st had not been
touched. Its population was small and had been greatly reduced by
Rauparaha, but the readiness of the people was great, if we may judge
from one of the most pathetic passages from the old Maori days. The
events relate to a time a little later than that of those already
described, but they must look back to the early days of Hadfield's
residence at Kapiti. The speaker is an old chief who died in the
Wairarapa district between Eketahuna and Pahiatua in 1850. The old man
thus described to his sons his search for the new light of which he had
heard:

"You well know that I have from time to time brought you much riches. I
used to bring you muskets, hatchets, and blankets, but I afterwards
heard of the new riches called Faith. I sought it; I went to Manawatu, a
long and dangerous journey, for we were surrounded by enemies. I saw
some natives who had heard of it, but they could not satisfy me. I
sought further, but in vain. I then heard of a white man, called
Hadfield, at Kapiti, and that with him was the spring where I could fill
my empty and dry calabash. I travelled to his place; but he was
gone--gone away ill. I returned to you, my children, dark-minded. Many
days passed by. The snows fell, they melted, they disappeared; the
tree-buds expanded; the paths of the forest were again passable to the
foot of the Maori. We heard of another white man who was going over
mountains, through forests and swamps, giving drink from his calabash to
the poor secluded natives, to the remnants of the tribes of the mighty,
of the renowned of former days, now dwelling by twos and threes among
the roots of the trees of ancient forests, and among the high reeds of
the brooks in the valleys. Yes, my grandchildren; your ancestors once
spread over the country, as did the quail and the kiwi, but now their
descendants are as the descendants of those birds, scarce, gone, dead.
Yes; we heard of that white man: we heard of his going over the snowy
mountains to Patea, up the East Coast, all over the rocks to Turakirae.
I sent four of my children to Mataikona to meet him. They saw his face;
you talked with him. You brought me a drop of water from his calabash.
You told me he would come to this far-off spot to see me. I rejoiced; I
disbelieved his coming; but I said, 'He may.' I built the chapel; we
waited, expecting. You slept at nights; I did not. He came; he came
forth from the long forests; he stood upon Te Hawera ground. I saw him;
I