the
population. This young man had been a great friend of mine; and so, the
day before the event, I was sent to by his relations, and told that an
opportunity offered of conversing with my friend once more. I was not
much inclined to bear a part in such outrageous mummery, but curiosity
caused me to go. It is necessary to remark that this young chief was a
man in advance of his times and people in many respects. He was the
first of his tribe who could read and write; and, amongst other unusual
things for a native to do, he kept a register of deaths and births, and
a journal of any remarkable events which happened in the tribe. Now
this book was lost: no one could find it; although his friends had
searched unceasingly for it, as it contained many matters of interest,
and they wished to preserve it for his sake. I also wished to get it,
and had often inquired if it had been found, but had always been
answered in the negative.

The appointed time came, and at night we all met the priest in the
large house I have mentioned. Fires were lit, which gave an uncertain
flickering light, and the priest retired to the darkest corner. All was
expectation, and the silence was only broken by the sobbing of the
sister, and other female relations of the dead man: they seemed to be,
and indeed were, in an agony of excitement, agitation, and grief. This
state of things continued for a long time, and I began to feel in a way
surprising to myself, as if there was something real in the matter. The
heartbreaking sobs of the women, and the grave and solemn silence of
the men, convinced me, that to them at least, this was a serious
matter: I saw the brother of the dead man now and then silently wiping
the tears from his eyes. I wished I had not come, for I felt that any
unintentional symptom of incredulity on my part would shock and hurt
the feelings of my friends extremely; and yet, whilst feeling thus, I
felt myself more and more near to believing in the deception about to
be practised: the real grief, and also the general undoubting faith, in
all around me, had this effect.

We were all seated on the rush-strewn floor; about thirty persons. The
door was shut; the fire had burnt down, leaving nothing but glowing
charcoal, and the room was oppressively hot. The light was little
better than darkness; and the part of the room in which the _tohunga_
sat was now in perfect darkness. Suddenly, without the slightest
warning, a voice came out of th