the joints, covered all over with a soft light-yellow pubescence. Palpi very slender but not long, light-yellow. Vertex black and shining. Thorax black and shining, a dark-yellow humeral patch on each anterior corner, behind which there is a patch of long black hairs. Abdomen black and shining, and covered with a close coating of stiff black hairs. Legs rather slender; coxæ pale-yellow at the base but darker at the tip, covered with black hairs; femora dark-yellow, clothed with black hairs; tibice dark-brown, considerably dilated at the extremity, marked with longitudinal rows of black hairs, with spines at intervals; spurs very light yellow; tarsi much darker and more densely clothed with black hairs than the tibiæ. Wings light-brown, becoming much darker at the first longitudinal vein; surface covered with scattered black hairs. Auxiliary vein ending blindly, not extending as far as the transverse vein; first longtudinal extending about four-fifths

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of the distance along the wing; second longitudinal joining the tip of the costa almost at the apex of the wing; anterior branch comparatively long, situated some distance from the transverse vein; vein connecting second and third longitudinals very faint; apex of fork of third longitudinal situated some distance beyond end of marginal cell; anterior branch of third longitudinal disconnected at a point rather nearer the base than the middle of the marginal cell; fifth longitudinal almost parallel to and close beside posterior branch of fourth, longitudinal, but not reaching the margin.

I have only one, and that rather an imperfect specimen, of this insect, taken in Fagus bush, at the base of Mount Torlesse, in March. It shows more affinities with Sciophila than with any other genus described in Mr. Skuse's Mono graph, and I have therefore placed it in that genus. It differs from it in the position of the anterior branch of the second, longitudinal, and in the disconnection of the anterior branch of the fourth longitudinal; while the rudimentary condition of the auxiliary vein is extremely exceptional in Sciophila. I hesitate to establish a new genus on such a poor specimen, but feel confident that the insect will not long be left in this genus.

Genus Parvicellula gen. nov.

Head oval. Eyes large, emarginate, nearly meeting below the antennæ. Proboscis short. Palpi short, first joint very short, the others about equal in length, except the fourth, which is rather longer. Front almost triangular. Three ocelli, the middle one much smaller than the others, arranged in a slightly-curved line. Antennæ about as long as the thorax, 2 + 14 jointed; first joint of scapus very short, much, broader than long, second joint about as long as broad, setoser on the upper surface; flagellum stout, joints rather longer than broad, densely pubescent. Thorax very highly arched pubescent, setaceous on anterior and lateral margins. Scutel Turn small, nearly circular, bordered posteriorly with setæ; Metathorax steep. Abdomen rather flattened, seven-jointed, hirsute. Legs rather slender; coxæ stout, slightly hairy on the outer side; femora half as long again as the coxæ, rather, slender, compressed, hairy tibiæ rather stout, in fore and intermediate legs shorter than the tarsi, in the posterior legs about the same length as the tarsi, a few scattered spines on the fore tibiæ, two ranges of few spines on intermediate tibiæ, and two ranges of well-developed spines on the posterior legs; spurs stout; intermediate and hind tarsi with small prickles on the inner side. Wings about as long as the abdomen, rounded at the apex, with fairly pronounced anal angle, surface thickly covered with, hairs. Auxiliary vein rather stout,

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less than one-third the length of the wing, subcostal crossvein situated near its apex; first longitudinal vein ending at about two-thirds the length of the wing; marginal cross-vein situated just beyond subcostal; petiole of second longitudinal very short, so subrargmal cell is almost triangular; second longitudinal running into the costa some distance before the apex; costa prolonged beyond its tip, but not reaching the apex; third longitudinal rather indistinct, the apex of its fork situated some distance beyond apex of inner marginal cell, branches slightly divergent; fourth longitudinal unbranched; fifth and sixth longitudinals absent.

I have specimens of but one species of this genus, but the neuration is so distinct that I think I am justified in establishing a new genus for it.

Parvicellula triangula. Plate X., fig. 2; Plate XIII., figs. 8, 9.

Length of antennæ, 0.038; size of body,: 0.132 × 0.033; expanse of wing, 0.115 × 0.057

Antennæ 2 + 14 jointed; first joint of scapus very short, pale-yellow, second joint pale-yellow, cyathiform, the margin of the upper side ornamented with a few stiff black hairs about as long as the joint; first two joints of flagellum yellow, but antennæ gradually darkening towards the tip; all joints much the same length, centre ones bulging in the middle, terminal joints more cylindrical; all joints covered with soft pubescence giving silvery reflections; all joints rather longer than broad. Palpi incurved, cinereous; first joint short, second rather longer and thicker, clothed with black hairs; third and fourth slender and short, with a few short black hairs. Proboscis slightly protruding, hairy. Ocelli three, one situated close to the inner margin of each eye, the third almost in a line between them. Vertex black and shining, with a few black hairs, Thorax dark-tawny, with indistinct central and lateral black bands, covered with a minute pubescence arid long golden hairs. Scutellum tawny, with golden hairs. Metathorax black, with golden hairs on its posterior margin. Pleuræ and epimera black. Abdomen of seven segments, black, but thickly covered with long golden hairs, slightly depressed, broadest in centre. Lamellæ of female white, covered with light-coloured hairs. Halteres very light yellow, covered with a minute pubescence. Legs of moderate length; coxæ smoky at the base, light-yellow in the middle, and black at the apex, the apical portion clothed with long golden hairs; femora dark at the tip; tibiæ about half as long again as the-femora, rather stout, with many short black spines and a dense covering of black hairs; tarsi slender, straw-coloured, with a dense covering, of short black hairs and spines on the posterior

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surface. Wings with a yellowish tinge, especially near the costal margin and close to the veins; surface rather thickly covered with black hairs. Veins brown, with a central row of black hairs; auxiliary vein ending in costa at about one-quarter the length of the wing; first longitudinal joining costa at about two-thirds length of the wing; second longitudinal joining costa some distance before apex; costa continued beyond this point, but not nearly reaching the apex; subcostal vein situated just before marginal cell, latter very short, almost triangular; petiole of third longitudinal not long; fourth longitudinal not forked.

