CHAPTER XIV: LAST IMPRESSIONS: 1874.
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CHAPTER XIV.
THE clouds had lifted. The war, which had smouldered sullenly since 1862, was at last ended. All the troops had left the country, never to return. The deep depression in trade, consequent on the long struggle, was relieved by the discovery of a gold-field thirty miles from Auckland. A railroad was just begun from Auckland towards the Waikato. Instead of having no place to worship in but the Court-house, as in the early days, churches and chapels abounded. The fern had given place to grass, post and rail fences to hawthorn hedges, which give a pleasant, home-like look to the neighbourhood.
We saw much to fill our hearts with thankfulness before we bade farewell to the land and people whom we had loved so well.
A week or two before we sailed we had a gay wedding at the Cathedral Library, when the daughter of the Rev. Philemon Te Karari and Harriet Hobson, whose marriage at St. John's College has been described, was married to a Maori
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layman of good position. The bride wore white poplin, and had a white veil, and orange flowers, and a bouquet, in approved young New Zealand style, and had her half-dozen bridesmaids, English and Maori, all dressed in white. The tall, good-looking bridegroom had his best man, and had ordered three carriages to drive the happy pair and their friends down to the wharf, where they embarked by steamer for their house at the Thames.
The old order changes, and gives place to new. We had seen three generations of the bride's family: her old tattooed grandfather, who, receiving the light in middle life, had walked in it faithfully to the end; his gentle, pretty daughter, who was trained at St. Stephen's, and married to one of the first native clergy--a good wife and mother -- and now our young orphan Catherine, her daughter, brought up from childhood under Christian influences, and in an English home--a well-educated girl. She inherited her father's gift for music, and could sing "Ah! che la morte," and "He shall feed his flock," and many another song with great pathos and sweetness.
Sixteen of the native clergy came up to Auckland to wish their beloved friend and teacher farewell before we sailed. Some had entered into rest. Sunny-faced Rota, and dear Levi te Ahu, who, when he lay a-dying, said to his wife on the Sunday afternoon: "Do not stay with me, go to the small
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congregation to pray; I am going to the great congregation above." 1 Philemon Te Karari was also dead. He was drowned by the upsetting of a canoe when visiting his people.
But we had a goodly gathering. Heta from the Waikato. He remained at his post all through the war, like a good shepherd watching over and ministering to the scattered remnant of his flock. His sweet, good face, and honest, simple manner, made him a great favourite among the English. Even the old General, who was naturally suspicious as to the intentions of the native people, sent for Heta to his tent, examined him through an interpreter, and dismissed him with the words: "He is an honest man, let him remain at his post." Philip Pataki came from the North, a favourite pupil of Bishop Selwyn's, and of the Judge's. They were both struck with his likeness to the old busts of Socrates. He had found the true wisdom after
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which the Greek sought. And gentle Renata, who has the heart of an English parish priest, came; and others not less hopeful, though more recently ordained. One of these, a beautiful-looking young man named William Pomare, had been ordained deacon the previous autumn at St. Paul's Church, when George Sarawia, the first Melanesian clergyman, was ordained priest. There was a large luncheon party afterwards at our house--native and English clergy, Melanesians, Maori girls, &c. William Pomare, when there was a lull in the conversation, which was being carried on in three languages, looked up the table to his host, and calling him by the shortened title of affection, said in Maori: "E Tenga, it is the Gospel that has done this, is it not? But for the Gospel we should be hating and despising each other."
A loving address was drawn up and presented to Sir William by the native clergy and laity before we sailed. It expressed their deep regret at his departure, and their gratitude for all his work through many years for their temporal and spiritual good; but they quite recognised it was just and right that the old man should go back to his own land to die among his own people. They had been sorely grieved at their first Bishop's departure, and in their farewell address to him said that the Queen, their mother, was acting too much like the rich man in
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Nathan's parable; she must have many in England to select from, why should she take their one treasure from them? On Sunday, April 13th, our Maori brethren received Holy Communion with us from the Bishop's hands, and the next day accompanied us to the ship.
