Rambles with a Philosopher

James Turnbull Thomson

First published by Mills, Dick and Co. in 1867

Digitised and made available online by the University of Auckland Libraries and Learning Services.

Epub © 2013 Early New Zealand Books Collection

ISBN 978-1-927288-81-8

[TITLE PAGES]

Rambles with a Philosopher.

[Page ii is blank]

RAMBLES
WITH A
PHILOSOPHER;

OR
VIEWS AT THE ANTIPODES.

BY
AN OTAGONIAN,[Thomson, John Turnbull]

1867.

"Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est."

DUNEDIN:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY MILLS, DICK & CO.,
AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS.
MDCCCLXVII.
Copyright Reserved.

[Page iv is blank]

[PREFACE]

PREFACE,

GENTLE READER, –

YOU will ask me why I have troubled you with this little book – what has been my motive? – have I selfish ends to gain? Many questions, no doubt, will arise in your mind. Shall I satisfy you? No, certainly not. Judge for yourself: the book is yours – you have bought it with a price from the bookseller, who will not take it back again even if you be dissatisfied, and conclude, on the contrary, it to be worthless.

Some who read it may find it too deep for them. To them I would say, grope through it the more warily: read only one chapter before going to bed, and no more. Others who read it will find it too shallow. Then, to such I would say, wade through it the oftener: you can do this without danger. Some will say there is something mysterious about it. To them I would say, study it the more: the veil will lift by better acquaintance. Others will say, there is nothing new in the book. To such I would suggest its closing, for it can be of no advantage to them.

We have grown since the olden times. We now do not know each other so well as we used to do. The tall flax no longer grows in Princes-street, nor do blue shirts and fustian trowsers clothe our society. The "Old Identities" are few and far between. Occasionally, one may be seen staring from one side of the street to

the other, wondering at the noble fronts of the wealthy banking establishments. The past is as a dream to him – the present is magic – the future – ah! that is not ours. The "Old Identity" is bewildered, for he sees no old land-marks: he is saddened, for be finds himself a stranger in a crowd – his position is lonely indeed.

I was standing at the door of one of the few old houses of resort lately, enjoying some newly-imported tobacco. The blue smoke curled up in fantastic forms: I watched it – there was an unaccountable attraction in it; what could be the cause? I stood ruminating till the forms and features of two old companions developed themselves to my fancy. I was puzzled for a moment – ah! I had it: the tobacco was the same that I had so often tasted from the Squire's stores: and there stood also "our companion" – in idea only.

The mental apparition brought to my recollection some papers I had written down and long put aside: a strong desire came upon me to re-peruse them. They were found, after much search, in the lowest drawer of an old oak chest, and at the furthest end of the garret. Re-perusal excited renewed interest in "our companion's" great theme; so, after much "backing and filling" – as my friend Salt Junk would say – I determined to publish them.

Gentle Reader, what is your verdict? Am I right in doing so? – I am, &c,

OTAGONIAN.

Dunedin, 11th September, 1867.

[CONTENTS]

INDEX.

CHAPTER I. – The Last Day of a Journey. A Rider ahead. The Dilemma. Storm on the Snowy Range. The Meeting. The Descent. A Glimpse of Dunedin.....1

CHAPTER II. – The Old Royal. Refreshment. The Rule of Contraries. Doubts. Projects of an Infant Settlement. A New Actor. Alchemic Circles. Effects. A Riot Subdued. Satisfactory Explanations. The Stranger's first Reflections. Small Beginnings may have Large Endings......6

CHAPTER III. – A Stroll through the Village Two Notable Citizens. The Rush of the Mob. Sacred Melody. Bell Hill as it was. H. M. Jail. A Courteous Prisoner. The Old Man's Moral Influence. Its Strong Power. Its Rarity. Its Appropriateness to the Circumstances. How long might it last?...........12

CHAPTER IV. – A Noisy Company. A Ragged Bull-dog. National Aversions and Church Politics. A Stray Englishman at bay. A Northern Episcopalian. The Crammed, Surfeited, and Wrecked.........19

CHAPTER V. – Starting on a Journey. I introduce the Squire. We gain the Ridges. The Squire's Poetry. Doric Nomenclature. The Pioneer Settlers of the Taieri. The Squire's Contempt for our Companion's Philosophy. His first Escape from it. We Flounder over the Tracks.......24

CHAPTER VI. – Patience at the Ferry. The Accommodation House. Difficulties and Losses. The Squire's Predilection. Pigging. A Restless Night. Our Companion's Disgust. The Blunted Delicacy of the Squire........30

CHAPTER VII. – The Squire's Candour. A Repulse. Our Companion's Explanation. A Survey Party. More Moral Persuasion. Honored Labor. Labor and Knowledge – which will be uppermost?.......35

CHAPTER VIII. – Hitherward and Thitherward. The Settler's Home. His Family. Disinterested Kindness. The Young Ladies. Elevated Simplicity. A Clean Bed, and Sound Rest. Kakas and Wild Ducks. The Philosophy of Home. Love: its Power. Man and Wife. The Squire's Notions of Women. His Pipe put out.......39

CHAPTER IX. – A Whare in the Bush. Heterogeneous Company. Good Fare. An Argument and a Quarrel. The Inebriate. A Noisy Set. A Civil Bush Host. Philosophy of Drunkenness..........47

CHAPTER X. – Misgivings. Dear and Scant. Skilley, or Prison Fare. A Grace. Doubtful Sanctity. Invidious Distinctions amongst Levellers. A General Purge. Toleration and Endurance. A Moral.........53

CHAPTER XI. – To and Fro. General Impressions. Social System Upset. An Exposition. Forms of Respect in vice versa Order. Natural Objects, Minute and Many. The Rat and the Moa..........59

CHAPTER XII. – A Maori Host. His Whare. His Family Circle. Supper. A Female Slave. Degradation. The Squire's Solace. A War-dance. Hideous Contortions. The Opposite Social System. Useless Gentility: Cogitations thereon. Nature. Physical Deductions........63

CHAPTER XIII. – Torrents of Rain. An Exposition of the Favorite Theme. An Atom. Infinite Comminution. Matter Infinitely Divisible. Reko's Intelligence.........72

CHAPTER XIV. – Infinity of Space. The Elements. The Balance. A Central Sun. The Milky Way. A Descent to Actuality. The Mind of a Slave. Instability of Ignorance. Unerring Laws.......75

CHAPTER XV. – The Rain Pours. Time. The Present, the Past, and the Future. Periods and Eternity have no Ratio. A Motamentum not perceptible......80

CHAPTER XVI. – Temporal Cares. Change. Continuity. Change is Life. Visible Objects, Apparent only by Change. Renovation by Change. Change on the Face of New Zealand. Change not to be Regretted. This, the Era of Stimulated Change.......84

CHAPTER XVII. – Clear Weather. Mataura River in Full Flood. The Falls. The Lamprey. The Root Vermin. Variety. A Disgusting Comparison......88

CHAPTER XVIII. – Maori Diet. Links of Nature. The Feelings of a Stone. An Intellectual Mineral. Sensitiveness of Vegetables. The Zoophite. The Link Between Man and the Ape. Flying Mammals. The Ornithorhynchus. The Leaf Insect. The Squire's Impatience........91

CHAPTER XIX. – Maori Geography. Knowledge of the Interior. Reko's Travels. Geological Disquisition. Drifts and Terraces. How Deposited. One Tide's Action. One Principle Proved. ........99

CHAPTER XX. – A Horse Power. Comparison between Great and Small. Cutting of the Channel of the Mataura. A Cycle. Actinism. Alternations of Heat and Cold. Rise and Fall of Land. Expansion and Contraction. A Theory. A Practical Illustration. The Rind of the Earth. Lateral Pressure. Subject Wrapped in Smoke........104

CHAPTER XXI. – A Pig Hunt. The Squire's Agility. Gradual Development. The Early, Middle, and Late Creations. New Links. The Creator's Law. The Squire's Chemical Composition. Six Cycles to Mature Man. A Cycle a Day..........114

CHAPTER XXII. – The Duty of Philosophy to Discover Error as well as Truth. Creation. The Earth. The Steps in Creation. True Philosophy of the Sacred Records. No Chance-work. Amalgamation of Species. Truth, though Scotched, not to be Killed. Study of Geology Enjoined in Holy Writ. Crude Persuasions not to Crush Intelligent Inquiry.........121

CHAPTER XXIII. – We Cross. Dangers of the Ferry. Heroism of Reko. Primitive Charges. The Fascination of Danger. The Squire's Confirmation........128

CHAPTER XXIV. – An Eccentric Pioneer. Short Commons. "Old Hands." The Waiopai. Precursor of Justice. Unpopularity of a Limb of the Law. Law Valued at a Price. Lovers and Haters. Tall Talk and Small Appreciation........133

CHAPTER XXV. – A Disturbed Night. A Wake. The Funeral. Drunken Sorrow. A Priestess. Squire's Philosophy of Women. Virtue out of Depravity........139

CHAPTER XXVI. – A Reconnoitre. A Seat in a Fireplace. A Whaler Host. The Cooper's Schnaps. A Dance. Our Host's Activity. The Bullock Cut Out. Wild Scenery. The Social System. Sunday Exercises. The Power of Contrast...........144

CHAPTER XXVII. – The Theory. Auld Reekie. No Opposites, no Existence. An Illustration. A Totara. Man and Woman. The Earth and the Firmament.......153

CHAPTER XXVIII. – Land. Its Existence in Change. The Coral Insect. Alternate Action. Junction of Heat and Cold. Fulcrum of Opponent Forces......157

CHAPTER XXIX. – Water: its Currents. Constant Change. Salubrity in Motion. Reaction the Soul of Nature. The Squire's Resolve..........160

CHAPTER XXX. – Air. Its Opposites. A Still Day. A Sealed Bottle. Slow Change and Fast Change. The Trade Winds. Cyclone. No Opposition, no Action. Shelving the Question........163

CHAPTER XXXI. – Being. Pencillings of Nature. Electric Currents. Divine Ideas. The Squire's Amazement. A Chinese Illustration. Religion Upheld. A Day of Creation. A Pig without a Tail. Men with Tails. A Noble Lady and a Papuan. The Ratio. Forms of Mankind. Porcupine Men. The Lost Link.......168

CHAPTER XXXII. – Humanity. Black and White. Its Flow. Tendency from Cold Regions to Hot Regions. Impulses. Economy of a Nation. Motive Power. Effects of Ignorance. Rome on the Wane. Patricians and Plebeians. Self-Preservation...........182

CHAPTER XXXIII. – Man's Fear of Man. The Squire's Political Economy. The Democrat and the Aristocrat. Influence of Climate. Civilization and Barbarism. The Foundation of Races. Material Interest the Bond of Nations. Having and Not Having. Great Britain, the Model of the World. A Paradox. Opposites in Populations. Slavery. Caprices of Extremes. Weakness of Diffusion. Perpetuation by Mutual Concession..........197

CHAPTER XXXIV. – The Mind. Its Influence. Contrarieties of Mind. Growth of Faculties. Circulation of Ideas. Religion. Great Divisions on Small Differences. The Counterpoise of the World.. Zones of Creeds. Perception and Non-Perception of a Deity. The War of Mind. The Phraloang. Gross and Humane Convictions..........218

CHAPTER XXXV. – A Wide Prospect. Fascination of Mystery. Lecture on Politics. Universal and Manhood Suffrage. Self-Preservation the Impulse of All. Just Rule. Old England the Model. The Maori. The Parting........235

CHAPTER I.

Rambles with a Philosopher;

OR,

VIEWS AT THE ANTIPODES.

CHAPTER I.

THE LAST DAY OF A JOURNEY. A RIDER AHEAD. THE DILEMMA. STORM ON THE SNOWY RANGE. THE MEETING. THE DESCENT. A GLIMPSE OF DUNEDIN.

IT is some years ago – colonially speaking, a long time ago – that I happened to be journeying from the northern districts to Dunedin. The season of my journey was during the dead of winter – that is, about the latter end of July. I had reached my last day's stage, and was now hastening along the sharp, razor-back ridges that extend between Waikouaiti River and the Snowy Mountain. No roads had yet been formed in the Province, so we were forced to use the devious and difficult tracks that nature had prepared for us. I had mounted that portion of the road called Steep Hill, and was in the act of descending when I espied a rider ahead, pushing on in the same direction as myself. My first thought was as to the possibility of overtaking him, for I saw that company would be useful, if not agreeable, as the clouds were lowering and

the wind sighed sullenly. A companion in travel would, under such circumstances, cheer the way over the dreary Snowy Mountain; and his assistance might be advantageous were tempestuous weather to overtake us.

I was not slow in urging my horse full tilt down the steep declivity; then, having gained the hollow, I followed full gallop along the alternate rising and falling ridges. As I rose on the brows I perceived the stranger ahead of me; as I descended he was again lost to view. I, continued thus for several miles, but with no appearance of being able to overtake him, and had gained that portion of the road where stands a small copse-wood, called Lee's Bush. On my rounding the shoulder of the hill at that place, the stranger was seen ascending the steep acclivity that leads up to the Clump of Trees. He was apparently pressing forward with all the swiftness of a good steed; nor did I relax in my endeavors to put my own on its mettle. I now perceived sufficient reasons for hastening, for the south-west quarter showed unmistakeable signs of an approaching gale.

I was not long in reaching the Clump of Trees, at which place, at that time, stood a lonely untenanted hut, whose meagre shelter and cold charity were sometimes availed of by the storm-staid traveller. I would rather have taken shelter here than have proceeded to face the pelting showers now descending, had I not been fortified in my resolution to advance by perceiving the stranger in the act of ascending the Snowy Mountain, fully a thousand feet above me.

Incited by example, I gave my horse the reins, and pushed forward. My homeward-bound steed gallantly seconded my wishes, and I was soon brought to the base of the ascent, and borne upwards. Here, being yet under the lee of the range, the storm was but little felt, further than in the clogging of the horse's hoofs by the newly-fallen

A WINTER STORM

snow. Still, the track was clear, and we ascended without doubt or difficulty. When we made the summit, however, the scene changed. The storm had now attained its fullest force, sweeping the bare mountain with fierce blasts, accompanied by drifting, hard, pitiless hail-showers. By long usage and frequent travel, I was well acquainted with the devious pathway, so I had no misgivings, even though I had to push my steed forward dead against the gale. He lowered his head to it, so as in a measure to shield his eyes against the blinding sleet, and thus carried his rider forward. I proceeded as swiftly as I dared along the track which now led along the western and exposed edge of the mountain, and continuing thus for fully half-an-hour, I was about to turn my horse's head down the slope, so as to cross a boggy streamlet which escaped here from the swamps of the summit waste, when suddenly a dark object was seen advancing. I stayed my horse for a moment to reconnoitre, as well as the scudding storm would allow me. Tho object, at first mysterious and ill-defined, soon developed itself into a horseman, whom I readily anticipated to be the stranger that I had till now been unable to overtake.

Our salutations were unceremoneous and soon over, and the first inquiry of the stranger was as to the direction of the track, "For," said he, "I have been poking about here for this half-hour, trying to find a path across this – – - swamp, till I have exhausted both myself and my patience – I fear also my good manners."

"No wonder," said I, "for there is no path across it, and you might have tried your patience all night and been none the wiser. I am glad I have made up to you at last, as I feared to find you in even a worse dilemma; so come on – follow me."

Suiting the action to my word, I turned my horse's head down the mountain's side for a considerable distance, till the streamlet clears itself of the moss flowing out of the swamp. Here I crossed, and then turned up again to the summit and so cleared the impassable tract that had puzzled my new companion. I found the stranger as good at following as he was at leading, so soon descended to the saddle between Flagstaff Hill and the heights we had passed.

"Now," said I, "here we have a little shelter: let us recruit ourselves before we face the fierce storm again. We will have three-quarters of an hour of it before we can expect to gain the comparative shelter of the spurs on the other side."

So we dismounted and refreshed the inner man with the contents of a flask that had been frequently useful on such occasions; then, having examined our horses' hoofs and cleared them from the clotted snow, we remounted and set our efforts to clamber up the steeps and brave the pelting storm again.

As the day was now well spent, time was not to be lost in traversing the heights of Flagstaff. The snow had now drifted into great wreaths, breast deep, which retarded our progress, and darkness set in before we found ourselves on the descent towards a little hamlet called the Half-way Bush. Having gained the brow of one of the spurs of the mountain, a temporary abatement of the gale revealed to our eyes the small village of Dunedin, far down – 3000 feet beneath us. One or two lights glimmered out occasionally – oh, how cheeringly! I could fancy to myself that one of the lights belonged to the Old Royal, where Boniface Smith was no doubt ready waiting to welcome us with all the hospitality of his far-famed

DESCENDING ON AND ON.

hostelry. We descended, on and on. How long, cold and weary was the road. The horses sank up to their haunches at every step in the miry lane. At last we passed one or two incipient domiciles, where newly-arrived immigrants were making themselves comfortable before blazing fires. We descended on and on, slowly but surely, and at last we congratulated ourselves on our safe arrival at the most remote hotel in her Majesty's dominions.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER II.

THE OLD ROYAL. REFRESHMENT. THE RULE OF CONTRARIES. DOUBTS. PROJECTS OF AN INFANT SETTLEMENT. A NEW ACTOR. ALCHEMIC CIRCLES. EFFECTS. A RIOT SUBDUED. SATISFACTORY EXPLANATIONS. THE STRANGER'S FIRST REFLECTIONS. SMALL BEGINNINGS MAY HAVE LARGE ENDINGS.

IT was not long before I was washed, dressed and prepared for dinner. Our horses at the same time were cared for, and enjoying, no doubt, in their own way, the transition from the cold snow-driven mountains to the warm stables. The stranger had already entered the long room, and I had thus for the first time an opportunity of scanning him. His age might have been over thirty. He was broad chested, but spare in the lower extremities. His complexion was so sallow as to evidence ill-health. His hair was dark, yet his features were of the true English type. His nose was prominent, but not aquiline; and his eyes (the most attractive feature) were coal black, soft in influence, yet sparkling up to occasional brilliancy. His brow was capacious, rounded, but not over prominent. On my entry, he bowed in recognition, and, advancing, shook me warmly by the hand, and thanked me for what he termed his rescue from a difficult, if not a dangerous, plight.

Our kindly host was not long in laying the good things

THE OLD ROYAL.

of the Old Royal upon the table, for he knew that sharp airs and peckish appetites brooked not delay. The dinner bell no sooner rang than a dozen guests speedily took their places. As fortune would have it, I sat opposite to my new acquaintance, so that I had an opportunity of satisfying any lurking curiosity that might have arisen within me. The first topic of our conversation was naturally regarding the track over the snowy mountain. He expressed his astonishment of my easy traverse of so tortuous and difficult a road, obliterated, as it was, by deep-lying snow and so blinding a storm. He was so full in his expressions of obligations to me, that even the most exacting of deliverers would have been satisfied; at the same time, out of his unfeigned and open recognitions, a somewhat haughty bearing was slightly perceptible. I remarked, in return, that I was astonished at his hardihood in attempting the journey alone – and I particularly complimented him on his cool perseverance in trying, without aid, to cross the obstructive swamp. I remarked, also, on his apparent disregard, not to call it contempt, of cold, hail, snow and danger. He smiled, and replied, that as for cold he was not sensible of such a thing, he had too much caloric in his body, imbibed by a long residence in the tropics, for that to affect him; and, as for danger, if bad came to worst, he added, I had only to abandon my horse to take care of himself, while I would have sought the lee of the mountain for shelter, and camped for the night in the bush. To meet such contingencies in colonial travel, he added, I always carry with me two days' provisions, a panniken and matches. With the last articles a fire is soon lighted; water is everywhere abundant, and can soon be made to boil, and with boiling water and provisions, you know a hungry soul can soon be replenished.

I remarked, in reply, that I had felt the bitter blasts of the mountain most keenly, and that no doubt he, equally with myself, appreciated the grateful change from the exposed mountain to the snug quarters of the Royal.

"Yes," said he, "the rapid transition from a disagreeable position to its opposite is necessarily most agreeable. The rule of contraries is as little to be ignored by the moderns as by the ancients. Rapid transition from one extreme to the other, I must confess, has, for good or for evil, a subtle fascination over me.. The excitement it induces animates the spirit, incites the imagination, braces the nerves and nourishes the powers. When for good, it developes in man such higher aspirations of which his nature is capable, it elevates his destiny, promotes great projects, stimulates to great deeds – whether it be in civil or military life. Transition from this to its opposite is the spur-wheel of humanity. In it all things circulate, all things live, all things exist and have a being. This is true with regard to creation, organic or inorganic. Without the contraries, what would the world be but a chaos? without two opposites, what would this life be but a blank?"

I was, I must confess, somewhat startled at his vehemence. To tell the plain truth, I had no other thoughts than of the good dinner before me, and which, being well cooked and served, was particularly engaging. During my new acquaintance's epilogue, I scanned him as narrowly as good breeding permitted; for in startling me out of my self-satisfying train of thoughts, he drew my narrow attention. I say I scanned him: yet I saw no evidence of the unsettled eye of the monomaniac, nor did I see the fitful glances of the visionary. His eyes sparkled but for a moment; then their soft, soothing influence fell on me. That influence was full of benevolence, benignity,

SCHEMES

and philanthropy. I had doubts but for a moment: then I was satisfied as to his gravity. Our conversation dropped and our joint attention settled on the objects before us. As is usually the case while the viands were being demolished, so did the heart commence expanding, and the conversation of the guests became more animated.

The first exposition of the stranger's theory flitted across my mind. Transition from this to its opposite – transition from cold to warmth, transition from hunger to satiety. Mark the effects as the transition progresses: how the flow of life bubbles up and effervesces. The topics of conversation were numerous; all tongues were at the same time noisy, and the arguments were stirring. Local interests naturally had pre-eminence. One shaggy-haired man, with large eyebrows, was, even at that early period, full of a railroad to the West Coast. This was fiercely opposed by another, who advocated an ingenious scheme for lighterage between the Port and Capital, to be worked by windmills. He stubbornly supported his scheme by explaining the complicated arrangements of whips, cranks, cogs and paddles, by which means, he assured his hearers, he would work his vessel against wind and tide, and thus overcome the laws of dynamics. Another of the company laughed at both schemes with supercilious scorn. Their schemes were but rubbish as compared with his own. As he unfolded the same to a somewhat irreverend audience, it proved to be no less than to make Dunedin the world's centre.

"For," continued he, "are we not placed in the very pivot of the world's ocean navigation? We thus command all continents and islands, even more so than Great Britain herself – yea, I say to you, gentlemen, even more so than Great Britain herself. You may depend upon it,

gentlemen, Otago is destined to be the great emporium, not only of Australia but of the Pacific – more than that, gentlemen: of the whole world itself. Has not the great Macaulay foreseen it, as well as myself? Now listen attentively, gentlemen, when I unfold my grand scheme, for it is no less, gentlemen, than to establish steam communication with the old world by the North-west Passage, and we will thus excel the deeds of Parry, Ross and Franklin."

Jeering applause met this announcement; this great scheme met as little encouragement as the two former. The flow of conversation and war of wit went on, and from interests material the company moved to interests spiritual. At length, the spirit of anger rose to a degree that would have led to the argumentum ad hominem, when a new actor appeared on the scene. He was a person of gentlemanly exterior, of fair proportions, and comely presence; yet an insinuating address somewhat detracted from the agreeableness of first impressions. He at once performed three alchemic circles with his left hand, and then mixed some symbolic matter in the air. The effect of this demonstration was more instantaneous than can be described in writing; for the first circle had the effect of attracting the immediate attention of the rioters: the second relaxed their angry muscles: the third imbued them with the bolus of mirth, and the mixing process suffused their countenances with the elixir of delight. Good humour having thus been restored, the company gradually dropped off till the alchemist, the stranger, and myself were left alone. The alchemist also prepared to depart, but before going he remarked to the stranger, towards whom he appeared to have conceived an intuitive regard, that "if the right way were taken with these poor people, they were as manageable as lambs."

SOCIAL ASCENT.

Being now left alone with the stranger, "Well," said I, "what do you think of our little settlement and its people?"

Said he, "I perceive in your settlers the universal law of contraries in active operation. Where transition from one thing to its opposite is most rapid, so do we see sober minds most hopeful, sanguine minds most ambitious, sordid minds most avaricious. As the lively mountain torrent courses to the still lake, how its eddies swirl, its cascades leap, its sprays dance! Here, these people have evidently left the ready-made Old World, and they suddenly find themselves in opposite circumstances in an unmade New World. To them the transition is as a mighty ascent in the social ladder. In the Old World their energies were palled by disappointments, their aspirations were cramped, their desires curbed. There the country had been fenced, the cities built – all needful work had been done. Here everything is yet to do; a mighty labor is before them, and they exuberate in fancy as they gird their loins to the task of building a city in a wilderness – a home in a desert – a country and a nation at the Antipodes. This transition puts determination into their hearts – fierce force into their vitals. The labourer here finds himself a master, the pale mechanic is a designer. Humanity is elevated and aspires; their untrained fancies dream of chimeras. Such are the seedlings, it may perchance be, of a new nation. Such are the effects of sudden transition between opposites. A miserable village in the remotest part of the world, with its one or two hundred inhabitants – with its streets impassable by reason of deep mire, and its pathways choked with the native flax – how mighty its ambition! how soaring its destiny! When extremes do meet, we land most truly in the sublime – or its opposite, the ridiculous."

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER III.

A STROLL THROUGH THE VILLAGE. TWO NOTABLE CITIZENS. THE RUSH OF THE MOB. SACRED MELODY. BELL HILL AS IT WAS. H. M. JAIL. A COURTEOUS PRISONER. THE OLD MAN'S MORAL INFLUENCE. ITS STRONG POWER. ITS RARITY. ITS APPROPRIATENESS TO THE CIRCUMSTANCES. HOW LONG MIGHT IT LAST.

NEXT morning eight-bells had rung before I awoke, and when I entered the long room of the hotel the stranger was already seated. Our encounter of yesterday had already made us old grown friends, and his proposal for a stroll after breakfast was accepted willingly. I must confess that no one can love freedom from toil or care more than I do; yet for actual ennui I have a detestation. Recreation is the opposite of labor – so when the body can transfer itself at times from one to the other, then is the zest for our own peculiar pursuits maintained in healthy action. Thus far I had learned to think of the rule of contraries.

We had not far to stroll before there were abundant objects of interest. Here in front of the hotel was a forlorn looking space – before which stood a blacksmith's shop, and close to that again was a cooperage in like condition; both as forlorn-looking as the space by which they were situated. The occupants seemed not to be over engaged with the cares of life, for both stood arms akimbo, and scanned the stran-

THE JOVIAL TWAIN.

ger with a scrutinising interest. No doubt the same sentence rose in each of their bosoms – which would be to this effect – "Wha may thae be?"

Notwithstanding the defects in the architecture of the workshops of these two citizens, they appear to have been men of note at the antipodean village, for has not Otago's poet sung of them in the following stanzas: –

"Harken now, ye growlin' crew,
Ha! ha! the grubbin' o't;
I've changed my mind, and so should you,
Ha! ha! the grubbin' o't.
For I've begun the cooper tred,
And workin' next to Gallie's shed,
Where horses are baith shod and bled,
Ha! ha! the grubbin' o't.

"Baith cogs and kirns I mak wi' glee,
Ha! ha! the grubbin' o't;
I tap the barrels and taste the bree,
Ha! ha! the grubbin' o't;
And lately I have bought a coo,
It's altered days wi' me I trow,
I'm gettin' fat, and whiles I'm foo,
Ha! ha! the grubbin' o't."

Passing the jovial-looking twain, we arrived at a miry gutter, which we crossed by a rough foot-bridge. We ascended a slight rise, from whence we could overlook the whole village. The hamlet (for it was no better at that time) might have contained one or two grocers' shops and other general stores, but nothing that we could see sanctioned the grandiose nomenclature of the future city. Princes-street – for that magnificent name had been revived here – was yet covered with flax or deep plastic mud – not even were there vestiges of footpaths on either side, where the mire-bespattered traveller might find refuge. As we passed on, one or two heads emerged out of the half-opened

doors. The eyes of the heads stared at us for a moment or two, and then disappeared. A stir was now seen to take place, for a mob of cattle was being driven, pell-mell, through the street, followed by barking dogs and noisy horsemen. So rapid was the rush that we only had time to step aside in order to avoid being run over. After the mob of cattle and their pursuers had rushed past, they were seen to be chased, baited, whipped and maddened upon a beach close by, till at length – with much hallooing, screeching, and shouting – they are forced into a slaughter-yard.

Leaving this scene, we passed on, and were attracted by the sound of loud singing. The origin of the melody was found to be in the lungs of a little shoemaker, who, to lighten his labours, was practising the Old Hundred to the full pitch of his voice, beating time with his mallet on the hob-nails of an old water-tight that he was repairing. Ascending a hill, where stood a wooden belfry and an old rusty mortar, we passed on through high flax till we came to a conglomeration of shingles and pallisades, which also had a high-sounding title for low purposes: viz., Her Majesty's Jail. A jail is a matter of curiosity to strangers in most cities. The Castle of St. Angelo, no doubt, has as many visitors as the modern keep-safes of Major Jebb. Our first thoughts were, therefore, to obtain an order for admission from the magistrates; but this we soon found to be a useless trouble, for one of the inmates, anticipating our cogitations (after peering through a grated window) opened the door and asked us in. He informed us that the old man had gone out for a pint of ale, and had not yet returned.

"And who is the 'old man?'" asked the stranger. "The Governor, to be sure," said the inmate. "He is a jolly brick, and very kind to us."

THE OLD JAIL.

"By the Governor, do you mean the jailer?" asked the stranger.

"Not exactly," said the inmate, with hesitation. "We call him the old man, and he is very kind to us: indeed, were he not so, we would not stop with him. They call us prisoners, outside; but, bless your hearts, the best of men are sometimes prisoners, and we would not stop with the old man were it not for his moral influence."

"Without offence, then," said the stranger, evidently much interested, "what keeps you here?"

"Oh," said the inmate, "I got three months' from the beak (magistrate), and am taking care of the chokey while the old man is out."

"How many prisoners are there?" asked the stranger.

"There are now about twenty," said the inmate; "nineteen are outside, chopping flax in the town, and this is my day at home."

"Do you and others not think of running away?" asked the stranger, with astonishment.

"Oh, no," replied the inmate, "bless your hearts, we would not do such a dirty trick to the old man; no, not on no account, as it would get him into a scrape with the beaks, and so lose him his sitivation. No, we would not treat him so scurvily as all that. You know, gentlemen, the old man says he trusts to our honor, and that's hard to break. No, bless your hearts, we would not leave the old man in the lurch in that shabby way. The old man does his best to make us comfortable – there you see, gentlemen, just step in Sirs, don't be afraid, there is the Illustrated London News, where we can see the pictures; and here is the Otago Witness, which the old man reads to us when we are not minding about his reading the Bible. Yes, the boys one day did think of breaking out, because the old

man did not put enough of currants into the plum-dough; but, my eye, didn't he goose them. 'My boys,' said he, 'I knows what evil has got into your busums; but, if one of you stir, you are dead men – I've only to pull the cork out of this here little phial, and a smell will come out as will stifle you.' My eye, there was no more talk of breaking out after that. Yes," said the inmate, "it is moral influence as keeps us here; and what strengthens that more than anything is, that the old man plays the fiddle uncommon, which makes the long nights pass pretty jolly; and, if we did want a bit of spree outside, the old man does not over object. Says he, 'Bill, my boy, you may go; but if you do not be back before eight-bells – you know what I will do – you will break your honor, on which I rely, and then you know what I will do – you know, my boy, I will lock you out!!!' No, no, gentlemen; it's not these rickety palings that hold us in – its moral influence, as the old man calls it. Besides, who would run away from such treatment as we get here. We sailors are treated like dogs on board ship. Here the beak, if he be a merchant, or he may be a storekeeper, he will send us a keg of beer, once and again, to keep us warm in the cold nights. And we have plum-dough on Sundays, and as much tucker as we can peg into us on the other days. No, gentlemen, I have come to see that it's moral influence that rules human nature, and that's the rule in the old man's lodgings – it's nothing else. Tom Marlingspike actually bummed when he bid the old man good-bye, the other day; and, bless your hearts, the old man bummed too. Tom had had two years from the beak for something I need not mention, so he was sweer (loth) to part, as the old man's moral influence had got so strong a hold on him by this time."

All this was nothing new to myself, an Otagonian; but the

CURIOUS DEVELOPMENT.

stranger betrayed by his looks sensations in which surprise and curiosity mingled. As we returned to the door, he said to me, "This is really delightful. I never met with so apt an illustration of my favorite study in the laws of contraries than I see here. Truly, do you at the antipodes stand counter to those of the old country; so verily may we anticipate that your mutual intercourse henceforth will be great. A jailer here, beloved; his jail clung to; his prisoners, his companions and friends. A jailer yonder, abhorred: his jail a terror, his prisoners shackled and. solitary. I have fallen to-day on the rarest and most curious development of human nature."

I replied that, "were he to remain with us for some time, the enigma would dissolve and the cause become very apparent. These prisoners are principally sailors, sentenced by the magistrates for short periods only, and not for any venal offences. The offences, for the most part, are committed to free themselves from a hard and disagreeable service on board ship. The colony is at present so small in population, that every strong man retained in it is an appreciable gain to the State. Hence the laxity. 'A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse,' and the jailer, or 'old man,' as they delight to call him, is too sensible not to make things pleasant for himself and his charges."

The stranger replied, "Yes, I see; the stream of humanity when young and near the fountain, runs in small currents: so its waters are safely contained by shallow and ill-bound embankments. It is only when human conventions have grown old, that their streams are deep and dangerous; then the means of control must be strong – the fetters must be well rivetted. Contrary conditions require opposite measures, so it would be ridiculous to apply equal treatment to contraries. That jail is perfect in its discipline, for it

complies with circumstances. The prison system that we have seen to-day is not so absurd as first sight indicated. The old man's regime is appropriate to the conditions. We have ample proof of its power: for the cords which bind are honor, benevolence and philanthropy. Yes, you smile; but these great influences can emanate from the humble as well as the mighty. Nay, so far from his system being a cause of obloquy, it is unique in the wide-spread British dominions. The sight of a fatherly jailer and a child-like prisoner is beautiful in theory. That we have seen it once in the world, is a notable fact. Would not Exeter Hall rejoice over this? The vagrant shoots of the spring herbage attract the wayfarer, but their tenure is short and must give way to the sterner and ruder fibres of such plants as can bear the scorching gales of the summer. It is melancholy to think that the old man's moral influence must soon fail: for change is the fate of progress: alterations, the necessity of life. And life itself is but the roadway that leads from birth to maturity – the channel between opposites."

CHAPTER IV.

THE LONG ROOM.

CHAPTER IV.

A NOISY COMPANY. A RAGGED BULL-DOG. NATIONAL AVERSIONS AND CHURCH POLITICS. A STRAY ENGLISHMAN AT BAY. A NORTHERN EPISCOPALIAN. THE CRAMMED, SURFEITED, AND WRECKED.

ON our return to the long room of the hotel, we found a company of half-a-dozen persons seated round the fire, for the wind was yet keen from the south-west, and the showers of snow had not yet entirely abated. The company was noisy, and one of their number attracted instant attention, for his aspect was savage and uncultured in the extreme. His face, without tokening addiction to the rosy god, was more than ordinarily red. A shaggy, uncombed mass of hair fell in stray locks over his face, so as to hide the upper features, even down to the lips. His eyes were grey: and the angry sparkle that illuminated them was heightened in effect by its emanating from the umbrageous shade of so huge a mop. The sparkle was that of the Skye terrier as it fastens on a rat. The dress was of the plainest stuff in those plain days: a blue shirt – no longer blue, but rather of a dingy grey – covered the upper man; well-worn fustian trowsers covered the nether quarters. Both garments were ragged and torn, nor had there been a single stitch to save nine. His trowsers were out at knees, and his shirt out at elbows. His shoes were more dilapidated than his dress,

for the right one had no sole to it and the left was verging on that undesirable contingency. The universal flax was held in requisition to keep them from dropping from off the feet. Humanity in such a dress generally shows equal signs in the body, such as emaciation in aspect, haggardness in countenance. Not so in this individual: he was stout, hearty and bold, and held his own against all opposition.

The other members of the company were apparently of mixed society. One might be a ploughman, another a shepherd, another might have been a gentleman at one time, and no doubt all the company would be gentlemen by-and-bye – that is, when their sections rose in value as the infant colony progressed. High hope is the rule of youthfulness. The first-described individual spoke English of the purest school: the others had an accent more or less Scottish. The Stray Englishman, as we may now call him, was quarrelling with his associates on national subjects. He was depreciating, in a high tone of arrogance, everything that belonged to North Britain; and his adversaries were not a whit backward in retaliating. While he flung Flodden in their faces, they retorted with Bannockburn. These high words would no doubt have resulted in the expulsion of the pugnacious bull-dog, had not the subject unexpectedly changed to church politics.

"And," said the Stray Englishman, "you would even set up a Presbyterian popedom over this portion of her Majesty's dominions, forsooth."

Now, to explain, I must mention that the Settlement of Otago was founded on what was called Free Church principles: what these may be I could never fully appreciate. Practically, the original intentions of the founders of the settlement appear to have been to establish the Free Church as a State one, fully endowed out of the common-

A HIGHLAND EPISCOPALIAN.

wealth. In other words, what was most objectionable to that vigorous body at home was found to be very desirable here. No doubt this can be accounted for by the great law of contraries – but I must not diverge from my theme.

This well-advised allusion to church politics had no sooner escaped from the Englishman's mouth, than defection appeared in the camp of his adversaries. Disagreement of sentiment scattered their forces, and they sat dumb. Their powers of attack seemed to have been paralyzed, and so they sat wavering. All looked at each other and remained silent. At length, after a pause, one of the company – whose accent and dress betokened him to be from the far north – essayed to remark that "the shintlemans might pe right noo. Her nain sel kent fu' weel tat there was nae tifference atween the Pope on the seven hills and John Knox in St. Giles. For hersel and his chief, the laird o' Auchter-na-Vallach, they sided with the oppressed Prelacy of auld Scotland."

The arguments on this new subject of discord grew more and more hot and furious: so much so, that good breeding avoids description. All seemed to feel strongly one way or the other. The company, indeed, had become very noisy and riotous, and evening being now on we could not escape from the nuisance.

Seeing my annoyance, the stranger – with one of those semi-comical semi-grave looks, one eye laughing and the other grave, then both laughing and both grave alternately – suggested that he would try the invariable panacea in producing a reaction to peace and quietness. He added, "They are all evidently very thirsty with such long shouting through their throats, so let me see what quenching will do." Ringing the bell for Sandy Low, he blandly asked the company what they would take. The

effect was as magical as the passes of the alchemist. The grim look changed to the gracious smile: the fierce bellow to the soft word: the hateful din to loveable silence.

We now had an opportunity to converse with the most notable of the company, viz., the Stray Englishman, and we found his history to be too common a one in the annals of modern English society. The son of a high dignitary of the church, in early youth he was nurtured with all the care and tenderness of an affluent house. He was taught in all the arts and conventionalities of his station: all the learning and accomplishment of his caste. The fond father, with the view apparently of fitting him for a first rank in one of the learned professions, or for one of the high-privileged branches of his country's service, had completed his education by travel on the continent of Europe and study in the refined circles of the cities of France and Italy. In these cities he had been introduced to the illustrious, the distinguished and the noble. The father imbued his son with a love for the higher arts – for painting and for sculpture. We found that even in this most remote corner of the earth – in his degraded condition, in his tattered dress – he spoke with fluency of the rare gems of the Vatican and other art stores of the Princes of Rome.

On viewing this man with saddened interest, we could not but trace the causes of his unhappy fate – viz., in the over desire of the father to elevate the son – in his over ambition to upraise his offspring. In so doing he had overworked his powers, and by cramming his brains he had wrecked their capacity. Over-tasked in tender years, manhood found the child of many hopes softened in brain, weakened in intellect. Holding yet fast to the reminiscences of his early studies, he could race through them with the fleetness of a blood-horse, but their usefulness to himself

JUNCTION OF CONTRARIES.

and society had gone – he had lost the powers of application. His cleverness was without judgment – his wit without balance – his learning was foolishness.

As we turned away, the stranger gave a sigh, and remarked –

"It is too true, when opposites are in one – when contraries are in juxtaposition – nature is undone. This poor fellow, in whom these opposite qualities are so fully developed, we find exiled from house and home, despised by his friends – a stranger to their affections. He will die in a foreign strand. So much for over-tasking ambition, it leads to its opposite – degradation."

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER V.

STARTING ON A JOURNEY. I INTRODUCE THE SQUIRE. WE GAIN THE RIDGES. THE SQUIRE'S POETRY. DORIC NOMENCLATURE. THE PIONEER SETTLERS OF THE TAIERI. THE SQUIRE'S CONTEMPT FOR OUR COMPANION'S PHILOSOPHY. HIS FIRST ESCAPE FROM IT. WE FLOUNDER OVER THE TRACKS.

I HAD agreed with my companion (as I will henceforth term the stranger) to prolong our journey together; our objects may have been not quite analogous, yet our inclinations led us much in the same direction. I had also introduced to him another party, who agreed to go with us. This was the Squire – a man (for after all he was only a man) at that time of no small importance, as he was possessed of the most ample leisure. While all the other settlers were immured in projects of business and money-making, he was most careless of lucre. Few knew much about the Squire's personal concerns; but all knew of his habits. It was surmised by many that in the old country the Squire had been possessed of landed property, but that he had lost the same by endorsing the bills of a true friend. He, however, retained his title, and his happiness and good-humour were all pervading. In those dull times most of houses were glad to see him, and thus he lived free of all charges. Indeed, all that could be said of the Squire was,

THE SQUIRE.

that he kept a horse on the commonages – which thus cost nothing. He bought two suits of clothes in the year, and sufficient tobacco for the consumption of himself and his friends. In the distribution of the narcotic consisted his only liberality. How he obtained funds to indulge so far no one knew – certain it is he did not earn the wherewithal. Rumor gave out that a small annual remittance from the old country kept the Squire's head above-water. The remittance must have been a very small one, for he was never known to have been guilty of paying a hotel-bill, nor did he ever live in lodgings. My companion and I were, nevertheless, glad of the Squire's company on terms of freedom to himself from travelling expenses – that is, that we were to be responsible for all his lodgings and stabling – his ferry dues and boatages. Our return we expected in the enlivenment of the road by his guidance, his buoyant spirits and elastic humor. His knowledge of the country and his colonial shiftiness would also, no doubt, be of good service, as in those days the bogging or straying of our horses were likely to be of frequent occurrence, and no better hand than the Squire could be had to help us out of such difficulties.

