mountains high, coming along in three great waves at a time, and where dwelt the monster, the Maraki-hau. Now, the Maraki-hau is a well-known figure depicted on ancient Maori carvings, and the origin of which has much exercised our Ethnologists; it has the body and face of a man, but the lower half is a fish's body and tail,—in fact, it is just like a mer-man. But it has in addition, two long tusks coming out of its mouth which the Maoris call ngongo, (or tubes); these are as long as from the mouth to the waist of the figure. To my mind this is the Maori representation of the walrus, or sea-elephant, which they could see only in high latitudes. The old man who questioned me on the subject, clearly had it in his mind that the Maraki-hau dwelt in that mysterious part of the world from whence their ancestors came to New Zealand. It would seem that this confirms the Rarotongan story.
The Tongans have also some tradition of the ice-covered ocean, which they call Tai-fatu, which means the thick, fat-like or congealed ocean, and to which some of their ancestors had been in long ages ago. This I learn from the Rev. J. E. Moulton, the best living authority on Tongan traditions.
Who, after this, will deny to the Polynesians the honour that is their due as skilful and daring navigators? Here we find them boldly pushing out into the great unknown ocean in their frail canoes, actuated by the same love of adventure and discovery that characterises our own race. Long before our ancestors had learnt to venture out of sight of land, these bold sailors had explored the Antarctic seas, and traversed the Pacific Ocean from end to end. Considering the means at their command—their lightly-built canoes (sewn together with sinnet), the difficulty of provisioning the crew, the absence of any instruments to guide them—I feel justified in claiming for these bold
