of this redoubted ruffian. Indeed his antecedents had been
such as might have almost been their excuse.

He had killed several men in fair fight, and had also--as was well
known--committed two most diabolical murders; one of which was on his
own wife, a fine young woman, whose brains he blew out at half a
second's notice for no further provocation than this:--he was sitting
in the verandah of his house, and told her to bring him a light for his
pipe. She, being occupied in domestic affairs, said, "Can't you fetch
it yourself? I am going for water." She had the calibash in her hand
and their infant child on her back. He snatched up his gun and
instantly shot her dead on the spot; and I had heard him afterwards
describing quite coolly the comical way in which her brains had been
knocked out by the shot with which the gun was loaded. He also had, for
some trifling provocation, lopped off the arm of his own brother, or
cousin, I forget which; and was, altogether, from his tremendous bodily
strength and utter insensibility to danger, about as "ugly a customer"
as one would care to meet.

I am now describing a regular Maori ruffian of the good old times; the
natural growth of a state of society wherein might was to a very great
extent right, and where bodily strength and courage were almost the
sole qualities for which a man was respected or valued. He was a
bullet-headed, scowling, bow-legged, broad-shouldered, herculean
savage, and all these qualifications combined made him unquestionably
"a great _rangatira_;" and, as he had never been defeated, his _mana_
was in full force.

A few weeks after the affair of the blankets, as I was sitting all
alone reading a Sydney newspaper (which, being only a year old, was
highly interesting), my friends and all my natives having gone on an
expedition to haul a large fishing-net, whom should I see enter the
room and squat down on the floor, as if taking permanent possession,
but the amiable and highly interesting individual I have taken so much
trouble to describe. He said nothing, but his posture and countenance
spoke whole volumes of defiance and murderous intent. He had heard of
the threats I had made against him, and there he was; let me turn him
out if I dare. That was his meaning,--there was no mistaking it.

I have all my life been an admirer of the _suaviter in modo_; though it
is quite out of place in New Zealand. If you tell a man--a Maori I
mean--in a gentle tone of voice