After breakfast, we were all mounted. Our horses were of a small, hardy breed, suitable to carry us over the rough tracks which at that time led over the settled districts. They were also trained, by use, to traverse the natural tussock-grass lands that stretched beyond the narrow precincts of incipient colonization. Our dresses were composed of coarse stuffs calculated to incur wear and tear. A large swag, consisting of blankets and under-clothing, was covered with oilskin and fastened to the pummels of our saddles, and leather bags containing small necessaries, such as collars, straps, shaving materials, &c., &c, were hung to

either side of the saddles. As we issued from the stable gateway and gained the main street, we floundered in the deep mire till we found access to a bye-road which, at that time, meandered from Hell Hill to Waikari. Having got upon this bye-road, we had little difficulty in following it till the top of the ridge – now called Bellevue – had been surmounted. Here we halted, to take a last fond look of the village of Dunedin below. We could not sing with the poet, "From high Dunedin's towers we come" – for it was then but a hamlet, a ludicrous parody on its great mother. At that time, sunk in poverty and filth, it had earned the more appropriate title of Mud-edin.

We soon turned our horses' heads from it and crossed the Kaikorai Valley; then, following the old Maori track along the face of the Kaikorai Range, we made for the Chain Hills, attaining the crown of which we bad the Taieri Plain at our feet. Here we rested a little to view the scenery and to inform our companion of the names of the localities.

"That," said the Squire, "is Maungatua, a sullen range of snow-covered schist."

"Appropriate in sound, though I know not the meaning thereof," said our companion.

"And this," continued the Squire, "is Saddle Hill; yonder is Flagstaff Hill; there Poother Hill; and here is Mount Scroggs."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed our companion, "what degeneracy of taste! Can it be possible that the Caledonian settlers of Otago have come from the land of Scott and of Burns?"

"True, true," interrupted the Squire; "the pilgrims were more given to pelf than to poetry. Let us apply the poesy of Scott, for instance, in this region of New Edinburgh." Clearing his throat, he continued, "How would this sound?

POESY OF THE TAIERI.

"Day set on Poother's scrubby steep,
And Taieri's river broad and deep,
And Scroggs' mountain lone:
The – the – -the-.

"Oh, how execrable! The Otago pilgrims," continued the Squire, "showed no better taste in leaving so fine a country as Scotland and coming to so wretched a one as this."

"Come, come, Squire," said I, "don't talk so fast; for what brought yourself out?"

"Certainly," said he, laughing, "it was not hunger, for I had plenty of that at home."

Our companion remarked that there was yet hope that a local poet might arise and invest the scenery with classic memories. The aboriginal names, if strange, were yet euphonious, and quite as appropriate to rhyme as Tweed, Grampian, or Lochnagar. "For instance," continued he, "may not the Taieri swains a few years hence sing, with the bright improvement which will no doubt be borne on the car of time, as follows: –

"On Taieri's banks, where moas steal along,
And the gaunt Maori chants his dismal song – -?"

"Dismal indeed," retorted the Squire; "as dismal as yonder pioneer settler's mind must be whom we see trying to pull his bullocks out of the bog."

"You are incorrigible, Squire," said our companion. "I have better hopes; for, look you here, though the plain is lying in virgin waste, yonder stacks on that little farm prove the possibility that the whole valley may teem with industry. Yonder field in the far distance across the plain, just below a little knoll, shows that the leaders of the forlorn hope of civilization struggle bravely. Mark my words: if you live, Squire, you will in this very plain see hedgerows, plantation-belts, waving corn, and green clover; – more than this, it will teem with a busy, happy population,

equal to any rural community in the old country. The young maidens will blush as deeply at their lovers' flattery, and children will rise up to perpetuate the virtues of their ancestry. The universal rule of contraries will hold good even here. What is vacant will be replenished from that which is full. The over-crowded valleys of the old country will pour forth their numbers. Pent-up humanity will rush to the outlet as air to a vacuum. Opposites tend to each other."

"Ah," said the Squire, "what is all this about neighbors? Opposites tend to each other! I see well enough that the folks of the old country tend to here when they can't help themselves; but, certainly, the colonists do not tend back again."

"True," said our companion. "Still the great law holds good, notwithstanding. Full Britain finds vent in empty Otago (or, to speak generally, in empty New Zealand), and in the act each country receives mutual benefit."

"Then," said the Squire, "Britain's benefit in the transaction is a negative one: ours, positive – for we are the sole receivers."

"Certainly not," said our companion. "Britain's and New Zealand's benefits are mutual, because our states are in opposition. England's position you may call positive: New Zealand's, negative; hence, in partaking of the positive benefit, negative New Zealand receives what she is in want of; and again, positive Britain is benefitted by getting rid of that which only encumbers her."

"I confess you are too philosophical for me," said the Squire.

"Then," said our companion, "I will try and be plain. If the mother's milk overflows, is it not a benefit to the mother to take this from her?"

A FURTIVE GLANCE.

"Yes," said the Squire.

"Then Otago is the infant and Britain the mother," said our companion. "Influx into the former and efflux from the latter are mutually advantageous, as their states are in opposition – the former too empty the latter too full; and thus, between these two contraries, there is a current from one to the other, and to the other back again, mutually beneficial. This operation of nature maintains a tie strong in its fibres, for they are entwined of parental fondness and filial love."

The Squire gave a chuckle of incredulity, and with a furtive glance at his new acquaintance, he put spurs to his horse's flanks, and we followed his lead.

When we descended to the plain, the difficulties of our journey began. We had to hold by the lower spurs of the ranges, now ascending one to head the small streamlets or creeks, and then descending another; now floundering in a swamp, then stumbling into crab-holes. Our progress was thus much retarded; besides, the track was a continuous puddle, and in it our horses frequently sank to the haunches. We were therefore glad when we sighted the termination of the day's stage just before darkness set in.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VI.

PATIENCE AT THE FERRY. THE ACCOMMODATION HOUSE. DIFFICULTIES AND LOSSES. THE SQUIRE'S PREDILECTION. PIGGING. A RESTLESS NIGHT. OUR COMPANION'S DISGUST. THE BLUNTED DELICACY OF THE SQUIRE.

WE arrived at the brink of a sluggish river, and called, or rather coo-ee'd, for quarter-of-an-hour to the people in a hut on the opposite bank. At last we were noticed, for we long had been heard, and a boat pushed off towards us, and came alongside. There being no punt or bridge at that time, we had to swim our horses in crossing them. This operation was effected by driving them into the water, and then guiding them with a rope fastened to their heads behind the boat. When we had swum our horses across, we tethered them out for the night, and then proceeded to our lodgings. The accommodation-house, as we may call it, consisted of a small wattle-and-daub hut containing two apartments, one apartment being appropriated to travellers, the other to our host and his family. On entering we found two or three persons already seated at supper, and amongst whom we were not dilatory in taking our places. The supper consisted of salt-beef and potatoes, damper and tea – hunger furnished the sauce.

After supper, the company arranged themselves round a wooden fire, and there, sitting upon logs or crackets, they

A SQUATTER'S TROUBLES.

discussed the topics of the day. We were soon enlightened as to the personal adventures of most of our associates, for communication in those days had little reservation. The most interesting person was a feeder of sheep, or, as he delighted to call himself, a squatter. He had just arrived from Australia with a cargo of sheep, in order to stock a run; and now he was proceeding to the capital to claim a license to depasture on crown lands. He had shipped 1,500 head, and had arrived close to his destination when a sudden gale arose and carried them off to sea again. At sea they were tossed about by the waves for fourteen days before the land could be made again, and, by this time, he had lost all his living property, with the exception of 300. This, he pathetically told us, was his sole remaining property in this world. He bewailed his loss at one moment, and then tried to bear it with resignation at another; but his spirit was indomitable, as a pioneer's ought to be. He said he was determined not to abandon his projects, however doubtful they now appeared.

It was easy to be surmised that his personal expenses would be small, for his dress could cost nothing, and in this country he could live on wild pork and potatoes, both procurable by his own labour, so that after all his prospects of ultimate fortune were not entirely dissipated.

His personal appearance being remarkable, I shall attempt a description of the same, though with little hopes of doing the subject justice. He might have been thirty-five years of age, his complexion was fair, his head bald and his hair and whiskers were unkempt and of a bright red. His dress consisted of an old coat – this garb, to all appearance, had been his hunting one in his and its better days, for one or two of the original brass buttons with emblems of foxes yet clung to the cloth. The original colour of the cloth could

be barely distinguished amidst the numerous patches of fustian, corduroy, and sheep-skin with which it was liberally patched. His trowsers were of equally forlorn-looking material, and his shoes were even in a worse condition, being merely composed of native flax plaited into sandals. His health, notwithstanding exterior dilapidation, was good, so he ate voraciously, he smoked tobacco with a gusto – that is, when supplied by the ever-benevolent Squire. Thus, between these two personages, a cordial sympathy was seen to arise. Why this sympathy should have so quickly arisen might be explained on other grounds, viz., by the suggestion that both had seen better days. Their lot had, perhaps, been in one groove of fate.

We were not late in retiring – that is, in laying ourselves down for the night on the benches or bunks set round our common room. The bunks were wide enough to contain two persons, so as one dived under the blankets another tumbled in beside him. I perceived that our companion had retired more than usually early, no doubt with the hopes of having a bunk to himself. But in this expectation he was disappointed, for the unfortunate squatter suddenly made a dive under his blankets, making as free with our companion's pillow as if he had lain with him all his life. I perceived that a sudden tremour passed over our companion's body as he shrunk from the contact, and drew himself as close to the wall as he could, and there he clung to it.

The Squire and I next tumbled in together, and both being seasoned to roughing, Morpheus soon laid his soothing influence over us. But my rest was not to be long, for numerous little tormentors, well known in provincial hotels of that date, rendered sleep impossible. I therefore lay awake, counting the strokes of the clock at each hour, and

PIGGING.

praying for daylight. Nor did our companion sleep less disturbed than I, for he was heard from time to time to sigh with a restless, fidgetty breath, that evidenced discomfort or intolerable durance. We were up before dawn, for to be out of bed was real relief; and having brought in our horses, we fed them and returned to breakfast. This meal was taken in silence; it was likewise soon over, and we mounted our horses and proceeded on our journey.

The discomforts of the past night were naturally our first subject of conversation, and our companion was loud in his exclamations of its having been to him the most comfortless night that he had remembered to have spent. Continued he, – "Since I slept with my own brother as a boy, this is the first time that it has been my misery to pig with a man. In this community, I admit, not the breath of scandal can attribute evil in what I see to be the general custom; but oh, Sir, consider what would be thought of it in the latitude of the Dead Sea! The custom of pigging is so barbarous that I actually shuddered; even against my internal convictions of the purity of that unfortunate soul that tumbled in beside me."

The Squire laughed outright at what he termed our companion's squeamishness. Said he, "Why, the best bargains are made when in bed. Why, men even go to bed for that purpose. Did you not hear how those other two fellows trafficked about their sections, and how the bargain was struck, and how they proposed to be off to Dunedin this very morning to complete the transaction?"

Our companion replied, – "Forgive my delicacy on the point, O Squire! for I have long sojourned in latitudes where the populations are sunk in vice and immorality. You will not comprehend my feelings to their full extent, so I need say nothing further on the subject. I readily

perceive that the original health and vigor of the population pouring into this colony will improve your present incipient institutions, and that with these, arrangements will be made in your public places of resort that will satisfy the most fastidious delicacy. The golden rule will hold good – the greater the want, so much the sooner the satisfaction. The rule of contraries still ordains that the greater the necessity the quicker the amendment."

"There you go again," said the Squire, "bringing great philosophy to bear on trivial matters."

"Not so," said our companion; "no trivial matter. Many trivial matters make a great matter. The whole male population habitually pigging is no small matter."

"Well," said the Squire snappishly, "where's your rule of contraries here, then? Where are your positives and negatives in men lying together?"

"Ah!" said our companion, laughing, "it is the two positives that grate against nature."

CHAPTER VII.

CANDOUR.

CHAPTER VII.

THE SQUIRE'S CANDOUR. A REPULSE. OUR COMPANION'S EXPLANATION. A SURVEY PARTY. MORE MORAL PERSUASION. HONORED LABOR. LABOR AND KNOWLEDGE – WHICH WILL BE UPPERMOST?

I NEED not recount the difficulties of our journey over a country yet in a state of nature; over its blind swamps – its intersecting boggy creeks, and its interspersed potch holes; nor need I detail the narrow escapes of ourselves from the plunging and bogging of our horses. Suffice it to say, that it was afternoon before we found ourselves at the embouchure of a large plain. The conversation happened to fall on colonial hospitality, in which there was considerable difference of opinion between our companion and the Squire. Wonderful to relate, the Squire – though living habitually in the houses and on the good offices of the settlers – had but a small opinion of general colonial hospitality. On this bone of contention I did not venture to make a remark, being, as a settler, personally interested. I, therefore, left the two to argue the point as they might.

"Well," said the Squire, "to convince you of the inhospitable nature of the settlers in general, let us try the first house we come to."

"Agreed," said our companion.

We soon made up to a small house, situated by itself in

the midst of the plain; and, as we approached, we could readily see that the inmates had been busily engaged in the labors of the pioneer. The house had been newly thatched; the garden wall or dyke newly put up with sods, and a few beds of onions and cabbages had been sown. A melancholy fowl was seen to be picking about, with the vain hope of extracting a seed or two from the unsown fallow.

"Here," said the Squire, with a wicked twinkle of the eye to our companion, "go and knock at the door and convince yourself of the habitual hospitality of the Otago settlers."

Our companion went forward and knocked for a half-a-minute; he stood in suspense; at last the door opened sufficiently to allow of a woman's eye to peep outside.

"What's yer wull?" greeted our companion.

He, with the blandest accents, asked lodgings for himself and two companions. So winning were his accents that success seemed inevitable, when suddenly the door was shut in his face, with a –

"Gae wa' wi' ye, ye loon – we want nane o' yer whipper-snappers here!"

Our companion, thus discomfited, returned to us with a look of savage diversion in his countenance.

The Squire laughed his sides sore.

We turned our horses' heads, and rode on quickly, so as to be in time to secure quarters before night came on, as it was yet winter, and darkness made its early approach. As we eased our paces a little, our companion remarked, "that he would not imitate the Frenchman, who concluded that all the Thames watermen had wooden-legs, simply because the first one that rowed him ashore had a wooden-leg. You may depend upon it there must be much worth in a people

THE WILDERNESS.

that will brave a wilderness like this. Meanness is never conjoined to heroism. I'll bet you what you like that woman's husband is either at a beershop, or she has nothing to cook for his supper. The current of human kindness has stopped in her house for this one day, and she is at enmity with mankind."

"Never mind," said I to our companion, "I will guarantee you a better reception, if you will place yourself under my leadership."

We had by this time arrived in front of an incipient hotel, called in colonial phraseology an accommodation house. Here (by the sign-board) travellers and horses were promised good accommodation. We dismounted and, giving our horses to our host, we entered the humble inn. Within there was great noise and merriment. Before a large, blazing fire sat a man playing a flageolet, and in the centre of the room several others were dancing to the tune. Bottles and glasses on the table betokened the stimulus of hilarity. As we entered, the party resumed their seats, the music stopped, and before many minutes were over our host (who was a single man) laid the table-cloth and placed supper before us. Inward circulation had soon its usual effect, and with satisfaction came the desire of acquaintanceship.

The musician informed us that he belonged to that most useful class of pioneers – surveyors. He worked by contract at a shilling per acre, and to keep his men together where labour was so valuable, he took the hint of the Dunedin jailer and endeavoured to retain them about him by exercising his moral influence, and he found by experience that the strongest moral influence consisted in wine and music, so he made ample shift to have these always in store. He further informed us that, while he

had all the responsibility, his earnings were somewhat less than one of his labourers.

"Happy multitude," exclaimed our companion, "where labour is so honored! Labour is the fountain of all progress: it is the foundation of all greatness. It is the metal basis on which a beautiful Corinthian column will yet be reared in this land. Labour, like all other things, has its contrary conditions. Well-paid labour rears the multitude to the higher grades of society, and lowers the few educated drones to the lower. Thus, in human society, the circulating current is quickened, and production accelerated."

"Fudge," said the Squire, angrily. "I am ashamed of you, Sir, to advocate the interests that are opponent to your class. By your class, I mean the class of educated gentlemen, as I take you to be such."

"You wrong me, Squire," said our companion. "I advocate no class interests, but I comment on things as I find them with as much philosophy as I can bring to bear. I enunciate facts, irrespective of feelings. Mark my words, Squire, the time will the sooner come in consequence of the above state, when education or knowledge will assert its power and privileges. As the pillar of society is reared, so will labour and knowledge take their respective places. At present, society here may be said not to exist: for to exist it must have two contraries – a top and a bottom. Here all is a dead level. There is no tension between opposites. When the column of state rises with the advance of population, you know, oh, Squire, labour and knowledge will have their usually-assigned places, and you can guess which will be uppermost.

CHAPTER VIII.

USELESS ACTIVITY

CHAPTER VIII.

HITHERWARD AND THITHERWARD. THE SETTLER'S HOME. HIS FAMILY. DISINTERESTED KINDNESS. THE YOUNG LADIES. ELEVATED SIMPLICITY. A CLEAN BED, AND SOUND REST. KAKAS AND WILD DUCKS. THE PHILOSOPHY OF HOME. LOVE: ITS POWER. MAN AND WIFE. THE SQUIRE'S NOTIONS OF WOMEN. HIS PIPE PUT OUT.

HENCEFORTH our wanderings shall be vagrant – hitherward and thitherward in various directions. I suggested that as our companion had met an instance of inhospitality, he should have his favorite rule exemplified by being introduced to an opposite experience. As to the Squire, it was not necessary to consult his views, as he was quite happy to do anything so long as it had no useful result to himself personally; so we directed our course to the house of a settler. Being mid-winter, the roads, as I have reiterated, were bad and tortuous; indeed, none but those acquainted with the various leading spurs, bog-heads, and ridges could have attempted the journey. Be this as it may, in the early afternoon our horses stood panting before a colonial establishment, and no sooner were we perceived than an old white-headed gentleman, accompanied by a man-servant, appeared to welcome the intruders. We were all shaken by the hand with an unaffected heartiness which assured our companion's faltering doubts. Our horses were led

away by the man-servant, and we ourselves were escorted to the house. We found the establishment to be constructed of timber, the outside walls being weather-boarded and painted white. The roof was shingled. The interior was plain, but a few oil-paintings of first-class taste to a certain extent indicated the status of the settler's family in the old country. We were ushered by our host into a neatly-furnished drawing-room, decorated evidently more by fair hands than by tradesmen. We were introduced to the lady of the house, whose easy deportment gave grace and dignity to a presence that had neither the embellishments of youth nor of rich attire to support the same. Our host was an example of the Scottish country gentleman of the old school – while his conversation proved a fluent acquaintance with the classics, he was too proud of the land of his birth to neglect the use of her Doric. His phrases might be broad, but then they were apt and to the point.

The first object of our host was our comfort. We were led to an inner apartment to change our wet boots and stockings – to wash and to dress. This over, we retired to the parlor, where a smoking meal was being laid on the table by our host's fair daughters. Notwithstanding this homely occupation, we were introduced to the young ladies with a half-apology for the want of maid-servants; yet the half-apology bore with it no obtrusion of regret that the circumstances of a young colony demanded such services at such fair hands. This subject, indeed, was so delicately touched upon that his guests, in receiving the attentions, were placed at ease. True gentility triumphed over a position in which vulgarity would have floundered hopelessly. Thus the guests, while receiving services held to be menial, gratefully accepted the same, and honored the doers. The meal was substantial and plain, but well cooked, so had

A HOME IN THE BUSH.

ample justice done to it. Our drink was pure clear water. At that distance in the country wine or spirits were never known to safely arrive, so our host had none; further, healthy air and exercise ignored the necessity for such stimulants. When we were all satisfied, and the ladies had left, the Squire pulled out his fragrant negrohead and served all round. Our host replenished his wood fire, and we sat for an hour with that full enjoyment that only can be attained to by those who, being fatigued, obtain comfort and repose under such kindly auspices.

At seven in the evening we retired to the drawing-room; here we found the lady of the house and her three daughters seated, waiting for us to partake of tea, which had been set ready on the table. The tea proved hot and fragrant, the home-made bread superb, and the gooseberry jam delicious. Under such winning influences the Squire expanded his bachelor's heart, and paid marked attention to the plainest daughter. It was evident that at least he was a man of no intentions. Our companion, at the same time, engaged the old lady in a lively flow of ideas, and I talked local politics to our host. While thus engaged, the other daughters cleared the table, and returned to the room with their sewing. But attention to this domestic work was not long permitted, for the Squire pressed the young ladies for a duet on the piano. The instrument was, accordingly, opened, and each took their turn with amiable compliance and grace. They sang the sweet melodies of Scotland, selecting those that rather partook of good hope than regret – those that were calculated to buoy the pioneer in his struggle with the wilderness; for the times in these early days were sometimes black, and the future foreboding of evil. Thus, while the melancholy associations of the expatriated were avoided, I could not but remark that the old lady

would occasionally heave a sigh of regretful recollection of the home-scenes which the songs stirred up. For these same songs had been sung to her by the wimpling burn or buildy brae side, and thus her memory reverted vividly to those hallowed and endearing reminiscences of her native land – a land from which, alas! she was exiled.

In the settler's house, the hours were early; here it was indeed early to bed and early to rise, for next morning we found the house astir at dawn. I was also an early riser at that time, so walked forth to snifter the bracing hoar frost that covered the ground. My sleep had been sweet and unbroken, for the sheets were as clean as a pin and as white as snow, and the greatest of all luxuries in those days – I was alone. Our host's family consisted of three sons and three daughters. The sons, at this time, were at their run in the interior -that is, at the tract of country held from the Crown for pastoral purposes, and of which they took the active management. In strolling round the grounds, I perceived that management, order and cleanliness prevailed. The garden was well stocked with young fruit trees, hedgerows had been planted, and flower plots laid out. The whole establishment was sheltered from the south-west by a fine primeval bush, or clump of forest; indeed, all the requisites of a comfortable home had been attended to. At this early hour, I found our host directing his men in the feeding of the stock and in attending to the horses. In this active supervision there was ease of mind to himself.

When he perceived my advance, he came frankly forward and hoped that my companions and I would stay over the Sunday at least. "I cannot," he added, "promise you a shot at grouse, much less partridges or pheasants, but if you do not object to ignoble game, I can take you to where you may knock down some cushy-does. Ah! you know what

BREAKFAST.

that means. Besides, there are lots of kakas and wild ducks; and as for fishing, I need not speak of it. We have none, as you know, unless you can reconcile yourself to a moonlight forage for eels."

I made my best excuses, on the plea of business – that canker of colonial life – to which he replied, with a sigh, "Ah, had I been with you by Teviot side, I wadna hae spared ye; but come along, the young folks are waiting breakfast, and I hope you will stay longer the next time. Now, Mr. – – -, when you come round this way again, don't forget to favour my poor house. You know you are welcome, and mind and bring your friends with you; do oblige me."

We found a neatly-laid table and a substantial breakfast laid upon it. Coffee, tea, cold beef, mutton chops, magnificent mealy potatoes, and what else I need not recount. When we had finished and were about to depart, we found our horses at the door, ready saddled; so we mounted and, bidding our entertainer a hearty farewell, we proceeded on our journey.

We had not proceeded far before the Squire ventured to remark that if there were contraries in everything, it was certain that house was an exception. Everything there was so well ordered that they moved along as smoothly as a carriage wheel on a patent axle. Our companion replied that the good order only proved that the rule of contraries was exercising its full and potent influence.

"That is an enigma," said the Squire. "Prove it."

I suggested that I would venture upon a solution of the enigma, and proposed that when there was benevolent command so would there be the opposite, grateful obedience.

"Good," said the Squire.

"Then," continued I, "if there be no obedience you will admit that the domestic machine would go ajar and get out

of order, and the wheel of life would cease to circulate round the axle of love. Love," I continued, "unselfish love! the great sustainer of human nature, the great conserver of families. Love is an emanation from the Divinity and is only to be found fully developed in the purest of men and women. Love guards the family in the orbit of life as truly as repulsion and its contrary attraction guide the earth round the sun. But love has its opposite – hatred. Love is the attractive influence; Hatred, the repulsive. Then, as a family loves all that is good and hates all that is evil, there do you see humanity in its fairest phase. Between these contraries the course of a family on this earth is long, stable, and honorable. These qualities preserve them for generations in peace and progress, and they become the noble of the land."

Our companion said, "Well propounded, but not consistent with general principles. A family is like all human conventions, and is held together by mutual concessions. Love, no doubt, is a powerful bond, and hatred, no doubt, is a powerful dissolver; but how could we imagine hatred to insinuate his poisoned breath into such a family? In such a family, love stands alone and has no opposite. Love is the generator, but mutual good offices and concessions are the preservers. Naturally, man is made of harsher materials than the woman. his range of experience takes a wider scope. He moves, in a great measure, by reason – she, in a great measure by feeling. He gathers knowledge from without; she gathers knowledge from within. In viewing any one thing, they behold in different lights; both are blinded by limited vision, yet, amalgamating, they see correctly – not each correctly, but, by combined vision, both correctly. The prospect may be dark to the man – misfortune may be

PHILOSOPHY OF HOME.

brooding over him – the sea of life may be overcast, ami the overwhelming storm about to burst forth. To his hard experience it must come and wreck the hopes of himself and his little ones. She sees nothing of this. His range of vision is as the telescope – her range of vision as the microscope. He views all the firmament, and the space is blank with nothingness; she casts her partial glance and quickly detects the twinkling star of hope. In danger, her buoyant spirit excites his strong arm, which otherwise would not have moved even for rescue."

"You are a philosopher," said the Squire; "but I don't see your cue. Allow me to remark on women that their love of frivolity, extravagance, and expense ruins a family, rather than preserves it."

Our companion retorted, with a smile, – "And man's, asceticism, penuriousness, and meanness do not dry up and bury the sweets of life! Do not such influences return man to the dust of his origin without doing a single good deed to his fellows – without assuaging the grief of the orphan, or promoting happiness in any single way? Mark me: when extremes meet it is not good for man, and to live in extremes is also not good. It is not good to roll in the lap of luxury, nor to grovel in the cradle of poverty. Extremes are either hurtful or sinful, and should be avoided. It is in the happy medium between these that families maintain their status and perpetuate the memory of their ancestors for generations. It is in the nature of things that extremes will always be. Nature will vacillate from one to the other, and from the other back again; and it is in the half-way distance between these two contraries that humanity maintains its most healthful existence, its most useful properties, its most grateful essences. You may depend upon it that when you see a happy family, such as

the one we were with last night, their happiness is arrived at by mutual forbearance and good-will towards each other, which enables each member to overlook the faults of others. Men are inclined to rationalism – the women to superstition. The men have strength and vigor, while the women are subject to many little ailments and weaknesses. On these contrary conditions they meet each other at the keystone of the arch of the household – and long may they stand in security, peace, and happiness!"

"So mote it be!" said the Squire; "amen! But stop a little, as my pipe is out."

CHAPTER IX.

A DREARY RIDE.

CHAPTER IX.

A WHARE IN THE BUSH. HETEROGENEOUS COMPANY. GOOD FARE. AN ARGUMENT AND A QUARREL. THE INEBRIATE. A NOISY SET. A CIVIL BUSH HOST. PHILOSOPHY OF DRUNKENNESS.

WE rode all day, sometimes along spurs of hills, till we arrived at the crown of the ridge, then down another spur, till we arrived at the foot; at the foot we would cross a streamlet or creek and then we would ascend another spur. The country was composed of continuous ridges, covered with tame, yellow-brownish tussock grass. The quail were so abundant as to start at every ten yards, and the New Zealand skylark occasionally rose in the air, to descend again close to our horses' feet. But the skylark was song-less. At length, as twilight was setting in, we neared some high, blue mountains, whose base and middle heights were covered with forest. Their summits, however, were white with deep-driven snow. Here we descended into a deep valley, and darkness quickly overtook us. But the Squire was ready in this case of need, for he knew the country well, and in half-an-hour he brought us to the front of a small wigwam or whare, before which he called a halt. He then gave a long and shrill cooee, which was instantly replied to from within. On this one of the inmates quickly made his appearance, and, helping us to unsaddle our horses, we hobbled two of them and tethered the other, to prevent the whole straying during the night.

It was now pitch dark, so we were glad of being led into shelter (such as it was), and especially did we rejoice at placing ourselves before a large blazing-fire, composed of logs of timber burning on an open hearth. We found our bush host to be most polite, assiduous and obliging. He had travelled much in many parts of the world, but more recently in California and Victoria. At one time he seems to have been employed as a sailor; another time as a landsman; at sea in various grades, from cabin-boy to steward, and from helmsman to mate; on shore, from cook to overseer, and from bullock driver to stockman. These various occupations had fitted him in a peculiar degree for the office of a pioneer publican; and here we found him on the bank of a rapid river, and at the mouth of a valley, which commanded the country four ways. His long experience and natural judgment had declared that the stand was a good one, and after years have proved this, for, by way of parenthesis, I may say that a fine two-story hotel now stands on the site of our lodgings of that night. And mine host, now grown stout with prosperity, shakes his laughing sides as he recounts his various experiences in the old shanty.

When we entered, we found that a company had already gathered; but these were so intently occupied with their cups that our presence excited no attention. The components of the company were readily to be perceived to be sailors, bullock-drivers, and loafers. One of them was loudly asserting that the country would be a gold-producing one and as rich as any in the world yet; "for," said he, "the hills are the same as I have gone over, dozens of times, in California, and the iron quartz is strewn in every direction."

"What good," said another, "would the finding of gold be to you?"

HOTCHPOTCH.

"Ah," said he, "I would make my pile and go back to Wappin', and live 'appy all my life long."

"And not long would that be," retorted his mate. "You are too fond of Old Tom's company for that."

Our host, in the meantime, was full of apologies for the poor accommodation he had to offer, and especially did he regret that his house was so full on this particular night. "But," said he, "I know the Squire will put up with what I have, for he is accustomed to rough it." As he was talking he was not idle, for in a few minutes tin plates and pannikins were set for us, tea, and sugar and cream set down. A large joint of excellent beef was laid also before us, and we were asked by the landlord to partake of his hush fare. Our appetites being whetted not only by a long fast but by a long ride, enabled us to do ample justice to our kind host's attentions, and a nobbler from his private cellar stood for good sauce. Having discussed as much of the joint as hunger prompted, our host next produced a pile of fried plum-pudding, into which the Squire dived with mucho gusto. Having discussed this, the Squire's face redounded with goodwill and benevolence, so the unfailing tabacco was produced and distributed. A universal puff of enjoyment filled the room, and which happy state would no doubt have been prolonged interminably had the doings of our associates not pressed themselves upon us.

As their potations went down, so did their spirits rise. Betimes they became noisy and argumentative. The subject, as chance would have it, was hotch-potch. While one of the company affirmed that barley was an ingredient, another stoutly denied it, and maintained that it was rice, not barley. The one, being a cook by trade, felt that the dignity of his office was at stake, so called the other a bad

name which is here unmentionable. The other retorted vi et armis, which resulted in a general melee. Our host appeared to view the disturbance without perturbation; so, quietly taking up a coiled rope, with a ready hand and an unerring aim he threw a lasso over the most noisy, and laid him flat on the floor. The others, quelled by this energetic interference, resumed their seats in a more peaceable frame of mind. As for the individual who sprawled his ignoble length on the ground, he soon prayed for mercy, and slunk into the most remote corner of the apartment.

Our host having thus conquered the bottle-imps, he resumed his conversation with us. He professed great commiseration for Jim, who now sat in durance vile.

"Poor fellow!" said he, "he is a very quiet man when he is sober, and very handy at odd jobs; but he is wild after he has got on the spree for a few days."

"For a few days?" inquired we; "does he continue tipsy for days together?"

"Yes, and for weeks sometimes," said our host; "there is no keeping him from it as long as there is a shot in the locker. He is," continued our host, "a first-rate shearer, and brings in plenty of money when he is sober, but then it goes all the faster. I have seen him, when he is in the blues, run up the gully as if he had a thousand devils after him. Poor man! when he is that way it is no use persuading him to the contrary."

Without questioning our host's blunt morality – that is, to speak gently, the impropriety, of his supplying the stimulants to the disease of the wretched man, – we inquired if these unhappy fits were of frequent occurrence.

"Well," said our host, "it may be twice a-year, but the worst is generally after shearing-time."

Then, turning to Jim, he asked how long he had been

PIONEER PUBLICAN.

on the spree this time. Jim's shameless and ready answer was that he had now been three weeks, and that he did not expect the blues for a fortnight yet.

"Strange infatuation!" exclaimed our companion, "he courts the fate at which he trembles. He hates the end, but is enamoured with the beginning. What slave could be more fettered? what slave could be more oppressed?"

But our attention was again drawn to the others, for disunion had again appeared as their carousals proceeded. A hot disagreement had arisen. They argued, wrangled and blasphemed, but they did not actually fight. We laid ourselves down on some ferns placed on the floor near the fire, but sleep came not. Our host would have stopped the noise, but he could not till the supplies had run out. We therefore were constrained to lie awake till almost dawn, at which time the last of the carousers sank beneath the table. It was now that a deep refreshing sleep fell upon us, nor did we awake till our indefatigable entertainer had table laid and breakfast ready for us.

In parting with our host, he was profuse in his apologies, and, notwithstanding our annoyances, we readily forgave what he could not prevent. As a pioneer publican, he had to live amongst the scouts of civilization; with such he had to deal, and amongst which class often were to be found the renegades of society. He was, however, one of that useful class that new countries can but ill dispense with.

When we had got out of hearing, the Squire was the first to break silence.

"Well," said he to our companion, "I readily perceive the working of the rule of contraries here."

"True," said our companion, "it governs in the hovel as well as in the palace."

"You mistake my remark," said the Squire. "I cannot

see how it can govern here, for all are at sixes and sevens. Your rule of contraries you make to do all that is good in a house one night and to do all that is bad in another house the next night."

"Not at all," said our companion, "the noisy inmates of that hovel were as much under the universal rule as were the amiable people with whom we stopped the night before last. Good preserves, I say; Evil destroys. Good men are drawn together by a common interest: bad men are scattered by the want of that. Thieves combine to steal, but they quarrel by the holding. Drunkards combine to their common destruction, and their combination grows weaker as the bottle is being spent. Their lot is to be dispersed to the four winds of heaven. They commence in love and end in hatred. Hence the destiny of the law of contraries. Preservation sits on the fulcrum – that is, the middle line between the two opposite principles."

"Ahem," said the Squire, "that is so deep it requires to be far fetched."

CHAPTER X.

MISGIVINGS.

CHAPTER X.

MISGIVINGS. DEAR AND SCANT. SKILLEY, OR PRISON FARE. A GRACE. DOUBTFUL SANCTITY. INVIDIOUS DISTINCTIONS AMONGST LEVELLERS. A GENERAL PURGE. TOLERATION AND ENDURANCE A MORAL.

OUR next day's journey was a long one, so darkness overtook us before we reached a place of accommodation. The barking of some hungry dogs at last gave welcome warning, and it was not long ere our horses stood before a domicile, which we perceived to be at the lee edge of a range of hills. The Squire had some misgivings in conducting us to the place; first, because the fare provided at the house was known to be notoriously meagre; second, that the charges were extortionate – but this did not concern himself, as it was we who paid them; and thirdly the house professed to take in travellers as a favor. As we approached the door we were challenged by a querulous voice, inquiring our numbers and wants. "Wha may ye be," and "whar are ye gaeing tae?" and "hoo mony mae ye be?" A string of such queries were being uttered with great volubility, when our host discerned our horses. Seeing these, his tone became milder. In the first place, he saw he had gentlemen to deal with, and in the second he had a stack of straw, which he doled out at the rate of three shillings per armfull, and oats at the rate of two shillings

and sixpence per quart. Thus, in having horsemen as guests, he had fourfold profit.

"Weel, maister," continued he, "I'm glad to see ye," as he grasped the hand of the Squire. "And hoo's a' wi ye, and whan's the Captain comin' to see us. Faix the sight o' ye is guid for sair een, as they say in ma pairt o' the kintra. Noo jeest tie yer horse up there and I'll bring him a guid feed o' aits that i'll mak him carry ye the morn's morn as fast as Jehu's."

Having disencumbered ourselves of our cloaks and riding-gear, we entered the dining-hall – if the kitchen may be so termed. Here we found our hostess busy stirring an immense pot of mess, no doubt intended for the satisfaction of the expectant crowd of lodgers. Though the house was nominally a private one, it was evidently of the most public character; and situated as it was in a populous district, the travellers nightly entertained were not few in number. As we entered the kitchen, we were at once convinced that our quarters were crowded to excess, and, indeed, sitting room could scarcely be procured. The air was stifling. All seemed bent on watching the operations of the old woman at the pot upon the fire. Our host soon made his appearance; he was hard-featured, wiry, and craving. He immediately set himself to house duty by ranging tin plates and pannikins on a long table in the centre of the room. He next put a plate of fat pork at the top of the table – the pork measuring not more than four inches cube. He then put plates of coarse bread in the centre of the table at intervals. The old woman now poured her concoction into a large wooden tub, which her spouse also carried to the centre of the long table. All being now ready for the patient watching, hungry travellers, the host requested the horsemen of the party to seat themselves at the upper part

SKILLEY.

of the table, round the bit of pork. This was by way of distinction. The foot-travellers he ordered to be seated as they best might. Having taken the head of the table himself, he pronounced a long and droning benediction, which was listened to by all the travellers in moods appropriate, but of their moods the host appeared unconscious. Grace done, all fell-to with alacrity. This was effected by a rush to the tub, where each spooned out his quantum. The nature of the mess being well known to the Squire and myself, it was carefully avoided; but the others were either less informed or more audacious. The mess consisted of ground wheat, boiled to the consistency of batter, but from which the bran had not been separated. The effects of this pottage were well-known in the district, in its either scouring the recipients most unmercifully, or in laying them up with severe headaches. Thus, in either case, our host gained the advantage of the next day's board with no expense to himself, and the costive travellers were at the same time saved the expense of a dose of epsom salts or senna tea. Those initiated into the mysterious influence of the pottage, such as the Squire and myself, fell back on the modicum of pork. Our host, having seen the scramble over, pro forma pressed us to partake of the old woman's concoction – which, I may here remark, is known in prison discipline by the name of skilley; but, as we made the expected objection, he cut a small piece of pork to each of us. With this and some dry bread we were fain to be satisfied, as there was no help for it.

Our host was one of that class of Presbyterians called Cameronians, who are said to be most distinguished for their piety, severe discipline, and rigidness; so by the rule of contraries, as our companion would say, were also most distinguished for their hypocrisy, sanctimoniousness, and

inner laxity, as compared with other Christians. Thus we were not astonished to find that our host was most attentive to the religious exercises of his household, but in which we did not join, feeling a relief from such a nauseous atmosphere (animal and moral) by an escape to the outside, where we sauntered for an hour or two, till the time of retirement came.

Now, though the house was ostentatiously given out as a private one, and under this plea visitors received by way of favor, we found on our return to the inside that room was provided for all parties. The sleeping room was up-stairs, and common to all. Shake-downs lay side by side the full length of the house. Our host, notwithstanding the levelling and democratic views of his order, which make all men equal, had with great discrimination divided the apartment into three classes, viz., pastoral, agricultural, and mercantile. He put the pastorals at one end and the agriculturists at the opposite – for, as he would say, the shepherds were an abomination to the Egyptians. The mercantiles, as neutrals, he placed in the middle, so we, as coming from the capital of the Province, were classed amongst the latter, and were shown to our shake-downs accordingly. Our host's discrimination on the laws of inequality had further elucidation in his arrangements of one bed to three agriculturists, the same accommodation to two pastorals, but the mercantiles with their effeminate habits were supposed to require a shake-down to each, and to our great relief we were accommodated accordingly. But, though thus accommodated, sleep we had none, owing to the attacks of numerous little insects, the progeny of uncleanliness – for in those days uncleanliness was not considered to be allied to ungodliness.

We were much disturbed, as it may be supposed, from

THE BILL OF FARE.

the above cause; but also by the unfortunate victims of the skilley, and about which I need not dilate, as my readers' imaginations would not be elevated by any further allusions to the customary effects of aperients.

On the following morning we were early on our journey, and at its commencement I perceived that our companion was more than usually thoughtful. At length, said he, "How mortifying it is to see the benign influences of religion distorted and made a cloak of to hide extortion – to cover a penurious and miserly grasping at other men's means. Here is this man three times a day calling for God's grace on his unholy passion for lucre. Look at this, – twenty persons at supper at 2s. 6d. each, equal to £2 10s. The subject of the blessing, viz., the pot of skilley, cost 2s.; coarse bread equal to 2s.; crowning dish, viz., the bit of pork, equal to 6d.; – that is 45s. 6d. profit from 4s. 6d. expenditure! I need not say more, – the subsequent scenes of last night affront our better nature."

The Squire laughed outright, and said that "old Pinch-me-near was well known to the settlers, so he did not harm them much. They were accustomed to his ways, so they thought nothing of them. Indeed," added he, "many of the more plethoric visited the house to get their flesh taken down a little."

