The late Sir Robert Stout, some years ago wrote for me an account of his first visit to Lake Taupo, by way of Napier, over the rather rough road that has now become a great motoring highway. It was in the year 1880, when Stout was practising law in Wellington. The “grand old man,” giving his impressions of that drive across the mountains to the heart of the island, said that he was bound to Taupo to attend a great Maori meeting over a land dispute, concerning the Rangipo block-Waiouru railway station is in that part of the back country-and he was counsel for one of the native factions, the Upper Wanganui tribe.

“Leaving Wellington in the steamer Tararua, which afterwards came to such a disastrous end,” he wrote, “we reached Hawke's Bay late in the forenoon, too late to catch the coach to Taupo. The coach then went as far as Tarawera the first day, and next morning at six o'clock continued its way to Taupo. I hired a buggy, with an old man-o'-war's man as driver, who had never been over the Taupo road before. We decided to travel all night to catch the coach at Tarawera. How we crossed and recrossed the Esk River about forty times in a day of sweltering sun, under a cloudless sky-

'Like the hanging cup of a big blue flower Was the topaz sky above'-how we stopped at Pohue, resting there about an hour or so, and how we reached the Upper Mahaka and crossed it in the dark, not knowing much about the stream, which has often proved treacherous and deadly to travellers-need not be detailed. We rested in the Mohaka accommodation house for a few hours, and then, in the dark, and over a road unknown to us, we made our way. The road was not smooth; part of it had recently been made out of the pumice and such soil as was there, but we went on, though slowly. We reached a point near the top of Turanga-kumu just as the sun rose. What a glorious view spread out before us! On our left there was a deep valley or gorge, whilst on the right, towards the north and east, peaks and ranges draped in places with mist, in other places with forest glories, met our gaze. The man-o'-war's man stopped our conveyance to take in the view. To show his appreciation, he said the view was the finest he had ever seen in his life, and was worth five pounds!”

Taupo township was a rough shop in those days. Mr. Stout-as he was then-found the place so crowded that he considered himself lucky in getting a place to sleep under the counter of a store.

The Weka and the Gunner.

The inquisitive and acquisitive habits of that hardy old bird of the wilds, the weka are the subject of many a bush tale. The “Maori hen” will make off with anything it finds in camp. Once, when the present writer was camped on the banks of the Mokau River, a weka got away with a half-bar of soap which had been left alongside the canoe. We found the much- page 42 pecked bar next morning, some distance away. I should have liked to have seen Mr. Weka's expression when he tried to make his supper out of it.

The late Mr. J. Orchiston, for many years Chief Engineer of the New Zealand Telegraph Services, once told me of his bush experiences when he was exploring a telephone line route in the south-west of Southland, to link up Preservation Inlet with the outside world. He had a small rifle, which enabled him to obtain some extra fare for his party, in the way of pigeons, ducks and weka, in the wild country beyond the

The Centre Of A Rich Dairying District In New Zealand.
(Photo, A. B. Harris.)
A view of the Stratford station yard, Taranaki, shewing express train at the platform.

Waiau River. One evening he was cleaning the rifle when the cook called out “Tea-oh!” and he left the weapon for a while, taken apart, on a log a few yards from the tents. When he returned in about ten minutes he was amazed to find that the breech parts of the rifle were missing. One of the men said he had seen a weka on the log during tea. Although all hands and the dogs searched diligently the weka got clean away with its booty; the missing parts were never found. The remarkable thing was that the wily bird thief came within half-a-dozen yards of six men and two dogs. “He gave us more trouble than he knew, that cunning old weka,” said Mr. Orchiston. “The rifle was no further use to me that trip.”

No Bad Debts.

Some curiously interesting pars touching New Zealand life a few decades back are to be picked up in the files of the “Waka Maori,” a newspaper-gazette for the Maori people, published in Wellington by the Government. In the seventies the “Waka” was printed in Maori and English in parallel columns. Here is an item of the issue of January, 1876, printed on the front page under the Royal Arms:

“Notices from Correspondents.—Mita K. Ngatipara, of Raglan, Auckland, has a canoe for sale. It is sixty-six feet in length and six feet wide. He says: ‘This is an exceedingly swift-pulling canoe. When paddled by experts in handling their paddles, no other canoe could come near it. If any man, or men, or hapu, or tribe, in any part of the island should be desirous of purchasing it, it will be sold for £200, but no credit will be given.'”

The Toheroa Beach.

Good luck to the Maoris, who are putting up a strong protest against the proposal to make the Ninety-Mile Beach, in the Far North, a racing ground for the motor speed maniacs. The speedsters’ idea is to make the long beach a great gathering place for the motor racers, and the hope is to have “thousands of cars” assembling there to watch the scorchers tear up the sands. The Maoris have very sound grounds for their objections to the notion. The beach is the principal place where the valuable toheroa bivalve is found, and the tinning of it has become an important industry in the North. The disturbance of the sand and the soaking in of the page 43 poisonous petrol will surely kill the toheroa, especially if the motorists use the place at low water, as they propose.

The Ninety-Mile Beach (by the way it is in reality not more than sixty miles) is a capital highway for visitors to the Furthest North, but the ordinary traffic is not great. The speedsters, whose ambition it is to rival the record of the late Sir Henry Segrave, are however, not concerned with scenery or anything but the mad joy of whizzing like a comet, regardless of all else. The Maoris have definite rights to the undisturbed possession of their fisheries and food preserves, and they will be perfectly justified in putting up a barrage on the beach, so far as the racers are concerned.

The Sacred White Bird.

Occasionally, in past years, bushmen and Maori bird-hunters have seen a white wood pigeon. This native bird we used to shoot, of course, until its decreasing numbers led to its protection by law; who could resist the temptation of potting the fat kukupa that made such a glorious roast or stew? But the rare white pigeon was a true rara avis. It was an albino, a freak, albeit a beautiful one. Little wonder that the Maoris regarded the albino as tapu.

Some of the old Maoris of the Taupo country have told me of the curious beliefs of old concerning such birds, folk-notions of the days when birds of all kinds, especially pigeon, tui and kaka parrot swarmed in all the forests. When

Transporting New Zealand's Produce.
A goods train steaming out of Palmerston North Station, North Island.

they went out spearing and snaring the birds—the best time was in May and June, when the pretty creatures of the forest were fat from feeding on ripe berries—they were careful not to harm a white-plumaged bird-it was a patupaiarehe, or fairy bird, and must not be touched.

There was a dread spirit of the mountains and the forests in the South Taupo country, and the name of this god of the wilderness was Te Ririo. The white birds were under his special protection. Should you kill one, the vengeance of Te Ririo would descend upon you. The atua would suddenly swoop down on you, stretch forth great hands like claws, and carry you off, if it were night; he would come for you, too, on a lowering cloudy day. It would go hard with you in the dreadful places to which the forest god haled you; if you returned to your friends you would be half-crazed, maybe you would die of fright.

That is if you were a Maori. If you were a pakeha, well, it was just a question whether vou might not be quite immune from the anger of the Maori gods; if you were a Maori, of course, you had to take what was coming to you. Nowadays this magic law of Te Ririo has been improved upon by the pakeha legislature, which has placed a strict tapu on all the birds of the Maori forests.

Understanding is the first great need in all human relations.—Ibsen.