Introduction
Maori-mask and God-stick
A small fire had been kindled, and over it hummed the billy, boiling for the last time in Maoriland.
Through the misty atmosphere the sun was sinking, powerless and glowing red: and night came.
A grand night!
Beautifully illuminated, grand clouds of smoke ascended from the burning primeval forest—a first mighty sign of the work of man, and the will of man, for the fire has to finish the work of the axe, and to consume the forest.