Our companion replied, "that that might be, but such a state of affairs could only be tolerated in the very infancy of society. Let this grow, and a hideous morality would arise. But," suddenly checking himself, he added, "we need not fear this consummation, for nature reacts against an extreme. This man is tolerated for the time being, – as population pours in, competition will provide a less disgusting rest for the weary traveller."

"Then how do you moralise by your rule of contraries in friend Pinch-me-near's case?" asked the Squire.

"In this way," said our companion, without alteration of tone. "He is evidently from off the lowest stratum of society. He has been poor, needy, and starved at home. Sent probably to this country by a charitable friend, the gates of wealth have been suddenly opened to him. His cattle feed on the common – his milk, cheese, and butter bring high prices – his guests dole out their daily fares to him – and thus in his new arena wealth and prosperity roll in upon him, – all this before his mind has been trained to the tension. He grasps as the hungry wolf, and urged on by the same instincts he acts without reason, so he does not weigh the means, he does not balance the ends. To be in an extreme – to be from off the golden medium – is always abhorrent to the eternal principles that govern all things. To be suddenly cast from one extreme to the other is also as abhorrent. The victim of grovelling poverty has as unhappy a burden in the case of sudden wealth as the misery from which he had just escaped. It is only by slow and gentle means in which nature works; and wealth to be held for the good of the holder must be after years of study, years of discipline, or after years of indomitable perseverance in a life of healthy self-denial. As the lightning rends the tree, so do sudden events destroy mankind. Great wealth is as little to be desired as great poverty, and most especially if they come suddenly or unexpectedly. Above all, happy is the man that lives in the balance, that droops neither way, – it is better to be rich not overmuch."

CHAPTER XI.

TO AND FRO.

CHAPTER XI.

TO AND FRO. GENERAL IMPRESSIONS. SOCIAL SYSTEM UPSET. AN EXPOSITION. FORMS OF RESPECT IN VICE VERSA ORDER. NATURAL OBJECTS, MINUTE AND MANY. THE RAT AND THE MOA.

WE journeyed in various directions, sometimes staying amongst the settlers, at other times penetrating into the interior, and which at that time was entirely uninhabited. We found the settlers in the various steps of establishing their habitations. Their hospitality was, invariably, generous, though the means might not be equal to the intention. While rough hardihood was the order of the day, yet did we meet those of such kindly nature that even the wild duck within the precincts of their influence rose not at our approach. Spotless in character, hearty in address, benevolent in disposition; their hospitality was unbounded, their charity all-pervading. Some sighed to return to the old country they had left, it might be for ever; others looked forward with good hope to the country they had adopted. It was soon perceived that the conventionalities between master and servant had been upset, or that they were being re-arranged; thus, in one house while master, mistress, manservant and maidservant sat comfortably in the same room and ate at the same table, in another house this levelling mixture would not be approved of, for the educated spirit struggled hard for superiority,

and desperate was the fight of the rough-sinewed element which rose to crush the self-importance of the other. In such cases it was often noticeable that the pert but not unkindly maid-of-all-work would greet our entry to the breakfast room, with a "Good morning to you, gentlemen; I hope you will make yourselves comfortable." In truth, her services to her mistress she knew to be invaluable and difficult to be replaced, so she rose with the opportunity. Her weakly mistress, the scion of refinement, had enough to do to take care of the children. Hand-labour here, it was evident, had overcome head knowledge, so for the time being, revelled over the conquest. It was thought by the former section, that, indeed, here all men are equal. This idea was a subject of congratulation to them. To the latter the idea was utterly abhorred, so its end was devoutly prayed for.

"Here," said our companion, "is a case of equal circumstances suddenly cast on unequal sections of society, so the balance of society has been by artificial means upset. The artificial means, as I call them, are injudicious assisted immigration, wherein all sections of the community are not fairly represented. You have imported all poor and no rich; all labour and no capital. Rut the rule of contraries will in time set all this right again, and circulation between the opposites will be all the faster. Educated, well-trained thought will in time take its place over material and unskilled labour, and direct it for its own purposes, which, fortunately, must always be for the general good and stability of society. I observe here that the labourer feels himself equal to the employer, and circumstances seem to support this position. Forms of respect are forgotten. The employer I sometimes see addressed as Tom or Bill, while the servants address their fellows as mister. Fit in

MOUNDS.

dominatu servitus, in servitute dominatus. Now is the opportunity for the hard-working, sober labourer; for assuredly this anomalous and rare state will not last long. The greater the volume, the greater the rush of waters, and humanity is as insiduous as water in searching out every corner of the earth whereon to rest itself. The greater the contraries the greater the attraction."

While thus journeying and speculating, objects of even a trifling nature called our attention. Thus, at that time, the interior country was untrodden either by man or beast. The moa had disappeared, and the wild hog was just beginning to spread in localities favorable to its growth. Numerous mounds were observed to be scattered in every direction. On this subject the Squire was enthusiastic in his theory that these mounds were the graves of the aborigines. Our companion looked hard but unconvinced. At length I suggested that the mounds might be the marks of fallen trees, for the roots, in being torn up, would create a hollow, and where the timber of the roots had decayed, the earth and gravel adhering thereto would create a mound".

"True," said our companion, "your theory is one worthy of consideration; and what conclusion does it lead to but this, that all these interminable grassy plains were at one time covered with tall forest? How great are the operations of nature as compared with man's pigmy efforts! Then, talking of pigmy efforts, is there not another subject for contemplation in these numerous handfuls of pebbles, scattered here and there amongst the grass?"

"Oh!" said the Squire," I have a famous theory on that subject. These are undoubtedly the crops of extinct moas."

"Stop a little," said I, "Squire, and I will prove you wrong – for look at this little handful of white pebbles, just thrown out of this rat-hole."

"Good!" said our companion; "this simple operation of the native rat has to my knowledge puzzled the savans of New Zealand, and here is the enigma so clearly and satisfactorily explained. Eheu, quam brevibus periunt ingentia causis!"

It was now late in the afternoon, and we stood before the whare of Reko the Maori.

CHAPTER XII.

A BROWN SAVAGE.

CHAPTER XII.

A MAORI HOST. HIS WHARE. HIS FAMILY CIRCLE. SUPPER, A FEMALE SLAVE. DEGRADATION. THE SQUIRE'S SOLACE. A WAR-DANCE. HIDEOUS CONTORTIONS. THE OPPOSITE SOCIAL SYSTEM. USELESS GENTILITY: COGITATIONS THEREON. NATURE. PHYSICAL DEDUCTIONS.

AS we alighted, a brown savage crept out of a low erection which may be termed, in the several languages, a hut, a kennel, a wigwam, or a whare. He uttered several sentences in Maori to the Squire, whom he had evidently seen before, and to which address the Squire replied by the word "Tenakui." There was but little ceremony, however; we were not asked in, because in these regions hospitality was expected as a matter of course. We unsaddled our horses, and tethered and hobbled them on some rich grass in the vicinity. This done, we carried the saddles and bridles into the hut, the description of which I shall now attempt. It was probably twenty-five feet long and fifteen broad, and was constructed of saplings, reeds, and leaves. The roof was low, the walls were dwarfed, and the entrance was little better than that of a dog-kennel. Outside of the door was hung a bag, which wafted a most unsavoury stench, most disgusting to the olfactory nerves. This was owing to the contents of the bag being nothing else than a repository of decayed potatoes, which the native Maoris were

accustomed to add to their food by way of condiment. It was supposed, also, that this curious taste arose from their being unused to salt.

We entered by crouching, and when in the interior we found a fire in the outer apartment, whose smoke filled and blackened the ceiling. The floor was covered with impalpable dust, and had been merely the natural surface of the ground on which the hut was built. But on the further side of the fire, mats were laid for us, and on which we were directed to settle ourselves. There was another apartment, if such it could be called, for a slight bar stretching from one wall to the other, constituted the only separation. Thus the hut, though so divided, was open from one end to the other. When we had set ourselves down on the mats, leaning against our saddles in lieu of pillows, we discerned through the smoke, that, in the separate portion of the hut, another fire was kept burning, and over this squatted our swarthy host, the well known Reko, the Maori. Beside him sat two women, his wives, about whom one or two children sprawled. A young girl of fifteen, a slave, was urged to fetch wood, and also to place a pot on the fire. It was fortunate for us that a pot was here, and for this circumstance we were indebted to the enterprise of the sheep stealer McKenzie, who, having fixed upon this part of the country as his depot, had placed some of his chattels in the keeping of the Maoris.

Of this aboriginal family there was nothing peculiar to remark – their color, physiognomy and physique being the same as was to be observed in any of the other native settlements. The principal cause of remark, was in the solitariness of this one family, living as they did far separated from the other populous communities – in Ruapuke, Aparima, and Omawi. The garments of our native enter-

A SLAVE GIRL.

tainers were scanty and of native manufacture, their hair was unkempt, shaggy and clotted. While their expressions were mild, it was easily to be seen that their savage nature might be roused on a slight occasion. As travellers had now begun to pass occasionally, money had become an object of desire. They had also acquired a taste for tea, so this was the first thing asked for. Fortunately, I had a pound or two of the soothing product of the Central nation, so I handed it over to the savage. The production and gift of this mild narcotic had a suitable effect on the hospitable thoughts of our host, for on its receipt he immediately ordered his wives to prepare supper for us – the pakehas or strangers – and about which they now set themselves with alacrity. Some mutton birds and eels were soon produced and fried in fat. A large bowl of potatoes was put into the pot, and while we sat watching the preparations for supper, our interest was drawn to the slave girl.

Probably an individual could not be lower in the scale of humanity. Her dark brown skin was blackened with smoke, and her eyes were red with the fumes of the manuka and black pine. Her matted locks hung over her brow and face, so much so, as only occasionally to permit her features to be disclosed. Her only garment was a flax mat of scanty proportions, and this hung loosely over her shoulders. She did her menial duties with a dull sense of necessity, as the ox draws the plough, or the ass carries the pannier. That she had been the recipient of one kind word to lighten her heart, or to brighten her intelligence, was not apparent in any degree. There she sat, silent, speaking to no one – unnoticed and unknown; there she sat, – scraping the potatoes with an oyster shell. Her gait was not the gait of a human being, for

she crouched about so bent as to be almost on all fours. Yet she was not a quadrumana. Her back at that tender age was bent quite double with humility, oppression, and degradation. How brute like is insensibility – how inhuman like is the callous indifference that would perpetuate such misery in a fellow being! A short year had but gone when we visited the spot again – her sufferings were ended, and she was no more.

While pity and commiseration most intense had entranced our party for the time being, the completion of the culinary process recalled us to our sense of hunger. The pot was set before us, and beside it the fried eels and mutton birds. Having brought tin plates and pannikins with us, we set to to demolish our supper; which done, we consoled ourselves with copious libations of tea – the summing up of which was as usual the Squire's unfailing pipe and tobacco. In the meantime, our host Reko having also refreshed himself in the inner apartment, felt a glow of spirits from the unaccustomed draught of tea, so he essayed to mingle with the white men, and partake of their company. The conversation was maintained principally by the Squire, whose knowledge of a few Maori words greatly assisted in confirming the good will and understanding. Reko, on being given to understand that our companion was a great chief, proposed a war dance in honor of the occasion of his visit, so he set himself on a mat opposite to us, and commenced proceedings with great solemnity.

The dance, if such it may be termed, was done in a sitting posture, and consisted of movements of the arms, with grimaces and contortions of the face, extrusions of the tongue, and loud, savage whoops. At the time he had worked himself up to the climax of fierce raving, he approached our companion with a most diabolical, threatening

THE WILDERNESS.

aspect, calculated to quail the stoutest heart. He stood as if to strike him dead, but our companion moved not a muscle: he sat still and met the excited, savage eye with calmness. Our brown Maori host had now worked himself up to the aspect of a terrible monster, and he came closer and closer in front. To all appearance, a terrible catastrophe was about to happen, but our companion – the victim – moved not a hair's breadth, and the savage sank down before him, exhausted with his exertions. His countenance altered to its former good-nature, and he resumed his friendly position on the opposite side of the fire.

We beguiled the time as best we could till the small hours of the morning had arrived, and when sufficiently tired and sleepy to defy the little tormentors of the night, we stretched ourselves on the mats and used our saddles for pillows. When we arose next morning to resume our journey, our companion remarked that "we had hitherto journeyed amongst the pioneers of civilization, last night we had dwelt with the offshoots of savagedom. Chance had, as it were, at once cast us unexpectedly on the opposite social system, and it was interesting to notice the difference."

"What difference?" said the Squire. "I as little get my boots cleaned for me before breakfast here as at Dunedin."

"True," said our companion. "The Maoris wear no boots so know not your wants, or certainly your boots would be cleaned for you. That miserable slave-girl would be made to do that for you."

"Then, I wish I had her," said the Squire, abruptly. "As it is, if I want a clean boot, I must brush it myself: if my horse wants a rub down, I must do it myself. What

with these menial offices, besides those of a harder nature more difficult to be borne – such as cutting and chopping firewood – all of which must be done by myself within the precincts of colonial civilization – the life here to a person of my breeding is disgusting. In fact, to be a gentleman in the colonies is no good at all. To be a gentleman is to be a mere chimera; to have refined feelings, is to have the feelings of a toad under a harrow; to have educated tastes, is to eat the bitters of coarse concoctions which are difficult of mental and bodily digestion."

"Then," said our companion, "why, Squire, do you remain amongst the colonists, whose social state is so distasteful to you."

"Simply for this reason," said the Squire, "fate would have it, and I can't help myself. Certain it is this country is not for the gentleman: it is the land for the labourer and the mechanic. It is the working man's paradise and the poor gentleman's purgatory. I hope the day will come that I shall get out of it."

"Well, Squire," said our companion, "to judge by your looks and easy habits, your good health will sustain you till that consummation arrives, and which you seem so devoutly to desire. But," added our companion, "I fear, Squire, that to satisfy the refined tastes of your social position, money will be necessary as much in the home country as in this one."

"Not exactly," said the Squire. "Ten pounds a-year will give me menial assistance at home, and civility to boot, while four times that sum here may give you the same assistance, minus the civility."

"And also," said our companion, "without the ten pounds or the forty to give, how would you fare in the old country?"

DEAD LEVEL.

"Egad," said the Squire, "then I could not maintain myself in such good company as yours."

"This leads me to remark," continued our companion, "that all communities or social conventions tend to an equilibrium between two opposite conditions – rich and poor. The condition of having and the condition of not having, which induce craving for interchange. The rich, to utilize his substance craves for the labour of the poor; and the poor, to satisfy his wants, craves for the substance of the rich. When the equilibrium of these two opposite cravings of humanity is upset – be it by will, be it by accident- -so as to have more poor on one side of the balance, or the converse, more rich – society, under the universal law of contraries, rights itself. If the displacement be slight, slight will be the means of cure; if it be great, then have we convulsions and paroxsysms before the balance can stand even again. Tolluntur in altum, ut lapsu graviore ruant. Now I take the position of the pioneer colonists to be unbalanced. It is easily to be perceived that in their present circumstances no rich men are to be found amongst them; all are at a dead even level of equality. So this condition creates no cravings for interchange one from the other; enterprise is deadened, and works public and private stand still. The colonists are offshoots of a generally educated nation. Education diffused is power diffused. General education is levelling in its tendency, because knowledge in the plebeian gives power to the masses. Hence educated masses brought to these shores take advantage of their opportunities to acquire property and assert rights to higher positions than they had over been accustomed to in the land of their birth. They no longer brook the name of servants – no longer deign to hire their labour. Hence, oh Squire, thou aristocrat, the present

state of things is distasteful unto thee. But, have patience, – want of schools, vice, and drunkenness, will ere long supply an increasing section of labourers, whose masters will be the offspring of the virtuous and the energetic of this generation. Well, it is when the masses are so educated, that the outlets into the wilderness are also open, or the consequence would be, that revolution and change would quickly alternate."

"Then," asked the Squire, "what conclusions do you derive from the social condition of the New Zealand Maori?"

"This," said our companion. "As knowledge dawns on him, so will revolution and change creep in upon him. While yet free from contact with Europeans, his social state had the two opposites of the patriarchal state, viz., privileged chieftainship and abased commonality. His knowledge equal as between tribe and tribe – one tribe thus was preserved from the other. Within each tribe the influence of irrevocable caste apportioned the status of each individual. Where there was no free labour in a tribe, so neither was there payment for services. Thus the chief exacted his requirements from the bondsman, and for these services the bondsman claimed care as being of the chief's family. This relationship of master and slave was mutually advantageous. But nearer connection of the slave with his owner's family was the slave's chance of promotion, and the communistic and polygamous principles of the social state of the Maori gave a frequent opening to this ambition. The son of a slave was not unfrequently also the son of the chief, so he might become the leader of a tribe, and thus was an interchange between opposites effected and the universal law of contraries vindicated. But contact with the educated democracy of Europe will unsettle these relations,

A HOME IN THE BUSH.

and as knowledge is power and ignorance weakness, so will the Maori and his institutions succumb to the stronger, and vanish to the four winds of heaven. In contact with the feudalism of the early middle ages the result might have been different. But, oh! Squire, thou aristocrat, this age of diffused literature is a levelling one. I see you sigh for reaction."

"An aristocrat in mind," said the Squire; "a plebeian in pocket. Sorry mixture of contrary conditions!"

"All for your good – all for your good!" exclaimed our companion. "Your poverty of lucre will chasten your richness of mind, and uphold you in adversity till good fate bears you to a healthier equilibrium of opposite forces."

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIII.

TORRENTS OF RAIN. AN EXPOSITION OF THE FAVORITE THEME. AN ATOM. INFINITE COMMINUTION. MATTER INFINITELY DIVISIBLE. REKO'S INTELLIGENCE.

WE had saddled our horses in the morning for a start, but the lowering sky of the north-west quarter sent torrents of rain; we therefore reluctantly secured our horses to their their tethers, and repaired again to the hut of our Maori entertainer. As we sat round the wood fire, ruminating in vacancy, the Squire at length broke silence by asking for some exposition of our companion's favorite theme.

"Well," said our companion, "most gladly; but I fear I shall weary you. I shall first speak of an atom. What is an atom, Squire?"

"Well," said the Squire, "I suppose an atom you would call the contrary of the universe."

"Well answered," replied our companion; "but neither you nor I can conceive either what is an atom or what is the universe, – the one being the supposed ultimate particle or component of a created body, the other applying to the whole system of created bodies; but neither word is appreciable to human reason."

"I do not agree with you," said the Squire; "for, instance this grain of quartz – I could easily pound it into atoms."

INFINITE MINUTENESS.

"Easily pounded," said our companion, "but the atoms not yet to be perceived."

"How so?" said the Squire.

Our companion rejoined, – "Divide the grain by two, what is the result?"

"One-half," said the Squire.

"No answer – no answer," exclaimed our companion. "Then," said the Squire, after some cogitation, ".5." "Very good," said our companion. "Now divide it by three."

"One-third," said the Squire; "or, in decimals, .33333+. Ah! I see it is interminable."

"In other words," said our companion, "it is infinite. The third part of that small grain of quartz cannot be expressed in figures, as the figures are interminable. Its ultimate particle, therefore, cannot be arrived at by human calculation. Minuteness of creation is as infinite as the opposite – viz., the greatness of the universe. Now draw a circle on the floor, oh Squire, and tell me the square of it – a circle of one foot in diameter, or one inch, it matters not. Good; a circle half-an-inch in diameter – what is its square? Small as it is, it can only be reckoned approximately, for an interminable decimal is the multiple. Though the difference of a thousandth part may be made apparent to the human eye by means of the microscope, and the millionth and billionth by mathematical calculation, yet the difference between a circle and a square is eternally minute, so is beyond human conception. So is it with the hyperbola whose asymptote ever approaches but never meets – be they a mile apart or an inch apart, it matters not. Produce them a furlong or a hundred thousand miles, they ever approach but never meet. To the human eye the lines may be one and the same; their distance may be calculated to

the minuteness of a thousandth part of an inch, or a millionth, or a billionth – far beyond this minuteness the distance can be calculated mathematically; yet only the lines meet in eternity. In creation, minuteness is as far as human knowledge can take us, beyond our ken, for it is eternal. That it should be so, is an enigma never to be solved."

"Mathematically only!" exclaimed the Squire.

"Not so," said our companion, "speaking humanly, divisibility of matter is infinite. Gold may be beaten out to a millionth of an inch in thickness. A pound of cotton can be made to stretch 200 miles. The tread of the musk rat affects with fetid odour a whole cellar full of wine, so as to render it undrinkable. The tread may only be the billionth part of the space rendered nauseous, yet will the odour be apparent in every portion of the cellar, and never to be eradicated. The influence of the little tread is beyond the powers of man to calculate. The ratio between cause and effect is only short of infinite. To man an atom cannot be apparent, it is only an abstract idea – a mystery not revealed."

"That will do," said the Squire.

Reko, the Maori, watching our emotions with perplexing curiosity, now flashed intelligence, for he lighted a splinter and held it forth to the Squire. The Squire lighted the consoling weed, and fell into a soothing yet unsatisfied train of thought.

CHAPTER XIV.

A DOT.

CHAPTER XIV.

INFINITY OF SPACE. THE ELEMENTS. THE BALANCE. A CENTRAL SUN. THE MILKY WAY. A DESCENT TO ACTUALITY. THE MIND OF A SLAVE. INSTABILITY OF IGNORANCE. UNERRING LAWS.

THAT space is infinite, who can deny? – for where are its boundaries! That which is infinitely large is the universe; – that which is infinitely small is an atom. Neither terms are conceivable by the human mind. Mathematicians say that a point is that which has position but no magnitude. They attempt to illustrate this with a tangible dot, yet that dot is as big as the particle of water in which thousands of animalculae can be detected by the microscope. The universe is unlimited space: infinite – an abstract idea not comprehensible, not understandable; between it and our world there is no ratio – between it and the solar system there is no ratio: between it and the firmanent of stars there is no ratio: between it and our journey's end there is no ratio: between it and this hut over our heads, there is no ratio. This space on which the hut of Reko the Maori stands – thirty feet long and ten feet broad – the world, the sun, the moon and the stars are in equal ratio to the universe. As compared with the universe, the earth is no greater than this little hut – this

little hut no greater than the fleas that hop on its dusty floor. The universe is the opposite of an atom, and neither extreme is approachable to man's mental grasp. He may examine the fifty-six or more elements – he may pursue in thought the ray of light, the flash of electricity and the radiating influence of heat; he may examine the nature of the metals, valuable and base; he may control the subtle gas – this for his own use; he may reveal in self-sufficient knowledge the developments of the creation in the middle space, but of the extremes he can know nothing. Mystery of mysteries! how little known to presuming, unforgiving, pompous, ungracious man! His body, as compared with the universe, no bigger than next to an atom: his span of life, as compared with eternity, no longer than a motamentum. All creation lives between two opposites. The light of the sun expands the valves of nature, and the darkness of space contracts them. Life exists in the balance of war between these two great powers: action and re-action vivify them. If we scan with the telescope the astral systems beyond, the same great rule is indicated. There is a central sun in the starry space round which our solar system revolves, and while light travels near 200,000 miles in a second of time, conceive not the distance, for it is unimaginable. Light would require more than 500 years to travel from our sun to that one. And what is this distance to universal space? Nothing – there is no ratio. This hand's-breadth and that immeasurable distance are equal and one, when compared to the universe. The astronomer, Herschell, has said that there are a great number of objects in the heavens mistaken for comets – small, round, nebulous specs, which telescopes of moderate power only show as such. Of those objects, 103 have been counted. That they are not comets, however, their fixity

NEBULOUS STARS.

sufficiently proves; and when we come to examine them with instruments of great power, they are, for the most part, perceived to consist entirely of stars crowded together, so as to occupy almost a definite outline and to run up to a blaze of light in the centre. Many of these nebulous specs are indeed of a round figure, and convey the idea of a globular space filled full of stars insulated in the heavens, and constituting in itself a family or society apart from the rest, and subject only to its internal laws. It would be a vain task to attempt to count the stars in one of these globular clusters. They are not to be reckoned by hundreds; and from a rough calculation, grounded on the apparent intervals between them at the borders, and the angular diameter of the whole group, it would appear that many clusters of this description must contain, at least, 10,000 or 20,000 stars! crushed or wedged together in a round space whose angular diameter does not exceed eight or ten minutes – that is, an area not more than a tenth part covered by the moon! "Perhaps," continues Herschell, "it may be thought to flavor of the gigantesque to look upon the individuals of such a group as suns like our own, and their mutual distances as equal to those which separate our sun from the nearest fixed star"!! The great power of Sir William Herschell's telescopes has disclosed to us an immense number of nebulous stars distributed over the heavens, more particularly in a broad zone crossing the milky way at nearly right angles. The nebulae furnish in every point of view an inexhaustible field of speculation and conjecture. That by far a larger share of them consist of stars, there can be little doubt; and in the interminable range of system upon system, and firmament on firmament, of which we thus catch a glimpse, the imagination is bewildered and lost!

"Gad!" ejaculated the Squire, testily, "if that be the case, you and I have but little concern in the matter."

He drew a long whiff, and, composing himself, sank into a deep reverie. At length, said he, –

"What can that slave-girl know about all that?"

Our companion remarked, – "As compared with the universe, as much as you or I; as compared with ourselves, little or nothing. Her mind, deadened and cramped by the menial duties of a hard and inexorable state of savage society, has no development beyond brutal instincts. The highest privilege of man is to behold the works of the Creator, and to wonder at and enjoy them. These privileges are debarred to her. Of religion she can have little – of morality, what? – of human feelings, a modicum only. Yet, notwithstanding this, religious feelings are implanted in all reasonable creatures, and the germs of it will be found even in her – it may be in the form of a grovelling superstition. The germs of religion in her are developed in the fear of spirits, ghosts, dreams, and other supposed causes of ills and diseases. Of an all-powerful, just, and beneficent Creator, she can have little perception. Hence, oh Squire, is the good in studying His works. The learned and thoughtful base their hopes on the broad rock of unshakable conviction, for they scan the undeviating laws of Nature's God. In the immensity of space they see there (to us) a slow and sure course, and are guided by the lesson. Their opposites in humanity – viz., the ignorant and senseless – stand on the brink of uncertainty; for Nature, to them, is full of freaks and catastrophes. Hence they are the victims of false rumors, ghastly fears, and dire presages – of which the impostor, knavish or foolish – religious and profane – from time to time take the advantage. They know not the immensity of space, the minuteness of equili-

THE GREAT PRESERVER.

brium, and the certainty of motion, slow and gradual as compared with man's life. They know nothing of the unerring laws of creation: hence the terrors of the ignorant that all should break down; hence their want of confidence in the surety and firmness of the laws of the great Preserver." Compare the minds of Dr. Cumming and Lord Brougham, how opposite the genius! How great the contrast!

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XV.

THE RAIN POURS. TIME. THE PRESENT, THE PAST, AND THE FUTURE. PERIODS AND ETERNITY HAVE NO RATIO. A MOTAMENTUM NOT PERCEPTIBLE.

THE rain poured down as it seldom does, and confined us to the narrow precincts of the Maori's dwelling. Noon had now passed, and we discussed the simple meal placed at our disposal. Our companion remained more than usually thoughtful, and as the females cleared away the fragments, he suggested that, as he had commented on Space, so might he also on Time.

"Time is infinite," continued he; "it has neither beginning nor end. This world, as now existing, had a beginning; but Time had none. Time infinite has no meaning to man. He endeavours to measure it by years, days, minutes, and seconds; but he can neither measure infinity by the year, and as little can he measure the opposite of infinity – viz., a motamentum – by the second."

"Why not the latter?" said the Squire. "I can readily count the seconds by the tick of my watch."

"True;" said our companion, "but a motamentum is no part of a second of time. Time infinite consists of two contraries – time past and time future."

"Does it not also consist of time present?" asked the Squire, incredulously.

NO PRESENT TIME.

"No;" said our companion, "there is no time present. There is only time past and time future. The stream of time may be marked, but its flow never stops even for a moment – so it never can be present."

"What foolishness and absurdity!" said the Squire. "Do you mean to say that now is not the present time?"

" Now?" asked our companion, looking at his watch, "do you mean ten seconds ago, when you spoke, or now?"

"I mean now," said the Squire.

"Then," said our companion, "that is ten seconds after your last now. Which of the nows do you mean?"

"Why, I mean both," said the Squire.

"Then your meaning can have no understanding," said our companion, "for certainly 1 h. 11 m. 10 s. is not 1 h. 11 m. 20 s. Believe me, Squire, that to humanity there is no present time. There is past – that is certain; and there may be future; but present there is none."

The Squire threw himself back, laughed satirically, and declined to listen.

I proposed to listen instead of him, so our companion continued –

"There is as much a motamentum of time as there is an atom of matter. Both are at best arbitrary expressions of what we cannot conceive, and they can as little be made perceptible to man as an atom of musk odour, or of oxygen gas. Man has arbitrarily named his smallest measure of time a second; but that is not a motamentum. He may, by practice, detect the fifth part of a second; but a motamentum is not to be reckoned by a tenth, a hundredth, or a thousandth part of a second – it is infinitely minute."

I observed "that these thoughts had not occurred to me previously, so I would listen with interest to his expositions."

"Then," said he, "I can only reason by induction. You know," said he, "the length of a mile?"

"Yes;" said I, "we may be one hundred miles from Dunedin."

"True. Then," said he, "you will admit that a mile to you is a very perceptible portion of space, and takes some time to go over?"

"Yes; agreed," said I.

"Then," said he, "how many seconds does it take you to walk one mile?"

I replied, "that at the rate of three miles an hour, 1,200 seconds."

"Your measure of a mile, then, is," said he, "1,200 seconds? Then, at what rate does electricity travel?"

I replied, "that it had been ascertained, by certain processes, to travel at the rate of 300,000 miles per second."

"Then," said he, "it travels 360,000,000 times faster than you do. The time is a second to 300,000 miles – and this division of a second is not yet so small as a motamentum. Compared with the standard of electricity, a second of time is a mighty epoch. Yet this rate is not a motamentum per mile, nor a motamentum per furlong, nor a motamentum per pole, nor a motamentum per yard, foot, or inch; and all these parts of space travelled over by electricity are very perceptible to the human eye. So the time taken to each division of space, though mathematically calculable, is beyond his perception. Time, then, is not reducible to a motamentum, as far as humanity can trace its divisions. As far as man can know, time past and time future are infinite; they are not divisible, as half of infinity is yet infinite. Time present there is not, as its divisibility is also infinite. 'Tis in this inscrutable motamentum – this infinite comminution

MOTAMENTUM.

of time – that all nature exists. The stream of ethereal time is not like the flow of natural water – for that can be pent up for the use of mankind. Time flows unceasingly. Horae cedunt et dies et menses et anni, nec praeteritum tempus unquam revertitur. Time, to be apparent, must have no present, or nature would cease to live. 'Tis in the refined inscrutable motamentum – the junction of the two opposites – on which we are all borne forward. The past is gone; the future not yet come – yet there is no distance between the two. There is no boundary fixed, for it always is changing. 'Tis as the mathematical enigma. – a line without breadth, ever ending ever beginning. Nature rides on the fulcrum, even though that be infinitely narrow. Also, between eternal time and the markings of centuries, years, days and hours, there can be no ratio nor comparison. The calculation is beyond man's grasp. To eternal time, a day is as a thousand years: so also is one second to a thousand centuries. Man can count one day as compared with another; years, also, he has been taught to calculate and record as one with another. Yet these have no place in eternity – neither at the beginning, the middle, nor at the end: for eternity has no opposite, but a motamentum, and both are beyond our comprehension. They are blank and have no meaning: immeasurable as incomprehensible. To man, a motamentum is the same as eternity, for he comprehends the measure of neither; and where the opposites meet – viz., time past and time future – that inscrutable motamentum, the ever-coming yet ever-going, that is his – a thing he holds but never keeps."

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVI.

TEMPORAL CARES. CHANGE. CONTINUITY. CHANGE IS LIFE. VISIBLE OBJECTS APPARENT ONLY BY CHANGE. RENOVATION BY CHANGE. CHANGE ON THE FACE OF NEW ZEALAND. CHANGE NOT TO BE REGRETTED. THIS THE ERA OF STIMULATED CHANGE.

AS evening was about to close, we took the opportunity of a lull in the storm to go out and look to the pickets of our horses, give them better grass, and secure them for the night. The wind yet blew fierce and cold, so we were glad to return to the warm fire, even though the wigwam was miserably smoky. Indeed, the smoke of the black pine was most trying to the eyes. The constant subjection of the Maoris to this nuisance was most visible in them, for their eyes were more or less inflamed from this cause. The Squire, overcome with ennui, threw himself on his blankets and fell into a doze. Our companion remarked that change was grateful to man as well as to animals, and suggested – if I were agreeable – that he would continue his speculations. I gladly assented, for being wakeful from one cause or another, was glad to have some line of thought to wile away the tiresome hours.

Our companion then said that "change is continuous. When change ceased to be, then all things had ended. The human body maintained its image and features by means of

WATERSPOUT.

continuous change. Omne corpus mutabile est; ita efficitur ut omne corpus mortale sit. The elements of the atmosphere were inhaled to this end, only to be as quickly exhaled that there might be change from one action to its opposite. Moisture was absorbed into the body only to be sent off by myriads of channels, viz., the pores of the skin. Food and drink were swallowed to perform their functions in the stomach and then to be parted with. The image of the individual was perpetuated by the constant contact of opposites, by the dissolution of certain elements and the composition of others. Nature's images – her creatures – are only to be found in the middle space, between the warfare of opposite forces. The images are in the equilibrium of opposite forces. The tall waterspout, reaching from the clouds to the sea, maintains its form, upholds its fleeting existence only by the opposite electrical condition of its extremes – its top in the clouds its foot on the earth. Proud, majestic and terrible: yet its form is fragile, its course uncertain – its existence is change. So it is with the sand-pillar of the desert, the simoom and the Sumatra; their development is the result of opposite conditions of the atmosphere, and so they appear as they do to the eye of the beholder, riding on the change from one condition to the other. Storms, gales, trade-winds and monsoons show their existence and move on the face of the earth on the same principle – change. The opposite thermal condition of the zones of the earth favors and enforces change; change lives in the warfare between opposites, heat and cold. The heat of the tropics rarities the atmosphere, and causes it to rise and flow over to the poles. The cold of the poles, ou the contrary, condenses the atmosphere and causes it to descend and flow back again. Change is as constant as the world, and through it all nature lives, grieves, or rejoices.

The panting animal and vegetable life of the tropical deserts, inhale with delight the first showers of the changing monsoon, and shivering nature in the arctic and antarctic regions, equally draw health and vigour from the change to the lengthening day. All nature lives and delights in change from this to the opposite. The caged bird without change droops and dies. So does the confined mechanic sigh for the freedom of the country – for its healthful change. Change from one condition to another stimulates life, promotes vigour of body and mind, and strengthens man to great deeds and noble actions. The proud who are only proud are drawn down. The wealthy who are only wealthy are brought to poverty. The haughty who intermingle not are brought low. The noble pedigrees of the land cease to exist because they scorn nature's laws, and contemn their opposites. With the lower animals the same principle conquers – change improves and renovates. In the vegetable creation what principle can be more apparent? The oak forest is supplanted by the ash – the beach by the elm; and here, in New Zealand, what do we see? In the animal creation, the brown man withers before the white intruder – the moa has been supplanted by the native dog – the rat has receded to the recesses of the mountains, before the attacks of the imported European species. The wild pigeon, now so plentiful, is fast vanishing before the gun of the settler,, and the quail which we have seen to start at every five yards, no longer feeds its young on the Chain Hills or the plain of Taieri. What other changes may we anticipate, the result of life and prosperity in the colony? Will the paradise duck lay its eggs in the sandy beaches of the harbour of Otago, or will it vanish before the ruthless Anglo-Saxon? That change is the necessity of life, who can deny? May we not expect a new fauna and

OLD AND NEW.

a new flora in rising, young New Zealand, with the increase of her white population? May we not anticipate that the brown tussock will succumb to the white clover, and the flax to the gorse and the broom, – that the tui will give place to the sparrow, the kakapo to the partridge? And why should we sigh at these changes, since they are the unavoidable condition of life and progress? Immortalia ne speres monet annus et almum, quae rupit hora diem. Will the face of nature be the less blythsome with the presence of the fair haired lassie tending her goats on the braes, the red cheeked, freckled ploughboy whistling o'er the lea, instead of the rough, shaggy Maori stealthily moving through the fern thicket in search of roots? Will not these brown dismal hills be the better of the emerald tint imparted by the trefoil clover? I think so. Nature will then smile where she now frowns. Ease and convenience will give way to hardship and toil. Danger will give way to the appliances of civilization, and in the words of Coke, where the single blade now grows, the golden crops will be raised for the multitude."

"Ah!" said I, "you are dreaming – when will these visions be realized?"

"Change is all powerful," said our companion, "and mark my words, steam now makes the world travel fast, so the consummation may be earlier than you imagine. Our sun is now in its perihelion passage." Saying this he rolled himself up in his blanket and went to sleep.

I was not long in following his example.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVII.

CLEAR WEATHER. MATAURA RIVER IN FULL FLOOD. THE FALLS. THE LAMPREY. THE ROOT VERMIN. VARIETY. A DISGUSTING COMPARISON.

WHEN we rose next morning, we found that while the weather had cleared up, the river had risen to the volume of a flood. This precluded the idea of crossing; so, after attention to our horses, the Squire suggested that we should visit the falls, where we might chance to have some sport in catching lampreys. The principles of the last chapter were true to nature, for not only did we all embrace the proposition, but Reko and his two wives offered to accompany us. We were soon equipped for our stroll, and a short hour brought us to the spot. Here the Mataura was seen to fall over a ledge of rocks nearly twenty-five feet in height, and, full as the river was now, the volume of turbid, raging water dashed over the brink, and rolled and eddied into a deep channel cut out in the process of centuries through the overhanging rocks. The Squire was all animation and vivacity, and so were Reko and his female charges, for their quick eyes detected the objects of our search, which disclosed themselves holding on to the rocks in clusters and festoons along the courses of the side-channels and cascades. The place had evidently been much resorted to by the natives, for in the vicinity the rude implements

THE LAMPREY.

of cookery were to be seen scattered about; and now the wives fell-to in busying themselves preparing for the feast.

The lamprey, I may mention for the benefit of those who have not seen it, is not unlike a huge leech. It holds on to the rocks by a sucker, and by this means ascends the perpendicular rocks. Its colour and shape otherwise are not unlike the eel. The Squire and his swarthy companion Reko soon provided themselves with hooked sticks, and commenced busily to jerk the lampreys out of their holding-places and land them on the rocks, from whence they were readily borne by the women to the fire which they had already kindled. Here they fixed the fish to splinters and roasted them by the heat. More than abundance for present wants were obtained, so as many as could be carried were strung on leaves of the cabbage-tree for use at the hut. In the meantime we joined in the feast prepared for us. The roasted lamprey was devoured greedily by the Maoris, but to us it had not much attraction, the taste being earthy yet somewhat resembling that of the salmon. The forenoon and mid-day were thus spent, and we returned to the hut in the afternoon. We killed the latter part of the day by strolling about the thickets of the bush, when we returned for supper. The Squire in his rambles had stumbled upon a natural curiosity, and which he brought to our companion for examination. The subject evidently belonged to the lowest of genera of living animals, being without motion, nearly rigid, and of dark brown colour. The Squire declared it to be three inches of fern-root, which had taken life to itself. He pointed to the two dull black eyes, to prove the assertion. Our companion examined the motionless vermin with considerable interest, exclaiming, –

"How unbounded must be the variety of nature, that

she should place in this world a stolid, apathetic being like this, as well as its opposite – stirring, intelligent man. But such is the great rule. This being is man's opposite, and between which two opposites of animated nature variety is countless. As nature loves even in one short night to draw the tracery of thousands of fantastic and graceful forms on the frosted windows of a city, but to disappear and dissolve before noon-day – so does she love to develope the fantastic forms of animated beings by the myriad. These in the earth, water, and air. Between reasoning man – the highest of all, – and mindless vermes, how great the distance, and how numberless the variety interposed! Between the huge mammal elephant that sports in the jungles of the tropics and the minute animalcules only to be discovered with the assistance of the microscope, how great the distance! – and how numberless the variety! Yet not even so great as between this living vermin and yourself, O Squire."

The Squire shrank with disgust at the idea of any distance, however immeasurable, existing between the curious creature and himself, so he clutched it out of the grasp of our companion and threw it into the fire.

Our companion laughed at the Squire's vehemence, and exclaimed,

"Alas, oh Squire, comparisons, however far-fetched, are always odious, and extremes seldom meet without a catastrophe."

CHAPTER XVIII.

LINKS IN NATURE.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MAORI DIET. LINKS OF NATURE. THE FEELINGS OF A STONE. AN INTELLECTUAL MINERAL. SENSITIVENESS OF VEGETABLES. THE ZOOPHITE. THE LINK BETWEEN MAN AND THE APE. FLYING MAMMALS. THE ORNITHORHYNCHUS. THE LEAF INSECT. THE SQUIRE'S IMPATIENCE.

POTATOES, lampreys, and the rancid mutton-bird proved to be the fare provided for our supper, so we sat down to discuss the same. Hunger required no sauce, so we heartily enjoyed the entertainment. The most pleasant part of it, no doubt, was the sincere hospitality evinced by our sable host. A day's acquaintanceship had warmed into friendship, and he bestowed no little pains in providing his best. On the following morning he proposed to have a pig-hunt; "for," said he, "you may now remain a week before the river can be crossed." This proposition chimed in well with the Squire's views; and perchance a stoppage to our companion's speculations would be a relief.

As we sat ruminating in the evening, our companion, continuing in the same train of thought, remarked that, "infinite as the variety of nature was, that variety had links in the same continuity as the minutes of the hour or the days of the year."

"How, then," asked the Squire, "do you link me to that vermin which I threw into the fire?"

