e darkness. "Salutation!--salutation to
you all!--salutation!--salutation to you, my tribe!--family, I salute
you!--friends, I salute you!--friend, my pakeha friend, I salute you."
The high-handed daring imposture was successful: our feelings were
taken by storm. A cry expressive of affection and despair, such as was
not good to hear, came from the sister of the dead chief, a fine,
stately and really handsome woman of about five-and-twenty. She was
rushing, with both arms extended, into the dark, in the direction from
whence the voice came; but was instantly seized round the waist and
restrained by her brother by main force, till, moaning and fainting,
she lay still on the ground. At the same instant another female voice
was heard from a young girl, who was held by the wrists by two young
men, her brothers. "Is it you?--is it you?--_truly_ is it you?--_aue!
aue!_ they hold me, they restrain me: wonder not that I have not
followed you; they restrain me, they watch me; but I go to you. The sun
shall not rise, the sun shall not rise, _aue! aue!_" Here she fell
insensible on the rush floor, and with the sister was carried out. The
remaining women were all weeping and exclaiming, but were silenced by
the men, who were themselves nearly as much excited, though not so
clamorous. I, however, did notice two old men, who sat close to me,
were not in the slightest degree moved in any way, though they did not
seem at all incredulous, but quite the contrary.

The spirit spoke again. "Speak to me, the tribe!--speak to me, the
family!--speak to me, the pakeha!" The "pakeha," however, was not at
the moment inclined for conversation. The deep distress of the two
women, the evident belief of all around him of the presence of the
spirit, the "darkness visible," and the novelty of the scene, gave rise
to a state of feeling not favourable to the conversational powers.
Besides, I felt reluctant to give too much apparent credence to an
imposture, which at the very same time, by some strange impulse, I felt
half ready to give way to.

At last the brother spoke, and asked, "How is it with you?--is it well
with you in _that_ country?" The answer came--(the voice all through,
it is to be remembered, was not the voice of the _tohunga_, but a
strange melancholy sound, like the sound of the wind blowing into a
hollow vessel,)--"It is well with me: my place is a good place." The
brother spoke again--"Have you seen ----, and ----, and ----?" (I
forg