his right hand. He brushed it away repeatedly, but it persisted in coming back, and the fact of it always settling on his right hand denoted that it was not a mere coincidence. Accordingly he addressed the fly, asking “Have you tidings of my lost child?” and the rango answered with a loud buzz. “Is she dead?” Another buzz. “Can you lead me to her?” “Buzz, buzz,” said the fly. The old man arose and followed it far into the forest till he came to a great pukatea-tree, in a hollow of which lay poor Papa's body. Unable to obtain revenge, which was ever sweet to the ancient Maori, he bethought himself of a very renowned warrior who lived in a distant part of the country, and thither he betook himself at once. Covering himself with a “Kakahu mamae” (a garment of pain), he sat motionless in the warrior's courtyard for many weary hours to arouse the sympathy of his host, till at last the people of the village, with much ceremony, killed and partly cooked a scraggy dog, which they placed uneviscerated, with the hair on and half-raw, before their guest. Guessing that this apparent want of hospitality was intended as a test of his fortitude, the old man partook of the horrible food, and even made it appear as though he relished the repast. The chief then took him on one side and asked what his trouble was, saying, “You are a brave man, and your cause must indeed be desperate when you can pass through such an ordeal.” When the chief was told the particulars of Papa's murder, he informed the father that twice seventy men would start that very night to avenge his wrongs. Tama-tekohuruhuru's tribe were suddenly attacked and almost exterminated, and forced to migrate, and eventually reached the Chatham Islands, as related by Mr. Shand in his interesting paper.

These minute particulars, preserved through over forty generations, show how ancient traditions are handed down orally by an unlettered people.