"Give me time and distance," said our companion – "both of which extending only not so far as infinity, and I will do it."

"Granted," said the Squire.

"Then," said our companion, "a great naturalist has divided animated nature into three classes: – 1st, Apathetic animals, consisting of Infusoria, Polypi, Radiata, and Vermes; 2nd, Sensitive animals, consisting of Insecta, Arachnides, Crustacea, Annelides, Cirrhipedes, and Mollusca; 3rd, Intelligent animals, consisting of Pisces, Reptilia, Aves, and Mammalia. Now this classification is man's, and is entirely arbitrary. Under the influence of the universal law of contraries, nature delights in variety; so that the graduations of one class into another are as regular as the anomalies are surprising. The mineral, vegetable, and animal world are also linked together by bonds as sure as the minutes or hours of time – the ells, furlongs, and miles of space."

"Mineral!" exclaimed the Squire; "what nonsense to say that: for instance, a stone could have no feeling?"

"Not so – not so, oh Squire," replied our companion. It is a common saying that stones grow – and do they not? Does not the stalactite increase its dimensions from year to year, and do not geologists prove that the mineral vein permeates and increases through and in the solid stratum? Does not the loadstone draw and repel? – does it not, in all parts of the world, dip to its latitude, and with unerring sensitiveness point to its pole, guiding with its mysterious and beneficent sensitiveness the weary and tempest-tossed mariner? Life! to what higher use can life be put than the beneficent function of this sensitive mineral? Man's

LIVING MINERALS.

highest of triumphs – his triumph over the difficulties of the boundless ocean – has been achieved by means of the delicate feeling of this living mineral, – the brave iron, as some simple nations call it. When man is all in doubt and overclouded with anxiety, how often does not he – intellectual, self-sufficient man – bow with the confidence of a child to this all-helpful creation of the Author of Nature!"

"I will admit that you have a show of argument against me in this example of the mineral world, but," said the Squire, "the vegetable, at all events, can have no feeling. I never knew of a feeling cabbage, for instance; nor did I ever see an apple run away from me when I wanted to cut it up and eat it."

"Wrong, again, Squire," said our companion; "well intended, but always wrong. Does not the daisy open its beauties to the sun's rays, and close them to darkness? Does not the grass bend to the hot wind of summer, and stand erect to the vernal showers?"

"That may be," said the Squire, "but who ever heard of timber, trees or vegetables dancing about like the magnetic needle?"

"I say, again," said our companion, "that nature delights in variety, and so are the links of creation continuous. You seem never to have heard, oh Squire, of the several varieties of the sensitive plant."

"No," said the Squire, "I confess I have not."

"Then let me enlighten you," said our companion. "Nature, determined not to be undone in her continuous action, has even created several varieties of feeling or sensitive plants, and I need only describe one. This one I have often seen in the torrid zone, and is as sensitive to the touch of man as you would be to the sting of a thousand nettles. This variety is so abundant in the little island of

Penang as to be a perfect weed. Its appearance is not unlike the wild plant just mentioned, and so sensitive is it that the mere touch of the little finger causes the branch to shrink from you as if in perfect disgust. You may walk through beds of the weed, and with a long stick make a broad road as far as you can reach on either side; within this space the plants will lie down before you as if in obeisance, nor will they rise till you are past and gone."

"Wonderful, if true," said the Squire.

"Truth is often more wonderful than fiction," quietly replied our companion. "You were incredulous that the mineral and vegetable kingdoms had members with feeling in them. My greater opportunities of observation have shown the contrary, and I give you examples for your mature consideration."

"Don't be solemn," said the Squire. "Go on with your links and I will listen."

"The class of zoophites," continued our companion, give a most interesting illustration of the links of nature, as they occupy the middle space between the animal and vegetable kingdoms. They bear the most exact likenesses to mosses, lichens, seaweeds, mushrooms, and include those polypiferous beings which cover the bottom of the ocean with the images of vegetation, as well as of star fishes, sea urchins, sea nettles, jelly fish, and intestinal worms. In former epochs, disclosed by the science of geology, we find the remains of those radiated animals, called Encrinites – crinoids or stone lilies, abounding in the older limestone; and now on the very coast of this province you may observe numberless creatures of this species thrown up on the rocks, or adhering to the fissures – which represent these. On examination, you will find that the creature has the organs of life – the stomach and opposite orifices, yet it

THE APE.

has neither limbs, eyes, nor ears. It represents an embryo idea of the Author of nature, who, true to His all-seeing care, holds it to the firm rock by a stem, as it were, instead of leading-strings; for, as yet, He has not gifted it with the senses which would enable it to take care of itself. These are examples of the links of nature in the lower creatures. In the more highly organised animals the links equally abound. The white man as the highest – intellectually and morally – has his equanimity and self-esteem disturbed in the claim of brotherhood by the negro. Confined to humanity, the white man is the opposite to the black man; yet, between whom a regular series of graduations link the one to the other. The ape, the most ugly and repulsive of animals, links the image of man to the unreasoning creation, and so on does animated nature descend the scale, link by link, from the intelligent to the sensitive, and from the sensitive to the apathetic. Man alone, the most difficult to rear, the most delicate in structure, the worst defended, the least fortified, has no wings wherewith he may fly from danger, no claws or huge jaws whereby to inflict wounds on his adversary, no strength to wrestle with the bear or the tiger; yet reason, that incomparable gift, has enabled him to provide himself with means to conquer the world, to reduce all other creatures to his service and control. The variety of his appliances are almost infinite. Like the albatross, he wings his way over the huge rolling southern ocean by means of his ships. Like the vampire, he soars into the air by means of his balloons. He ventures into the waters of the deep as the great whale, by means of his diving-bell, and he bores with his miner's pick into the bowels of the earth as the mole. In imitating nature, he ambitiously links himself to her various functions and privileges. Again, the flying and parachuted mam-

mals of the tropics, such as the kalawang and flying fox, link themselves to the birds. The flying-fish, an inhabitant of the sea, supplies again the same link, by spreading its wings to the flowing trade-winds. Further, the ikan-layer of the China sea mounts its sail – a huge dorsal fin – and in imitating the canoe of the orang laut, links itself to the ways of humanity. The wingless ostrich, the kiwi, and the Maori hen track the bush as the biped alone, for their wings are of no avail to them: the peculiar power of birds is ignored to them. The crawling polypode grovels in the dust. Yet here, even, is a link to the fowls of the air, in the many-footed, winged ant of the tropics, issuing from its nest in myriads to fly but a short hour and then to drop down and die. Again, the stony records of an ancient world disclose the flying reptile of anomalous structure, called the pterodactyl; and between these how many the interspecies and graduations! The crab carries his shield on his back, yet even this little animal will be found in the muddy mangroves to have forsaken the habits of its genus, and to link itself to the mollusca, in seizing the shell of the periwinkle and shielding itself under the protection of such a fortress. The reptile alligator imitates these, in its knotted, bony back. The mammal armadilla represents the same feature by its flinty shield. This graduates into the tough skin of the rhinosceros. Thus, even, we see the covering of the various species of animated nature to be ever linked in graduations from the most delicate skin to the toughest shell. The forms, at the same time, are almost infinite in variety; 200,000 different species have been classified by naturalists, and this within man's limited range. The marine and land snakes verge into the forms of the lizard, the guana, and the ancient plesiosaurus. To crown all examples of the links of nature, the ornithorhyn-

MORE LINKS.

chus presents its figure. This is the duck-bill of Australia – an ovoviviparous animal, singular as a group of itself amongst the monotremes. In this animal is the link between the avis and the mammal, by its possessing the head of a duck and the body of a beaver. Yes, Squire, nature has its links whichever way you may look for them. Turn we to the huge elephant: does not the long-snouted tapir form a descending link to the swine? again, does not the babi rusa present a remarkable step between the swine and the horned stag? and does not the swift deer, in its graduations to the rabbit, have a beautiful example of a link in the gentle polando? All nature is linked together, hand in hand, from one extreme to its opposite: assimilating to diverge, diverging but to assimilate; ever creating, ever dissolving; ever building, ever overturning; ever changing, though the law be immutable. Last, oh Squire, may I allude to the most elegant of all nature's links, as displayed in the close imitation of certain insects to the trees on which they live? Thus, the bamboo insect of Malaya so closely resembles the leaf and stem of that umbrageous and graceful plant, that to detect it is most difficult. By its similitude, it screens itself from observation and danger even as effectually as if it had been in an iron-bound cell. One would say that nature, in designing this insect, had copied the tree so faithfully as to be a sportive device for puzzling that being intended to be gifted with reason. The lalat mumpolum (Mango insects) also rest in the mango tree, to the same intents and purposes, presenting a link between the leaf and the wing – between the animal and vegetable – as minute as the moment of time or the hair's-breadth of space. Need I speak also of the chameleon, whose changing colour links it to three elements?"

"Enough, enough," said the Squire, "or I must positively cut your acquaintance!"

"Time or distance, then, you do not give," said our companion, "to join the links. Yes, truly, they would try your patience."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE MATAU.

CHAPTER XIX.

MAORI GEOGRAPHY. KNOWLEDGE OF THE INTERIOR. REKO'S TRAVELS. GEOLOGICAL DISQUISITION. DRIFTS AND TERRACES. HOW DEPOSITED. ONE TIDE'S ACTION. ONE PRINCIPLE PROVED.

WHILE we were discussing the merits of the last subject, our native entertainer busied himself with cleaning the floor; and, beckoning to us for attention, he commenced to make certain marks across it. The Squire's knowledge of the language was soon made available to explain the diagrams. The object of the Maori we soon found was to inform us of the geography of the interior (at that time unknown to the white man), and thus display his acquirements. He, with great alacrity and intelligence, drew first a long line across the floor, which he denominated the Matau (the Molyneux of Captain Cook, and the Clutha of Captain Cargill – both great men in their spheres). He then described an irregular circle round the floor, which he denominated the sea shore. At the head of the Matau, he drew three eel-shaped figures, which he called Wakatipu, Wanaka and Hawea. He now drew the Mataura issuing closely from the south end of the Wakatipu. The Oreti river he also drew as coming from near the same source. The Waiau and the Waitaki rivers he described as issuing from large lakes, to which he also gave their present names.

He now showed how he travelled from the Kaipoi (situated to the north of Banks' Peninsula) through the interior, till he came to Tuturau. The extension of settlement, and the present knowledge of the geography of the country, enable me now to trace the track of the Maori's wanderings. It is evident that forty or fifty years ago he had passed through what is called the Mackenzie Country, thence over the Lindis Pass to Lake Wanaka, thence up the Cardrona and down the Roaring Meg, where he described the existence of a natural bridge, over which he crossed, and made his way southward by the Nevis and Nokomai rivers, till he struck the banks of the Mataura; crossing this, he had gone over the Dome Pass, and arrived at the old native settlement of Tomogalak, from whence he had but two days' journey along to the Wakaia Plains to his present location at Tuturau.

We were much interested in the accounts and descriptions of the Maori, as interpreted by the Squire.

Our companion remarked that "although we had no accurate tracings of our late excursions, it was evident that we had reached to such and such points," which he indicated on the rude map of the native, extending over the floor. "This," said he, "is no doubt the gorge that stopped our further progress; these the terraced plains that excited our admiration; these the ranges bristling with knobs as rough as the back of an alligator. Ah, Squire," said he, "what a chance you had to immortalise yourself as a great explorer! If you had only brought a theodolite with you, then would you have named the domains of the Scotch colonists. But," said he, "never mind, oh Squire, the lessons that our explorations taught us are not without their value – nay, they are ever to be remembered, for in the face of these desolate districts are to be seen the marks and

DRIFTS.

monuments of former ages and epochs. These are the monuments of the past and the operations of changes to the opposite, in the future. Mighty as the subject is, let me, oh Squire, but for a short while take a bird's-eye View, and thus attempt to scan all at once, then you will see what speculations we are led into. Here," pointing again to the tracings of the Maori, "are the snow-capped mountains of the western ranges, perchance over 10,000 feet high. Here, at the bases, are the long, narrow, deep lakes. There are the traces of transported earth and shingle, over 800 feet in depth. Here are the huge boulders lying at the mouths of the gorges and strewn along the course of that meandering river. As we descend to the coast, the boulders are no longer to be discerned, and the rocks and stones of the river-beds have even given place to the small shingle and mud. Again, here are the thick seams of brown coal that warmed us on the frosty nights. Here it is, skirting along the edges of the mountain bases. Then here are the limestone cliffs, studded with marine fossils – the living animals of former ages. These are now 800 to 1000 feet above the level of the sea. What is the lesson that this reads us, oh Squire?"

"That the settlers, when they crawl up into the interior, will burn coal instead of wood," replied the Squire, "and perhaps they will build stone houses."

"True, oh Squire," said our companion, "you are not a dreamer like me, but always practical and utilitarian. True, indeed," soliloquised our companion, "of what use is it for you to know that the lessons of our journey proclaimed the fact that the highest mountains were once under the waters of the sea? That they had risen and again been depressed? That an epoch of warmth and vegetable fecundity had supplied the coal beds? Again,

that an epoch of its opposite – cold – had covered the mountains and filled up the lakes with ice and glaciers, and that an alteration to warmth has melted the glaciers, and now we see their white fragmentary remnants only near the mountain tops? The moraine at the lower end of the lakes, pushed out by the icy glacier, proclaims in letters as plain as the English alphabet how far they had extended from the mountain recesses down into the level plains. So in regard to the boulders strewed along the river banks upon the terraces, and most abundantly at the embouchures of the gorges – these have been transported from the mountain sides by the drifting icebergs breaking away from the glaciers which then extended down to the arms and gulfs of the sea. Such was the action here, and such is the action now on the shores and bays of Greenland. The drifts of the terrace formations that lie on the flanks of the mountains, stretching along either side of the long valleys, are the work of a prior period to the above, viz., when the land was under water. The huge escarpments, the regular-inclining layers are the work of the outflowing estuaries and rivers, combined with the influx and reflux of ocean tides. The disintegration of the mountains, again, from whence these terraces derived their materials, has been the work of superincumbent water and ice masses. By these means the moving glaciers have scored out the gullies and valleys in their descent, and the receding turbulent ocean waters have spread out the debris. Great revolutions take long periods, but nature is always true to principle in this manner, that great operations are under the same law as the most pigmy efforts. Thus, let us stand on the sea shore for but one ebb tide, and then we will see a miniature and complete demonstration of all the operations of nature in the vast formations in the interior. See this streamlet

A TIDAL STREAM

flowing over the beach and watch the receding waves, and ere three hours are past you will see the minute terraces and their escarpments regularly and systematically formed on the model of their great interior examples. Further, you will see the drift on the sides of the bounding banks, and while the streamlet landward is full of rocks and stones it will be noticed that, us the current is followed to the shore, these are left behind, and so gradually lessening in size till pebbles only are to be seen in its channels, and at last, near to the dashing waves, there will be found nothing but silt or sand. So it is with the largest of estuaries, – the same principle of action applies to both. Again, suppose that the tide were to recede permanently, then would all the operations of a river be carried out, i.e., in their proper ratio. These consist in the scooping out of the bed of the channel, the tendency to sinuosity, to pools, to rapids and eddies. These features would be developed in a short time, for small operations take short periods; a streamlet may be the creation of a day: a river the creation of an epoch. The principles of nature, however, are always the same in both – its laws unchangeable. As the mighty river descends from its source to its outlet, so even does the streamlet have its existence between these two contraries."

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XX.

A HORSE POWER. COMPARISON BETWEEN GREAT AND SMALL. CUTTING OF THE CHANNEL OF THE MATAURA. A CYCLE. ACTINISM. ALTERNATIONS OF HEAT AND COLD. RISE AND FALL OF LAND. EXPANSION AND CONTRACTION. A THEORY. A PRACTICAL ILLUSTRATION. THE RIND OF THE EARTH. LATERAL PRESSURE. SUBJECT WRAPPED IN SMOKE.

OUR companion, now turning to the Squire, asked him what a horse-power was. The Squire readily replied that a horse-power was considered by engine-drivers to be equal to 33,000 lbs. raised one foot per minute.

"Well said!" exclaimed our companion; "and I presume an ant's power may be said to be 33 grains raised one inch per minute, or some such ratio, it matters not.

"It may be nearly that," answered the Squire, thoughtfully.

"Then a horse's power is near a million times more power than an ant's power," said our companion. "It may be," said the Squire.

"And," continued our companion, "the power that formed the terraces, dug out the valleys and river beds of Otago, might be how much more than the power which now daily scoops out at each tide the channel beds of the streamlets that issue on the sea shore?"

RIVER CHANNELS.

"Many million times," said the Squire; "the ratio is incalculable."

"Yet," added our companion, "the principles of action are the same."

"The same," said the Squire, mechanically.

"Then," said our companion, "you must admit that time and change go hand in hand, by the rule of three, as it were, thus, – as a little change is to a little time, so is a large change to a large time."

"Correct," said the Squire, yet not over positively so.

"Talking of changes," said I, " I was curious to guess at the time that the Mataura had taken to cut its way through half-a-mile of rock to the site of the present falls. I added that the Falls of Niagara had attracted the attention of geologists in the same manner, and Lyell, I believed, made out that one hundred thousand years should be calculated upon as the time taken for these falls to have receded from the shores of Lake Ontario to their present site, – in other words, that the mighty Niagara had cut through about seven miles of rocky bed in such a period."

"Would the little Mataura, then," said our companion, "take that period to cut through the half mile of solid rock, as we see it has done?"

I replied, "I should imagine fully that."

"Then," said he, "in doing this little operation, if it took one hundred thousand years, how long would it be in scooping out its valley, and in depositing its terraces from its mountain sources to the sea shore?"

"Many times one hundred thousand years, in that case," said I.

"Yes," said our companion, thoughtfully, "many times one hundred thousand years ere the ocean could recede

from the mountain tops and leave those smiling plains – a dry land. The period would be half a cycle." "What cycle?" asked I.

"To explain," said he, "I must ask you to listen to an astronomical problem. Herschell propounds that the sun has an independent motion of itself equal to 422,000 miles a day, carrying with it the planets and comets. Maedler concludes that this motion is in an orbit, round a central sun, – that sun being Alcyone, and that one revolution takes 18,000,000 years. If this be the case, then have we some clue to one of the most profound problems of geology, viz., the alternate rise and fall of land in the surface of the globe, – in other words, these contrary actions, viz., the rising of the ocean bed to be dry land, and the sinking of continents to the beds of the ocean. That such has been many times the case is now a sure axiom of the science. Now, all planets revolve not in a circle, but in an ellipse, the central body or sun being in one of the foci. Hence, when in perihelion, the planet is closer to the central body than at any other part of its orbit; – so, when in aphelion, it is distant more so than at any other part. True, as is proved by astronomers, that the heat and light received from the central body are nearly the same at all portions of the orbit, owing to heat and light diminishing in intensity in the inverse proportion of the square of the distance, which is also the proportion in which the angular velocity of the revolving body varies; yet there is another influence to be considered – that is actinism, or chemical power. Will this not be excited by proximity and allayed by distance? – what takes place with the comets in advancing to their perihelion, or nearest proximity to the sun itself. The tail of the great comet of 1680, immediately after its perihelion passage, was found by Newton to be no less than

HEAT.

20,000,000 of leagues in length, and to have occupied only two days in its emission from the comet's body! A decisive proof this of its having been darted forth by some active force, the origin of which, to judge from the direction of the tail, must be sought in the sun itself. Thus is an ethereal body like a comet affected in its perihelion passage – a body so ethereal as to be perfectly transparent – a body so imponderable as, when in the case of one getting entangled amongst the satellites of Jupiter, the latter suffered not the least derangement. Yet, here we have proof of action being excited when in perihelion. What action? The action of expansion. What expands all material? Heat. Heat from whence derived? The sun. Then, if bodies, however light, yet having some discernible substance, be so affected, have we not a right to conclude that bodies, however heavy, may be thus affected? The above arguments uphold this conclusion. Then, setting aside the idea of heat from proximity, and drawing our inferences from the action of our sun on its light, erratic followers, may we not assume that, when itself is in its perihelion passage round Alcyone, electrical, chemical, or other action will be excited, and so heat generated?"

"We have a right to do so by the above argument," said I.

"Then," said he, "his being admitted, I would only ask for many million times less action on our sun than on a comet, and my theory is satisfied – which is, that our sun in his orbit is hotter at his perihelion passage, at his aphelion passage the converse; and further, that there is gradual increase and decrease from one to tving got so far, then, you will also admit that the followers of our sun, viz., the earth and planets, will also be so affected in their respective properties."

"The conclusion is unanswerable," said I.

"Hence, then," said he, "this earth of ours will attain its maximum heat and its maximum cold during each orbit of our sun round Alcyone: that is, there will be periods of 9,000,000 of years between each extreme. The principles of nature are the same in great things as well as small. Nor are we to conclude that this mighty period has only once taken place; our lessons on geology have taught us the contrary. States of cold and heat have, alternately, many times pervaded the earth. This we see demonstrated in the fossil animals and vegetables, the remains of glaciers and of iceberg drifts, extending even to the valleys of the Amazon, &c, &c 'Tis thus, I conclude, that in carrying out the eternal principles of the Author of nature, while the little earth and planets have many revolutions, so has our sun round his – enormous and inconceivable as may be the term. Having so far explained my astronomical problem, I will now come to the subject in hand, viz., the alternate rise and fall of land. The great universal law of contraries is here, as well as elsewhere, exemplified in the generation of the war of opposites. Were we to put water into a glass tube, and could we always keep it at the temperature of 42 deg. Fah., the water would neither rise nor fall; but heat it to 122 deg. and it will rise 1/100 part of its bulk. Heat it to 212 deg. and it will rise 4/100 of its bulk. Now, as it is with one drop of water, so it is with the whole ocean which is spread over the globe. Let, for example, the whole ocean be increased 80 deg. above its present average temperature, and allow also that its average depth is 1000 feet, then it would rise ten feet above its present level. Let the temperature be increased 170 deg. and it would rise 40 feet – in other words, it would swamp the most fertile and populous deltas of the world, such as the Nile, the Ganges and the Mississippi.

COLD.

But this, indeed, would be far short of the mighty changes that we have been contemplating. To the rise and fall of the temperature of water, then, we must not look for an explanation of our theory. We must look to the solids. Minerals expand lineally from 1/350 to 1/1200 between the temperature of 32 deg. and 212 deg. Fah. Were the alteration of temperature to the above extent to be one and the same all over the globe, no great change would be apparent; land and sea would occupy, under such conditions, about the same spaces they do at present. But nature does not admit this to take place; with the opposite elements, land and water, she deals differently; the world's crust being covered by solids and liquids, dry land and the ocean. Now, let us take a section of the world at the equator; then we would have the breadths of Africa and America, also certain islands of the Indian Archipelago as dry land. As the opposite – the ocean – we would have the Atlantic, the Indian and the Pacific. Here, at the surface of the ocean the mean temperature is 80 deg. Fah., and at 1 2/3 miles deep it is only 36 deg.. The ocean's depth may be five miles. And how is it with the dry land? At the ocean's surface, it is also 80 deg. of mean temperature, or thereby. At three miles above the level of the sea, it is 36 deg. Fah. Thus, dry land is affected in a contrary manner to water. And, further, when we enquire into its temperature below the surface of the sea level, we are led by observation to conclude it to be 157 deg. Fah. at 1 2/3 miles in depth, and at five miles below the surface to be 268 deg., and so on it may increase with the depth till all matter is in a molten or semi-fluid state. So here we have at the equator, near the world's surface, concentric rings of solids and fluids of opposite varying temperatures. The ring that circumscribes the world at 1 2/3 miles from the surface having

in water a temperature of 36 deg. only, in land a temperature of 157 deg., i. e., a difference in temperature of 120 deg.. Now, what will be the effect of this? If the world's heat were always the same, nothing; earth and water would remain in statu quo. But let it vary by the heat increasing from the centre, or the opposite – the cold increasing from the exterior, – then will mighty changes be the result. As heat increased from the interior, so would the solid matters of the concentric rings expand – the ocean beds would rise, where there was least incumbent weight, for here there would be only yielding waters. At the same time, the surfaces of the continents not yet affected by the development of heat on ring after ring would be submerged by the displacement. Let the opposite action take place – that is, cold from the surface, or, in other words, let the heat decrease towards the interior – then would the outer ring of high and dry land contract, shrink, and subside, and resume a position at the bottom of the ocean."

"Very philosophical!" exclaimed the Squire; "but not very obvious."

"I will try and make it so, if you will be patient. Well, Squire, as you seem to be interested, may I ask this question, – if an inch of material expands 1/1200 th in 180 deg. Fah., how much will one foot, one furlong, one mile, 1,000 miles, and 10,000 miles, of the same material expand?"

"One twelve-hundreth, of course," said the Squire.

"That is," added our companion, "in the same ratio."

"But what has that to do with the rise and fall of the earth's surface?" asked the Squire.

"Everything," said our companion; "and if you will only have patience you will see my drift. Now, Squire, what is the distance between Congo and the Amazon?"

I answered for the Squire, "About 3,600 miles."

RISE AND FALL.

"Then," said he, describing a circle on the floor of the hut "I, will mark off 60 degrees. There it is. Now, Squire, take that reed of toitoes – it is just 36 inches long – bend it from point to point till it covers the arc. Yes, just so. Now, push it one inch inwards on the arc on the floor, and notice how much the reed bends itself or rises above it."

The Squire exclaimed, "Why, it has risen four inches!"

"In other words," said our companion, "if that arc were a portion of a concentric ring of the globe, one part of expansion would equal four parts of elevation. Now, what would 1/1200 th expansion on 3,600 miles be equal to?"

"About three miles," readily answered the Squire.

"And four times that?" asked our companion.

"Twelve miles," said the Squire.

"Then," said our companion, "alteration of the general temperature of the concentric laminae or layers that form the solid crust of our globe from 32 deg. to 180 deg. – that is a variation of 148 deg. – would submerge the Alps by three times their height. An alteration of only 12 deg. would submerge the whole habitable world. That such has been, I need not reiterate, for in the markings of the ancient glaciers we have proof that cold was once greater than at present, and in the remains of tropical stigmaria and sigillaria, now found in temperate climates, we have proof that also the heat was once greater. These facts prove from little things and confined observation how the agencies of rise and fall are at work – how the bottom of the ocean may rise to be populated plains, and how the opposite may take place and sink them again with all their great populations and cities. Again, for simplicity's sake, admit a rind of any solid material to surround – say, the ball at the top of St. Paul's Cathedral, London, – and at 5/10 of an inch deep let it have a

temperature of 268 deg. Fah. Admit that there is another rind, which is but patchy and non-continuous, whose temperature was 80 deg.. Then let heat be applied equally all over the interior of the inner rind. – Would it not expand before the exterior even had been affected?"

"It most probably would," said the Squire.

"Then," continued our companion, "the inner rind would bulge out most where it had no resistance from without, and so even raise itself beyond the level of the outer rind. And could the patchy exterior rind have its cavities filled with water, the water would be displaced and submerge the remainder. And so with our great globe: alternate heat and cold may be produced by internal or external action or influences, but it is only the solid crust that will rise and fall; the water will remain level, and accommodate itself to new arrangements on the surface – forming oceans here, inlets yonder, and seas in other places. And as the materials of the crust of our globe differ in consistency – being partly rocky and unyielding, partly clayey and plastic, – so, when these materials are subject to lateral pressure, the yielding will rise, forming mountains here, deep ravines and seas yonder. Thus have risen the Andes on a yielding base – the Himalayas – the Alps – not to mention smaller ranges. The detailed effect of this lateral pressure may be seen in the uplifted strata, – contorted, crumpled, and anticlinated. This is due to expansion; and when the opposite action takes place – viz., contraction – then we see the clefts and gullies of the formations open, or filled with mud and foreign bodies. It is lateral pressure that has raised the mountains of New Zealand, and they have fallen and risen many times."

"The thought is dreadful," said the Squire, "that all the well-populated and well-built cities of Europe, having

CAUSES.

had the land on which they stand once under the sea, may sink once more!"

"Why so?" said our companion. "The epoch, to man, is immeasurable. The cycle of the sun's orbit is 18,000,000 years. This is the time given for these slow and protracted changes. The time is beyond man's ken; his life is but a motamentum as compared with it. The changes are so slow that centuries of reference only detect them in their most minute indications. Scandinavia shows a rising in her shores of one foot per century; and the opposite action – sinking – goes on on the shores of Greenland: this without the sacrifice of a single life. The Englishman builds his docks, harbours, and bridges; he spends the energies of millions on the faith of permanence. The change is so slow that he takes no count of it. But rise and fall are sure and certain, and will come with the rolling cycle of the sun's orbit; yet so gradually as to be harmless – so stealthily as not to be perceived. The geologist expatiates on the periods of Europe's immersion; he enumerates the sea animals that once moved over its surface; he describes their habits, and he marks their boundaries. He tells of what was, and yet the sun rolled on in his sure course; so what has been also shall be. There is nothing new under the sun. Time and change will roll on their slow but sure course, altering the seasons, the climates, the lands and the seas; vivifying new creatures here, new vegetations yonder; deadening old creatures here, old vegetations yonder. 'Tis rise and fall alternately in which there is life – the circulation from this to its opposite. I hope, oh, Squire, I have traced the causes to your satisfaction. Semper causae eventorum magis movent, quam ipsa eventa."

The Squire gave an incredulous smile, refilled his pipe and that of the Maori Reko, and the subject as it were became wrapped in smoke: it was as a dream.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAPTER XXI.

A PIG HUNT. THE SQUIRE'S AGILITY. GRADUAL DEVELOPMENT. THE EARLY, MIDDLE, AND LATE CREATIONS. NEW LINKS. THE CREATOR'S LAW. THE SQUIRES CHEMICAL COMPOSITION. SIX CYCLES TO MATURE MAN. A CYCLE A DAY.

THE morning came, but the Mataura yet rolled down its muddy waters in full flood. To cross it was impossible, and though the sky had cleared we were thus detained prisoners on the east side of its banks. The Squire, disliking the homely fare of the Maoris, suggested the getting up of a pig hunt, by which means he guaranteed more savoury entertainment. After a morning's meal of potatoes and lamprey, we, therefore, issued forth, accompanied by a trained dog belonging to our host. We ascended and descended some spurs and valleys of the back-lying ranges, and arriving at a cleared spot we suddenly came upon the objects of our search, consisting of a huge sow and a large litter of pigs. The dog, true to his instincts, pursued the large game, while our companion, Reko, and myself started off in as many directions as the pigs ran, and I may say this was to all points of the compass. The Squire followed the dog and the sow, for he was an adept. It required no small agility to overtake the sucklings, but eagerness to a certain extent, made up

A SOW.

for the want of swiftness, and not many minutes elapsed before each of us brought to bag a young porker, and with which each returned to the rendezvous. Reko was overcome with his exertions and sat panting for breath, so our companion and myself, after having tied our captives securely with flax, left them in charge of the Maori. We then pursued the hunt in the direction of the Squire and the dog, and were early enough to witness the sport going on. The sow was seen to double on the dog several times – now rushing through the tall fern, then rushing into the open, now hiding herself in the flax bushes, till beaten out by her biped pursuer. Then, again, no sooner out than the quadruped chased her into another cover. At length exhausted, her swiftness abated, the dog then closed on her, and fastened by an immoveable grip to one of her long ears. The Squire, now breathless with exertion and excitement, charged to the death, and plunged his large hunting knife to her heart with unerring aim. The old mother fell in a moment dead at his feet. Whatever feelings of compunction we may have had, the Squire appeared insensible to them, for he, without further hesitation, ripped up the animal, cleansed and quartered it, and, giving us each a portion to carry, he shouldered the half himself. We then returned to the Maori. Reko had not been idle in our absence, for he had the three pigs ready secured in a Maori basket, which, on seeing us, he at once shouldered, and we returned to the hut by noon.

"Now," said the Squire, throwing down his load and himself on the floor at the same time, "you who are somewhat of a philosopher, what would you call a pig?"

Our companion replied that he would be most happy to slake his thirst for knowledge. "A pig, oh Squire – do not be offended – belongs to the same genus as yourself."

"Egad," said the Squire with growing familiarity, "you are taking liberties."

"Facts are stubborn, nevertheless," calmly replied our companion, "and truth, when plainly told, is sometimes nauseous. Bare your breast, Squire, and let me see it," continued our companion, with apparent unconcern.

The Squire, disconcerted, did as he was bid.

"Yes," said our companion, "these mammae prove you to be the of the same genus as a pig – you both belong to the genus mammal."

"Then," said the Squire, "as you are necessarily no better than I, no offence can be taken!"

"With all humility and self-abasement," said our companion, "none is meant. But, oh Squire," continued he, "let not squalid, ugly truth abate your thirst for knowledge, while I, a humble votary of science, would try to enlighten you."

"By no means," replied the Squire, "you would say truth to exist must have its opposites; which, though divinely beautiful, may be so plain as to be disgusting. I will stand the lecture while the wahenies are getting the old sow cooked."

"Then," continued our companion, "nature is always true to principle – she works out her ends, not by fits and starts, but by gradual development. When you, oh Squire, were an embryo in your mother's womb, that handsome form of yours, as we now see it, armed with its five senses, its delicate nerves, strong muscles and flowing blood-vessels, had then but the organization of the lowest of living creatures – the organization of the apathetic vermes. As the foetus grew, so did your organization became more elaborate. You then arrived at the stage of the sensitive animals; at last you were moulded into a complete mammal, endowed

THE TERTIARY PERIOD.

with intellect; and the course that nature adheres to, from the embryo to the perfect man, she has adhered to from all time. No mammalia, the genus to which man belongs, are found in the older formations; they are found only in the tertiary. In the first division, or dawn of the tertiary – that is, the Eocene period, only five per cent, of existing animals are found; in the second or Miocene period, twenty per cent.; in the third and last, or Pliocene period, the lower has 40 to 45 per cent, of existing species, while the upper has 96 per cent. The earliest remains of living creatures are found in the Silurian system – these are graptolites, the lowest order of zoophites; and in the same system is conspicuously found the tribolite. This system had no land animals whatever. The old red sandstone, which succeeds the above formation, has an entirely new set of fossils. Even fishes altered with the formations, the older having placoid and ganoid forms, the modern ctenoid and cycloid. Amongst the univalve shell fish, the terrebratula commenced its existence in the Silurian period. It, like the modern mammal – i. e., the English sailor, was armed with a cable, which it kept coiled up ready to throw out when its prey reached within its limit. In succeeding epochs, during the carboniferous period, when vegetation was more rank and luxuriant than at any other time of the world's existence, of the known plants of that period 819 were principally ferns – but none identical with those of this age. The reed, stigmaria is only to be found in this period; they were then the most common of plants, and their structure is totally different from any now in existence. The sigillaria was next in abundance, consisting of a tree with grooves in its bark. The lepidodendron was next in abundance, and allied in structure to the modern pine. Another species was the calamite, a reed approaching to 60

and 100 feet in height. In these periods the character of the flora was entirely tropical, indicating a higher temperature than now exists, all over the globe. Some geologists argue from their observations of the flora of the carboniferous period, an equality of heat all over the world, and this at the same time; but, give 4,500,000 years, or only quarter of the sun's cycle, and we have ample time for the rise and fall of temperature in all latitudes, from the torrid zone to the poles. Again, succeeding formations disclose the ichthyosaurus platyoden, an animal having the head of a whale, the vertebrae of a fish, and the feet of a reptile – a large link in itself of gradual development – a link in nature – one of the many proofs that the great Originator, the Inconceivable, equally developed His great scheme of creation as be does the mushroom which shoots out in the morning and is not ripe or fully developed till the evening; for to him a day is as a thousand years, – a cycle as a motamentum. He also brings forth the daisy on Sunday, but it is not fully blown till Saturday; – He develops the lily from the bulb in the spring, but only crowns it with the beauty of maturity in summer; – He plants man as an embryo, and sends him forth in the pride of soaring ambition only after twenty years probation; nor does He crown him with matured capacity even before the gradual development of forty years. Nature makes not the baby a full-grown statesman nor a full-grown warrior. Neither did she in her first essay at creation endow the graptolite with the instinct of the mammal, and as little had the mammal at its dawn the gift of reason. This alone belongs to man, – for God then had developed his own image in nature. 'Twas the crowning labour of six cycles.

"'Sanctius his animal, mentisque capacias altae
Deerat adhuc et quod dominari in caetera possit
Natus homo est – – -.'"

GRADUAL DEVELOPMENT.

"But," said the Squire, "is this theory of gradual development not impious to the Deity' as well as degrading to mankind?"

"Why so?" said our companion. "To argue humanly, is it degrading to a Brunel that he conceives a mammoth steam vessel, to crown the gradual development of this creation which commenced by the pigmy efforts of a Fulton? As it is with small things, so it is with large. Nature always works to one rule – her principles are immutable. Chemically speaking, you are of the same composition as that pig. You cannot ignore this fact, viz., that a bucket of water and a little lime ash is all your material body. If we admit that creation is guided by an intelligent being – if we admit that the soul or mind is the noble part of man – then of what account is his temporal body? Outside, it may be handsome; inside, what is it? – how loathsome to look at. The body is only the visible channel leading from opposite to opposite, and from opposite back again; and from contrary to contrary, and from contrary back again. The fetid manure of the obnoxious dunghill is greedily conveyed to the vegetable stalk, which is the channel to develope the delicious and luscious fruit. The fruit, again, is as greedily conveyed into the body of the animal – be it a man or be it a pig – to develope itself – – – -."

"Into its contrary," said the Squire.

"Creation, then," said our companion, "is the channel. Creatures are the instruments of the Deity, whereby he matures the great end, which is this: that the apathetic, insensible animal, such as the graptolite, may – by gradual improvement, by step upon step, form after form, state after state – in the process of six cycles, be matured into the intelligent, reasoning creation – man; and whose chief end is to glorify Him and enjoy Him – – – -."

"For ever," said the Squire. "But," he continued, "I can now perceive some remote affinity between a pig and a man, however humiliating this may be; but it is hideous to link the extremes of created beings by gradual development, so that even the graptolite is linked to us."

"They are very unlike," said our companion, "but not more so than the a corn to the oak, or the embryo in the womb to the full-grown man. The Inconceivable has one law, which is immutable; that is, great things are developed in long periods – small things in short periods. It was His greatest work to conceive a man, and so this was His crowning effort. The slow steps of gradual development ended in the conception of man in His own image."

"Then this interferes with the religious convictions of your country," said the Squire.

"Not so," said our companion. "A cycle is as a day, a day as a thousand years: for between them and eternity there is no ratio. They are one and the same.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE DUTY.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE DUTY OF PHILOSOPHY TO DISCOVER ERROR AS WELL AS TRUTH. CREATION. THE EARTH. THE STEPS IN CREATION. TRUE PHILOSOPHY OF THE SACRED RECORDS. NO CHANCE-WORK. AMALGAMATION OF SPECIES. TRUTH, THOUGH SCOTCHED, NOT TO BE KILLED. STUDY OF GEOLOGY ENJOINED IN HOLY WRIT. CRUDE PERSUASIONS NOT TO CRUSH INTELLIGENT INQUIRY.

WE partook of supper, and having thus appeased our appetites, we sat silent for some time. Our companion was the first to open conversation, by remarking that science laid open the opposites – it discerned error as well as truth; and where truth was made apparent, there error could be avoided. He continued, –

"As I have gone into these subjects so far, I may even proceed a little farther. The whole creation is a mystery, not to be grasped by man's confined intellect; yet, if one essays to pursue the study of it in so far as his opportunities for observation carry him – and this in a fair spirit, – surely the pursuit must tend to edification. In approaching my present theme, we must look at this earth with the eyes of the astronomer, and next with the eyes of a geologist. Let our range of vision be large, then: may we appreciate, as far as the human mind in its present state is able to appreciate, the wonderful operations of the Author

of Nature, and whose entirety is inconceivable. Now cast your minds, if that be possible, back six geological cycles – that is, one hundred and eight millions of years – and you may conceive an earth without form and void. Conceive the material of our earth being caught within the influence of our solar system; then – or many cycles previously, it matters not – and by the laws of attraction and gravitation, retained. Conceive it to be subject to these laws for one geological cycle, or eighteen millions of years; to have its material condensed in this period, and to assume the divisions of land, water, and atmosphere. This state would now prepare our world for the creation of organic matter in its lowest and simplest living forms. Now would the lichen and the graptolite assume actual shapes on the face of the planet. The breath of life would then be given, and matter would have individual motion. Inert matter now had being – for man himself, in after cycles, was formed out of clay on the sixth day. Hence his origin. The following cycles would run their course, in which the creative power of the Author of Nature would cause organisms of higher order and more complex systems to assume their places. These cycles have rolled their course, and the fifth has come, in which the tertiary creations take their times and positions. Then comes the sixth cycle, with its intelligent creations of birds, fishes, and beasts – of four-footed and four-handed animals. At last, two-footed, two-handed man sprang into existence – i. e., was developed or created. Thus the highest and last effort at creation was man him self – the crowning model, more perfect and beautiful in form than any other living creature, and endowed with faculties of the highest order, which were not possessed by any previous creations, nor since given to any contemporary creations, or beings, or living things. The crowning effort

THE SEVENTH CYCLE.

of the Author of Creation was to instil the divine faculty of reason into matter – or into clay; you may choose your own words; – whereby alone His works could be beheld with wonder, love, and praise, as it were through the reflection of Himself: for the highest function of man is to be the mirror of the Creator – His image. The seventh cycle has come – the Sabbath; for, as compared with eternity, a day is no shorter than a cycle, and a cycle no longer than a day. Change is continuous, never-ending. Man may improve, or he may deteriorate; he may increase in learning, or fall back to ignorance; he may fill the world with riches, or again grovel in poverty. As there has been a beginning of all things, so will there be an end. The highest effort of creation preceded the seventh cycle – the Sabbath: its end will succeed the same, and we may yet be only approaching the perihelion passage – half the Sabbath may only be run – half of eighteen millions of years may only have pursued their slow but certain course. It is not for man to state the time or anticipate events, for his life is no better than a moment when compared with a cycle."

