ay to tell a story, than a native
minister knows how to "come" a war dance. I declare the mention of the
war dance calls up a host of reminiscences, pleasurable and painful,
exhilarating and depressing, in such a way as no one but a few, a very
few, pakeha Maori can understand. Thunder!--but no; let me get ashore;
how can I dance on the water, or before I ever knew how? On shore I
will get this time, I am determined, in spite of fate--so now for it.

The boat of my friend Mr. ---- being about to return to the shore,
leaving the chief and Mr. ---- on board, and I seeing the thing had to
be done, plucked up courage, and having secretly felt the priming of my
pistols under my coat, got into the boat.

I must here correct myself. I have said "plucked up courage," but that
is not exactly my meaning. The fact is, kind reader, if you have
followed me thus far, you are about to be rewarded for your
perseverance, I am determined to make you as wise as I am myself on at
least one important subject, and that is not saying a little, let me
inform you, as I can hardly suppose you have made the discovery for
yourself on so short an acquaintance. Falstaff, who was a very clever
fellow, and whose word cannot be doubted, says, "The better part of
valour is discretion." Now, that being the case, what in the name of
Achilles,--(he was a rank coward, though, for he went about knocking
people on the head, being himself next thing to invulnerable, as he
could not be hurt till he turned his back to the enemy. There is a deep
moral in this same story about Achilles, which, perhaps, by-and-by, I
may explain to you)--what, I say again, in the name of everything
valorous, can the worser part of valour be, if "discretion" be the
better? The fact is, my dear sir, I don't believe in courage at all,
nor ever did: but there is something far better, which has carried me
through many serious scrapes with _eclat_ and safety; I mean the
appearance of courage. If you have this, you may drive the world before
you. As for real courage, I do not believe there can be any such thing.
A man who sees himself in danger of being killed by his enemy and is
not in a precious fright, is simply not courageous but mad. The man who
is not frightened because he cannot see the danger, is a person of weak
mind--a fool--who ought to be locked up lest he walk into a well with
eyes open; but the appearance of courage--or rather, as I deny the
existence of the thing itself, th