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 bright-eyed faces waiting beside the surf carried one’s fancy clean back to the days of Captain Cook; and nothing, at a little distance, was easier than to imagine ourselves the original pakeha explorers of this shore. But the moment we landed, yesterday took to its heels, and pale fancy proved nothing of a rival to robust reality—robust, and lively!

Tall, well-built men (the Maori of this district is among the finest of his race), all in European dress: women in loose, fluttering garments of indigo, pink, or white, with the blue tattoo (is it not really rather becoming?) beneath the lower lip, a silk handkerchief over the rich, rippling hair, and rosy bloom beneath the golden-brown of their cheeks: young girls, lads, children of all ages:—the whole crowd dashed at once upon their visitors with the loudest and friendliest of welcomes. Cries of the all-embracing Tenakoutou (Here you all are!), of the discriminating Tenakoe (Here thou art!), came musically from every mouth, and there was much enthusiastic shaking of hands. The captain, it was instantly evident, was a popular and universally trusted visitor, and everybody who was anybody began at once to pour into his ear (poor man, he needed dozens, and large at that!) tidings of some unexampled need for huka, hopi, and paraoa (melodious Maorifications of sugar, soap, and flour), or inquiries as to some private consignment, such as a pipe, a walking-stick, or a hat with flowers in it; while the rest, biding their time, occupied themselves meanwhile in talk and laughter with the boat’s crew, vociferous comments upon the goods already landed, and a minute examination of each package.