"But," said I, "explain, if you can, the theory of man's creation."

"Man," said our companion, "knows nothing more of this than is stated in Scripture. He may theorize, and the scientific may be divided. The theory of one mind, however, can never be reconciled with the theory of another mind Nature delights in opposites. This far we can trace, without much fear of error, that there have been gradations of forms in living creatures, animal and vegetable, whose links are so complete as to pass imperceptibly from one to the other order or class. Simple structures have grown into more complex structures, and this work of

creation has gone on step by step, improvement upon improvement, from the rude stone hatchet of the Maori, as it were, to the marvellous steam hammer of Nasmyth. The summit of creation has been man. He was the last idea and the greatest. Thus we may look upon the living things of this earth as steps in creation, and that each of the 200,000 or more species of animals as they stepped out one from the other, were separate ideas, separate creations, separate developements of the grand scheme – the scheme of an intelligent Author of nature – not made by chance, but the creatures of a grand whole. Pulchritudo mundi ordo rerum coelestium, conversio solis, lunae, siderumque omnium indicant satis aspectu ipso ea omnia non esse fortuita."

"It would appear to be very like a scheme of chance on your showing, however," said the Squire.

"I am glad that you have suggested this," said our companion. "Now, as I have shown that principle in nature is always the same from the drop of water to the whole ocean; admit that man is the image of his Creator, then what does man do? Does he improve his comforts and condition by chance, or by skilled experience? Does he make his chronometers that circumnavigate the world to a second by chance, or by consummate ingenuity? Does he plough the waters of the deep from London to the Bluff by chance, or by the result of deep thought, inimitable invention?"

"No, certainly not."

"Then, oh Squire, I would be false to our transcendent great gift were I to seek to deprive the God of nature of his and man's highest attribute – intelligence, reason and knowledge. Man has but one drop of this – the Creator has all oceans. Then to proceed. There has been constant change, and change still goes on. The times of the intro-

WATERSPOUT.

duction of new species or the mixture of species may be at the aphelion or perihelion of the solar orbit; and as nature works by opposites, so may a portion of the orbit retard creation – another may quicken it; one portion may favour generation of hybrids by gradual assimilation – another may oppose this. Certain it is that within the limited period of man's observation, the dodo has died out and the moa has disappeared. If so disappearing, may not the opposite process of others appearing be a portion of the Creator's law? The stag and the ass have generated a hybrid, as well as the ass and the horse: may not there then be a period for the pure species to die and the mixed species to live? Observe how man himself affects his own species. The red man has disappeared from off the face of North America, and the sons of Japheth sit within the tents of Shem. The white man tends to the tropics, but the black man's breath is deadly to him there, for that is not the white man's habitat; he dies out in the third generation. At portions of the geological cycle, we have a right to deduce this inference, that colder temperature may favor the spread of the white man to all regions, and that at other portions a hotter temperature will favor the spread of the black man in like manner. Such has been the varying process in recent geological and even historical times with regard to other mammals, for the whitened bones of the elephant are found on the banks of the Obi, and Strabo tells us that the lion, in his time, prowled in the mountains of Thrace. The whole ways of the Creator are unfathomable, and infinity cannot be absorbed by finity. But if we grasp but a portion of passing events our reward is over-abundant."

"Then," said the Squire, more earnestly than I had before noticed him, "do you reconcile all these doctrines with Scripture?"

Our companion replied, that "men of science pursued truth under all hazards – under the old Roman maxim that magna est veritas et prevalebit. The faithful did this with the good hope that the truths of the Scriptures would be vindicated. Vindicated certainly, not by the old lights of narrow-mindedness and confined observation, but under the refulgent illumination of modern learning, the work was great and progressive. The learned meet difficulties that are not even perceived by the ignorant. The eyes of the elephant and the eyes of the gnat are as far removed in their scopes. How vain, then, is it to attempt to reconcile the views of all grades of men! The truths are one and the same, ever have been and ever shall be. It is the vision of men that is imperfect; so when opposite grades of mind or disposition meet on one platform of faith, agreement can only be by mutual concession. Concession is the fulcrum that balances the opposites, and maintains the fabric of the church in equilibrio. There is much in Scripture that is reality to the ignorant and figurative to the learned. The inspired writers chose this method of imparting moral truths whereby all men might drink at the same fountain – no other plan was possible. I have shown that, on the standard of eternity, a day is as a thousand years – a geological epoch is equally so a day. The simple fact of the steps of development in the creation of this little earth – the third planet from the sun – is merely shortly stated in our sacred records, in words comprehensible to the simple and oppressed Jews. The relation is an allegory – a compendium preparatory to the great object of imparting moral truths and rules of conduct. It is evident that the whole process of creation could not be imparted in a few verses; nor do I see why so many cling to this opinion – for the labours of the geologist are particularly enjoined in other

THE LESSONS OF NATURE.

portions of Holy Writ. Thus we are told to 'Ask the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee; or speak to the earth and it shall teach thee, and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee, who knoweth not in all these things that the hand of the Lord hath wrought this?' – Job xii. 7. Thus we have a distinct approbation of our inquiries and labours amongst the wonders of geology. The study of creation is enjoined as well as the study of the Bible. Here it is declared that the earth and its living creatures are as much His work as the Bible, so are they a medium wherein to search out His ways and make known His mysteries. A study in a proper spirit and with mutual forbearance of the wonders of creation cannot but tend to elevate our better nature. Hence we should not avoid their examination, because to the avowedly limited minds of men, they appear to upset the crude persuasions of an illiterate and simple ancestry. The larger the view that our faculties can be trained to grasp, so much the higher will be our edification. For in the creation of our earth all parts prove inconceivable intelligence, unlimited care, immutable laws."

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

WE CROSS. DANGERS OF THE FERRY. HEROISM OF REKO. PRIMITIVE CHARGES. THE FASCINATION OF DANGER. THE SQUIRE'S CONFIRMATION.

WHEN we arose at daylight, Phoebus cast his grateful beams through the copse, which argued well of our journey's continuance. We were soon astir, and duly seated at breakfast. Our sable entertainer relaxed none of his attentions, for he saw the hour of riddance and settlement was at hand. When we approached the river, we found it yet to be in high flood – rolling turbulently along, dashing, foaming and fretting, as the panting stag. The Maori shook his head and cautioned us to remain at least another day, but his counsel was unheeded The sun shone – this gave us courage – and the angry waters must be braved at all hazards. Our first object was to drive the horses across; cur next, to follow after them. The river might be one hundred yards broad, and its volume not unlike classic Tweed under similar circumstances. We unsaddled and unbridalled the steeds on a small strand surrounded by steep cliffs, which was so situated as to be well above a strand on the opposite banks for which the horses would make when driven in. The current was estimated to run at such a rate, the horses to swim at another rate, and the bays or strands for starting and landing chosen accordingly.

CHARON.

The object of accuracy in this arrangement was obvious, for, were the horses to miss their goal, they would be beaten off by the cliffs and hurled down to the rapids, where their destruction was inevitable. All being ready, the horses were beaten and stoned, bated and pelted, till they one and all plunged into the unwelcome waters. With distended nostrils and loud snorts they eyed us that perchance they might return – but only to find themselves further pelted and urged in their course. At length, and it was only the act of a moment, they hesitate but again to be urged; so seeing no hope of return, they plunge further in and strike out lustily for the opposite bank. This they all made safely, and now they stand reeking and shivering awaiting their masters. To cross us bipeds was the duty of Reko, who now stood as good a specimen of Charon as was the dark Mataura of the river Styx, so his ferry deserves some description.

The means of crossing was by a long narrow crank canoe composed of the trunk of a totara tree, which had been hollowed out by fire. The canoe could only carry one person with his saddlery at the same time. The crossing-place chosen by the Maori was just in such a position as the uninitiated would suppose to be the most dangerous part of the river. Just above and in the centre of the stream, but now hidden, was a huge rock, over which the mighty torrent gurgled, creating huge eddies and whirlpools on either side of it. Below the crossing, again, the river fiercely concentrated its whole force against some ragged jutting rocks, and then dived in under currents beneath the spray. A single false stroke of the paddle was death; a single faint effort destruction. The Maori was old and asthmatic, and to his frailty we trusted our safety; but he rose to the occa-

sion above his age and weaknesses. His breast was seen to rise with the pride of superiority, as he scanned us, the effeminate children of white mothers. He stood at the brink, an Ajax in action, a Ulysses in understanding. The Squire stept forth to lead, and having deposited his goods in the bottom of the canoe, he squatted on his heels and held on with his hands firmly to the sides. The Maori now seated himself in the extreme end of the stern, and with a practised eye he estimated the effect of the fleeting current; at last, forcing the canoe forward with all his might, he struck for the lee of the centre rock. Now in the lee, his eye glanced but for a moment to the opposite bank; he manoeuvred his paddle to the quickly altering eddies, and his canoe glided swiftly in safety to the opposite strand. The Squire lost no time in gaining terra firma, and the Maori returned for us. The same feat was thus repeated till all were over. Now Reko, breathless with exertion as much as with excitement, that his charges were safe, gave way to the weakness of his maladies and threw himself panting and breathless on the sward. While he lay motionless and speechless, we caught and saddled our horses and prepared to move on; but before starting, we revisited our host. Each of us asked the cost of our entertainment, which proved so trifling, that three times the amount was dropped into his hands. Here – the curse of caste prejudices being absent – -we heartily shook hands with the black man and sped on our journey.

We were not long silent, for the Squire remarked that he felt our companion's law of contraries most strongly developed in his boson just when he was in the midst of the boiling torrent, for no sooner did he find himself twirling in the eddies than he most profoundly wished himself from one side to its opposite.

DANGER PAST.

"Yes," said our companion, "had there been no opposite with you, you, as a living man, would not now be under its potent sway. Your hopes and fears would have ended – your joys and sorrows, your love of company, and your hatred of solitude. None of these opposites would have been within you to quicken your energy and to keep your pulse in motion. No, Squire, all would have been stilled in death at the bottom of some pool in the Mataura."

The Squire shuddered at the thought, and exclaimed, "Why should we have risked such danger? Now that it is past, the consequences appear more fearful than they looked on the other side, with all the doubts before us."

"True to nature," said our companion, "true to nature. The greater the opposites, the greater the development of action. When great danger stands opposite to perfect safety, how energetic are we in leaping into the path that leads from one to the other. The serpent glances, and the trembling bird is so fascinated with the danger that it neither moves nor shrinks from destruction. The tender youth leaves the comforts of home to brave the dangers of the billowy ocean, simply for this reason, that the path from safety to danger may be trodden, and from danger to safety back again. The young hero leaves the safety of his native village and all its endearing associations to brave danger at the cannon's mouth, and simply because the path from one to the other, and from the other to its opposite back again, has fascinations that are overpowering and all-pervading, not to be avoided nor restrained. No sooner are we set out on a journey than we speed towards its end. No sooner are we in infancy than we wish to grow old, – no sooner thirsty than we wish to be slakened, – no sooner slakened than we wish to be thirsty again."

"Too true," said the Squire, "as regards many of my friends. Their thirst at the Old Royal is the best exposition that I have yet heard in your tiresome rule of contraries."

Our companion smiled, was silent, and we rode on our journey.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AN OILED RAG.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AN ECCENTRIC PIONEER. SHORT COMMONS. "OLD HANDS." THE WAIOPAI. PRECURSOR OF JUSTICE. UNPOPULARITY OF A LIMB OF THE LAW. LAW VALUED AT A PRICE. LOVERS AND HATERS. TALL TALK AND SMALL APPRECIATION.

WE rode for an hour, but were then brought up by a swampy creek which required no little searching before we found ground hard enough to bear the weight of horses. We then kept in the centre of extensive plains till we arrived at a clump of forest trees, colonially termed a bush. Here we found a settler usurping the domain of Mackenzie the sheep-stealer, and asked for accommodation and fare. The eccentric pioneer, however, showed no disposition to be hospitable, and in which he was comically in earnest, – and no wonder, seeing, as he informed us, that he himself had lived on the odour of an oiled rag for six weeks. This savoury information proved a sufficient palliative, so we started forward to the high terraces and soon found ourselves traversing the Waiopai Plains. Coming to another bush, we fell upon an encampment of "old hands," busy with the interesting occupation of emptying a keg of strong waters.

Amongst the company was Sam Perkins, in later years better known as the leader of the abortive Blue Mountain

Rush, by whom we were welcomed with loud acclamations, and asked in to partake. It being cold and near night-fall, we were not lax in receiving the offered hospitality; so we set to, as a preliminary necessity, to pitch our tent close bye. We found the party to be hotly discussing, as was very generally the case, the auriferous indications of the country, in which some of the party, having been either in California or Australia, had great faith. The discussion was long, and, in many cases, both practical and intelligent; but far too utilitarian for a narrative of this sort. We stayed with the carousers as long as was necessary to propiate their good-will; we then retired to our tent for rest, as our next day's journey we knew would be a fatiguing one.

Next morning we were early on horseback, and on our way skirted the edges of the forests or swamps, which appeared to be innumerable; at last, with considerable difficulty, we brought our horses to the banks of the estuary of the Waiopai, near that same position in which now stands the modern town of Invercargill. Here we found a waste of long grass swamp and dead trees, hemmed in at two sides by tall forest. Crossing a small, dark water-creek, we skirted the eastern shore of the estuary till we came to a settlement of Maoris. Here we encamped for the night, and next morning we made for the Bluff Harbour, which, at that time, had attracted a community of whalers, sealers, Maoris and half-castes.

We found that the settlement was in a great state of excitement, as a jail had been ordered to be built, and that a living minister of justice, in the shape of a constable, had arrived. The heads of families, and the whole families themselves, we found, had turned out to witness the advent of so unusual a visitor; and in the front was Chaseland, an

PATRIARCHAL STATE.

old sealer, squaring at the intruder by way of inviting him to a friendly trial on the powers of manhood. The settlement till now had been under the benevolent sway of patriarchal government. The people had always had enough to eat and drink – what more did they require? They had lived under the will of one great man – their leader in danger, their support when hungry, and, in quenching their thirst, it was his business to see that the water was well qualified. Altogether, patriarchal government, in its full license, seemed to be the popular institution of the Bluff in those days; so law, with its after trains, seemed not to be at all welcome. With law would come the duties of the heads of families, the duties of sons and daughters; and worst of all, the duties on spirits and tobaccos – the thoughts of the populace climaxed in repugnancy.

We pitched our tents, and purchased some wheat and mutton-birds; the former we ground in a coffee-mill to a coarse flour, which we baked, the latter we grilled on a spit by means of our fire of logs, collected from the adjacent bush.

While lounging after supper, our companion remarked, that "all well-disposed men esteemed justice as most precious – so precious, indeed, as to be often too dearly bought. In this Ultima Thule of the southern hemisphere, where there was nothing to protect, justice had not yet its functions; and hence the opprobrium of its officer in the eyes of the lawless inhabitants. Justice is a dainty partaken of by the wealthy of civilized nations – it is seldom obtainable by the poor – they, at least, must be content with fair-play. It is highly extolled by philosophers, poets, political economists, and such other dreamers. But, after all, justice is but a commodity of little value where there are no rights to protect; of great value, on the contrary,

where vested rights have grown to be the institutions of a nation. Justice in an infant settlement is of no value, for where there is nothing to lose, where is its function? There is nothing to protect. Hence the advent of a precursor of justice, in however humble a capacity, is a matter of suspicion to the crowd. The end is not seen. The building-up of interests is not understood. To an unrestrained appetite alone can they see in him a curb."

"But," said the Squire, "are not the English lovers of justice above all nations?"

"True," said our companion, "because the English are the wealthiest of all nations, so have more to protect; and highly do they pay for justice in the maintenance of their law courts, judges, barristers, and attorneys. The maintenance of justice is one of the necessities of a highly civilised and artificial social economy, and it costs its price to the nation. Were this cost met grudgingly or with parsimony, then would the opposite, namely, injustice, reign, – the social fabric, whose base is justice and equity, would fall to pieces, and universal anarchy would take the place of law and order. Justice conserves the vested interests of a nation, – injustice destroys them. Where there is no justice, as there appears to be in this settlement – for the law has just sent out its most feeble feeler in the person of this unhappy constable – all civil rights are dead. No interests have grown up, no arts nor native industries, – there is mere vegetation, a living from hand to mouth. Justice, at the same time, I have no doubt, is in a degree represented by fair-play. But the influence of fair-play reaches not into the high domain of justice – it affects single individuals only, not a mass of individuals; – it is therefore powerless in policy. To do injustice – such as stealing, burning, or wounding – is the tendency of the bad; to do

BALANCE OF JUSTICE.

the contrary, – justice, – viz., to uphold the rights and properties of your fellows – is the tendency of the good. These opposite tendencies are stronger in communities or nations as they grow larger. The more vitality in a people, the greater the tension between these two opposites. Hence the necessity of the institution of laws, and their officers to maintain the equilibrium – to hold the balance with blinded eyes between the just and the unjust, the well disposed and the wicked. All men cannot be said to be lovers of justice, for it is pretty certain the bad hate it, such as the thief, the swindler, the murderer, and many more grades up to the class that barely gets within the pale named 'decent people'; and, on the contrary, all men cannot be said to be haters of justice, but it will be found that the lovers and the haters are on the opposite sides of human society. The truly benevolent, the religious, and the peaceful, are on one side, the rapacious, immoral, and wicked, on the other; and between these two opposites of humanity a constant circulation goes on, the one extending its influence to the other; – some members receiving, some rejecting, some falling into wicked courses, others rising into good. As society grows, the channel that bears the circulation between these opposite tendencies enlarges; as society decreases, so does it decrease. The capacity of our law institutions are thus an index to the wealth of the nation. It is by them that all vested interests are supported and maintained. Men of the law are disliked – not that they are good citizens, lovers of justice, and maintainers of peace – but that they are to some degree the vehicles whereby the bad passions of man are ventilated and find escape. These passions, without law as the channel, would lead to violence, – thus, they are constrained by its staid proceedings."

"Then," said the Squire, "this disconsolate precursor of justice must be on our side, seeing we have three good horses to lose. I had better go and make friends with him."

Upon which he stepped forward, and, shaking him warmly by the hand, asked him into our tent. Leading him by the arm, with more solemnity than usual, the Squire asked to be permitted to introduce the germ of a new era into the society of the Bluff – the dawn of vested rights – the seedling of hoarded wealth – -the forerunner of the power that will shoot out and cover with its benignant wings the glorious destiny of our adopted country. Our companion, rising to the important occasion, welcomed the visitor, and remarked that it was indeed a great event that he had now the pleasure of witnessing, viz., the advent of the ultimate nerve of justice – its most refined filament – to the antipodes of Her Majesty's dominions – to the remotest corner of that empire on which the sun never sets. The constable bowed doubtful acquiescence, and suggested that be would be happy to drink to our very good healths,

CHAPTER XXV.

A WAKE.

CHAPTER XXV.

A DISTURBED NIGHT. A WAKE. THE FUNERAL. DRUNKEN SORROW. A PRIESTESS. SQUIRE'S PHILOSOPHY OF WOMEN. VIRTUE OUT OF DEPRAVITY.

IN the very heart of the now flourishing Campbelltown, situated on the Bluff Harbor, we collected tussock grass to make our beds on the ground. We lay down but could get little rest, owing to noise, uproar and rioting going on in one of the adjacent huts. In the morning we found that the cause of our disturbance had been in the preliminary ceremonies of the funeral of an "old hand," who had been drowned when attempting to cross the harbour a day or two previously. The cooper had been sent for – the coffin had been knocked together – the "old-hand" had been deposited therein and was now lying in state. Last night's wake was in honour of all this. The occasion was one of no little excitement, as you may suppose; it was re-action against monotonous, dull, do-nothing daily routine. So hence, neighbours wives and families had collected. The ideas of honor are as different as customs are dissimilar. To do honor in this extreme settlement seemed to be by drinking deep potations of strong waters, even though the bereaved should part with their clothes to pay for the same. As the spirits flowed, so did grief and mirth alternate; and as the saturnalia proceeded, so did love graduate into anger.

Riot followed riot, and early morning displayed in its sunrise the "wakers" in a state of drunken stupidity, unfit for the solemn work in which they were to be engaged.

It was shortly after our morning's meal, that we observed the funeral cortege wending its slow and devious way to a small hill not far distant, and upon which several previous burials seemed to have taken place. That small hill is now levelled, and the ashes have disappeared. Our curiosity was attracted by the solemn procession, and, as the march of death passed us, we followed in the rear. The followers consisted of old whalers and sealers with their wives and children, the male portion of whom were in an idiotic state of intoxication; and as the coffin was borne by a party of these, it "sheared" to right and left as the bearers stumbled into the crab-holes on either side, or over the tussocks. The coffin, we observed, was covered by the Union Jack, no doubt in compliance with the customs of the marine going population. A volley of oaths succeeded each stoppage. Blasphemy, appalling at all times, was even more horrible under the present occasion. We would have turned away, but stood spell-bound. We internally asked ourselves, Are these the heralds of civilisation that England sends to the most remote corners of the earth? Yes, they are most undoubtedly England's heralds of civilisation, which poetry and romance invest with glowing halo – delightful to contemplate – enticing to the young fancy – ah, misguided fancy! here is the practical illustration. As we see it, how sottish, how beastly, how inhuman.

We followed at a distance, and watched the proceedings over the grave, to which the coffin at last was borne. The coffin was now laid over its last resting-place, resting upon stretchers. A stop was now made – an unexpected difficulty had presented itself: there was no parson! The coffin

A WOMAN'S POWER.

could not be lowered. The instinct of animals, how unreasonable yet how discriminating! Now there was wrangling, jostling and blaspheming; some would fight over it, others would cry. The strong men were powerless to overcome the dead-lock. At last, a young half-caste girl issued from the crowd and stood at the head of the grave. She was dressed in the clumsy, sack-like, blue cotton garment common in the out-settlements of the natives in those days. Her features were not uncomely, her complexion was olive. She wore on her head nature's covering, viz., glossy black hair; her eyes were dark, and now sparkled with intelligence, for she was about to do a great duty to the departed, her foster-father. She stopped awhile, and then, raising her left hand, she asked for silence. The men stared, others growled a deep imprecation, but seemed subdued by the apparition, and silence reigned. She now opened a little book and read, with a plaintive tone, the service for the dead. Her voice gained confidence as she proceeded, till its accents were silvery, clear, firm and fluent. The motley crew stood entranced, and at her bidding lowered the coffin with becoming decency into the grave. The drunken appeared to be suddenly sobered, they stood mutely listening and then covered the corpse of their late brother with the dust to which he had now returned. This over, some wended their way in silence to their homes, others stood in groups; the young, swarthy angel shut her book and escaped to her dwelling.

"How weak is woman!" said the Squire.

"How strong is woman!" said our companion.

"How frail is woman!" said the Squire.

"How strong is woman!" said our companion.

"How weak is woman," said the Squire, "when she has no destiny."

"And," said our companion, "how strong she is when fate tries her!"

"How frail she is in body!" said the Squire.

"How strong she is in spirit!" said our companion.

"How weak she is in voice!" said the Squire.

"Yet how powerful its influence!" said our companion. "It makes the guilty quake, and subdues the intemperate."

"How little does she reason!" said the Squire.

"Yet how over-abundant is her faith!" said our companion. "It quells the voice of the rioter and silences the blasphemer."

"How weak her arms to resist the evil-doer!" said the Squire.

"How strong she is in quelling the rising conflict!" said our companion. "Her weakness is her power – nay, the strong man follows her as a dog its master. Woman," continued our companion, "has her sphere; in it she is ever beautiful: out of it, ridiculous. This is the great rule of contraries. Her weakness in her body is her strength in the world, for the labour of the world is to protect her. When man is weak and forgetful of his destiny, as we have seen to-day, then is her time of action. When man is equal to his destiny, oh then let her not essay to trespass. For whom she loves, she loves for his strength and his honor – whom she clings to, she clings to for his weakness and disgrace. Woman is the compound of opposites. Pain is her penalty, yet she courts pain. Danger is her destiny, yet does she brave it. She glories in love, though it be her ruin. In love consistent, in hatred consistent; in love fickle, in hatred fickle. Who can anticipate her destiny? To-day, oh Squire, have we seen that noble and humiliating paradox, in the weak overcoming the strong. The purity

COGITATION.

of that simple maid has risen triumphant over the general depravity. Such is the law of contraries."

"Just so," said the Squire. "Woman, I fear is on the right side of man's weakness. We are, as it were, armed to the teeth against ourselves; but, cui bono, she has tender ways to do the needful on all occasions, coined ready to fit, and no reason about it – all feeling. Ah, that's her power. Man's gross brutality makes her feeling all the more gorgeous."

"Yes," said our companion, "nature will have it – that out of general depravity comes singular virtue. The greater the evil, the greater the reaction. How resplendent is the starry meteor in a gloomy sky."

"A good simile," said the Squire. "Now leave me alone, I am in a humour for cogitation."

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A RECONNOITRE. A SEAT IN A FIREPLACE. A WHALER HOST. THE COOPER'S SCHNAPS. A DANCE. OUR HOST'S ACTIVITY. THE BULLOCK CUT OUT. WILD SCENERY. THE SOCIAL SYSTEM. SUNDAY EXERCISES. THE POWER OF CONTRAST.

DURING our various wanderings to and fro, we had pitched our tent in the precincts of a fishing station, where we depended on being able to purchase provisions from some of the inhabitants. The village was principally composed of Maoris, the remainder of Europeans, with their native wives or "cheres amis." We had not settled long in our encampment, on this occasion, before we saw a shaggy, uncombed head peer at us through the copse wood; then another; but both to disappear as quick as thought. At length other heads betrayed themselves to our glances, and, as numbers increased, their timidity gave way. We now found ourselves the subjects of general curiosity, when a European sea-faring man arrived, and, standing before our tent, enquired our errand. By the little information that he received he was satisfied, for he at once, in a rough, but hearty and hospitable, manner, told us to strike our tent, and come along to his cabin, where he would try his best to make us snug. He informed us, at the same time, that he was the owner of the fishing establishment, and to such

THE WHALER'S CABIN.

fare and lodging as he had we were welcome. We were not slow in accepting the choice of warm beds, instead of the cold ground; so, pulling up the poles, we rolled up the tent and followed our host.

Passing through a small village of Natives, we were soon in the front of the principal house, situated on the European portion of the settlement. The house was built square, seemed capacious; outside, it was weather-boarded and shingled, and possessed a large clay-built chimney at the end, which we judged to be the kitchen. Opening the door, our host asked us to enter, and bringing us into the kitchen, he at once introduced us to the lady of the house – a well-favored, black-eyed brunette, whose modest and shy manners (the growth of a remote and little frequented place of nativity) embellished, rather than detracted, from her charms. Native nobility is as attractive as artificial polish. Our hostess received us with that unsophisticated good humour, which convinced us that our intrusion was by no means disconcerting. She immediately asked us to sit within the fire-place, as it was capacious enough for that purpose, it being a huge recess from the room with the fire of wood burning on the hearth in the centre, and she at once set about to order her nut-brown aid-de-camps to prepare refreshments for us. We had not to sit long before a repast was set before us, consisting of smoking salt beef, potatoes, bread, tea, sugar, and butter. We had had a long fast, so the provisions were attacked with no small enjoyment.

Our host we soon perceived to be of that homely practical kind which indicated his origin to have been from the working fisherman rather than from the educated classes of the mercantile marine. His native Yarmouth dialect had in no way been effaced by thirty years' absence. His

experiences had been many, his voyages ubiquitous, and now he had settled in this remote corner, as middle life came upon him, with comfort and competence. He had no regrets at absence from his home country, as it had given him more knocks than caresses, and where could his identity be better maintained in importance than in a village of people depending on his energy and enterprise? Here was no law, so in all cases of disputes between neighbours his decision was appealed to. By his adventures to the adjacent shores and seas, he brought employment to the inhabitants, and with that, food and raiment, besides other comforts of a contraband nature that were even more sought after. True, custom-houses had not yet been established, so that the import of such articles as tobacco and spirits was free to the carrier.

Having finished our repast, our host asked us into the "cuddy," as he called the parlor, in order that we might wash down the "grub" without interruption, by something better than cold water. So to the "cuddy" we adjourned, which apartment we found comfortably furnished with carpet, table cloth and numerous chairs. The walls were hung round with cheap prints of Nelson, Collingwood, and other naval heroes. The glasses were set, and it was easily judged by the twinkle of the Squire's eyes, that we and our host would not soon part.

"Come, Squire," said he, for even here the fame of our fellow traveller had reached; "come, Squire, help yourself and tell your mates to make themselves easy. I'll be – – – for it is not often we have such a jolly looking set as you 'ere to come to see us as that 'ere. This 'ere," continued he "is port, and that 'ere is sherry, and this 'ere is something better than both these 'ere."

At this point our host suddenly disappeared under the

A SQALL.

floor by a trap that we had not noticed, and brought forth several bottles of brandy, rum, and gin. Again he dived down and cried "Here, Squire, if you like this 'ere better than that 'ere – it's what we calls the Cooper's schnaps, as he distils out of the cabbage-tree – is that 'ere. I'll be – – -." But we need not follow our host's flowers of rhetoric, as they might give emphasis but certainly not grace.

"Come, help yourselves and make yourselves easy. I likes to see people make themselves happy. Now, Squire," he said, "you've just come in time. I know you are the 'cove' to ride in a bullock, and I want you with me tomorrow for that 'ere job. Yes, to-morrow; and then there's the killing of it, and cutting up, and dressing – you be just come in time for that 'ere."

By this time we had settled ourselves to what, I feared, would be a long sederunt. We had not sat half an hour, however, before we were disturbed by the loud screaming of a child in the kitchen. The cause of the trouble was explained to us, after some hesitation, to be in the fact of the commencement of a merry-making in one of the houses of the villages, to which the whole family were about setting out, leaving the child with its mother, our hostess.

"But," added the Skipper, "never mind it, we will make ourselves jolly here."

"Not at all," said our companion, "we will go along with you and make the acquaintance of your friends."

The ready perception of the real position by our companion, solved all difficulties. The absence of the host and his wife, as the principals of the society of the place, would have been a blank. They amiably went on all such occasions, and the child knew this, so was not to be disappointed. Our host's presence at such merry-makings was further indispensable in his musical attainments and thorough good nature in

making them available. In fact, he was necessary, else the young men and maids would have no dancing. Thus, circumstances would have it that we should end our sitting and proceed to the merry-making; this, apparently, satisfied all sides, the child included. A sitting with the Squire and the Skipper would have been no joke, and was, on our part, to be avoided if possible. We therefore rose and betook ourselves to the merry-making, where we found most of the good folks of the village assembled.

Counting young and old, there might have been in all thirty odd; and amongst the junior portion, the olive complexion, dark hair and coal-black eyes were plainly predominant, an indication of the "origin and mixture of species," as our companion would remark. Our entry was the prelude to the dance, for our host soon struck up a stirring air that quickened the pulsation of life. The dance proved to be very primitive in style and patriarchal in simplicity. It consisted of a step or two backwards and forwards, a contortion of the body, a wriggle, a leap and a whoop, and this went on continuously till the performers became exhausted – but the dance was kept up by the rotation of others joining. Of quadrilles, contra-dances or reels – the emanations of higher civilization – the villagers were ignorant, yet it was to be remarked that the want of these accomplishments did not abate a jot of real enjoyment, mirth and excitement. Here, indeed, where ignorance was bliss 'twere folly to be wise. The male sex were refreshed at intervals with the strong liquors of the cooper's concoction. To ourselves as strangers the milder wines of Portugal were obligingly proffered.

The dance continued till the small hours of the morning, when the company dispersed, and on retiring to our host's house we were accommodated with shake-downs on the

BULLOCK DRIVING.

parlor floor. The exertions of the night seemed to have had no effect on the hardy frame of our host, for by seven he roused us all to breakfast. This we soon discussed, and mounting horses brought to us, we scampered away to the pasture grounds of his cattle, in order to cut one out of the mob for slaughter. The road taken was over undulating ground, and by narrow, winding paths – now heading sluggish creeks, now winding round dead swamps. But the sinuosities of the way seemed well known to our host, so by two hours' fast riding we reached the object of our search.

The Squire was now on his metal, his nostrils dilated with eagerness to commence the horseman-like operation of cutting-out the fattest bullock of the herd. His horse intuitively pawed with its fore legs, as anxious for the feat as his rider. Our host and the Squire were not long before they rode full tilt at the selected animal. They push forward pell-mell with furious shouts, with the rifle-like crack of their long whips and with nimble gestures. The terrified brutes draw up together, headed by the master bull. But this fierce brute deters not the riders – they slash in at the victim and in a few seconds we see it detached from its fellows and being driven helter-skelter homewards, and following it are the eager, bent bodies of our host and the Squire full gallop behind it, all quickly disappearing in the distance.

Our companion and I returned homewards more leisurely. We examined with some curiosity the fine, grassy country, at that time totally uninhabited; as yet the time of its absorption for the good of man had not come. When we arrived at the village, we found the Squire in full activity immersed in the weighty labour of skinning the huge, fat animal. It was well we returned in good time, for a south-

wester set in, blowing furiously with drifting hail. The roar of the sea was heard over the sand-hills, and glad we were that comfortable quarters in so remote a region were at our disposal.

We remained a few days, passing our time in various excursions to objects of interest – such as the wild primeval forests – the wide expanse of sea beach, on which the wild antarctic waves expended their everlasting fury. The rugged rocks and the jutting headlands were not to be surpassed by Cape Wrath. But, to our companion, the most interesting subject of enquiry was in the domestic and social economy of a community living without law, learning, or religious institutions. Here there were no magistry, – no ministers; – so, how were the restraints of society felt where not legally enjoined? That there was a restraint to evil doers was readily apparent, and that there was patriarchal laxity was also as certain. But the tacit consent of the commonwealth to certain demarcations, at which laxity should end and stringency begin, was not to be doubted. Leges mori serviunt. To our host, as the holder of property – as the individual who had the greatest interests at stake – the moral power was confided by common consent. This embryo kingship seemed so natural as never to be questioned. Grave crimes, such as murder, were happily unknown, but drunkenness and intrigue were very prevalent. In the disturbances arising out of these, our host was the sole arbitrator. These crimes, indeed, might be held in lighter account than would be permissible in the artificial structure of civilised society; yet here, even, the curb of power was necessary to protect the weak from the strong – to prevent utter demoralization.

The commonwealth of the village was found to arrange itself in this manner: – The Maoris, as the most ignorant,

A WHALER'S SUNDAY.

were the hewers of wood and the drawers of water. The working Europeans were the artificers – such as boat-builders, coopers, carpenters, shoemakers, &c The masters of all were those who had the knowledge of letters. These, who were few and far between, kept their hands in their pockets, and ruled. Knowledge is power – that is certain: so, even here, the influence of letters, however dim, was transcendently more mighty than the power of strong arm or tough sinew.

That the people – hardy and untutored as they were – did not live without the glimmerings of religious feeling, was also proved to us; for on the evening of Sunday we were all invited to the large apartment of our host's house, where we found a large portion of the females of the village assembled, together with two or three white-headed men. These had met – decked out in their best suits – to perform the religious exercises maintained by the head of the village, our host. Now I must here remark that there was an anomaly in the deportment of our host which was most broadly observable. While he used expletives not mentionable in every sentence of his speech during week-days, he was most particular in bridling his tongue on this day. The law that governed this deportment, our companion would suggest (as he held that there was law in everything,) to be in the universal one of contraries; "for," argued he, "nature hates a vacuum as much as she hates repletion. Too much of anything must result in a tendency in the opposite direction. Nor can it be otherwise with profanity: six days of that must have rest on Sunday, in the opposite course – propriety." Be that philosophical demonstration as it may, I have only to describe facts as I found them: and though in the assembly now present one or two only might be able to read, all followed the protracted exercises with fluency.

A grey-headed man held in his hand a book of hymns, and his office was to read the first line; our host then at once struck up the proper tune and sang it from memory, and he was followed with ease by the meeting. Hymn after hymn was thus sang, till the whole book had been gone through; the time required being over two hours. The Skipper did his part much after the manner of a precentor or clerk of thirty or forty years standing; his congregation followed to the full pitch of their voices, so that heartiness in the service made up for the paucity of numbers. A smile might rise on the countenance of the tutored in the delicate perceptions of artificial life, but the smile would be momentary; to the thoughtful, indeed, the scene was impressive in its very simplicity. The wild surroundings of the hamlet, its remote position, the rude and dangerous employments of its inhabitants, in truth, invested the scene with the veriest mark of sublimity. At such an altar a princess might offer her oblations.

On the morning following, our companion first opened his mind to me by the remark that "The earth was full of interest; each day's observation a problem. The old Skipper's every day profanity – his Sunday's purity; how wonderful the contrast! He is not a common-place man, that. He is not a man without prominences, sharp angles, and quick joints. There is strong tension within him. His associates require a high pressure power over them. The opposite sides of his character are strongly contrasting – closely joining. How vigorous is its working; how strong its development! A Dirk Hatteraick and a Dominie Sampson, enclosed in one skin. Ah, that's what fascinates."

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE THEORY.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE THEORY. AULD REEKIE. NO OPPOSITES, NO EXISTENCE. AN ILLUSTRATION. A TOTARA. MAN AND WOMAN. THE EARTH AND THE FIRMAMENT.

WE now proceeded to the Bluff Harbour, for our companion had determined to take ship from thence, and leave our shores. It was during the interval of our waiting to see him off that the following conversations took place, and which I duly recorded, so they shall be the subjects of the following chapters.

He remarked that "There was no body that had not its opposite, and it was existence that bridged the connecting space or gulph. You have been in Auld Reekie, no doubt, Squire, though you be an Englishman."

The Squire answered in the affirmative.

"Well, then," said our companion, drawing a diagram on the floor; "let that be Melville's monument, this round circle the earth, and this the ship which lies in this harbour. Now, what weight is Melville's monument – let it be at a guess 2000 tons, more or less – it is of little consequence to the argument; and that ship, let it weigh 700 tons. The weight of each is nothing else than the tendency that both have to the earth's centre; and they being at the antipodes, consequently tend directly towards each other. That is, the bodies would be impelled towards each other with the force

of 2700 tons, were it not for the earth that intervenes – and why do they not?"

"For a pretty plain reason," said the Squire; "that they cannot sink through the earth's crust."

"Good," said our companion; "a great fact in physical geography. The earth's body has its opposites, and its existence bridges the space or gulph. The theory, then, is apparent; where there is no opposite force, there will be no existence, and where there is no existence there will then be no space or gulf between opposites; no space between opposites – no life. And this principle extends to all other existing things – organic and inorganic – viewed in all aspects. This rock, for instance, has its opposites; its top and its bottom, its right side and its left side. Had it none of these opposites, it would have no existence. Further; it has its beginning in its present shape, and having had a beginning, so will it have an end."

"How so?" said the Squire; "this hard material I would reckon to be imperishable – as imperishable as the poems of Homer."

"Examine the rock, oh Squire," said our companion; "chip a little from off its surface. That's right; now what is it?"

"Granite," said the Squire.

"The most durable of a11 rocks," added our companion; "yet perishable. How far is it decayed on the surface?"

"About an inch on the surface shews decomposition," said the Squire.

"Oh, then," said our companion; "its end can be calculated. If that inch took 5000 years to decay, then its end is as obvious as its beginning. Its beginning and its end are as essential to its existence as its right side and its left side, its top and its bottom."

RIGHT AND LEFT.

"And yonder old totara tree?" said the Squire, enquiringly.

"As all other things," said our companion; "it has its top and its bottom, its right branches and its left branches, its beginning and its end, otherwise it had no shape, no existence. Its life is the bridge from its origin to its end; and that life is maintained by constant change, by circulation of sap in all its parts, upwards to the leaves and downwards back again to its roots. Stop the circulation in one part, and that part dies; stop all the circulation, and all dies; for its existence is nothing else than constant change – a reaction between opposites.

And with the vegetable creation so with the animal. Now, the chief of animals has his head and his feet, his right side and his left side, his birth and his death; and between these opposites alone has he existence. Life is the current from beginning to end, trickling at first as a small spring, till the spring has matured into a stream, which rolls on to its destiny.

And further, we come to the next proposition – that life is generated by the contact of opposites. Thus it is on the plane of demarcation between the ethereal and the material – that all living creatures are created and maintain their existence. The birds of the air, the fishes of the sea, and the animals on the surface of the land – all are created and exist on the boundaries of the light of the heavens and the darkness of the earth. Beyond these boundaries, no living creature can long have existence. Man, the most ubiquitous of all creatures, penetrates but for a short half-mile into the bowels of the earth, and at most but three or four miles up into the atmosphere. It is on the thin film that divides the air from the earth that he is born, lives and dies. Then man would have no existence without his opposite, woman; nor would other living things be propagated without their

opposites, male and female. Trees and vegetables are even propagated under the same rule by various cunning schemes of nature. The aromatic nutmeg tree of the Moluccas loses its fecundity and profitablenes to the park-owner were the male and female not planted side by side. And so would flowers and shrubs lose their properties if not impregnated by the vagrant bee. All life is generated in the contact between opposites. The seed of the tree may mature, but until it lies on the surface of the ground, in the place of contact between air and earth, no life is generated."

"You are mysterious," said the Squire.

"Are you a bachelor?" asked our companion.

"Yes," said the Squire.

"Then remain in your ignorance," said our companion, "as your business is not yet with new life."

"But," said the Squire, "joking apart, how do you make woman to be the opposite of man? Is she not his comforter, his companion, his adviser, his helpmate, his equal in wit, perception and acuteness?"

"True," said our companion, "she is all that; still, when humanity is under consideration, she is one side of humanity and he is the other; and thus all the essentials of the principles which I have enumerated above are there. Humanity had its beginning, so its opposite assuredly must come – that is, its end; and the term of existence is the channel between these two opposites. Without a beginning there had been no humanity; so, equally, without an end there had been none. A beginning and an end is as essential to the existence of humanity as birth and death, to male and female. This is the law of this earth. Humanity, then, had its birth in the contact between opposites, be it of the earth and the firmament into which the spirit of the Creator was instilled; and humanity will live between these two opposites till its term is accomplished, for to earthly things ending is as essential to life as beginning. Pulvis et umbra sumus, fruges consumere nati."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

LAND

CHAPTER XXVIII.

