cared for." "Yes, quite true, but then, we often think, we have no future as a people; we do not think that is the Pakeha's (white man) fault; before you came we knew little; we have all sorts of things now, but it is to you the future of the land belongs; we have no future; often it makes us very sad to think of this. We can only talk of the old days, when our ancestors were great men."
I was much struck by this, for this is, in fact, the exact case of this clever, intellectual people, so apparently powerful in physique, and so quick to learn. Like all savages, they appear to be degenerates, their traditions pointing to a golden age in the far past; they lack the power of recovery; it is very remarkable how a Maori, in middle age, whatever his early manhood has been, seems able to die, gives up, and cannot persevere; literally, in some cases, dying without any adequate reason for death. Yet they are such likeable, fine, honest, chivalrous fellows. Changing the conversation, I said I had remarked in their Social Hall a curious carved and painted figure, about three feet high, of an old Maori warrior, club in hand, with eyes inlaid with white oyster shell, standing at one end of the hall, on a revolving circle of wood, on the floor; what was it for? "Well, you see, often at night we have a debate; all sitting on the floor against the walls, except those who speak; they rise up to speak, walking up and own in the centre of the room. One Maori sits behind that figure, and as the speaker moves about, he turns it, so as always to face him." "Yes, but why?" "That figure, he what you call Chairman; he one of our old ancestors; he always look at speaker, to make him remember to speak well, not foolish, to speak as if his ancestor heard him,"
