board or split paling, often unlined and without paper or scrim. There is, perhaps, a chimney of slabs or galvanized iron; but no body of heat can be maintained, and the only effect of the fire is to draw in the cold air from the hills or the malaria from the marshy ground. Moreover, the Maori generally lives from hand to mouth, and has barely sufficient for present necessities. On a cold night, when a crowd of visitors come to put up with him—and his native hospitality forbids him turning any away—he has to share his scanty supply of bedding among them as far as it will go; and when he comes in out of the wet he rarely troubles to change his clothes, if, indeed, he have another suit to change into, but simply takes off his coat and boots, wraps himself in a blanket, and steams until he is dry. What wonder, therefore, that even when a Maori is possessed of a European house he often lives in it as little as possible, and prefers to squat by a fire in an open shed? It is the nearest he can get to the old Native system—the system that suits him best.

The adoption of European methods of cultivation was, of course, inevitable; and the Rev. Samuel Marsden, the founder of the mission to the Maoris, thought that when they were provided with ploughs and bullock-teams they would enter on a new era of progress. The new era certainly dawned, but it was not the era expected by that great humanitarian; or, to be more correct, the new era did not fulfil its early promise. In the pre-European days every kind of work was organized and regulated. Whether it was the breaking-up of land, or the planting or taking-up of the crop, the people worked in gangs under the direction of a leader, who marked the time with a song, to which the workers answered with a chorus. Each class of work had its appointed season, determined by recognised signs and portents, as the age of the moon or the blooming of a certain tree or flower, while in cases of doubt or uncertainty the time would be fixed by the tohunga and the regulation enforced by the chief. Growing crops were under strict tapu, and it was believed that any breach or neglect of the tapu would involve serious disaster. In this way punctuality was secured, the labour was greatly lightened, and the work done with cheerfulness and hope. All hands worked together like a well-ordered team, and each bore his full share of the common burden. For a time the new system seemed to promise very well, and as long as something of the old tribal spirit was kept up large quantities of wheat, maize, potatoes, &c., were grown, with the assistance of European implements, all over the country. But as the authority of the chief declined, the co-operative spirit passed away, while the mere fact that the work was easier induced an element of failure. The fatal indolence and procrasti