LAND. ITS EXISTENCE IN CHANGE. THE CORAL INSECT. ALTERNATE ACTION. JUNCTION OF HEAT AND COLD. FULCRUM OF OPPONENT FORCES.

LAND to exist has its opposites in the cardinal points. It has its surface and under surface. On this Earth the land extends to 52,000,000 of square miles, more or less. Having existence, it has had its beginning, and so will it have its ending, and between these two opposites its existence is maintained by constant change. By internal forces in the earth land rises here and falls there. The moisture of the atmosphere is condensed and falls in showers to replenish the rivers and lakes. The rivers in their courses, from streamlets to great torrents, disintegrate the rocks and scoop out the valleys. The storms of the ocean rage against the shores of the dry land, and beat the iron-bound rocks into sand. The springs moisten the understrata of hills, which is the cause of land slips. The everlasting frosts of the arctic and antarctic regions produce great glaciers, which in their slow and continuous motion grind down the valleys and the estuaries. By those means the high mountain-tops are eroded, and the flinty rocks broken up into shingle and gravel, which are borne down to the deltas, gulfs, and bays, to form new dry land. The delta of the Nile measures one hundred

miles in length from its apex to the ocean, and its base or sea-shore is two hundred and thirty miles. The Rhone at its sources, gathering material by the wasting of the Alps and the Jura mountains, has formed new dry land on the margin of the Mediterranean Sea in extent equal to 320,000 acres. The Rhine carries down four hundred tons weight of solid matter per hour. In Asia, the Ganges, fed by showers that wear down the lofty Himalayas, has, in the course of time, formed a delta of dry land equal to two hundred miles in length and breadth, and discharges on the shores of the Bay of Bengal, 6,368,000,000 tons of solid matter annually. In America, the Mississippi has formed a delta of three hundred by two hundred miles in extent out of the Gulf of Mexico.

The coral insect at work in the bed of the ocean, is no mean instrument in forming new islands and lands, as may be witnessed in the major part of the islands of the great Pacific Ocean; more generally known as Polynesia. Volcanoes, also, rear high mountains out of level land in the bed of the ocean, while earthquakes at one place depress great tracts, such as has happened at the Runn of Cutch – sometimes swallowing up cities with their inhabitants; while at other places they raise land above the waters, as has recently happened under our own observation around Wellington, the destined capital of New Zealand.

But all these are trifling changes to what have taken place in the lapse of ages. The internal heat of the earth has at one time melted continents of soft earth, and a contrary influence – the exterior cold, has hardened the same, producing the crystallized granites and compact trap. The moisture of the atmosphere serrates the ridges, furrows the spurs and haunches of the great mountains. The waters of the ocean, at the same time, level the bottom

SOLID AND ETHEREAL.

surfaces, with an opposite tendency – viz., to create plains. These alternations go on many times, the effects of which are studied with wonder by the curious enquirers. The graceful fossil fern, the geologist draws from the depths of the earth, whose resting had been there for millions of years. Above these supervene marine fossil animals, whose grave had been in the ocean bed. This ocean existed over what had once been dry land, and the bed had risen again – risen to be dry land, whereon the tall forest grew, and animals of strange form roamed. Again this land had sunk, and covered the remains of what once had been living beasts and vegetation. By this alternate action deposits on deposits have been laid; at one period marine, at another time lacustrine, till dry land appeared. The alternations have been many times, and during long epochs. The change of land has been continuous, never ending; for the same law applies to land as all other existences – a constant tendency from opposite to opposite.

"Yes," continued our companion, "land being matter, lives on the junction between two opposite influences – heat and cold. Heat melts the hardest of substances, not excepting platinum. It melts the astronomical bodies, even to the rarefaction of the comet's tail. Cold hardens, even to the compactness of steel; and, at the meeting of these two opposites, land exists to form the rind of the globe. The law of gravitation, no doubt, maintains the sphericity of the crust of our earth; but heat and cold regulate the proportions of the materials. It is where all the appointed forces balance each other that creation is rendered apparent, and this for the time being only."

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXIX.

WATER: ITS CURRENTS. CONSTANT CHANGE. SALUBRITY IN MOTION. REACTION THE SOUL OF NATURE. THE SQUIRE'S RESOLVE.

WATER is one of the existences; as it has its length, breadth, and depth – its beginning and its end. The water on this earth has an area of 145,000,000 square miles. Notwithstanding this, its existence is in constant change – flowing here, sinking there, and rising to the surface yonder. Its waves roll continuously; its currents are perpetual; and these, however various in their tendency, however multifarious in their ramifications, obey one law – the law of contraries. Heat rarefies water; cold condenses it: it rises into the atmosphere under the action of the former, and falls again under the action of the latter. Under this law, the great currents tend to the equator but to flow over and return towards the poles, just as the water in the cauldron rises to the surface but to flow down again. The principles of nature are the same in large affairs as in small affairs. The currents on the Spanish Main, under the double influence of heat and air-currents, finding no vent westward, turn back and escape into the Atlantic Ocean by the Florida Gulf Stream, traversing the shores of the United States and British America, then prolonging their course even to Spitzbergen, affecting with their balmy

WATER COURSES.

influence the climates of the British Islands and Norway. Another branch of these currents turns towards the Azores, Portugal, and Morocco. Thus the great North Atlantic is scoured from the equator to the arctic circle by perpetual changing waters, charged with fresh vigour, life, and renovation to animated nature. The South Atlantic, again, is affected on similar principles, but with currents modified to the shores of the continents that bound it. The Brazil current, issuing from the shores of Benguela, crosses to South America, and, pursuing its course south-westerly, reaches even to Cape Horn. Again, a perpetual westerly current traverses its length from Cape Horn to the longitude of the Cape of Good Hope. Turn we, then, to the Indian Ocean: again we see the same law adapting itself to altered circumstances, and affected much by the force of the north-west and south-west monsoons. The largest and most important current here takes its rise on the shores of Australia, traversing the breadth of the ocean to Madagascar; then dividing, rounds that island, and impinges on the shores of South Africa. I need not mention the minor currents of the Bay of Bengal and the Persian Gulf. On the face of the Red Sea, the operation of heat causes perpetual evaporation, loss of fluid, and consequently a constant inward current. And what has been related of the Atlantic Ocean is precisely the case with the Pacific, the modifications being local. The currents on either side of the equator turn westerly. In the North Pacific, the equatorial current strikes on the shallow grounds of the Eastern Archipelago, and then mainly doubles northward along the coast of Japan; parting here, one portion passes through Behring's Straits, and finds its way to the Atlantic by the Arctic Ocean and Baffin's Bay; the other portion courses along the Aleutian Islands and the shores of North

America. The Southern Pacific is under the same law. The equatorial current strikes westerly, till it turns southwards on the coast of Australia. Here it is met by the great antarctic current, and forced eastward on to the shores of South New Zealand. The antarctic drift-current then leaves the shores of New Zealand, and courses on to Terra del Fuego and Chili. – These great and perpetual changes are essential to the salubrity of the waters, and the great law of contraries governs the whole. Without the above changes, the water would putrify; its surface would be noxious to land animals, and its under-surface deadly to fishes. Water exists in the junction between two opposites. Cold turns it into a solid matter; heat turns it into an ethereal matter. One is ice – the other steam: and between these two opposites it circulates over the globe. Its existence, like all other created things, is maintained in the balance between opposites. It is the arena wherein two opposite properties of nature do battle. Cold would solidify from the poles to the equator; heat would rarefy it from the equator to the poles. And between these two contraries there is constant circulation, between extremes, from one to the other, and from the other back again, as in any other existences. The alternate summer and winter is to the world as the pulsations of the heart are to the human body: it sends out the arterial currents from equator to pole, and the veins of returning liquid are drawn back again. Reaction is the soul of nature.

"I will take your advice," said the Squire, "and in future be a man of action, and so replenish my fortune."

"True," said our companion; "you will not be wrong in applying the moral of a large theme to one of every-day life, minute as that may be."

CHAPTER XXX.

AIR.

CHAPTER XXX.

AIR. ITS OPPOSITES. A STILL DAY. A SEALED BOTTLE. SLOW CHANGE AND FAST CHANGE. THE TRADE WINDS. CYCLONE. NO OPPOSITION, NO ACTION. SHELVING THE QUESTION.

"AH, Squire! – Air, – unsubstantial air, – there's the rub. How can it have the requisites of existence, – top and bottom, length and breadth? As light as air – as ephemeral as air – air only 'angin sejah, ' – who can lay hold of it? – who can grasp it? – who can retain it? In the general acceptation of the term, surely air can have no existence."

"The wind bloweth where it listeth," said the Squire.

"And thou hearest the sound thereof, and can'st not tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth," added our companion.

"I must confess," said the Squire, "that there is something in the air that does not belong to earth or water, though it is as essential to life as either."

"Yes," said our companion, "air is as essential as either to the generation of life, and without it all the progeny of the heavenly father and earthly mother had not been. Air has its opposites. It presses with the weight of fifteen pounds per square inch on the crust of this world of ours, and it reaches perhaps one hundred miles above;

its ends are in the uttermost corners of the earth; – and so, having existence, its life is constant change – constant circulation from one extreme to its opposite. Its rest is death; its progression is life."

"Its rest is death?" said the Squire.

"Yes; its rest is death, and its progression is life," repeated our companion.

"Do you mean," said the Squire, "that a calm, still day is not the most delightful of all days, – the most enjoyable of all days? This, when there is rest."

"Rest in a measure only," said our companion, "comparative rest for a day only, that is all; but no actual rest after all: rest to your imperfect senses, but no rest notwithstanding. Look you here, Squire – look over those placid waters of the Awarua. I am sure this is as still a day as ever you could desire. Now, cast your eyes over these black rocks, and what do you see just between the upper surface of the rocks and the sky?"

"I see," said the Squire, "an apparent vibration of the objects beyond. But that cannot be, for the rocks beyond are as stable as the rocks over which I look."

"Just so," said our companion "Then you must admit that it is the air that is in motion, – not the stable, solid rocks."

"It must be so," said the Squire, mechanically.

"Then motion you must admit to be in the apparently still air, and the cause I give is in the radiation of heat from the rocks on this hot day, which rarefies the superincumbent air and so displaces it. At the same time, rest there may be to the air, oh Squire, but in limited places, and that air is death to all animated beings which cannot escape. Air may be hermetically sealed in a bottle, and that bottle is sealed to life. Air may be stagnant in pits,

PROGRESSION.

and how deadly are not such places to the adventurous miner? Air may be stagnant in deep valleys, and how malarious are these in tropical regions is only too well known to the unfortunate sojourners. The beautiful island of Java has its valley of death, and so are there valleys deleterious to life at the bases of the Himalayas and Nilgherries. There is certain death in these to the adventurous explorers who rest there but one hour or one night. Then look we to confined closes and alleys of cities, with their stagnant airs, which imprint the sign of death on the pallid cheeks of the inhabitants."

"Stop," said the Squire, "enough. I hate misery, and love not the picture of it."

"Then look at the opposite picture," said our companion. "Progression is life. Why do the caged citizens pour out from their confined occupations to snifter the autumnal gales? – is it not that they drink in life thereby? Why does the graceful cocoanut tree bend forward to kiss the sea breeze? – is it not that there is life in it? Why does the ship spread her canvas? – is it not that she may dance on the billows and cheerily plough the main? Yes, cry not for rest, oh Squire, where you never shall find it. Change from this to its opposite is progressive, and this is the essential of life. All nature lives in change – slow change and fast change. When two objects have equal change, then only will appear apparent rest – but apparent rest only, for there is no actual rest. And now let me carry you to view the wonderful arrangements of the Great Incomprehensible, and glance at the laws under which air performs its vivifying functions on the surface of this globe. Air circulates between two opposites, heat and cold. It flows to the poles, where it is condensed; and it flows back again to the tropics, where it is rarefied: and

out of this simple great law the endless currents and counter currents, the rising and falling, take place." – Here our companion, taking his stick, traced a globe on the sand and continued: "Air, being lighter than water, has more rapid changes, more swift progress; and it is modified in its currents by the shape of the land and the ocean, and the seasons of summer and winter. In the Atlantic and near the equator we have the north-east and south-east trade-winds constantly blowing towards each other, then rising to flow back again. We have the same action in the Pacific and in the Indian Oceans: the winds modified by the greater extent of land appear here as the boisterous southwest monsoon at one season and as the mild north-east at the other, In middle latitudes on either side of the equator, the airs now condensed with the cold of the upper regions sink down to the surface, and appear as the northwesterly and south-westerly gales. There is a law that guides all these, the effects of whose action is taken advantage of by the skilled mariner in the prosecution of his voyage, and depending on that law, he guides his ship with the same certainty as the coachman does his steeds. These are the principal currents of air on our earth, but the minor ones are so numerous that to follow them would take us weeks. Every island, indeed, has its night-airs and morning airs, its land winds and its sea breezes – and so has every sea and lake. The Etesian winds of the Mediterranean are as much expected in their season as they were in the time of Herodotus. But I may not pass without mention the cyclone – so terrible to the mariner and planter, and so devastating in its effects at sea and land – whose laws the scientific have studied and whose course I take to be this – – – ."

"What?" said the Squire.

GREED OF KNOWLEDGE.

"This," said our companion, drawing curved lines over the sand. "The cause lies in the universal law of opposites."

"That is very specific," said the Squire, "but not very comprehensible."

"Be patient, oh Squire," replied our companion; "your greed after knowledge outdoes your discretion. See, now," continued our companion, having completed his diagram, "were the ecliptic and the equator in the same plane, or in other words were there no summer and winter alternating – no alternate heat and cold in opposite hemispheres – then there would be no cyclones, for by such a condition the equilibrium between opposites would remain undisturbed. The rind of atmosphere on the surface of the globe to the south of the equator would remain where it was, and such would be the case with that to the north also. The flowing south airs would meet the flowing north airs at the equator, but to blow back again neither would impinge on the direction of the other. No opposition, no action; no disturbance, no reaction. Such is the law of nature. But to pursue the mode of action, oh Squire, would fill a volume."

"That is shelving the question," said the Squire, "and is not satisfactory."

"I can't help you," said our companion. "The origin of the cyclone has engaged the attention of the most eminent physical geographers. Study their works, oh Squire, and leave my theory to myself." "You intend to publish this?" said the Squire. "Peradventure," said our companion.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXI.

BEING. PENCILLINGS OF NATURE. ELECTRIC CURRENTS. DIVINE IDEAS. THE SQUIRE'S AMAZEMENT. A CHINESE ILLUSTRATION. RELIGION UPHELD. A DAY OF CREATION. A PIG WITHOUT A TAIL. MEN WITH TAILS. A NOBLE LADY AND A PAPUAN. THE RATIO. FORMS OF MANKIND. PORCUPINE MEN. THE LOST LINK.

"NATURE in opposition is life," said our companion, after a lengthy pause. "The whole elaboration of planets is a continued process of construction and destruction. This is not less the case with animals. The animal and the vegetable kingdoms stand in opposition to each other, and so promote the circulation between opposites. Vegetables feed oil carbon and expel oxygen; animals do the contrary. Thus, while they stand in opposition, each are necessary to the life of the other. It is by the animal and vegetable kingdoms balancing each other, that the atmosphere is maintained in the state suited to both. May I ask you again, did you ever examine, oh Squire, the fantastic forms, the endless tracery of the frost flowers in a window? How exact are not these pencillings of nature to the lower forms of vegetation – but still they have not life. Yet the image of life is there, it is the idea. The idea is Divine. For these to live only it is for Him to implant the living principle. Electric currents act in a rotatory manner, so

ROTATION.

that if a current enters into half a magnet it rotates round its axis. The magnet would not move were the current to enter into the whole magnet. Opposition is as necessary to motion as motion is necessary to all chemical action, and so to all animal and vegetable elaboration. And that universal property of matter – that power existing in it, that mysterious, impenetrable agent, permeates all things – that property may be electricity or galvanism. As rotation is the being of the universe, so circulation is the being of animated nature. Now, let a tree or a plant, or a single shoot represent a magnet; and let the roots be in the earth, the stem and branches be above the earth. Then we have half of the same tree, plant, or shoot, in a conductor of electricity, and half of it in a non-conductor. Now let a current of electricity enter half the tree, plant or shoot, and it would tend to give rotation round its axis, and so cause circulalation – which is life. Were, on the contrary, tree roots to be entirely out of the ground, there would be no rotation, no circulation, and it would die. But placed in the division between two opposites, viz., the earth and the sky, the mysterious fluid of life enters half the whole tree, places the same in opposite conditions, and so maintains its powers of elaboration – the origin of its vitality. This is the condition of the vegetable kingdom; and in the animal kingdom the male is the root, the female the stem, and by these two together can alone life be generated. The idea of man is Divine, for the living principle emanated from Him."

"But," said the Squire; "I do not understand you. Do you mean to say that a worm, a rat, a dog, an ox, an ass, an elephant, or a monkey, are Divine ideas?"

"Certainly," said our companion; "all these are Divine ideas, or they had not been created by Him; and by crea-

tion, I mean the slow and gradual elaboration of all nature, step by step, commencing with the most simple form and terminating with the most complex. At last, man stepped out of the Divine laboratory with organs fitted to grasp reason. The work was of several cycles, and many millions of years passed before the great work was accomplished. How grand and striking is this idea to the imagination!"

"Quite the contrary, to my apprehension," said the Squire, with emphasis. "The time was six days; and let me tell you sir, you hold opinions dangerous to orthodox religion."

"Opposition is the soul of wit," said our companion, calmly. "I will argue with you, and prove my orthodoxy. I should apprehend," said he, "that a day to Him is as a thousand years; and a year or a second of time, are one and the same as compared with eternity – for between eternity and one or the other of these measures of time, there is no ratio. Let us proceed from the simple first. Does not a gnat live in the morning and die in the evening? Does not a fly live in Spring and die in Autumn? Does not the elephant live even for a hundred years? Then why should his time be longer than the gnat's? Certainly, by your argument, it would be honourable to the Creator that the elephant's time should be no longer than a gnat's; but we see that it is not so. For the law of nature is this: that great works take long time – small works a short time. High perfection is only attained by many steps, long study, and patient trial. As my Chinese friend, Ah Yin, used to tell me that his ancestors could not make great Chinchew wongkang (junk) till after many centuries of invention. The first step in the navigation of the Hoangho was to launch a log of wood; next to hollow it out; next to put oars in it; next a sail; then a helm; then a boat of deals

A JUNK.

was made; next it was decked; and so it grew bigger and bigger, till at length not only did his ancestors conquer the waters of the Hoangho, but of the great Yellow Sea also. Now why should not primitive man have built the great wongkang at once, a thousand tons burden, with mighty masts and huge lateen sails? Simply because it is not the way of nature. And so with Europeans and their discoveries and inventions in astronomy, mathematics, mechanics and geology. Have these been perfected in a year, or have they been the result of centuries of study and grave thought by thousands of gifted minds? They were not brought forth in a day. Ideas for the moral and physical improvement of mankind I hold to be Divine, and we see they are not conferred in a day or a week, nor to one man but to many. Then what were the primitive inventions of Aristotle, of Gallileo, Newton, Watt, Arkwright, Davy, Harvey, Stephenson, and a galaxy of eminent names, but gifts from the Deity? What were the creations of their genius but by the power of the Deity? Then if so, were they not Divine? And were their works as compared with a small portion of existing things perfected in a week, or were their inventions, made for the good of mankind, finished only after the lapse of centuries of self-denying, over-tasking effort? Certainly they were great works, and required their given time. They were brought out under the laws of the great Incomprehensible."

"But," said the Squire, "your theory, notwithstanding your pleading, ignores revealed religion."

"By no means;" said our companion, "my belief is strengthened thereby. It is the only way that I can work out my convictions of its truth in a fair and reasonable spirit. To my apprehension your mode of action is to immolate the divine gift of reason to credulity."

"The Mosaic account of the creation is against you," said the Squire.

"How so?" said our companion. "Read," said the Squire.

"I shall," said our companion. 'In the beginning the earth was without form and void.'

1st. Light was divided from darkness.
2nd. Firmament made and waters divided.
3rd. Earth, grass, herbs, and trees created.
4th. Sun, moon, and earth's orbits regulated.
5th. Fowls, fishes, and creatures created.
6th. Cattle, beasts, and man created.
7th. The summit, for man has not been excelled.

What language in so few sentences could confirm the great theory of gradual creation – labour from the simplest forms to the most complex? To announce these great truths no language could be more concise, no explanation could be more correct. This proves that the Divine writer was inspired, and that he had searched into the most profound depths of thought. That the earth was once without form and void, takes the modern astronomer back to epochs to which the most abstruse minds only dare venture. It takes us back to the epoch when the earth was as ethereal as the comet's tail, and when the solar system was nebulous matter in the Milky Way. The first act of the creation was to divide – to put in opposition, viz., light from darkness; that there might be existence by the circulation between contraries."

"But the day," said the Squire, "the day. How do you get over the day?"

"A day of creation," said our companion, "how often have I not proved to you to have no reckoning in eternity? A day is 1000 years as much as it is here a cycle. The account of the creation is necessarily an allegory, as many

THE SEVENTH DAY.

other deep and difficult portions of Scripture. By this mode of language alone can it come home equally to rich and poor, wise and ignorant. Christians keep the seventh day as a type- -as much as they eat bread, drink wine, and receive water. To my mind, vast periods and gradual creative labour enhance the mightiness of the great Incomprehensible in an incomparably greater measure than your vulgar, (I beg your pardon), compression of the Creator's benignant works."

"But to your shewing, even," said the Squire, "a cycle and a day are the same; so why should not the Creator do all these in a day as well as in a cycle?"

"Eternally they are the same – relatively not the same; hence the cause of men's minds being in opposition on this and all other subjects."

"Then I presume," said the Squire, "that you are inclined to the whimsicalities of a Monboddo or a Darwin, and make the man out of the monkey. This gradual-development theory can lead to no other conclusion."

"I am led to conclude, from the study of the works of the Creator, that His less perfect creatures were moulded before His more perfect; for one principle runs through all nature, from smallest to greatest. Man, from his conception in the womb, goes through all the degrees of animal development – from a simplest germ to most complex maturity. Creation has no other system than this. Cell is added to cell, crystal to crystal, – this process always progressing through all and infinite ages. At last man issued out of the divine laboratory, and, as he was the last and the highest, so was he moulded after the monkey had been."

"But do you mean to say that monkeys were the progenitors of men? The idea is outrageous to human feelings; it is loathsome."

"The idea," said our companion, "is loathsome when near: it is reconcilable after many ages."

"But, again," suggested the the Squire, "how can you even imagine that man was ever so low as the nasty, hideous ape, – the gorilla, for instance?"

"Chemically," persevered our companion, "there is not a whit of difference: both are a mere handful of ash and a bucket of liquid. Is this fact not more nauseous to you, oh well-made, handsome Squire? But it is in the divine gift of Reason alone – this highest and most god-like gift of the Incomprehensible – by which we are removed from the ape by a gulf unfathomable. Consider, oh Squire, the baboon: with the gift of reason, what would he be?"

"A very dangerous and ugly rival to fight," said the Squire.

"Be that as it may," said our companion; "leave that subject, and let me ask you what is the difference between an ape and a monkey?"

"The tail, of course," said the Squire.

"And do you consider that a mighty difference?" asked our companion.

"I should think so," said the Squire.

"Which, then, is the superior?" asked our companion.

"The ape, of course," said the Squire.

"Why so?" asked our companion.

"Because he has no tail."

"Is that all?" said our companion. "Then a pig without a tail, such as the Berkshire breed, to your showing, is a much superior animal to Reko's pigs, which have tails; or a horse with no tail would be very superior to those that are born with them. So you, oh Squire, pride yourself in your want of a tail, while the Highland chief struts along with an allegorical tail at his back."

MEN WITH TAILS.

"The fact of the matter is," admitted the Squire, "I have never given this subject a shadow of thought."

"And, on the contrary, I have," said our companion; "so let me go on. The Dayak Pari of Borneo pride themselves on real tails, as Che Solimon informs us in the Journal of the Indian Archipelago."

"Tails!" said the Squire, aghast. "You don't say so?"

"Why this surprise?" asked our companion. "Yes, veritable tails a finger's length, and so rigid that the fortunate possessors cannot sit on their hams, but have to lie or sit on their sides as the luxurious Romans did while at supper."

"What geese they are not to lop them off," said the Squire, laughing.

"One of the tyrannies of custom, perhaps," said our companion, "that induces their retention. Yet the custom, such as it is, is by no means so violent as that which forces a Chinese lady's delicate human foot into the shape of a cat's paw, and an Englishwoman's waist into that of a wasp. Custom, like all other things, circulates from one freak to its opposite; so this is, no doubt, the motive of the Dayak Pari in retaining his tail entire."

"But, to return to apes," said the Squire. "I can never believe them to have been the progenitors of mankind – the idea is shocking."

"Yet, consider," said our companion, "and you will have some consolation. Neither did the Creator appear satisfied with his unfinished work, for, after moulding the ape to his form, he did not rest till the idea of man was perfected and walked forth in full glory, endowed with faculties to pierce into the heavens as far as Alcyone, to weigh the earth with mathematical exactness, and snatch the lightning from the skies. But, extremes meet. In

faculties, where is the deaf and dumb idiot superior to the ape? – in form higher, only; in faculties lower, for the ape can cry and hear. And, further, let me inform you, oh Squire, that your refined supercilious feelings have not acceptation in all parts of the world. The aborigines of the Malayan peninsula very generally assert their descent from the ape. The most popular demi-god of the Hindoo mythology is Hanuman, the prince of the monkey tribe; and towards monkeys I have personally observed that the simple natives of these regions show such filial affection as debarred my disturbing a flock while they were present. Now, Squire, to our real argument. Imagine a beautiful lady of European descent, and place her in your thoughts in juxtaposition with a Papuan – a human inhabitant of the tropical forests. Would you allow the elegant lady to be as similar to a monkey as this black, ill-shaped specimen of humanity?"

"Decidedly not," said the Squire with wrath. "In the first place these niggers are black, have long jaws, retreating foreheads, great backheads, and long large-jointed fingers. There is a mighty difference, indeed, between one of my refined, superb countrywomen, and these offals of the human species!"

"Good," said our companion. "Then you admit that these are liker to an ape than an English-woman?"

"Nothing could be more lucid," said the Squire.

"Just so," said our companion. "Then there is a ratio – and this being so, the distance from the ape to the man can be calculated, the descent noted, and the proximity in creation assigned. As an animal – man, to your own showing, oh Squire, is not immeasurably distant from the ape. 'Tis only in reason, and soul which is immortal. Si in hoc erro quod animos hominum immortales esse credum, libentur

THE LOVE OF THE MIAS.

erro; nec mihi hunc errorem quo detector dum vivo extorqueri volo. My personal study of the baser races of mankind, has convinced me that they do not see with your eyes, oh Squire, nor do they discriminate so nicely. A tiger to the wild man of the tropics is treated in conversation with as much respect as you treat your own grandfather; and in a long and interesting conversation that I once had with the Pangeran of Pontianak – the principal chief of that part of Borneo – I found strange traditions regarding the mias, a powerful ape of that region, permeating their mind-:. Groundless or not, the link with mankind to their minds appeared of easy reconcilement. The genius of higher education scorns the idea that flows out of these childish fables, yet the untrained reason of the credulous aborigines entertained and cherished it. Man is the extreme height of animated nature. His opposite is in the lowest depths of creation. As a necessity of existence, circulation must go from one to its opposite. The demarcations may be many – the separations at wide interval? – and the times may be incalculably long – still, the rule of the Incomprehensible is immutable and not to be avoided Now Squire," said our companion, "state your physical difference of the ape from the man."

"Man is a biped," said the Squire, "the ape a quadramana."

"True;" said our companion, "yet every bone in the body of a man has its counterpart in the ape; and were you to see how the toes of a Javanese perform the office of fingers, whether it be in grasping a rope or holding a pin, you would be inclined to admit that they and cognate races of the torrid zone, were all but quadramanous. Their toes spread more than those of the European, and their great and second ones are nearly as much separated

as your thumb from your forefinger. In this respect, even, a ratio of similarity may be institued between the man and the ape, and the Javanese foot would not be far from the middle distance. Then, if you take the shape of the body of different races of mankind. Look, for instance, at the lanky figure of the Somauli, the spare limbs of the Arab, the hollow spine of the Hindoo, and his curved ribs, you would distinguish the remarkable character of these variances and varieties."

"But," said the Squire; "the hairy coat of the ape is alone a distinction that separates one entirely from the other."

"If that were granted," replied our companion; "then you must admit hairy men to be more or less apes, according to the quantity of their covering; and so the European who has little hair on his body will be less allied to the ape than the Malabaree, who generally has a great deal. There are links in nature, Squire – a continuous graduation from one to the other, and from this to its opposite that cannot be ignored. And thus in the hairy man of Ava, so perspicuously described by John Crawfurd, F. R. S., you have, by your definition, a full monkey and a complete man in one human individual. This individual, whose existence is attested by the most respectable authorities, being entirely covered with hair, was maintained by the Court of Amarapura for the entertainment which he (or it, as you would say, Squire,) afforded to a barbarous taste by his (or its) close imitation to the gestures and antics of the ape. In this curious case, then, we have the gulf, as far as outer coat is concerned, between the man and the ape bridged over. There was no material difference, excepting in reason. Nor are there less curious examples of the tendencies of mankind to diverge from the present mundane types, and of which the porcupine men are not the least erratic."

PORCUPINE MEN.

"Porcupine men!" exclaimed the Squire. "You take me to be very simple – I will bear your information with profound equanimity."

"Good," said our companion; "you shall have it. It was A. D. 1731, that Mr. John Machan introduced to that august body, the Royal Society of London, a boy, fourteen years of age, named Edward Lambert, son of a Suffolk labourer residing near Euston Hall. This boy, instead of having the usual skin of mankind, had a hide as rugged as bark, bristling over with short quills. His whole body was covered, excepting on the palms of his hands and his face. The bristles resembled the quills of a porcupine. His size and proportion were according to age; his body and limbs straight and well shaped; and there was nothing unusual in his habits and disposition. The famous naturalist, Dr. Blumenbach, records other two similar cases as having come under his notice on the Continent of Europe. So, oh Squire," said our companion, laughing; "as you like it or not, on your own premises there is a link between yourself, not only with the ape, but with the porcupine!! That there are varieties of the human race is too apparent: in colour – red, white, and black; in form – some more like the ape than others. That climate, trades and occupations, have a material influence in originating or perpetuating these varieties, I scarcely need mention. Look amongst your own countrymen; at the broad shoulder of the sailor, the expanded chest of the wherryman, the narrow upper contour of the pallid citizen, the meagre slight frame of the Creole, and the tall corn-stalk of Sydney; all these varieties of the race, and this produced in one or two generations. And when this takes place amongst those calling themselves the most noble and civilised of mankind, what do we find in the red and black races? A close observer

of these has said of the Orang Suletar, a tribe of Indo-China, that their appearance is so wild and remarkable, as to require no more than a minute's look to impress itself upon the mind. One expression was strongly stamped on their countenances – that of a dull, blank stupidity, almost idiotical – in its excess, animated for the time by the startled and frightened look with which they gazed on us at our approach. This expression was stamped on the face of each of the tribe as at once to reveal life so miserably contracted as to exclude all that social expansiveness of individual nature, which produces a free growth of mind and a wide range of ideas. Those people shun all intercourse with the rest of mankind, and have habits liker to the wild animals than man!"

"But these men were not monkeys," persevered the Squire. "There is no mention of hairy hides or bristling coats of porcupine quills. Their hands were those of men, and their feet were those of men – ten-fingered and ten-toed."

"Just so," said our companion; "in form alone, I fear: in mind, on the lowest verge of the boundary of reason. Another step lower, and they had been – – -"

"Apes," suggested the Squire, sneeringly.

"Not yet that," said our companion – "not yet that. A cycle's distance in form, a gulf eternal in mind, yet separated them from the lower creations. They even had souls, which never die."

"Then," said the Squire, "how do you account for this, that neither naturalists nor geologists have traced the links which divide the quadrumana from the biped?"

"That those links, step by step, should be traced, would be a wonderful event," said our companion, "seeing that man can only dig up the bones of past creations on one-

A LINK JOINED.

fourth of the globe – the other three-fourths being beneath the bed of the ocean. Half a cycle since, portions of that ocean-bed were dry land. The links are there. Nature works by reaction – now rising, now falling; now progressing, now retrograding; and in these changes the Incomprehensible works out His own ends. Those ends we see in part only, and we study bits by bits, scraps by scraps. To join all is the labour of Tantalus; to join in part, and we are over-rewarded. We wonder when our reason links effect to cause, and how great are our rejoicings when a minimum part of the mysterious skein is unwound! Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas."

CHAPTER XXXII.

CHAPTER XXXII.

HUMANITY. BLACK AND WHITE. ITS FLOW. TENDENCY FROM COLD REGIONS TO HOT REGIONS. IMPULSES. ECONOMY OF A NATION. MOTIVE POWER. EFFECTS OF IGNORANCE. ROME ON THE WANE. PATRICIANS AND PLEBEIANS. SELF-PRESERVATION.

"HUMANITY must be considered under three aspects – viz., mundane, national, and personal – all with their opposites, all ruled by the same principle. In considering the first head, we must look upon humanity as an existence influenced by climate, in its opposite conditions of heat and cold, in the same manner as other movable existences – such as water and air, out of which emanate all other conditions; such as selfishness and covetousness, the first consequences of existence; such as charity and benignity, the second consequences of existence. Humanity, looked at from a moral point of view, may be said to be a peculiar essence of the Creator, diffused over the world for certain purposes, and to work out an end – like all other compositions of the universe. Humanity, viewed as a whole – as a diffusion – has its opposites; its length and breadth, its height and its depth. It spreads to all corners, but with a film relatively as comminuted as the gold-leaf on the binding of a book. The opposites of humanity consist in blackness and whiteness, apathy and energy, cowardice

NOTIONS OF HUMANITY.

and bravery, lasciviousness and chasteness; and between these opposites, as in all other instances, there is constant circulation from one to the other, and from the other back again. In a rapid glance at the movements of humanity in the past and present ages, there will be perceived. to be constant changes – such as we have described in other existences – in air, land, and water. The populations of the mountains will be found to descend on the plains like the night wind, and the populations of the temperate zone will be seen to flow towards the torrid zone like the monsoons and the trade-winds; and from thence there is re-action back again. Thus we see in our native country a slow but continuous movement of the Highland Scotch and the Highland Welsh upon the low plains of England and Scotland; of the Highland Swiss, Tyrollese, and Illyrians on the low plains of Lombardy and Italy; of the Circassians, Georgians and Armenians on to the low plains of Turkey and Asia Minor; of the Highlanders of Quangsee into the low plains of Quangtung; of the Highlanders of Honan upon the plains of Tchikiang; of the Rawas of the highlands of Sumatra on the lowlands of the Malay peninsula. These are a few of the instances of partial Sowings of that mundane existence called humanity. The learned and laborious Crawfurd, in his notes on the population of Java, gives the cases of communities varying each from 2000 to 4000 in number, in which the increase or doubling period is most interestingly exemplified. The tables of these cases show with rare clearness how the populations of the mountains increase in accelerated ratio over the populations of the cities of the plains. Instancing the third case, viz., of a population of 2170 individuals contained in eighteen villages high up on the southern, aclivities of Marapi, at an elevation of 2000 to 3000 feet

above the level of the sea, the population was found to double in fifteen and a-half years. Then, looking at his tenth case, viz., of eight campongs in the town of Yugyakarta, with a population of 3391 people, situated in the lower plains of Java, the population was found to take fifty-six years to double itself.

"Now, Squire, to the argument. Admitting that in Java, the famed island of the east, that town and country population be naturally balanced to their respective areas, it must be allowed that from year to year, in order to maintain that balance, the faster-increasing population of the higher regions must have vent and flow into the slower-increasing population of the plains. This principle is as correct as the flowing of waters to their respective levels. Humanity in the tropics may, then, be likened to the atmosphere. As the vigorous race of the mountain descends on the enfeebled populations of the plains, so does the bracing mountain air flow down to the panting valleys beneath, to refresh and invigorate prostrate nature. Turning to Europe again, we see in the same manner the Alpine swain plying his arduous vocation in the thoroughfares of Venice, and the brave Swiss guarding the palaces of Rome. In considering the larger movements, we will find that the circulations are between hot and cold climates – the populations of cold climates advancing as conquerors or proselytisers, the populations of hot climates drawn back as slaves, or at best as menials: the drawers of water and carriers of wood, the drudge of the opposite and the stronger. Thus, from time immemorial, a continuous flow of humanity has proceeded by the gates of the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf to the shores of Hindostan and Malaya at one time as peaceful merchants and emigrants – at other times as pirates and slave-hunters – at another

THE IMPULSE.

time as proselytisers. Again, another flow has been as continuous as that of the Florida Gulf Stream, from the coasts of China to the seven thousand islands of the mysterious East, where the soft and apathetic manners of the natives gave place to the more self-preserving and energetic denizens of the crowded cities of the Central land. Another great flow, from time immemorial, has proceeded from Ariana, coursing east and west as far as the Aurea Chersonesus and the Columnae Herculis. The proofs of which dispersion remain indelible in the languages of the nations seated between these extreme points of Asia and Europe. And I am not wrong in saying that, even the Maori has drawn part of his blood and his language from the same ancient fountain. Then, look on to the uncertain and intermittent outbursts of the Scythians and the Tartars on the valleys of Asia and Europe, spreading at one time over the fertile plains of Manji, Italia, Gallia, and Hispania; from the far east of the old world even to the far west. But more important than even those are the late movements of mankind; in the Spanish over South and Central America; of the Portugese over Brazil and Central Africa; and of the English over North America, South Africa, Australasia, and India. What is the impulse of all those movements that make humanity into an unstable element, as searching as the north-east wind – as boisterous as the typhoon? Nothing else than that great law of nature – the tendency of one thing to its opposite. The strife for existence urges the strong to invade the domain of the weak – the energetic son of the cold north to enslave or turn to his own purposes the weak populations of the warm south. In the original impulse no higher motives exist – though charity and benignity may be dragged in the train. The impulse

of a young and vigorous religion alone has been known to stem the mighty current of the conquering north; and this but for a time – this but for a season – this but as an exception. For in humanity, as in all other existences, there are opposites, and the circulation of opposites is life.

"Now, let us look at humanity in its national aspect. A nation is but an enlarged family, so is impelled by the same principles. Families may be equally provided by fortune, but as time moves on and the numbers increase, some fall back, others progress – some gain wealth, others lose it. In the origin of a family, all may be nearly equal in circumstances, but this level is not of many years' continuance; and, as the family grows into a tribe, and a tribe into a nation, the fortunate or the laborious become rich, and the unfortunate or the idle become poor; and as the fabric of the state rises in magnificence, the tension between the base and the crown becomes the stronger – the distance more apart. Practically speaking, a nation consists of individuals having opposite interests, opposite properties, opposite feelings, opposite inclinations. These individuals are divided according to taste or whim, as, high and low, rich and poor, capitalists and labourers. We hear of the better classes, and even of the worse classes. But these divisions are subject to many modifications and mutual misconceptions. The labouring classes are said by some to consist alone of those who work by the hand or the limb for day wages. Yet, why should those who work by the intellect not also be called labourers – the labourers of the learned professions – for assuredly their mental labour wears away the body as much as the physical labour of the navvy, and sometimes it is not so productive? I, therefore, in speaking of the economy of a nation, divide it into two classes – those who have

THE RESERVOIR OF LIFE.

accumulated labour, which is capital or wealth – and, those who have no accumulated labour which is poverty; also, into those who, being poor, have labour power in their bodies, and, those who, being rich, have no labour power in their bodies – the one desiring to be possessed of the properties of the other, and this only under law to be obtained by parting with their peculiar portion. The poor man craves wealth and he parts with his labour for what modicum of wealth he can aspire to. The rich man finds necessity for the labour that he is in want of. Thus, the rich and the poor, being the opposites of a living nation, part with their respective properties from one to the other and from the other back again, and in this circulation is the life of the nation as blood from the heart to the extremities of the human body, and from the extremities back again. A nation can no more do without its opposites than any other living thing in nature, and out of this principle, in all the illimitable institutions, trades, schemes, projects, professions, wars, politics, diplomacy, arts and sciences, by which each individual lives and the whole nation exists – we are dependent one upon another, and without each other we would die. Without the opposites in our nation the Marquis of Westminster and all the wealth of Lords and Commons would sink into insignificance; and without them again the labouring poor would die. The accumulated wealth of the one is as a great beneficent store-house, a huge reservoir, which gives off its properties to the other, and the other gives off its properties back again to uphold and preserve them, and in the circulation all live. In this mutual reciprocation, Britain lives as a nation; without these opposites she would have no existence – she would be an unprofitable waste as this portion of New Zealand now is, and which you and I, oh

Squire, have so lately passed over. Her palaces would be deserted, her fields uncultivated, her hedge rows broken down. The more mighty the nation the greater the opposites; the more wealthy a nation, the greater the call for the labours of the poor, and the poor increase till they fill up the vacuum on their side. The greater the labour in the masses – or, in other words, the more the industrious poor – the greater the power of the throne, for between the extremes there is the greater circulation, the greater tension, the greater power of conservation, the greater vis inertiae?"

"That is an anomaly," said the Squire; "explain it more simply, for I begin to believe, after all, that there is something in your doctrine."

"Well," said our companion, "I will try to explain. Supposing you had £100,000, oh Squire."

"I wish I had," said he.

"Then, suppose so," said our companion, "how many men could you move for one day in this country for that sum?"

"Well," said the Squire, "I suppose I would have to pay each man ten shillings a day's work, as this is the regular wage."

