Still, here and there in this new land, we have contrived to invest some special spot with a kind of infant spirit or baby romance of its own. Here and there our short history has left a landmark, or Maori tradition a monument. Already we are beginning to value these things; already we are conscious of the added interest they give to our scenery. But to our children's children, and to their descendants, some of these places will speak with more vivid earnestness. They will appreciate the stories that as yet are so new, and will take a rare and lively pleasure in the scenery enriched by the tale of their pioneer ancestors, or by legends of the native race that then will be extinct.
New Zealand has even now what may be termed its "classic ground," as will be found in another chapter. But there exists a great deal of Maori tradition connected with various spots, and some of us do the best we can to preserve the tales that adorn certain localities. Some of the legends are mythological. Of such sort is that which gives such vivid interest to lonely Cape Reinga; the place where the spirits of dead Maori take their plunge into the sea, on their way from earth to the next world. Such, too, is the dragon legend, the tale of the Taniwha, which graces the volcanic country in the interior.
Besides these are the numerous stories of a more historical sort, incidents of love and war, which hang around the places where they happened. A country like this, so rich in natural beauties, so filled with the glories and magnificences of the Creator's hand, is surely—
"Meet nurse for a poetic child."
It is not surprising, then, that we find the Maori character actively alive to such impressions. The oldest men absolutely revel in the abundance of the tales, both prose and poetry, that they are able to relate about the scenes around them. But Young Maori is more civilized, and does not trouble his head so much with these old narratives. It is well, then, that some should be preserved while that is possible.
Old Colonial is a great hand at yarns. He loves to hear himself talk, and, in truth, he can tell a tale in first-class dramatic fashion. O'Gaygun and Dandy Jack are both given to the same thing a good deal. They run Old Colonial pretty close in all respects save one, and that is when he gets into a peculiarly Maori vein. There they cannot follow him, for neither has achieved his command over the intricacies of Maori rhetoric, nor has that intimate experience of the natives, which enables Old Colonial to enter so thoroughly into the spirit and character of their narrations.
As I know that Old Colonial's hands are more accustomed to the axe than to the pen, and that he will never take the trouble to give his wonderful collection of anecdotes to a larger audience than his voice can reach, I have made notes of his narratives, and some day, perhaps, shall put them in print. In the meantime, I may as well mention, that, it was from his lips that I heard the tale of our show-place.
One day, some lime was wanted on the farm for some purpose or other, and it became a question as to how we had better get it. The usual method employed in the neighbourhood was to utilize oysters for this purpose. A rude kiln would be constructed in the bank, where it sloped down to the river-beach. In this would be placed alternate layers of dead wood and of living oysters, with a proper vent. The burn usually resulted in a fair supply of good shell-lime, than which there can be no better.
But on this occasion we wanted a tolerably large quantity of lime, so that there were objections to the plan I have just detailed. For though oysters abounded on our beach, and covered the rocks that low-tide laid bare, yet, when a good many tons of them were wanted, all of which must be gathered with a handshovel and carried on men's backs to the kiln, it became evident that a considerable amount of labour must be undergone before our ultimate object could be attained.
Now, one of the first and chiefest considerations of the pioneer-farmer is always how he may most closely economize time and labour. It is particularly necessary for him, because of the scarcity of the latter commodity, and the consequent pressure upon the first. It is usually a strictly personal question.