I have three specimens of this insect, two of which were taken at Lincoln in February, and the other in Christchurch in June.

A male specimen has almost identical measurement with the female, but it has black forceps. The legs are very much lighter in colour than those of the female, more especially the tarsi and tibiæ; the spurs are light-yellow. The veins of the wing are light straw-colour instead of brown.

Genus Tetragoneura, Winn.

Costal vein extending far beyond the tip of the second longitudinal vein, but not reaching the apex of the wing; auxiliary vein small, bent posteriorly, ending in the first longitudinal vein far beyond the marginal cell, or shortened to a tooth; the marginal cell far beyond the middle of the first longitudinal vein; inner marginal cell much lengthened; fork of the third longitudinal vein with a moderately-long petiole; base of the second posterior cell lying before the base of the third submarginal cell. Surface of the wing microscopically pubescent.

The above short diagnosis is the only reliable one to which I have access at present. I hesitate to add other characters, fearing that my species is not sufficiently typical.

Tetragoneura nigra, n. sp. Plate XIII., figs. 10, 11.

Length of antennæ, 0.044; size of body, 0.077 × 0.014; expanse of wing, 0.077 × 0.033.

Antennæ about as long as the body; joints of scapus pale-yellow, cyathiform; joints of flagellum barrel-shaped, but situated on pedicels; length slightly greater than their diameter, the first three pale-yellow, those nearer the end of the antennæ; all the joints covered with soft hairs with silvery reflections. Vertex black, with a few black hairs. Thorax dull-black, a median and two V-shaped lateral marks rather more intense, in shade; surface covered with short black hairs, and the margins with strong thick black hairs incurving over the thorax. Scutellum black, with two long black hairs

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near the posterior margin. Metathorax and pleuræ black. Halteres light-yellow; the club oval in shape, with an almost imperceptible black pubescence on its edges. Abdomen black, with a shining granulated surface on which there is a thin covering of black hairs. Legs rather stout; coxæ light-yellow, with a few dark hairs on its darkened tip; base of femora rather dark as well as the distal portion, central portion light-yellow but covered all over with black hairs; femora considerably dilated; tibiæ rather short, slightly dilated at the end, ground-colour yellow but thickly covered with short black hairs, the posterior tibiæ with two ranges of black spines, intermediate tibiæ also with black spines but not so conspicuous; tarsi rather short, with much shorter spines, but otherwise much the same as the tibiæ; all spurs black. Wings with a slight brownish tinge. Costal vein extending a long distance beyond tip of second longitudinal, but not extending to apex of wing; apex of second posterior cell nearer the base of the wing than the apex of the third submarginal cell; fifth longitudinal reaching to apex of second posterior cell. Surface of wing covered with black hairs.

I only possess one specimen of this insect, which was obtained at Lincoln College in the month of December.

Genus Aneura, gen. nov.

Head rather small, oval, deeply imbedded in the thorax.

Eyes oval, not emarginate. Proboscis short. Palpi long and slender; first joint about as long as broad; second longer than broad, but stout; third long, cylindrical, and slender; fourth longer than all the others put together, very slender. Ocelli three, the central one much the smallest. Antennæ 2 + 14 jointed; the joints of the scapus very short, cupuliform, slightly setose; joints of flagellum four times as long as broad, gradually decreasing in diameter towards the apex, terminal joint very narrow, densely pubescent. Thorax highly arched, smooth but for three longitudinal rows of hairs converging to a point in front of the scutellum; lateral margins slightly setiferous. Scutellum small, semicircular, setiferous on the posterior margin. Metathorax steep. Abdomen slightly compressed from the side. Legs long and slender; coxæ rather short, not more than half the length of the femora, slightly setose; femora slender, those of the posterior legs compressed, hairy; tibiæ of fore-legs about the same length as the metatarsus, of the intermediate leg about the length of the whole tarsus, and those of the posterior legs longer than the tarsus; posterior tibiæ with two rows of scarce, short, and feeble spines; spurs small and feeble; tarsi long and slender, with a few very small prickles on the under

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side. Wings oval, rounded at the apex, and anal angle not prominent, shorter than the abdomen, surface hairy. Auxiliary vein more than one-third the length of the wing, but not half its length; no subcostal cross-vein; first longitudinal slightly arcuated, ending near the apex of the wing; second longitudinal arcuated, joining costa just before the apex; costa prolonged beyond the tip of the second longitudinal and reaching the apex; basal portion of second longitudinal about one and a half times the length of the submarginal cross-vein, which is situated some distance before the apex of the auxiliary vein; petiole of the third longitudinal about the same length as the anterior branch, branches divergent; apex of the second posterior cell situated before the apex of the second submarginal cell; branches of fork of fourth longitudinal very divergent; fifth longitudinal incomplete.

This genus differs from most of the others in the sub-section in the absence of the subcostal cross-vein. It is closely allied to Boletina