"Then," said our companion, "you could move 200,000 men for one day – i. e., if they were to be had."

"Just so," said the Squire.

"Now, in Bengal, where labour is to be had at twopence a day, how many men could you move?"

"Twelve millions of men," said the Squire, readily.

"Then, in Bengal you would be sixty times more powerful than you are here," said our companion, "for you could have the services of sixty men for one here."

"It appears so," said the Squire.

UPS AND DOWNS.

"Hence," said our companion, "poverty in the masses gives power to the throne, and wealth in the masses has the converse effect – it weakens it."

"How comes that?" said the Squire.

"Let me go on," said our companion. "I have not spoken of a nation in an extreme state. Extremes are always the prelude to revolution. Extreme poverty in the masses has much the same effect as extreme opulence in the ruling powers; both tend to create rapid change. Extremes verge on re-action, and that re-action may be social or political. For instance, in New Zealand here, I have observed in the various settlements where labour is so highly remunerated, how quickly the social ladder is mounted by the possessor of hard sinews, and how quickly it is descended by the effeminate holder of education. The change of place – the social revolution, as you may call it – comes quickly in both parties: agreeable to the former, bitter to the latter. In England the converse is the case. No doubt, in the mother country, change is also constant, but it is more gradual than here; for the high-born, the refined, and the educated maintain their status longer; the low-born, the rude, and the ignorant remain more permanently depressed. This is an example of a nation in the golden medium between two extremes. We must go to Mexico, Egypt, India, or China to find the masses grovelling in poverty and ignorance, and whose populations, while most immutable in condition, are most revolutionary in government. The populations thus always depressed, always wretched, hail revolution as an escape from the extreme of misery; yet, while they change their masters from century to century, the condition of the masses is the same. Yes, I say the ignorance of the masses gives power to the throne alone – and by the throne I mean

an absolute power, whether it be in an autocrat or an oligarchy – it matters little which; but it does not give permanence. It was the profound ignorance of the masses that enabled Cheops to rear his world-wondering sepulchre. It was the ignorance of the masses that gave power to the throne of Semiramis to build the walls of Babylon. It was the ignorance of the masses that gave power to Vespasian to build the Coliseum. The great St. Peter's even, while it rears its gorgeous dome over the Tiber, was built by a world's credulity and ignorance. All these are great works – the whims of monarchs and pontiffs – in which the intelligent masses have no sympathy. Now, on the contrary, when the masses of a nation are more than ordinarily intelligent, how small are the monuments of their rulers and princes – how pitiful are their efforts in consecrating the memories of the mighty! Look at Scotland, for instance, as an extreme example of the poverty of princely works, co-existing with a well-to-do, intelligent people; her unfinished national monument on the Calton Hill being, on true principles, the highest compliment to the people's good sense and superior education. England, Prussia, and Sweden are the next in order towards France and Italy, where the converse takes place; poverty of the people co-existing with the mighty palaces of the Louises and the Popes. But the populations of these two countries were never so base as those of Egypt, where the real mighty works of departed monarchs are to be beheld. Again, in the education of the masses rests their power; in the ignorance of the masses rests their weakness. This principle is curiously exemplified in the comparative tables of education in the countries of North America and Europe. All the nations governed constitutionally – such as the United States of America, Holland, Prussia, Switzerland, Den-

BALANCE OF EDUCATION.

mark, Sweden, Norway, Belgium, Austria, England and Scotland – have above fifty per cent, of their population educated; the best-educated – viz., the United States – being the most revolutionary. Immediately below the fifty per cent, standard, nations become doubtfully constitutional, till they verge into autocracies; and in the scale down-wards from the above standard we may commence with Ireland, and then go on to France, Spain, Portugal, the Pontifical States, and last, Russia, five per cent, only of whose population are educated. This nation, at the extreme of the opposite, is also the most unstable and revolutionary. Hence we see, oh Squire, that ignorance in the masses gives power to the throne, and education takes this away: extremes of either tend to revolution and change, and in the average standard of education alone is there stability."

"And why so?" said the Squire.

"Simply for this reason," said our companion, "that contrary conditions in everything are essential to existence; and no nation is healthy where these conditions are not equally balanced. Nature rights herself by revolution, whether the tendency be to over-learning or over-ignorance – extreme democracy or ultra-autocracy: there is permanence only in the golden medium. Passing beyond the confines of the areas of the European nations and their descendents – if we wish to view a totally uneducated people – we must travel to central Africa, to the tribes of the Amazon, to Borneo, New Guinea, and such like regions. Here will be found a want of nationality – the people divided into small tribes, living under petty despotisms – a people wallowing in filth and ignorance, and living in constant fear of each other, having no laws, but merely customs – capable of no works, and having no defence

against more energetic intruders – born to slavery, continuous and perpetual. Hence these tribes, having no national vitality in themselves – the weakness of the individual suffusing the whole tribe – so they they fall a prey to the slave hunter. Their social or national system cannot be built up; for in a people, as in other existences, it is necessary that there be vigour in some to rise – a tendency to opposite conditions – or no great work can move or make progress.

"Again, as all nations have a beginning, so must they have an ending; and from beginning to end there will be constant – it may be slow – change from one system of government to the other. Thus Rome, founded by Romulus 753 years B.C., was governed for 244 years by kings. Reaction then took place against supercilious greatness, and a republic was established, and which maintained its vitality till the thirty-first year B.C. The pride of the republic then culminated, and reactionary power placed the autocrat Augustus on the throne, and which system stood the test of about five centuries – viz., till the year 476 A.D. Thus the Roman nation had a beginning, and ended in the same manner as the Assyrian, Egyptian, Grecian, and Macedonian: living nations exist only to the same consummation. The force that gives vitality to a nation is in its internal resources; that influence which weakens a nation is the drawing supplies of necessaries from abroad. Hence corn-growing is a better support than trade. Thus corn-growing Rome worsted trade-supported Carthage; and Rome herself died out when she lived on the corn of Egypt and Gaul. A nation that lives by the corn of its own growing is like the young tree that lives vigorously on its native soil: a nation that exists by foreign produce is like the tree that requires the support of strange manure to

CONSISTENCY.

feed its gouty roots. Hence, over-trading, when essential to a nation's support, may not be good for a nation's stability, for the foreign manure, may be cut off so that it die. Tyre and Sidon, Venice and Genoa, purely trading communities, indeed, had their glories, but they never had national vigour. A country, to be secure from foreign invasion, must have all its functions within itself in vigorous operation. It must maintain the opposites within its own boundaries. Its people must raise corn from the soil, that the straw may return to the earth; and the bread that is eaten in the city should have its value returned to the country. This is the law of vitality: circulation from opposite to opposite is life. Now I come to the third head, humanity in the person. An individual man – there's the rub again. You will say that a woman is the compound of opposites, but how should the man not be so?"

"Well," said the Squire, "I am beginning to have more respect for your opinions than I had at the outset of the journey, and I must opine that man, being a more consistent being than a woman, has no opposites. He is neither so capricious nor so constant as woman – so revengeful or so forgiving."

"All that, oh Squire, proves only the higher development of feeling in woman than in man. Notwithstanding this, man, to be an existence, must live between opposites. Is his right arm not opposite his left one? is not the living principle in the middle distance? is his left leg not opposite his right arm? and his right ear opposite his left, his head opposite to his feet? and his back opposite to his front? And, between these opposites, is there not constant circulation from the centre to the extremities, and from the extremities back again? Do not the arteries carry the

blood from the heart to the tips of the toes and fingers, and the veins bring it back again? Is there not constant inspiration and its contrary expiration? It is needless to recount all the symptoms of vitality, for all point to one great principle in life – viz., reaction. The circulation between opposites – such as our nervous system, our seeing, breathing, smelling, and touching – a mysterious current between opposites prevails under all these functions, available to the body. The fluids, also, are absorbed, and flow out again by myriad pores. The food on which we live is only digested by the laboratory of the stomach, that the elements may enter into new combinations. Living is constant change; change, if it stop but for a moment, then life ends. Such is life! The affairs of man are equally under the rules of opposites. He grows corn that he may sell it for money; the money he parts with that he may live and grow corn again. 'Tis from the profits of exchange that be draws the subsistence of himself and family. What he gains is another's loss; and what he loses is another's gain. What is dearest to him costs him most; and what is cheapest he cares little about. He loves them most that take his all – these are his wife and children. For them he saves that they may spend. They are the penalty of his enjoyment, and their enjoyment are at his pains. The flesh that lives for itself dies out, because it has no contraries – no circulation from father to child – from husband to wife, and from these back again. Without these contraries the heart withers, and the life-springs dry up. The flesh is not perpetuated. The soul generates nothing further. Man cannot be perpetuated without his opposite – woman; because, without the woman, there can be no circulation between opposites.

"Again, man cannot create language without his fellow; because, without a fellow, there can be no

INVENTIVE STIMULUS.

interchange face to face. Nor can there be in art or science; because all arts and sciences are for the use and requirements of the opposite conditions of society. The ship is wanted to carry the spices of the east to the populations of the west, and the inventions of the west are carried for the use of the populations of the east. Thus, the opposite conditions of man maintain invention, and the diverse conditions of man vary and amplify invention; and as populations increase or decrease so are inventions created or are lost. Who knows now the arts of the Egyptians or the manufactures of the Etruscans? When has there ever been in the world's history the mechanical genius of Watt or the abstruse science of Newton. Again, the more numerous a nation of men the greater the opposites of condition – the poorer the plebeians the richer the patricians, and the greater the tension between these two opposite conditions the greater the ramifications of the ways of living, the more refined the processes of self-preservation. Nations range its individual members into opposites, that the political fabric may be duly balanced. The bad men are balanced by the good; the profane by the religious; the rich by the poor. Each gives off its respective properties to the other, whereby circulation is maintained from one to the opposite, and from the opposite back again. The weakness of immorality is balanced by the power of the pure. It is in the alternate attraction and repulsion of the vice and virtue residing in a general population, that there is change: and change is life. The same principle applies to an individual as to a nation. Man is at times lured by vice and attracted by sanctimoniousness; at other, times he is lured by covetousness, and next attracted by lavishness. Self-preservation teaches to indulge in neither the one nor the other. Est modus in rebus, sunt certi

denique fines; quos ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum. In extremes there is danger; for, says not the preacher, 'Be not righteous over much, neither make thyself over wise: why shouldst thou destroy thyself? Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldst thou die before thy time? For there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good and sinneth not.'"

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MAN AGAINST MAN

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MAN'S FEAR OF MAN. THE SQUIRE'S POLITICAL ECONOMY. THE DEMOCRAT AND THE ARISTOCRAT. INFLUENCE OF CLIMATE. CIVILIZATION AND BARBARISM. THE FOUNDATION OF RACES. MATERIAL INTEREST THE BOND OF NATIONS. HAVING AND NOT HAVING. GREAT BRITAIN THE MODEL OF THE WORLD. A PARADOX. OPPOSITES IN POPULATIONS. SLAVERY. CAPRICES OF EXTREMES. WEAKNESS OF DIFFUSION. PERPETUATION BY MUTUAL CONCESSION.

"NOW, Squire, I must put you on your mettle," said our companion, "as there is nothing that man fears so much as man. – Then to commence this great theme at the beginning in its simplest form, (for I always like to approach a difficult subject by the plainest route, and after all the principle is the same in small things as great): supposing you, for instance, (not that it is likely), had a wife and family, all duly housed and cared for – with estate, cattle, horses, and sheep; and admitting that within the bounds of your estate and family circle your word were law, what government would you call that?"

"I would call it an autocracy," said the Squire: "to myself a very agreeable government, and quite suited to my disposition."

"Then, again," said our companion, "supposing that

your wife had as much to say in matters as yourself, what government would you call that?"

"Call it?" said the Squire, "were it possible – why a joint reign, not consistent with the dignity of manhood."

"Again, supposing," continued our companion, "you had children and grandchildren to any extent, and allowing that you held all power and property, what would you call that?"

"I would call it a despotism," said the Squire, "which I fear would not be lasting."

"Then, supposing it did not last," continued our companion, "and your children divided property and power with you, what would that be?"

"What would it be?" cogitated the Squire; "why a limited monarchy."

"And," continued our companion, "supposing the heads of families put you on the shelf and governed for themselves, what would that be?"

"An oligarchy," said the Squire.

"Again," persevered our companion, "let the children usurp the power and put in governors of their own choice; what would that be?"

"A democracy," said the Squire.

"Then, will you admit that what applies to a family, or tribe, will apply also to a nation?" "Admitted," said the Squire.

"Now," said our companion, "what holds a single family as well as a nation together, but property or interest? Then would you, oh Squire, agree, to the principle of the holders of no property having as much to say in the management of the general estate as the proprietors themselves?"

"Certainly not," said the Squire.

"Hence," said our companion, "that bone of contention

PURE AUTOCRACY.

in politics, viz., the property qualification. A nation consists of so many intelligences, and, naturally, the intelligences having no property (had they the power) would enact such laws as would transfer the property of their neighbours to themselves. In politics there is no honesty. Rapid change of substance from one class to its opposite is the tendency of democracy, and the tendency of its opposite – autocracy – is for conservation of interests, in other words retardation of change. But in living things, change is not to be avoided. There are, therefore, two influences in all states – a destroying and a conserving; and the functions, I may say the destiny, of neither are to be ignored, for opposition is the soul of life: it creates the circulation between extremes, and in doing so it tempers and curbs both, so as to render neither entirely possible. A pure autocracy is as Utopian a scheme of government as an unadulterated democracy. To proceed," said our companion, "as it is with an individual so it is with the nation. Man in his youth and poverty is generally a democrat, in his old age and opulence an aristocrat. The world teams with such examples. A nation in its early struggles also tends to democracy, in its mature stages of accumulated interests to autocracy, and both have features peculiar to themselves. A democracy looks not to the past but to the future. It sets up one puppet of its choice only to amuse itself by pulling him down again. None of its servants remain till the grey hairs of their heads show, for democracy ignores the claims of its votaries. It has no affection for the learned or the gentle; for the rough sinews and arms of the many-headed hydra have no perceptions in that direction. An autocracy lives in the past and glories in tradition. Its future is overcast and uncertain. Its lines of princes are recorded on the pillar of state for generations. It is most careful of the fortunes of its

servants, and its nobles cherish learning, arts and science, that these graces may adorn the capital. Both systems of government live their time and die out, and the opposite sections of a nation love the one and hate the other – for such is the law of nature – that existence should be held in the balance between opposites. Happy is the nation that can perpetuate its existence with unbiased consideration to either section.

"Now, taking a more expansive view of the subject and casting our eyes over the world, we will soon discover that there are great laws that govern the conduct of man towards man. We will see how much the division of the world into zones affects mundane policy. The world, by being divided into zones of heat and zones of cold, modifies the human populations into circles of apathy – circles of energy. A zone of permanent maximum heat surrounds the world under and near the equator – the doldrums of sailors. This zone passes over central Africa, the region of the Amazon, Sumatra, and Borneo. Here the populations throughout are listless, sparse, and in continual decay: mere bands of wild tribes roam about the primeval forests, gaining a meagre subsistence from the natural products. Were it not that exotic populations flow in upon these regions, humanity would die out; for the climate has no change – and rest is death. As we leave this deadly zone north and south, so do we find the energy and fecundity of the human species increase. To the south – Java, Bali, Madagascar, Mozambique, Angola, Brazil, and Peru; to the north – Hindostan, Burmah, Siam, Cochin China, Arabia, Ethiopia, and Mexico. In these countries the energies of the numerous populations are maintained by the law of reaction – the existence of alternate hot and cold seasons. Then, as we proceed farther from the equator, we reach the temperate zones, where the main energies of humanity are

POLARITY OF HUMANITY.

engendered. The alternation of summer and winter invigorates the man: the hungry winter compels forethought and labour during summer. The physical powers are thus developed equally with the mental. In these zones are the cradles of the conquerors of the earth. Between the two opposites – viz., the torrid and temperate zones – the circulation of humanity is incited, for were there not these opposites, neither would there be interchange. All strength resides in the temperate zones – all weakness in the tropics; and each imparts its properties to the other when they meet. Slavery is indigenous to the tropics – freedom to the temperate zones. Polygamy also is the institution of the former – monogamy of the latter. By these diversities the opposite principles engender change from one to the other. The tropics are the seat of the black man – the temperate zone the seat of the white; and the red man sits between. The black man sells his offspring for slaves and concubines; and the white man deteriorates by the contact. These polarities of humanity are as powerful in attraction and repulsion as the poles of a galvanic battery, and the current circulates and interchanges.

"Now let me give a glance at the changes in nations which these opposite circumstances of humanity have brought about, as disclosed by history. The ethnologist may dive into prehistoric ages and trace the rise and progress of the ancient Aryans, the impress of whose blood and language has such wide expansion. He may trace the boundaries of their conquests over the steppes of European and Asian Scythia, through the passes of the Emodi Montes by the Erythraeum Mare and the deserts of Lybia. He may then trace their colonies growing into nations; one descending on Palimbothra and Taprobane – others on the valleys of the Euphrates and the Nilus; again, on Hellas, Macedonia, and Italia. History

will now lend a helping hand to trace the influence and boundaries of Babylonia, the extension of its victories and colonies reaching from the Internum Mare to the Indus; the influence and boundaries of AEgyptus, from Saba in Meroe to Colchis on the Phasis. The science of her navigators, under Neco the king, enabled them to round the continent of Africa by departing by the Arabicus Sinus and returning by the Fretum Herculis. Now, again, the Medes and Persians will appear on the scene, descending from the cold, bracing mountains, to the warm, enervating plains; creating new empires on the ashes of the old. Again, the various provinces and islands of Graecia will be seen, while rising in wealth and knowledge, to be planting colonies from Callatis on the Pontus Euxinus to Neapolis on the Tyrrhenum Mare – opposed by the strong-hearted but ignorant, barbarians in vain; for ignorance is weakness – knowledge is power. It would be useless to attempt to trace all the mutations of races, for volumes would be filled in describing alone the conquests of Macedonia and Rome, and the opposite – their downfall. Nor need I more than mention the descent of the Mongolians on the fertile plains of Manji, and the northern extraction of the ancient Mexicans of the New World. Suffice it to say that humanity is impelled as the currents of the ocean: necessity urges it against its will to frozen regions, there to be chastened and invigorated; and when chastened and invigorated, inclination impels it to the warm zones, where it is weakened and degenerated. Humanity moves on the surface, as the trade-wind; and it has paroxysms of warfare, as the cyclone. The stronger nations flow over the weaker, and the weaker bend to the yoke or die out. One nation may supplant another in its own latitude, but no nation can be propagated or maintained out of its zone, whether by conquest or set-

THE EBBING OF POWER.

tlement. The galleys of the Romans may have reached even to Dandeguda, on the Sinus Gangeticus, but to fall back or die out. This, too, with medieval Venice and Genoa, which spread their commerce far and wide, but to fall back and die out. So with Portugal and Spain; and modern England, Holland, and France essay to settle their sons in tropical Africa, Polynesia, and Asia – but to lead to the same result. They may be powerful for a time, but they war against nature if they expect no change – no check to their arms. True, the law of contraries impels the intrusion; yet the same law will react against it – for to live is to change. A nation stronger than another must overflow the weaker, and thus spread beyond its boundaries and disperse; but dispersion is weakness – compactness is strength.

"Conventions or nations that progress east or west may permanently plant themselves, as the Angles, the Huns and the Alans. Those that progress southward towards the equator, as the Vandals on Carthage, die out. These latter had but a century's existence – such is the fate of meridional conquests. They can be held but for a time, for have we not the examples of the Median, Persian, Macedonian and Roman conquests in Africa and Asia, and where are they now? A nation, to have stability, must keep to its zone, for the step beyond is perilous. Is France strengthened by the holding of Algeria? Russia by the Caucasus and Georgia? Turkey, by Irak Arabi? China, by Yunnan and Quangsee? Britain, by Hindostan? the New Englanders, by Louisiana? Brazil, by the Amazons? Not so; are the principles of the great rule, for the vital property flowing out of a nation is the ebbing out of that which upholds it, and it gains nothing but decadence in return."

"Then, may I ask, where will we find the strong nations of the earth – the future conquerors of the world?"

"It is in those nations that have not yet spread beyond their zones – Germany and Canada are the future seats of the world's great empires. You may smile, oh Squire. It is indeed foolish to pry into futurity."

"Now I come to the next subject, the foundation of all nations – viz,, man and woman. We will find that what actuates and impels the miniature commonwealth, governs also the great nation."

"Well," said the Squire, with a yawn, "I will try and hear that out, as it sounds more ridiculous than your last lucubration."

"Then," said our companion, not at all disconcerted, "the miniature commonwealth, made up of a man and a woman, is held together by the same principles as a nation of many men and many women, just as molecular attraction holds the little needle to its form with the same force as it holds together the huge anchor. Nature always works on principle, and when principle is neglected or forgotten, so does nature re-act against the blunder. The household, as we have suggested before, may be a democracy or an autocracy, or it may be a mixture, just as a collection of householders or a nation; but it will be found that the first system can only be indulged in in early stages, the second in the latter."

"I would like you to illustrate this amusing doctrine," said the Squire.

"Have patience, then," said our companion. "Government is but an exposition of the sentiments of the people, after all. The cost of government is as necessary an evil as a lawyer's bill, and the people work out their own destiny in spite of it. I take democracy to be the hobby-horse of

SETTING UP.

an infant nation: the children mount on it, and dismount – pull each other down, and leg each other up – till they tire and pull it to pieces; and, so long as there is amusement, the young couple also hold fast to the hobby-horse – their quarrels and petulences may be many, but young love binds; the novelty of the situation balances the disagreeableness of any rough jolting. So it is with a young nation: the sturdy youth have a boundless field in the virgin wilderness – their material interests are so absorbing as to draw their attention from the play at kings by their would-be leaders. The setting up and the pulling down of authority may go on without danger to a rising and prosperous commonwealth. Reipublicae formam, laudare facilius quam evanire, et si evenit haud diuturna esse potest. But nature loves change, and change is life. Accumulated wealth is stored in the meantime, and opposite interests arise – the interests of those who have and those who have not. To overturn is to destroy the fabric. Now must come the age of mutual concession – mutual forbearance – between one set of intelligences and their opposite. Democracy must yield, and as times and centuries wear on so does she yield the more. Age comes to the parent as well as to the nation; and experience, which is knowledge, asserts its power to conserve the estate. The older a nation is, the more civilised; so are its parts more built up – more artificially maintained; and society ranks on opposite sides, that in the circulation from rich to poor all may live. The greater store of goods – the greater credit; so also the greater development of current labor, or poverty, and, with these circumstances, also, the higher intelligence and learning in the upper classes – the more abasement and ignorance in the lower. Now comes the period of decadence in a nation, as old age is attained in a parent –

now the necessity that an all-powerful autocrat should reign – now that the parent, to preserve the substance of his family, should have the chief authority; for in this period the voices of the many that have not are raised for revolution – the voices of the few that have, for conservation. It is now, only, that the strong power of a single will, directing an armed force, is able to stay the conflict for a time – the time may be for years or for centuries. This is the mission of the autocrat, and it is appropriate to the condition of the people. His government may be benign, just, generous, excellent, and all but Divine: he may support his country from crumbling to pieces for ages, where the democrat could not uphold it for a day. Yet, his reign is the prelude to decay. Families have their paroxysms of grief and joy; so do nations have their foreign and intestine wars. The principles of nations are the same in small things as well as in great. The observant study those signs.

"Now, I come to the internal economy of a nation. As the states of having, and not having, are developed, so is circulation between opposites excited, trade and interchange promoted; and the democrat will be found to belong to those who have nothing; the aristocrat to those who have something – the one for pulling down, the other for conserving. The safety of the State lies in the maintenance of the equilibrium of these two opposite forces. Mutual concessions, ever varying with circumstances, can only attain to this. Non-concession must end in physical revolution – that is, in civil war. Democracy, to have permanence, must have educated masses, continuous immigration of an inferior people, or slavery within its borders. It levels and humbles the learned, mistrusts the hero, hates the successful, and dismisses its faithful servants. Commune vitium in

ARISTOCRACY AND DEMOCRACY.

magnis liberisque civitatibus ut invidia comes gloria sit. Autocracy does the opposite. Its masses are necessarily ignorant, it sends out emigrants, and it requires not slavery in its borders; it honors the learned, trusts the hero, loves the successful, and cherishes its service-worn supporters. Hence, democracy is natural to young nations – autocracy to old. Democratic Athens ostracised its eminent generals and statesmen; autocratic Rome lavished her wealth on the same; republican America dismissed the heroes of her independence into penury; autocratic France lavished honors, pensions, and estates on her successful generals and diplomatists. Opposite principles of action permeate the vitals of each system. The ultra-democrat, as selfish as a pig, is, notwithstanding this, content to gorge from a wooden trough. The ulta-aristocract, selfish as the lap-dog, fastidiously picks the choice pieces out of a porcelain plate. The strength of an autocracy consists in the high training of the privileged few; of a democracy, in the mediocre attainments of the unprivileged many. Autocracy is the higher development, because it moves by reason; democracy the lower, because it moves by instinct only. Each, however, is appropriate to its time, and neither can be universal in this world. Cities, again, cling to democracy – first, because in a confined space there is opportunity for the masses to combine; second, they live by quick circulation of products; third, their skill in turning over is their profit. The country, on the contrary, leans to autocracy, for the masses are separate and apart, which prevents combination. The livelihood of the masses also depends on the favor of the aristocratic landowners.

"Thus, opposite interests, in spite of the measures of the statesman, grow up in all nations, and the artificial fortifying up of the one, to the disparagement of the other,

destroys national growth – that slow and healthful change which is essential to the welfare of a people. A people that has the safety-valve of mutual concession will work out its own destiny without horrid intestine troubles. Families will rise into importance by degrees, and fall by degrees, as the ocean tides, and no one know their altered destiny. There are many gradations between democracy and autocracy, the most eminently notable of which is to be seen in our own dear native land. It is truly a government founded on the Divine principles of equity – between opposites – and mutual concessions, ever varying to the times. And, when we scan the position of other nations, we will find that Great Britain's is a peculiar one, and none have worked out their destiny as she has. To the blood and the wisdom of our forefathers we owe much; but these are, also, seconded by her insular position, and in it the security against the invasion of armed Europe. Thus, with a beneficent and settled process of constitutional government, our country has been found to foster trades and manufactures, creating circulation between city and country, and between ourselves and foreign nations. In more modern times, the capacity of her colonial system, for favoring the emigration of the surplus population, is not the least cause of her glorious renown. A rapid glance at the world will show, also, that democracies are at present the fashion of the new world – autocracies of the old. But the former are only possible in temperate climates – and, if established, soon sink in the torrid zone. The cause of this is, that the energetic and educated masses alone can compass a status; the enervated and the ignorant cannot effect this. Russia, China, Hindostan, Persia, Egypt, and Turkey are under autocracies, oligarchies, or absolute rule. Germany, Italy, France, Spain, Great Britain, North America, and Switzerland

WHAT IS YOUR CHOICE?

graduate from these to the opposite, which is found in the last."

"Then," said the Squire, "may I ask which system you approve of?"

"This," answered our companion; "of each in its place when appropriate to the conditions of the populations and the age of the nation. I would consider a pure democracy in Egypt, for instance, as a great phenomenon not at all desirable. The genius of the people being against such a form of government."

"But what would you have in New Zealand?" again asked the Squire.

"Were my lot cast here," answered our companion, "I would accept what is inevitable in a new country – a democracy, tempered, I would hope, by the good sense of the nation from whence you have sprung, and I would have confidence in my fellow-settlers that the hurtful extreme would be avoided. May I suggest, at the same time, that your climate being similar to that of the home country, in it is a guarantee that equity and mutual concession between opposite interests, as they grow up, will be the order of the day. Then a Prince might soon come to rule over you."

The Squire sighed.

"Yes, Squire," continued our companion, "nature hates extremes, and a pure democracy is as rare in this world as a pure autocracy; both have their opponents within a state, which prevents completeness. Thus in the ancient democracies of Greece and Rome, a large mass of the people were slaves, and yet the cities of Greece are held up as exquisite patterns to us moderns. What better is the great existing example so much flaunted in our faces, viz., the United States of America? Autocracies have also equal opposition to completeness in the necessity of rulers having

counselors drawn from the most influential of the citizens. In fact, a great democrat is a paradox. A democrat is, in principle, a mere cipher; to be great, he must be bolstered up to the odious position of an autocrat, and nothing does he love so much as this – the object of his hatred and the object of his desire at the same time. On the contrary, a real autocrat must be great, for he is nothing else than he pretends to be."

"Bravo," exclaimed the Squire, "it is refreshing to hear such sentiments enunciated so far from happy old England. Her aristocracy, autocrats each one, are the envy of the world; her traditions, who can rival? her prestige, who can compare?"

"Yet," said our companion, "a truce to your exultations. Each system has its disadvantages. The very prestige of the aristocracy creates a more active envy in the democracy – a lever to overturn. The philosopher weighs all sides and represses his feelings, but I need not ask you to do that. In casting your eyes over the countries of this world, you will find this rule to exist: viz., when education is general, the form of government is modelled on democracy – when the contrary; on autocracy, or modifications of the same. China, the most generally-educated nation probably in the world, is the most democratic, though the apathy of the masses, borne down by their enervating climate, prevents the political activity of the European, so they content themselves that their magistrates and governors rise to power by education alone, under a system of competitive examination. Central Africa and South America sink into the abyss of total ignorance, hence the populations there are ruled, by despotism.

"So thus there are two great contrary divisions of the population of this world, viz., the educated and the igno-

NIMROD.

rant – -the qualities of one of which attract the other. The weakness of one is a powerful incentive of attack from the other; and the attacker, in his conquests, only imbibes that weakness – the cause of his success. Thus the Macedonians degenerated on the plains of Babylonia, as the British at this present day do on the plains of Hindostan; the New-Englanders on the plains of the Mississippi; the Portuguese in the valley of the Amazon; the Spanish in Mexico; the French in Algeria; and the Dutch in Java. The power thus gathered in the middle latitudes is dissipated in the tropics. The power of education is paralyzed by the weakening influences of climate. The natural energy is absorbed by contact with the enervating influences of an opposite zone. 'Tis thus the nations of the world exist in constant change – contraries tending to contraries; and the circulation, by the aid of steam, is now more rapid and excited than it ever has been in the world's history. The future comes faster.

"Then turn we to civilized society. Here also inequality of rank is inevitable. The two opposite divisions commenced from the earliest ages. Most commentators are reduced to the opinion that Nimrod obtained his notoriety or fame as a slave-hunter, and as such was mighty before the Lord. The system of inequality was perpetuated by Abraham, and was prevalent in his time through Chaldea, Egypt, and Arabia. It lived through the time of Homer and the heroic era of Greece. It was an institution in ancient Rome, and the democracy of Rome climaxed in its atrocious cruelty to the bondsman; and it is said that in this age of civil liberty and philanthropy, modern America is not a whit behind her Old World model. With the Augustan age – a period of autocracy – the slave found amelioration of condition and more generous treatment

In Britain, even to the ninth century, white men were bought, sold, and worked as slaves; they were treated in no other manner than as goods and chattels: nay, orders of slaves were retained in this our beloved country up to the fifteenth century, and exceptionally, also, in mines, up to the eighteenth century. Yet in some counties of England the bondager perpetuates the memory of what was – in name if not in actual condition. Christianity and Mahommedanism, while manumitting the neophyte, indulged in the profits of the slave-trade amongst the pagans. Ancient Sparta, distinguished for patriotism and dauntless courage, which qualities uphold a nation; notorious also for overbearing pride, dishonour, and narrow-minded exclusiveness, the qualities that destroy a nation – was at the same time ultra-democratic, the levelling uniformity of whose system of training youth discouraged great or original genius in arts, literature, or philosophy. Her only boast was a few military leaders, such as Leonidas, Pausanias, &c. Her sovereign power resided in an assembly of the people, held periodically outside of their city – in which every Spartan, without respect to birth or wealth, had an equal voice. After all, the Spartans were but a band of foreigners living on and amidst a hostile race: and here we draw this conclusion, that so pure a democracy as this was, could only be perpetuated by the opposite condition within their domain, viz., slavery, and a humiliated and conquered people. Nature's law was here vindicated in requiring that the equality and privileges of a class should be counterbalanced by the disabilities and burdens of another class. Nature's law is inexorable: the pride of the one class was at the cost of the humiliation of the other; ease and luxury of the one class were gained by the labour, pains, and stripes of the other. Like the modern New-Englander, the citizens,

FREAKS.

while rapturously proclaiming that all men were equal in one breath, belied their vociferations in the next by whipping their slaves. Man, thus to exist, is to be a mixture of contraries: the law of nature is not to be gainsaid.

"Again, the extremes of democracy and autocracy have their caprices, littlenesses, inconsistencies, and unamiable qualities. Thus, with the former, while proclaiming freedom sacred to all, the very commencement of their citizens' career is under compulsory education, generally made up of a mixture of inferior grammar and doubtful principles. Then we have the stomachs of the citizens undergoing the compulsory cold-water cure, as a panacea of all evils: this crops out under the Maine Liquor Law. Next, we have compulsory church-going, under the laws of the democratic Puritans, who would not go to church in their own country, and, having established another elsewhere, not very consistently ducked people that would not attend theirs. Again, in the ultra-democratic religious system of Scotland (a reaction, by-the-bye, against ultra-autocratic Popery) we find that the liberty of conscience for which they fought and shed their blood graduated into a curious and interesting institution of stringent coercion on weak flesh and sin. This rigorous method of moral police climaxed in the setting up of the famous cutty stool, whereon the victims of Venus were exhibited in their most sacred places to an indignant and shocked immaculate virtue. The minds of the tender innocent, it might be, were thus seared by familiarity." "Perhaps not," said the Squire.

"Then, as to the extremes of autocracy," continued our companion, "we have equally interesting developments in an opposite direction – such as in the sumptuary laws – laws for kneeling and prostration before magnates, and

such atoms of fellow-men – the disallowance of umbrellas to some – shoes, and yellow over-coats, to others: these to be enforced at the risk of the pillory and thumb-screws. Invisu nunquam imperia retinentur diu. Such are the opposite whims of opposite extremes in the political system which compel the thoughtful to pray for the golden medium – that mysterious fulcrum that balances striving nature.

"A nation, oh Squire, a political convention, or a system of government – call it what you will – having a beginning, also has its end; and, what are the signs of the end? Ah, let us see what mighty Rome teaches. It was four centuries after the Augustan era – the culminating point of her history, the time of her greatest extension, influence, and power – that, as Gibbon relates, the estates of the Roman senators, which so far exceeded the proportions of modern wealth, were not confined to the limits of Italy. Their possessions extended far beyond the Ionian and AEgean seas, to the most distant provinces. The city of Nicropolis, which Augustus had founded as an eternal monument of the Actian victory, was the property of the devout Paula, and it is observed by Seneca that the rivers which had divided hostile nations now flowed through the lands of private citizens. In Rome there were many side-boards in the time of Pliny which contained more solid silver than had been transported by Scipio from vanquished Carthage. But the nation's splendour was degraded and sullied by the conduct of some nobles who, unmindful of their own dignity and that of their country, assumed unbounded license of vice and folly. The frequent and familiar companions of the great men were those parasites who practised the most useful of all arts – the art of flattery – who eagerly applauded each word and every action of their

ROME IN DECLINE.

immortal patron, gazed with rapture at his marble columns and variegated pavements, and strenuously praised the pomp and elegance which he was taught to consider as part of his personal merit. But the plebeians of Rome, who disdained such sedentary and servile arts, had been oppressed from the earliest times by the weight of debt and usury, and the husbandman, during the term of his military service, was forced to abandon the cultivation of his farm. The lands of Italy, which had originally been divided amongst the families of the free and indigent proprietors, were insensibly purchased or usurped by the avarice of the nobles, and in the age which preceded the fall of the republic it was computed that only 2000 citizens were possessed of independent substance. But when the prodigal commons had imprudently alienated not only the use but the inheritance of power, they sunk under the reign of the Caesars into a vile and wretched populace, which must in a few generations have been totally extinguished had it not been continually recruited by the manumission of slaves and the influx of strangers. As early as the time of Hadrian, it was the just complaint of ingenuous natives that the capital had attracted the vices of the universe and the manners of most opposite nations; the intemperance of the Gauls, the craving of the Greeks, the obstinacy of the Egyptians, and the effeminate prostitution of the Syrians. These, under the proud and false denomination of Romans, presumed to despise humanity that lived beyond the precincts of the Eternal City.

"For the convenience of lazy plebeians, the monthly distribution of corn was converted into a daily allowance of bread; great ovens were maintained at public expense; at an appointed hour each citizen was furnished with a ticket as a gift or at a very low price. During five months of

the year an allowance of bacon was doled out to the poor citizens. At the same time stupenduous aqueducts had been constructed to every part of the city. The baths of Caracalla were open at stated hours, where were 1600 seats of marble, and more than 3000 were reckoned in the baths of Diocletian. From these stately palaces issued swarms of ragged plebeians, without shoes and without mantles, who loitered away whole days in the streets or in the Forum. The most lively and splendid amusements of this idle multitude depended on frequent exhibitions of public games and spectacles, where the human gladiator was immolated to the bloody cravings of a degenerate people. The vast and magnificent theatres were, at the same time, filled with 3000 female dancers. Here we cry, with Juvenal, Nunc patimur longae pacis mala; soevior armis luxuria incubuit, victumque ulciscitur orbem.

"A nation, in principle, is the same as any other existence – a man, or a vegetable, or a fish, I care not what. It is planted, grows, ripens, and throws out seeds, into other parts – these are its colonies. It shapes its government or policy as the ash tree to the prevailing wind. When it culminates in bright beauty and splendour, then does the heart begin to decay, and the glorious fabric is now in the infancy of decline. In coming centuries, the heart is rotten, and the hard gnarled bark only remains to support the tottering trunk. The branches spreading to all lands, fall off one after the other, and the roots no longer gather sap or sustenance. At this epoch there is little sympathy or connection between opposites; for when the heart of a people is vacant – the rich too great and the poor too humble – the minds of the wealthy polluted with ease, the minds of the poor polluted with penury – there is no circulation in the body politic – no kindness and good offices

LIFE OF A NATION.

between opposites, so as to hold them together to support the national erection. The tension of the bonds between opposites is so strained by the distance that they break, and the old fabric topples down. In such a state, the tree to be cut down is a mercy; a nation in such a state, to be conquered is relief, that new saplings may spring forth and replenish the earth with their healthy stems – that a new people may arise and pursue again another destiny. Change is life.

"A nation, like any other thing, oh Squire, is born, grows and dies, and the consistency of its parts are as essential to the strength of its whole as in any other existence. It is as essential to the vitality of a nation that the poor and the rich, the ignorant and the educated should join in the close bonds of common sympathy and fellowship, as for a single family. With caste prejudices and supercilious pride, comes the breaking of the bonds of society, so when outer pressure comes there is no force to sustain the contact, and the whole pile built up in ages past, falls with a crash. Nor is it good for society that great industries should be in the hands of the few, for when the pulsation of the mighty piston stops, so do the multitudes of poor humanity perish. Hence, national preservation can only be perpetuated by mutual concessions of interest between the two opposites of society – the one giving in to the times, the other giving way to the times. Nature works by this law, and unhappy are the people that cannot work out their destiny to this consummation."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE MIND. ITS INFLUENCE. CONTRARIETIES OF MIND. GROWTH OF FACULTIES. CIRCULATION OF IDEAS. RELIGION. GREAT DIVISIONS ON SMALL DIFFERENCES. THE COUNTERPOISE OF THE WORLD. ZONES OF CREEDS. PERCEPTION AND NON-PERCEPTION OF A DIETY. THE WAR OF MIND. THE PHRALOANG. GROSS AND HUMANE CONVICTIONS.

"AH, Squire, the mind – the mind – the most difficult of speculations – when one does not know one's own mind, how can we know other people's? Is mind an existence? – is there anything tangible in it – anything we can lay hold of, or look through, or can we be blinded by it? Is it more ethereal than the comet's tail, or as solid as platinum? Where does it go to? – where does it dive into? How far does it reach? Does it move one man? – and does it move millions of men? Did mind rear the Pyramids? – did it build the Crystal Palace? – did it move the French legions on as far as Moscow? Mind did all these things, and so must have existence, as other objects and influences. Mind must have its length and breadth, its height and depth, its right side and left side, its top and its bottom. Being an existence, so must it have its status of comparison and have its opposites – small and great, mean and magnificent – avariciousness and bountifulness, cowardliness

MIND.

and bravery. Mind, to have existence, must live in opposition – in a state of counterpoise between two contrary tendencies. Yes, mind reaches into firmament as far as the Moon and Sirius – it speculates on the living system? of other bodies than this earth: its aspirations are mighty. It perceives, also, the mote in a brother's eye – so small is the mote as to be almost microscopic – yet it mistakes the mote for something worse: so miserably little is man's mind. Man's mind, then, like all other influences, material and spiritual, is developed between infinite expansiveness and its opposite, infinite diminutiveness. The gradations are as infinite as the animal and vegetable creation – the variety as innumerable, the changes as continuous, as the fleeting motamenta. Such is mind. We think we know it, and when we are sure, we are disappointed to find we do not know it in ourselves nor in any other person. The reason is this, that mind is the soul – infinite in its sphere, infinite in its action: action is life – therefore, the life of the soul is everlasting.

"The mind may be considered under three aspects, and as many more aspects as you like; but I, for one, think that three aspects will suffice – viz., as regards the man, the nation, and the world. Man's mind is governed on the same principle as the nation's; the nation's on the same principle as the world's – just in the same manner as I have shewn to be the case with a drop of water, a pool of water, and the whole ocean; the states may be infinite, the varieties innumerable, the relative sizes incalculable. The principles, however, are the same – for the ways of the great Author of Nature, the Inconceivable, are immutable.

