BACK TO ZELANIA.
“But let us, my children,” Oseba continued, “return to Zelania, Nature’s choicest, last, and most successful effort, and to where these principles apply. In her geographical situation, her configuration, her soil and climate, she offers man everything to toughen the fibre, to quicken the perception, and to strengthen the imagination.
“She has the climate, the fertility, the production, the picturesqueness of Greece, and all in greater variety.”
Oseba here led his audience into a most interesting inquiry regarding climatic influence in the development of a people. He said man was a part of, and strongly allied to, Nature, and that he could not escape the influence of his environment.
In interior tropical regions Nature puts a black skin and black hair on her people, and, as a joke, she usually flattens the nose. In vast interior and warm regions, the complexion are tawny, with black or tawny hair and oblique eyes, that shunt the direct rays of light.
“Then, too,” he says, “island or sea-shore people are lighter in color than those of the interior, and not only is the complexion of man, but his physical proportions, stature and temperament, modified by climatic conditions. In interior countries men gradually assume a type—they are lithe, and rather small of stature, and so alike that they seem cast in the same mould; while those living on islands along the water-front, or among the mountains, are more sturdy, they vary more in build, size and deftness, and they are mentally more inquisitive, venturesome, impetuous and brave.”
He said that by far the most sturdy, virile, impulsive and enterprising people on Oliffa inhabited the British Isles. Of course, the race had much to do with modern movements, but the earlier climatic conditions of the country produced the racial distinctions.
The Moa of Maoriland. The skeleton of this particular Moa stands about 12ft. high, and is a curious but substantial fact, but as the Moa, the dinornis—as the learned folks call it—permanently retired from New Zealand, possibly before the Maoris came, the plumage and plumpness are the works of the artistic naturalist.
“By the rule of Nature, then,” he continued, “Zelania, with the proper stock to begin with, in complexion, form, feature, temperament, and mental endowments, should produce the finest type of man and womanhood on the planet.”
He compared the Maoris with the aboriginals of interior Australia, and said both were modified by their environment.
Here Leo Bergin remarked that Mr. Oseba was certainly greatly taken and impressed by his “colonial” experience. However, it is not improbable that while travelling in New Zealand Mr. Oseba received sufficient courtesies to impress him deeply with the matchless hospitality of the people.
“But, enough,” says Leo Bergin, “my master is worthy of my whole attention,” and the notes run:—
“But let me return, my children, and pick up the theme of Zelania, for in her—with my tours over her romantic islands—I found balm for all my earlier disappointments.
“Zelania has certainly not worried her soul in life-producing efforts. In botany, she is not rich in species; in mammals she is more allied to South America, over six thousand miles distant, than to Australia, but twelve hundred miles, justifying my conviction that this paragon of beauty was an after-thought of the creative power.
“In mammals she has but a little rat—a poor little weakling that has not yet been tamed or learned to board with the people—and two little half-developed bats. Of reptiles, there are a few lazy lizards, but whether some ‘Patrick’ or ‘Denis’ had banished them, I could not say; but snakes, there are none.”
He said there were some land birds, but as there were no animals to “make them afraid,” the more indolent of them had lost their wings and their natural characteristics had changed.
The moa was probably—some time ago—a pretty respectable bird, but there being no danger from which to “flee” and no long flights to procure food, it cast off its wings and strutted about until its bones became as heavy as those of a reindeer, and it stretched up its head until it stood twelve feet high. But having no cares nor anxieties, no fears nor ambition, it failed to develop “grey matter,” so when the Maori came it “surrendered,” and, having taken off its flesh as well as its wings, it is now resting in the museums. Without the rod or the bun, there seems to be no effort, and without effort there seems to be little progress with any created thing.