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To wander through life :
The swift tui birds,
Flitting carelessly from tree to tree,
May now, my lost one, be likened to me.
Ah! deigned to look on me,
On the so lowly born,
The great feathered prow
Of the canoe of many tribes.
Oh rough, and rude winds
Have torn from my head
My plume I so prized,
Which ennobled me so !
He was not of this earth,
But sprung from those realms
Whence all birds of beauty come.
Yet he stooped, and flew
To me, a poor slave.
They have carried his body
Over yonder high hills,
Hills which his brave acts
Have made higher still.
But thy spirit, my beloved,
Has gone on its way,
To the point ever brightened

With white foaming surf. That is, it is preparing to depart from the north cape to the realm of spirits.

The manner in which the New Zealanders addressed the spirits of their ancestors in times of trouble is shown by the following chant to Ruaimoko, an ancestor of a tribe who were so oppressed by the number of their enemies that they found they should be compelled to abandon their territory to their foes :

Now that earthquakes shake the world,

Whither can we fly? fly?
Oh whither can we fly? fly?
O Ruaimoko! Ruaimoko !
Make thou the earth
Stand still for us!

Make it firm !

Firm, firm, firm-Ha ! A grandfather thus laments the loss of his little grandson, who perished from some accident:

My grandchild, my grandchild!

Why strayed you from me?
Why, carelessly wandering,

Left you my side ?
Oh, why clung you not
To our small home?
But since you must go,
O may you pass safely along
The path ever crowded,
Ever peopled, with throngs,
That leadeth through death
To the far spirit realms,

To the houses of spirits so full !
Whilst I am left here,
In the houses to which death,
In his own forms, has still, still to come;
Upon the canoes, ever tumbled
And tossed, by the whirlwinds of ill

Which trouble life so.
O my child, my own child !

We all know you sprang
From the great Manaia;
Who, when yet but a babe,
Was so sacred made,
With the mystery deep

Of Raukena,-
Who fearlessly fought his way

Through Ngati-rongo-tea.
Who won such a triumph at

Kirikiriwawa,
And at famed Ratorua,
And gained for himself

Such high renown.
And who knew all the strong words,

The movers of spirits, for evil and good.
Oh, therefore, good spirits,

Pray deal not unkindly
With my little bird ;
And do not despise him
As a low thing, and mean,
Because he's deserted,
A poor little bird,
Scarcely fledged,-a nestling,

That's fallen from its nest.
Oh my child, your fish-hooks lie here,

And your mother-of-pearl ;
Ah, useless! ah, useless!
Now the owner is gone.
But we'll treasure them up,
Packed safely away
In my boy's little basket.
We'll treasure the treasures
Of my petted child-
Of my child who has gone,

Whilst I am left here,
To wane like the moon,

To waste in my house. Sometimes the New Zealanders, in their laments and chants for their dead chiefs, passed suddenly from expressions of the greatest tenderness to ferocious threats and taunts against those who had either directly or remotely been the cause of their deaths, as in the following extract from a chant:

Oh that thou wert but larger,
And thus faultless were, my paunch !
For 'tis thy fault, not mine,
That I can eat no more
Of cursed Tukairangi

And his tribe.

Such expressions closely resemble the taunts of the ancient Mexicans to their enemies, as described by Bernal Diaz, who states that, in battle, they used to insult their foes by throwing to them the roasted flesh they had been eating, shouting out — "Eat of the flesh of these Teules, and of your brothers, for we are quite satiated with it!”

Again, in the following lament for Te Pehitahanga, a wild change from tenderness to ferocity also takes place. Te Pchitahanga was a young chief of Waikato, who fell in an unsuccessful attack upon a fortress, called Te Kawau, belonging to the chiefs Tupoki and Raparapa. The lament is supposed to be sung by Te Pehitahanga's wife, the tribe joining in the chorus. The object was to rouse the tribe to another assault upon the fortress of Tupoki and Raparapa. It was afterwards used upon all similar occasions :

They came to search for my love, oh! oh!
They found him here caressed and beloved by me, oh! oh!
But they coaxed him off to the wars, oh! oh!
With their boastings,
Their flatteries,
And their soft persuasions.
To his feet my own love sprang, and off he started, oh! oh!
To fetch us something from the Kawau;
Then bring us here Tupoki;
Bring us here Raparapa;
Oh bring us here our sweet and tender food, oh! oh!
Bring us here the food that we so long for, oh! oh!
Then shout for war, oh! ch!

