Shed by those few whose lives were bound with
ours,                                                                                                                       Or wife's, or freedman's— (since we only know
In death what depth of root have Love's fair
flowers)—
When these have ceased to flow,

Oblivion quickly gathers round our lives:
The spade may strike some urn that tells of fame,
But of the struggle of that life survives
Naught save an empty name.

Our race is passed away. At dead of night
The Master called us; and we did His will,
Ye, who through widening avenues of light
Are gathering knowledge still,

Who, to the Past's accumulated wealth,
Add, day by day, fresh stores that inward roll,
The large experience that bringeth health
And wisdom to the soul,

Learn yet one thing. He who is wise above,
Leadeth in every age His children home;
And He, beholding, something found to love,
Even in Pagan Rome."

FROM THE BLACK ROCKS, ON FRIDAY.

?.

I AM an English clergyman, and the following
is a truthful record of a memorable passage in
my life.

I had been living for two years amongst the
tribe called Ngapuhis, the most powerful and
important tribe in the northern part of New
Zealand. I planted my own potatoes and
kumeras or sweet potatoes, caught my own
fish, and lived in a house built in great part by
myself, assisted by two natives: one called
Tinana, and the other Rewharewha: on a piece
of ground given to me by the latter, and called
Opipito. I was employed in teaching the
Maori or New Zealand children, and trying to
establish a little church: working meanwhile
with my own hands to obtain my own livelihood,
and learning from the rude, uncivilised, yet
hospitable natives, many of their ways and customs.
The chief of the tribe was an old man named
Mãnu, tall, well formed, old yet erect, grey-
haired and venerable. When dressed in his
long flowing robe of native manufacture, with
his "Houi" or native symbol of authority in his
hand, he looked

Every inch a King.

His son, named Monganui, took upon
himself the more active duties of the chieftainship.
Although he was too fond of "firewater,"
yet he was kind, hospitable, and friendly, and to
him I owe many obligations which I fear I can
never repay. One of them was the gift of two
young men, his slaves: a youth named Paihia,
a lad about seventeen years old: and a young
man named Waipuna, about twenty. These
two were of great assistance to me in my labours
on my piece of land, bringing in my firewood,
helping to cultivate the ground, and rowing and
managing my boat in my fishing excursions.

II.

In the month of August in the year 1859, in
the second week of the month, on a Friday, the
nineteenth morning, about the middle of the wet
season (in the northern part of New Zealand
we have in reality but two seasons in the year,
summer or the dry season, and winter or the wet
season), I wished for a change of diet, and
made up my mind to go out for a day's fishing.
Outside the harbour of the Bay of Islands, about
sixteen miles off, is one of the most noted capes in
New Zealand, called Cape Brett. This cape is
a well-known landmark to vessels entering the
port, and, as the whole breadth of the Pacific
washes up against its rocky sides, and rebounds
with a deep sullen roar, there is nearly always in
its neighbourhood a dangerous sea rolling;
while, to add to the difficulties of navigation,
there are several sunken rocks, some covered
at all times, and known only by the white
water around them; others bare at low tide,
and only covered at high water—these are
more clearly seen and avoided—whilst about
six miles out to sea, eastward from Cape
Brett, are two groups of rocks, always out of
water, though at high tide but a few feet
out; over these the sea breaks wildly, and,
except on very still days, they are dangerous for
small boats or canoes to approach. Hard by,
there is good fishing for a kind of codfish named
by the natives Wahpuka or Hahpuka, frequently
weighing fifty or sixty pounds each.

On this Friday morning, then, as soon as our
morning meal was over, I stated my wish to my
two boys, desiring them to get my boat ready,
and go with me to the Black Rocks. My boat
was sixteen feet over all. I had before gone
out alone, off Cape Brett, and had returned in
safety; so that, when the boys asked me if I
could spare them, as they were desirous of taking
up our potatoes—which they were afraid were
spoiling from the frequent rains we had had—I
started off alone.

At the end of two hours' pleasant sailing, I
arrived safely at the fishing-grounds. I lighted
my pipe, baited my lines, and waited patiently
for a bite, which soon came, and I took a fish of
about twenty pounds weight. I had been out
about three hours, and had caught five fish. The
day was beautifully sunny and warm, the breeze
had died away, and a soft easy swell was all
that disturbed the surface of the ocean. I was
rebaiting my hook after catching my last fish,
when I felt a breath of air fan my cheeks, and,
looking up, saw a little ripple curling and crisping
the waters. A land breeze was setting in.
In great haste, and much apprehension, I rolled
up my lines, hoisted my sails, and attempted
to regain the place I had left in the morning.
Meanwhile, the breeze freshened, the tide was
ebbing, and a strong current set me more and
more rapidly from the Black Rocks and the land.
To add to my perplexity, the gaff of my mainsail
gave way, and the sail came down. This took
several minutes to repair, and all this time I
was being gradually drifted farther out to sea.
Feeling that I could not manage the boat s
ingle-handed against wind, tide, and current,
I hauled down both sails, and, putting out my
small paddles, attempted to row back. After