"Thus, as to man's mind, from the embryo in the womb, it expands as the germs of creation; one process is added to another – one faculty is developed after another. The

mind of a child is as the graptolite of geology. Many ages were consumed in developing it into the mind of a full man; but, once developed, then a single life's time now completes the process; once created, a single life's time does the work of ages, and the graptolitic child's mind in a single life time developes into a Newton, a Faraday, or a Brougham – just on the same principle as the development of any other existence – let us say a cotton mill. Ages were spent before the thumb plait developed itself into a complete spinning-jenny of Arkwright, out of which rose all the mills of Manchester. This process of development took ages – now the most extensive diversified and ingenious cotton mills are developed daily. The building up of the mind of man has no other process.

"Then, as a child's mind is ignorant, and a full man's is informed, so it is with a nation: one section is unskilled, and another skilled. Also it is with the world: there are zones of destitution of knowledge – zones of repletion; and between these opposites circulation is generated, and the soul of the world quickened. Thus a child's ignorance seeks food for its intellect from the stored-up experience of the parent, and the parent finds relief in the imparting of the stores for which otherwise he had no use – no practical object. The giving-off of properties one to the other is mutually beneficial, mutually elevating, mutually humanizing. This sympathy between opposites is the most simple and healthful of all nature's processes. Let us extend the principle to a nation, and to the whole world, and we find it the same. The unskilled do their part for the common good: unskilled and contemptible you may call the poor man's labour, yet his work flows with beneficence to his opposite – the skilled and the learned; thus the contemptible work of the many props all creation. The skilled and

WORLD'S PULSATION.

the learned, on the contrary, also do their work: which is to regulate with their experienced and trained judgment; and so turn the minds of mankind to useful channels for the support and existence of all. No other manner is it with the world. The benighted mind of the African is made subservient to the enlightened mind of the European, that circulation may take place betwixt opposites, and the population of the world live by this interchange of properties. The impoverished mind of the African, or of the South Asian, or of the tropical American, also has as much attraction for the replenished mind of the modern Teuton, the Anglo-Saxon, or the Castilian, as the opposite poles of a loadstone. Mind is guided by the same principle as material. As the tick of your watch is heard at the further end of an Oregon pine-tree, so do the pulsations of mental activity vibrate to all corners of the earth. The mind at work is life: life has no limits of time or space. Mind, to be alive, is the universe in opposition. Mind is the foundation of all usages, customs, traits, and peculiarities in a people, or in sects or nations of people. So early as the days of Herodotus, this principle was most conspicuously obvious to that great observer of nature. Of the Egyptians he remarks that that people had adopted customs and usages different in almost every respect from the rest of mankind. Amongst the peculiarities he enumerates those of the women marketing and the men weaving; the men carrying burdens on their heads, the women carrying the same on their shoulders; the women * * * *, and the men * * * *; sons deserting their parents by lawful practice – daughters, on the contrary, being compelled to support them; the men kneading dough with their feet, and mixing clay and dung with their hands. In all other countries, priests wearing long hair, while in Egypt they were closely shaved. In all

other countries, while people shaved themselves in mourning for the dead, in Egypt they allowed the hair to grow long. In all other countries, while men lived apart from beasts, the Egyptians lived with them. While other nations were uncircumcised, the Egyptians were circumcised: and while the Grecians wrote from left to right, the Egyptians, by way of contrast, wrote from right to left; &c &c

"The more extended observations of modern travel enable us to enumerate customs more opponent, usages more anomalous. Solicitous enquiries after the health of a friend's wife are most agreeable and complimentary to the Englishman – the same most obnoxiously insulting to the Persian. To point with admiration to a child wins the heart of a Christian mother – the same act creates consternation in the heart of the Mohammedan dame. The life-loving, restless European hates the sight of a coffin, so never sees his own if he can help it; the Chinese sets his at his at his front door and sits on it enjoying his otium cum dignitate till he finds it necessary for him to get into it."

"What callousness! what inhuman feeling!" exclaimed the Squire, with energy.

"Again," continued our companion, without heeding the interruption, "the British nobleman hoards his wealth for his posterity, that his memory may live in them. The ancient Pharoahs, as well as more modern Sultans, squandered all on their own tombs, for in themselves alone had they faith – in posterity they had none."

"What a beastly set!" cried the Squire.

"The sons and daughters," continued our companion, unmovedly, "of the people of Europe tend their dying fathers laid on beds of down; the sons and daughters of the people on the shores of the Ganges carry their respected

KILLING FOR KINDNESS.

parents to the chilly strand and plaster their mouths and nostrils with mud, that they may the sooner cease their troubles."

"What horrible barbarity!" roared the Squire.

"Some doating children," placidly continued our companion, "of temperate regions, kill their friends with kindness; the Battas of Sumatra eat their old mothers from the same motive."

"Stop, oh stop!" cried the excited Squire, "your narrations are altogether too disgusting."

"Too true, I fear, however," persevered our companion. "I wish it were a myth, but the attestations of Sir Stamford Raffles are difficult to overturn."

"What does he attest to?" asked the Squire.

"This," said our companion: "that when the aged Batta is ready to die, his children hang him by the hands to a tree in presence of their collected tribe, who, furnished with knives, chillies and lemons, call vociferously: 'When the fruit is ripe let it drop that we may eat!' The venerable papa or mamma, of course, drops ere long and – – -."

"Stay!" said the Squire, emphatically, "I will hear no more – the thoughts make me faint."

"A beautiful allegory of human nature," said our companion, smiling. "You think nothing of your sisters and brothers killing their friends with kindness, but that other people should eat them from the same motive is, I see, intensely repugnant to you. What a fine example you are, oh Squire, of my great theme – the power of the law of contraries. Oh how wonderful are the incongruities of the human mind; it truly exists in the opposite principles, contraries between contraries. Now, Squire, look at me in the face and do not wince. Are my discourses lively or dull?"

"Well," said the Squire, "I'll be honest with you, and may tell you that, when I understand them, they are lively enough; when I don't, they are as dull as Devilling's old mare!"

"Most appropriate illustration, oh Squire. Then, to put your criticism into other words, there is life when your mind is receiving new information – i. e., when it is feeding from the contrary of my imparting; but there is deadness, when that circulation of mental property ceases."

"That's it! You have hit it on the head," said the Squire.

"Now," continued our companion, "it is admitted that mind, to have life, must circulate from one to the other. This is the peaceful process, the most beneficent in nature; but there is another mode. Supposing I knew horse-flesh as well as you, for instance, and that we could talk of nothing else; also, that our minds were at the same time so alike that we never differed – would this state of things tend to lively discourse, or what?"

"I am afraid you would be a very dull fellow, as you would know as much as I did; and, my word, there are few I would knuckle under to in that line – so I would not be bothered with you."

"Then," said our companion, "supposing I differed – how would it be?"

"Why," said the Squire, "I would soon show you the difference!"

"In that case," said our companion, "you would get hot on it; our arguments would grow high; our blood warm; and our minds excited. Excitement is fast living – our conversation would be lively. This process is the war of mind, as necessary to human nature as any other process. Life is opposition.

HAIR SPLITTING.

"Thus, to pass from gay things to grave, we see in the subject most universally interesting to mankind, viz., Religion, how men's minds stand in opposition towards each other, as evidenced by the clamour of controversialists. How much the early Christians were subject to the above law, may be gathered from the writings of the mighty apostle, whose doctrines were all-pervading – true to the God of nature. Cried he, 'There are diversities of gifts, but the same spirit; and there are different administrations but the same Lord, and there are diversities of operations but it is the same God that worketh all in all.' Humanity is weak, the power of opposites strong, so we see the holy fathers, three centuries afterwards, dividing the church in furious contests. And what was the cause of this? – The difference of a single diphthong in two notorious words, viz., the Homoousians and the Homoiousians – both words scarcely even pronounceable, and both so similar that the educated, sensitive ear can, in them, alone detect a difference – each term representing to each contending party the most opposite ideas, yet both terms being reducible to one and the same interpretation by the pious and faithful. And have we not abundant examples in modern times in those Churches claiming to take rank, by precept and example, with the purity of those of the primitive ages? How lately have we not seen the mother church of this province rent in twain – for why- All people in Scotland were agreed that Christ should reign, at the same time all admitted that he was not there in person; so, by the rule of opposites, neither could agree who should be his viceregent on earth – the people or the patron. This knotty point had no solution, and the structure almost crumbled in pieces with the shock of bitter contention. The educated mind of the modern Christian analyses as the microscope, and

stumbles at straws; a wafer chokes one, and bread chokes another; a drop of water drowns one, a tankful does not drown another. These are the infusoria of religion, and as the first act of creation was to put nature into a state of opposition, by dividing the light from the darkness; so did the Divine Head of the Christian enunciate that he brought not peace but a sword. A faith to be lively must have opposition, otherwise it could not throw its mantle over humanity. As Abraham's faith was confirmed by the knife to his only son's breast – a saving grace at the expense of a loss irreparable – so was the piety of David linked to many transgressions, and the great wisdom of Solomon to much foolishness. A high tower must have deep foundations, so a high faith is only eminent by contrast with surrounding debasement; in no other manner than yonder elevated snowy peak is remarkable by comparison with the low plains at its base.

"Then, as religion is of the highest importance to man, so is it the subject on which he is most divided – whether it be in himself, his nation, or this world of his. His mind is the victim of doubts; his faith, when confirmed, how liable to backsliding! A religion is no sooner established than the faith is circulated by the counterpoise of opposites; and the smaller the differences, the greater the dissensions; the more abstruse the points of controversy, the more bitter the altercations; the less intelligible the bone of contention, the mightier the convulsions in faith and doc-trine. Is it over-refinement that generates these troubles? – for does not the rude Bedouin make his ablutions with the waters of the Nile before he says his fifth prayer at even? and yet the sands of the desert of Lybia, when used instead, neither shock his robust faith nor interfere with his constant practice.

BALANCE OF CREEDS.

"And have no other creeds than the Christian their divisions – their animosities and strifes? There are none that have not: and with progress comes contention. The Mohammedans, at an early date, divided themselves into two great sects – the Shiahs and the Soonis; and these again are separated into subdivisions. Where the minds of the people are little developed by instruction, so we find, them subservient to the leaders: where instructed, then the refinements of criticism react against unity. Ignorance, in one sense, is the soul of devotion. With the creation of the world entered the establishment of opposite principles; and so with all things existing. The Hindoo faith has comminutions so innumerable – sects so widely and irreconcilably opposed – that it would be tedious to recapitulate even a portion: their pantheon is as elaborate as that of ancient Rome or Egypt.

"Now, let us give a glance at the mind of the world as developed in their creeds. We will find the great law established in counterpoise as naturally and as equally as in the numbers of man and woman. Humanity, then, is divided into those who approach the Deity direct, and those who don't attempt this; those who pray to the Almighty, and those who propitiate the evil influences; those who worship the great Original, and those who bow to his creations, be they stocks and stones.

"The opposite classes are as follows: –

Millions.

Millions.

Christians

301

Bhuddists

245

Mohammedans

110

Hindoos

133

Jews

5

Fetichists and other pagans

72

Minor creeds

34

450

450

The total population of the world being nine hundred millions. Thus are the minds of mankind under similar

laws as the other elements of nature. The mind of the world is held in a balance, as it were, and it finds its level wherever it may permeate. It lives by opposition – rolling in here and giving way yonder. Thus, we see Christianity, rising from a small germ at the east end of the Mediterranean, gradually transfusing the Eastern and Western Empires – demolishing the classic and elegant paganism of the Greeks and Romans; then, in the fifth century, sending out its feelers to Cathay in the extremity of Asia – propagating itself in India, and the tenantable portions of Africa; then, again, in the dark ages of the eighth and ninth centuries, to be chastened, trodden down, and eliminated by the Islamite over full half of its area; then bursting forth with brightened illumination in the revival of the learning and enterprise of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, at which period the new and old worlds were opened to the missionary by the discoveries of Vasco de Gama and Columbus."

"That table of yours is strange, if true," said the Squire.

"I will admit," replied our companion, "that the demarcation is necessarily somewhat arbitrary; but I believe it to be correct in the main – and this leads me to the remark that while the world is divided into the religious and the superstitious, so are nations and individuals. I have met the followers of Zoroaster and Bhudda, whose exalted principles I was bound to admire; who, casting the material grossness of their common faith aside, culled and nourished what was true – who gathered the flowers and cast aside the weeds. And so, in an equal manner, may you, oh Squire, have observed in Christianity that all have not the same gifts, either of morality or devotion. Also, some are sunk in depths of squalor disgraceful even to heathens. I take the Christians of the Teutonic race to rank highest amongst

CHARMS.

the religionists of the world – so I take the Fetichists of the torrid zone to be the lowest; and, between these contraries, there is a gradual approximation till they meet. In animated nature, man and the zoophite is not more distinct. These extremes are found in all nations; but the worldly boundaries are marked in zones – the torrid zone is one extreme, the temperate zone the other. Climate is the inexorable influence that maintains these opposites.

"Regarding the mind as a wordly influence, Fetichism has its habitat in the torrid zone – it is governed by charms, witchcraft, or magic. The influence of evil only is dreaded, and this may reside in a stone, a bird, or a piece of wood. The Muras of the Amazon, the regions of equatorial Africa, and the Sakai of the Asian Archipelago all dread these influences. Again, as we depart from this zone, so do we see beliefs graduate into the opposite – viz., God worship; and it is not till we search out the educated of the Teutonic race and their descendants, that this system takes a pure form; for, on the tropic of Cancer – the centre zone of Mahomedanism and Bhuddism – we find, in the former, the worship of that book called the Koran, and in the latter, the worship of the Menes. Then, proceeding to the forty-third degree, the centre of Romanism, we find the Deity yet approached by the intercession of the Virgin. That highest development of man – that model of the world, the Teuton alone, whose centre zone is in the fifty-fifth degree – dare approach his Maker direct; dare vindicate the rights and the privileges of His image."

"But," said the Squire, "one would think that all men had a knowledge of the Deity implanted in them."

"Only relatively," said our companion: "weakest in the most ignorant – most powerful in the most intellectual. There is a tribe of aborigines in the south of Asia that

believe in the existence of one god called Pirman, but they have no religious worship. To avert evil they have recourse to sorcery. Their ideas of natural phenomena are grotesque and curious, so I will mention one or two instances. They believe the sky to be a great pot, suspended over the earth by a string. The earth round the edge is constantly sending up sprouts to join the sky and close it over, and this would take place if an old man did not cut and eat them. The sun is a woman, who is tied by a string, which her lord is always pulling. The moon is also a woman, married to Moyang Birtang, the maker of nooses for men. The stars are their children, which, being too bright and hot for mankind, the sun wishes to devour; but the moon hides them to prevent this. The sun, angry at being thwarted, now runs constantly after the moon, and bites her: the act of biting is an eclipse."

"What will become of these misguided people?" cried the Squire, fervently.

"Leaving this region of puerility and ignorance," continued our companion, unmoved, "we come to the Bhuddist of Burmah, a sect of northern origin, and of higher mental development. A Talapoin, on becoming a member of the holy society, aims at weakening within himself all the evil propensities, by the practice and observance of the sublimest precepts, so as to entitle himself to the state of Neiban, or rest. He hopes to imitate Gaudama by renouncing the pleasures and vanities of the world – by curbing his passions and instituting self-denial – so as to arrive at a state of complete indifference. They adore Bhudda, who gloriously emerged from the bottomless whirlpool of endless existences – who extinguished the passions, and illuminated the fathomless abyss of dark ignorance. They adore the law of the most excellent Bhudda – incom-

A PHRA.

parably profound, wiping off the stains of concupiscence. They adore the assembly of the perfect, who overcome all passions that torment other mortals, by eradicating the very root of concupiscence.

"Here, then, oh Squire, is the rule of contraries again at work, for in this country nowhere is immorality more general and rife, yet out of it emanates a religion whose aim is to conquer the besetting sins – the overwhelming weakness. 'Then,' continues the learned Bigandit – a Roman Catholic missionary, in his translation, originally derived from the ancient Pali – 'about four Thingees and a hundred thousand worlds ago, the most excellent Bhudda, who is infinitely wise and far superior to the three orders of beings – the Brahmas, the Nats, and men – received at the feet of the Phra Deinpakara the assurance that he would afterwards become himself a Phra. Having become a great prince under the name of Wethandra, he reached the acme of self abnegation and renouncement to all things of this world. After his death he migrated to Joocita, the fourth abode of the Nats. During his sojourn in that happy place, enjoying the fulness of pleasure allotted to the fortunate inhabitants of those blissful places, a sudden and uncommon rumour, accompanied with an extraordinary commotion, proclaimed the gladdening tidings that a Phra was soon to make his appearance in this world. On hearing that a Phra was soon to make his appearance amongst men, all the Nats, peaceful inhabitants of the fortunate abode of Joocita, assembled in all haste, and crowded around the Phraloang eagerly inquiring from him who was to be the fortunate Nat to whom was reserved the signal honour of obtaining the incomparable dignity of Phra of Kapilawat. 'Thither,' said he, 'shall I resort and become a Bhudda.' Having determined the place he was to select for his

terrestrial seat, Phraloang examined the race or caste from which he was to be born. He therefore fixed his choice upon the caste of princes, as the most becoming his high calling. As to the Princess,' said he 'who is to become my mother, she must be distinguished by a modest deportment and chaste manner. During the period of 100,000 worlds she must have lived in the practice of virtue. The great and glorious Princess MAIA is the only person in whom all these conditions are to be found. After a short sojourn in the delightful garden of Naudawon, he left the abode of Nats, descended into the seat of men, and incarnated in the womb of the glorious MAIA. Then it was predicted that after growing up he would become a mighty ruler, whose sway all the human race will acknowledge. A dream of MAIA received this interpretation. At the moment Phraloang entered into MAIA'S womb, a great commotion was felt throughout the four elements, and thirty-two wonders simultaneously appeared. A Light of incomparable brightness illuminated, suddenly, ten thousand worlds; the blind, desirous, as it were, to contemplate the glorious dignity of Phraloang, recovered their sight; the deaf perceived distinctly every sound, the dumb spoke with fluency, those whose bodies were bent stood up in an erect position, the lame walked with ease and swiftness, prisoners saw their fetters unloosed and found themselves restored to liberty, the fires of hell were extinguished, the ravenous cravings of the Preithas were satiated.' 1

"The early Jesuit missionaries, of the sixteenth century, found this religion established over the larger quarter of the world – a religion with its monastries, nunneries, its

LATITUDES OF DOCTRINE.

priests under the vow of celibacy, its incense, formularies, and dogmas, so complete a reproduction or assimilation of their own system, that comparisons being the more close, so, by the rule of contraries, were the more odious. Thus it happened that they betook themselves the more energetically to wipe out the parody of their holy mysteries from off the face of creation."

"The more like, the greater the dislike," said the Squire but how do you account for these anomalous parallels?"

"A question most difficult, and of which there may be many theories. The profound Hutcheson, a Presbyterian doctor of divinity, has ventured a solution – viz., in the universality of Christianity, bright in one region, dim in another, of various forms and diverse grades. If this be accepted, then may we look to the zones of the earth for elucidation, where we will find the original seats of Bhuddism and Christianity to be in the same parallel of latitude – the one in Thibet, the other in Judea."

"A curious phenomenon of the human mind!" exclaimed the Squire, with surprise depicted in his countenance.

"Most difficult of digestion by the contracted understanding; most easy to the mind opened to the conviction of the ever beneficent attributes of the Inconceivable – the Almighty Author of all nature, the Creator of man, the upholder of minds in all processes of growth, from the dim dawn of ideas to the refulgent meridian of matured understanding."

"You are fertile in reasons; but I was taught in a different school," said the Squire, pettishly.

"No school like the world," said our companion, "let only your frame of mind be equitable, and your spirit a Christian one. Consider that the great opponents of Christianity of the last century, such as Gibbon, Voltaire,

and Hume, based their convictions on only the dim and imperfect materials afforded by human history; to them had not yet been opened the discoveries of modern science; the illimitable phases and wonders of creation, as elucidated in chemistry, geology, and natural philosophy. On these subjects their minds were unmatured and puerile. Indeed, it may be taken as an axiom that the narrower the mind the more gross the convictions; the more enlightened the mind the more humane. Thus, it will be seen, that small, incipient, or oppressed religious sects cling to the doctrines of general condemnation of his creatures by an all-wise Providence!!! 2 These, when in the extreme, lead to the narrow antidote of the doctrine of pre-election – which saves the selfish, solitary sinner, and destroys the many virtuous.

"But," said our companion, suddenly, "I was nearly trespassing beyond my domain, and forgetting that I am only a philosopher – so insensibly does one subject graduate into another. Where does philosophy end, religion begin?"

1 "Like Maia's son he stood
And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled
The circuit wide." – MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.

2 "Wha sends ane to heaven and ten to hell – a' for Thy glory." – BURNS, IN SARCASM.

CHAPTER XXXV.

MYSTERY.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A WIDE PROSPECT. FASCINATION OF MYSTERY. LECTURE ON POLITICS. UNIVERSAL AND MANHOOD SUFFRAGE. SELF-PRESERVATION THE IMPULSE OF ALL. JUST RULE. OLD ENGLAND THE MODEL. THE MAORI. THE PARTING.

A VESSEL had at length arrived, so our companion's time of departure was at hand. We took our last stroll to the summit of the Bluff, and there sat scanning the expansive panorama,. To the north were the brilliant snowy mountains in the distance – so beautiful to behold – so glorious to contemplate. To the south rolled the turbulent Antarctic Ocean: beyond, who has penetrated? – who has revealed its mysteries? Mystery is attractive to mankind, because the path to it leads from the known to the unknown – i. e., from contrary to contrary. The opening of mystery is life – thus is the revealing of mystery over-poweringly absorbent of the faculties of mankind. What if all mysteries were open to man? – what would the pleasures of life then be?

The train of our companion's thoughts seems to have been in another direction, for he at length said to the Squire –

"I am nearly done with you. Our journey had a beginning, so will have its end – otherwise it never had been travelled. And now, before I part, let me say a

word or two of friendly, quiet counsel – and do not be angry if I be plain.

"Do you see Stirling's Point there?"

"Yes," said the Squire.

"And do you see a man gathering limpets on it?"

"Yes," said the Squire.

"And do you know, oh Squire, that Stirling's Point is the apex of creation – the extremest point of modern civilisation? – yet that man, insensible of the eminent position which he occupies engages himself in the stolid occupation of gathering shell-fish."

"He is, perhaps, not aware of his prominence in the geography of the earth," said the Squire, "and is, therefore in his usual frame of mind."

"Just so," said our companion, and were we not insensible of our travelling 24,000 miles in twenty-four hours, neither would our frame of mind be in its usual."

"True," said the Squire; "the earth revolves with that speed, and carries you and me with it."

"Then to the point," said our companion. "Your and my mind, in the universal balance, are no higher than that man's: weighed in that balance, we are equal – neither higher nor lower, greater nor smaller, better nor worse; we are equally insensible, equally stolid. Compared with the universe, a ton of one man's knowledge is no better than a grain of another man's; a ton of one man's greatness is no better than an ounce of another man's; a ton of one man's goodness no better than a pennyweight of another man's. On universal principles, then, one man is the equal of the other. But by comparison, how different! – that is, comparison one with the other: therefore it behoves us not to neglect our relative positions and qualifications; for humanity, after all, is not intended to be at a dead level. –

GLANCE AT NEW ZEALAND.

Squire, you are a single individual in a remote and sparsely-populated colony, and so you may have important spheres of duty cast upon you. With the liberal Constitution granted to your colony, a seat in the Assembly is open to you, and before ten years are over, many of your inferiors will sit there. Conceal it not, oh Squire – you are an aristocrat in tendency, though poverty be your portion. All the better for your popularity. The people will hoist up a poor man before they would a rich one, because of common sympathy: and more than that, they will honour him because he is a gentleman. The rule of contraries, Squire! It is the circulation between opposites that warms the heart and moves nature. Mark my words: use your gifts, and a fair field is before you. Let your energies and training be more drawn to your own advancement and less to the assistance of your friends, and your position will be better for this – more dignified, Squire.

"Now listen awhile. I have gone over a goodly country – this New Zealand – from Cape Maria Van Diemen to Stirling's Point; a fair portion of the great volcanic zone that stretches from south Victoria to Kamtchatka. A great nation you are bound to be; and to bear a tangible part in the building-up of such a nation in its early stage is certainly honourable. Your climate is good – the zone or latitude that of all great nations in the northern hemisphere. Otago, particularly, bears off the palm in this respect, as I see your average temperature is that of the south of England – the great British centre, the heart of our worldly influence."

The Squire yawned; and a woodhen having suddenly made its appearance at the side of the bush close by, he gave chase to it with all the speed with which his legs could carry him. Thus our companion and myself were

alone. I then suggested that, as a disinterested visitor to New Zealand, I would be glad to hear from him a general expression of his opinions on one or two main social and political topics, before we parted.

"Well," said he, "the peculiarities in your colony that struck me were its great length north and south, its separation longitudinally by impassable mountains, and transversly by a navigable strait. These features will tend to disjunction of interests in the beginning, close binding in the end. Ephemeral politicians will clamour for the former – your far-seeing patriots for the latter."

"Pardon me," said I, "for I have given little attention to sociology: will not the islands being separate tend to clashing of interests and estrangement of sympathy?"

He replied, "As an eminently maritime people, the navigable strait is your finest highway; besides, your interior is impassable, so that will be all the more necessary to your very existence. Your islands are nearly of the same size and will carry nearly equal populations; here, then, is nature's first requirement of life made to hand – two opposites. Again, your climates differ as much as England and Spain, so the products of the one will differ from the products of the other. Thus again your industries will be put in a state of polarity, between which there will be circulation often and intimate, creating a bond that will be difficult to sever, for the bond will be that of mutual benefit. Now, separate the two islands into two peoples and what will be the result? – separate tariffs, stoppage to interchange, mutual distrust, no circulation between opposites, deadness. You would be the creatures of foreign influences, who would set one against the other and so conquer all."

"But," said I, "is that to be imagined under the aegis of the British Empire?"

SELF-ABNEGATING PILOTS.

"You may imagine anything in this world," said he, "for existence is change; so fail not to put on your armour, you know not what events may come to pass. Mark this: unity is strength, separation weakness; so let not local or partial interests weigh against the all-important one of supporting the policy of a united New Zealand. Nature has separated you into many centres of communities, but the ocean highway, as steam navigation is developed, will hold you close together.

"Now, as to your system of government, the great law is true in its indications, and well it is for a people who have thoughtful, self-abnegating pilots at the helm of the state. I have fully shown you, in my conversations, that everything that exists has two opposite principles at work within it – one drawing against the other. In savage, or uncivilised communities, or tribes, might is right, so it holds the balance, and forces one principle to conform to the other. It makes the poor labour for no hire, is in the slave, and it extracts gold from the money-hoarder by violence and torture. In civilised countries, or nations, law is substituted, and out of which emanate the illimitable forms, functions, and contrivances for supporting the state machine and maintaining laws. One of the most important of these in constitutional governments is the franchise, a constant bone of contention between the opposite sections – viz., those men who hold property, and those who hold none – or those who have accumulated labour, and those who have current labour only. The natural habitat of constitutional governments is between the 40th and 60th degrees of latitude; they exist only exceptionally in other latitudes, and the relative vigour and education of the masses are most closely connected with the numerous graduations from absolute to popular systems. As New Zealand is in the proper zone of

popular government, the extension or contraction of the franchise is a matter of absorbing- interest. As interest governs all, and money or property are a subject of universal craving, the holders of property will tend to contract the franchise, and the non-holders will tend to extend it; and, between these two opposites, there will be constant circulation from one to the other, and to the other back again, as in every other thing that has existence. It is well when law is strong enough to adjust the balance – when wisdom is sufficient to restrain the strivers; otherwise revolution must take place.

"Circumstances and ever varying interest can alone adjust the fulcrum of these opposite forces, and this only for the time being, till other features arise – for change is life. The line! when – where, how, or, in what manner it is to be drawn – whom it is to include, and whom to exclude – who is to vote, and who is not to vote – must at all times be an arbitrary one, settled by the mutual concession of opposite interests. To all lines will be found objections; at £10 voters, £6 voters, manhood or universal suffrage, it matters not. Opposition is life, and to live is opposition! The poor men – that is, the possessors of nothing – clamour for universal and manhood suffrage; but what are these but arbitrary, and often unjust, demarcations? for their laws exclude the educated youth of 18, who may be a collegian trained in the statemanship of mighty Rome and the sciences of modern Europe; but include the loafer of 40 and the sot of 50. The rich men – that is, the men possessing accumulated labour, clamour for property qualification solely, and they haggle over the £10 and £6 votes. Yet they ignore all piety, virtue, and learning for these material considerations. There is no principle in extremes. Equitable concession between opposites affords alone the temporary and ever changing solution."

ENGLAND'S CONSTITUTION.

"But what is your opinion?" I asked.

Our companion replied that he necessarily had none, for to adopt the views of both principles was impossible; if of one, then his independence as a student of nature had ceased. "But," continued he, "the effects we may study, and to a certain extent anticipate. If he had partiality to any one system more than to another, it was to the glorious constitution of dear old England, which gives abundant liberty to the subject, but no license – full freedom to the person, under humane laws. What higher national aspirations could there be? As I said before, there are two opposite tendencies in all bodies politic – the tendency to overturn, and the tendency to conserve. Extremes in either are the prelude to dissolution. It is one of the aspirations of the patriotic that their nation should be long preserved; its shadow umbrageous; its influence far-extending. The growth, maturity, and decay of a nation may be quickened, and its end accelerated, by certain measures, and so may these be retarded by others. The poor crave for the dispersion of wealth: this longing is ministered to by expenditure on public works, wars, and other project – -other means of accelerated circulation. To carry on public works, debt is incurred; and thus the stores of the rich are advantageously made available to feed the poor – just as the sap of a tree's roots is drawn up into its branches to vivify the leaves, but to return, with interest and increased power, to the roots again. There is one power in all nature. This beneficent process goes on as long as there is vitality: after this, the national system must die out. The indications of the end are to be observed in the impoverished circulation – in the loss of sympathy between opposites.

"As your colony grows up from its present infancy, your

colonial ministers, your men in power, will control your opponent elements, i. e., put your sympathies in healthy circulation by lawful organization, and, I hope, carry you forward to a brilliant destiny. And let me remark that their virtue and honor will be your surest guarantee of common welfare to rich and poor, to capital and to labour. Sound judgment, disinterestedness and honesty are noble qualifications for the high trust. Gloria virtutem tanquam umbra sequitur. When these are awanting, which I can scarcely anticipate, then comes decadence – in a young country, temporary decadence; in an old country it is another nail in the coffin of state."

"Why so?" asked I.

"For this reason," said our companion, "in virtue alone is there faith to mankind. Doubtful virtue creates distrust. Saved up labour or capital can alone be supported by credit, the offshoot of virtue and undoubted reputation. Where these supports are awanting, capital leaks out, is lost, and evaporates or seeks other securities; with its departure the cravings of the poor have no helpful nurture. For instance, compare the condition of the poor in Morocco, Persia, Mexico, or of any other nations suffering from lax and unprincipled rulers, with the condition of the poor of Holland, Saxony, England, or of the Eastern States of America, which countries rejoice in the high honor of their statesmen, and you will see the force of my argument. Indeed," continued our companion, "there is great grasp in the sage Roman maxim – qualis rex talis grex. Right or wrong, a people are judged by the character of their rulers. If the rulers be just and high-principled, all nations respect them; if tainted, they become the laughing-stock of the world, and their rights are trampled on with impunity. As I have shown in my various discourses, I may shortly reiterate

HIGH PRINCIPLE.

that the Author of nature governs all things by an inscrutably just law. He guides all nature on one principle, whether it be the sun in its place, the planets in their courses, or the stars in their positions; the currents of the ocean and the winds of the atmosphere in their motion or circles; the geometrical bee in its cell, the mathematical spider on its web, or the feathered bird in the air, or the scaly fish in the water; all exist on and in, and through, or by His law. In the minutest form His creations are beautiful – in the mightiest scale His creations are bountiful. This same law extends to man. But, above all things, to man has been given reason. If he ignores this high principle, and knowingly departs from the law, retribution, sure and certain, awaits him or his people."

"To question your argument," said I, "would be senseless, and I have high hopes of New Zealand – my home – a country in which I can listen to the music of my own native Doric. Ah, the fascination of the quaint county dialect – it is overpowering! No," said I, "to, be statesmen is necessarily, even here, to be great men; constitutional statesmen are so narrowly watched during their long career, that the very name of littleness, or more venal characteristics, cannot attach to them."

"True of great countries," replied our companion; "not entirely true of young, half-fledged conventions – yet the effects are the same in all. Much depends on the people – on their vigorous perceptions and love of honor and truth. I have no fear you will vindicate your status here, for your climate will sustain your British genius. The virtues of your father-land may sustain an occasional blast, but to shoot forth with increased purity."

"Do you not fear the labouring clement?" said I.

"Our labouring men will be the landed proprietors – the most influential body politic."

"Not at all – not at all," said he. "Of all other classes, the labouring man loves honesty; his mind is slow, but his convictions firm. A proprietary of labouring men, under your limited franchise, is your best security. It is a noble feature in the English language that there is no such phrase as 'the dishonest labouring man.' No: he is called, par excellence, the honest labouring man. Look at the most popular of songs:

'What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden grey and a' that;
Gi'e fools their sack, and knaves their wine –
A man's a man for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show an' a' that,
An honest man, tho' ne'er sae poor,
Is chief o' men for a' that.'

The language is rough-spun. Observe that the whole force of the sentiment is in the poor man's love of honesty; and in this respect all humanity sympathises. No, sir, no; it cannot be that your statesmen and men in power, being dishonest, can ever long rule; and least of all may you in this respect fear the poor labouring man's support of that rule. Magna est Veritas, et prevalebit, I repeat again, is a great old Roman maxim: it has stood the test of ages. Look to history for examples, and see how honest virtue has triumphed, and crawling vice been abased. Look at the licentious career of Henry the Eighth. No one commenced a reign with higher hopes. He swayed a sceptre more absolute than any other European monarch; yet in him and through him that very kingly power had its foundations sapped. The virgin purity of our Elizabeth, it is true, for a time stemmed the decadence, and at the same time scat-

STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS.

tered to the winds and crushed the formidable foes of her people."

"Her purity?" asked I.

"Yes, her purity – most emphatically her purity," said our companion. "By the force of her transcendent example, the virtue of the nation was called forth to great deeds, which never had been done under a corrupt ruler. Indeed, her virtue and bravery cropped out while vice and weakness crawled in the dust. Look to the lesson given by Charles the Second, who, in the words of a thoughtful historian, was totally destitute of principle and honor as a man. Under his aegis how were the honor and interests of England sustained? Under the humiliating blow dealt by a limited but honest people, the Dutch, what happened? Why, they, taking advantage of the national prostration, actually blocked up the mouths of the Medway and Thames, thus, as it were, stopping up the magnificent lion's mouth with dirt. A tainted ruler taints the people. No; nature is always true to principle, whether it concerns the individual, the people, or the nation – a drop of water or the whole ocean. Virtue is power – falsity, weakness. Look we also to the high virtue of our most gracious Queen and her noble Consort, now living; do not we as a people reflect their prestige in the eyes of the world, and does not this mighty influence extend to all corners of the earth and crown us with their halo? It is as much the interest of the labouring man that your rulers be above suspicion – transcendently virtuous if possible – as it is that of the capitalist; for under just control and equitable experience alone can the balance be adjusted to sustain a healthy circulation – contraries between contraries. 'Tis by this means the pent-up stores of that beneficent magazine of life – capital – are let forth to sustain and feed the poor. Circulation – contraries between

contraries – is the life of a people, as is the case with all creation; and further than this, I hold that there is as much a unity of principle between labour and capital as there is between the sun and this earth. Destroy that principle and both are undone. Honesty, that high attribute of the working man, is his feeder: for to capital it is the preserver. Everything, to exist, must have two opposites. How often have I not proved this to be the condition of all nature?"

"I admit the force of your argument; it seems unanswerable. Now, the next question occurs: on what principle do you support the limited franchise?"

"On the following grounds," said he. "There are two forces at work in human society – a physical and an intelligent one; and one is nothing without the other: one would die without the other to live upon. The law of self-preservation, of itself, wonderfully adjusts the balance of these two forces – most practically, most scientifically. Thus, unskilled labour, say, is valued at 2s. 6d. a-day; skilled, at 5s. a-day; professional, at 20s. a-day; stored-up labour or capital, at five per cent, per annum – and so forth. It is the supply that fixes the ratios. There are many ratios – in various countries. In the tropics, extremes are greater than in temperate zones – unskilled labour running in the former at the rate of twopence per day; professional at five or ten guineas; capital at ten to forty per cent, per annum. But the principle is the same: each individual is valued at what his material or physical, current or stored-up, labour is worth. Thus, in Europe, a professional man's labour is valued at the rate of eight unskilled ones; in Bengal, at a hundred and more. No sentiment can alter this adjustment of the public: the demand creates the supply, and the supply adjusts the price. Thus inexorable

THE PROPERTY QUALIFICATION.

nature, or necessity, or the voice of the public – call it what you like – makes one human being equal to two in one case, five in another, twenty in another, and a hundred in another. In other words, intelligence is a power in human nature that has its importance, value, and ratio as compared with physical force. To ignore the one, and solely adopt the other, is therefore against nature. In all constitutional policy both must have their weight; and it is the function of the true statesman to adjust the balance of these forces equitably, that it droop neither way. Now it so happens that the unskilled – the possessors of physical force – preponderate in number; the educated – the holders of intellectual force – are the fewer: yet these sections of men are of equal value to the State – their interests equally important, and their functions equally necessary. To give the franchise, then, to numbers, would be equally as unjust as to give it to the few. Hence a line of mutual concession must be struck – and I know of no better solution than the property qualification; for, property being a universal craving of humanity, it is on this platform alone that all men can meet. Such is not the case with labour, power, learning, or religion. When this line is adjusted to the mark which places pure physical power at an equal weight with pure intellectual power, then, I say, the conditions of a healthy, long-lived nation are attained."

"Good," said I. "Then what of the vaunted American Republic?"

"There," said our companion, "is slavery of four millions of humanity to balance the manhood suffrage of the four million white voters. As long as the slave element is maintained – as was the case in democratic Greece – the Republic will live: abolish the slavery, and physical force, running rampant, will destroy intelligence and break the

Union of States in pieces. The Constitution in entirety will have an early end, and four great nations spring out of the debris."

"And Victoria and New South Wales – what of them?" said I.

"Their system of manhood suffrage," said he, "is pregnant with decay; for a commonwealth, to live, must deal equal justice to the opposite forces or powers in this earth. Unhealthy excitement may, in the early years, blind the people to the inset of decadence; but, in the long run, permanence of institutions can only be guaranteed by adhering to true principle. Great Britain alone, of all nations, has reaped the full glories of the labours of her honourable and prescient statesmen, supported as they have been by the general good sense and honesty of her people.

"Now," said I, "to another subject, I would ask your attention: What of the Natives of North Island? Is it our interest that they be preserved or not? To this query I would again reply – to consult your interest alone is not the function of a philosopher. As between black and white men, they are your opposites – so between you will be mutual craving of property. Put these opposite tendencies into healthy, equitable, lawful and generous circulation, and so help one another as human brethren in these islands of this world of His. They are entirely in your hands, so let the universal law of creation be your guide in dealing with these people, or you will be punished by an equal calamity. As the force of the blow, the. greater the rebound. That calamity, if not coming from a foreign source, will be by a source within yourselves, such as the canker of evil example on your rising generation. If a war of races must come, save your honor: the field will be a serviceable one in the training of your

THE FAREWELL.

young men to martial habits, hardihood and self-reliance. The best guarantee of peace is the preparation for war. Your rising generation of this portion of New Zealand will be more vigorous than those of the other Australian colonies. An outlet will be there, before they carry their arms to exuberant New Guinea and the populous islands of Asia and Polynesia."

"Ah, you dream of the future," said I.

The Squire at this moment returned from his wild-goose chase, so we all proceeded down to the shores of the harbor, where the ship's boat was ready waiting. There was evidently a desire on the part of our companion to loitre. The Squire would have listened to a most metaphysical lecture, so that our companion would tarry a while. But time and tide await no man, and we observed that the main topsail was aback, the anchor a-peak, so to tarry was impossible.

"Now," said our companion, "I may say my destination is Japan. I see there that the ports are to be opened and a new element let in. I love to observe changes in a nation, that I may study the science of their preservation. Then farewell: for from thence I return to Old England – God bless her. Here," said he, "as a souvenir of our memorable journeyings, is a diamond ring which I obtained at Serro de Frio, in Brazil; wear it for my sake, and ponder on THE GREAT PRINCIPLE."

"And," said I, "allow me to reciprocate your generous feelings by offering you a diamond ring of Matan, procured from Pangeran Yusof. You will find it of pure water."

"Ah," said he, "you, then, have been a traveller also, and a good judge of diamonds to boot." Then said he, turning to the Squire, "My horse and trappings I hope, oh Squire, you will accept from me as a small consideration for your patient support of my many discourses. You will

find him staunch in the saddle. I wish you a good journey back: and call on my friend with the three daughters on the way, and don't – – -."

Here our companion was interrupted by the Squire who, calling him aside, placed a large parcel in his hands, well wrapped up in brown paper. It was his whole stock of tobacco, which, being pressed so earnestly, could not be refused.

Our companion turned round, and I perceived one eye flicker with a tear and the other eye twinkle with a smile; then both seemed to flicker and twinkle with tears and smiles alternately. The Squire's present was a gift of his all – the intrinsic value small, the sacrifice great. Our companion dare not look at him again, as he warmly shook him by the hand, for the Squire's mite had equal value in his eyes with the diamond of Matan.

Turning to me, he bade farewell; and, stepping into the boat, he was borne off. We turned back to our tent – it was solitary.

FINIS.

MILLS, DICK & CO., PRINTERS, STAFFORD STREET, DUNEDIN, N. Z.

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