Cry aloud for war,-oh! oh! oh-h-h!
The following is the lament of Mokonuiarangi for the chief, Te
Kuru-o-te-Marama, killed in battle on the beach of Kaiwaka :-

Now, alas ! thou dost lie,
Cold, cold in death;
So frigid, so stiff.
Yet let thy blood tinge the skies,
And flash, and brighten
The heavens with lightning;
Signs that you are entering there,

As befits
Our Prince, and our Priest,-
The messenger to Aitu,
The messenger to Maru,
To thy god.
Oh, his tribe! be ye brave;
Scorn the tribes in the West;
Those people so strong.
Let the men of Hauraki fall,
As men fell in the slaughters

At Shumotokia !
At Maikukutea!

Whence not one escaped.
In the surf smitten down,
He was dragged up on the beach ;
In his strong struggles, he
Was like to the huge living fish

That jumps, and that flings,
From side to side dashing,
When thrown from a net
To choke on the sand.
He indeed was a fish,
Bright in all brightest colours
That ocean can give,-
And which it required
The whole tribe of Ue
To drag to the shore
In the Bay of Kaiwaka.
It was Te Aramonna
Who so shook and dragged
The main post of our fortress,
That he drew it out,
And thus dragged forth
Te Kuru-o-te-Marama.

Alas! alas! alas !
Te Kuru-o-te-Marama,

Now the companion
Of Mars—and the stars

Alas! alas ! alas! I will venture to add a portion of one other lament, in explanation of the opinions held by the New Zealanders in relation to the state of the dead.

A chief named Whakatere was the relative of a great chief named Paekawa, and was one of his greatest warriors. Whakatere having, with a number of his tribe, fallen in battle, his widow, Karanga, composed a lament for him, which ended as follows:

The ear-drop of jade,
The great tribal treasure,
Has been now reft away,
From the house of Paekawa,
As the omens foretold.
We beheld, and lo! twice
The red lurid flames
Leapt forth from the summit

Of Mount Tongariro.
The signals and signs,
From the dead of your tribe,
That the road was all clear
To the realms where

The spirits await you.
For those who had fallen
In the former fight,
On the wide-spreading plains
Of Okahukura,
Were but the brave scouts
Who went first on the march,
The unknown track to explore
For you and your men,
Who now sleep in death.
Alas! Whakatere !
Alas!

G. GREY.

THE LAND QUESTION.

Part II.—FEUDAL TENURES IN ENGLAND. In my last article I pointed out, as the root of the wrongs of Ireland, as regards the land question, the fact that when, after the Rebellion, English tenures were nominally introduced into Ireland, security of tenure was not given to the peasantry. I showed that the manorial system introduced was such only in name; that where manors were introduced, they were counterfeit manors ; that the Irish peasant farmers were treated not as copyholders but as if they had no rights of tenure at all. But I tried to show, further, that their rights being ignored by Irish land-law and landlords for two centuries did not alter the fact of their existence. Descendants or successors of them still to this day are struggling against the attempt of Irish landlords and land-law to treat them as what they are not-as mere commercial tenants under contracts. And the conclusion I pointed out was that now, at this eleventh hour, Mr. Gladstone has had, it would seem, the task imposed upon him by the British nation of inventing two new tenures, one to meet the needs of the commercial farming tenants—and the other to fit the far more difficult and delicate case of the peasant hereditary holders.

Now it will readily be seen that it would be a very important point gained, if it could be shown that what justice obliges us to do for Ireland, can be done upon principles recognised in England, and in such a way as to strengthen, instead of in any the least degree to undermine the rights of property in England. And this is what I think a careful review of the history of the relations of the English people to the English land must show.

For in the first place, as to the commercial class of tenant farmers, it will confirm what I have before pointed out, that tenant farmers in England who have no leases and no sufficient covenants to protect them, stand in need of the same protection (though not perhaps to the same degree) as Irish tenant farmers.

And in the second place, it will show that even the recognition of peasant tenures, which I have said, in justice, imply something approaching to security of tenure, need not shock the nerves of English landowners, inasmuch as the peasant class in England have already had that security of tenure which is now about to be given to the peasant tenants of Ireland. So that there is, in fact, no class of tenants in England who can have any possible right to rise up and say, “What you are doing for the peasant tenant of Ireland you must do also for me.”

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