spirits; I have two confidential slaves, who shall conduct you over, and carry your luggage, if you will make me a present of a stocking full of powder, a bag of small shot, and a powder-horn.”  He also proposed, as he himself was going to the Kirikiri, and thence to a village in the interior, to meet a large assemblage of chiefs, in order to talk over the late tragical events, that I should journey the first part of my way with him, in his own canoe.

Accordingly, after having made preparations for my departure, I took leave of all my friends at the Bay of Islands, both civilised and savage.  I must say I felt considerable regret when I found myself really going to take final leave of several native families, with whom I had been on terms of intimacy since my residence here, from whom I had received many proofs of personal regard, and whom, I felt convinced, I should never meet or hear of more; none I regretted parting with more than the family of poor Shulitea; the mere sight of me seemed to rekindle all their grief for the loss of their kinsman, and to remind them more forcibly than ever of his tragical fate.  His mother, old Turero, in point of grief, had rivalled Niobe; she had never ceased weeping and lamenting from the time she heard of her son’s death, and had twice attempted to strangle herself.  But even in the midst of her passionate sorrow, I could scarcely refrain from laughing, while observing her care and anxiety to get all she could from me.  After deploring the sad fate of her dear son, “You know,” she continued, “you promised him that you would send him a handsome new musket from Sydney; and now, poor fellow, he is dead; and cannot shoot with it; but then you must remember that his brother Kiney Kiney is still alive, and he can shoot with it; and poor George would wish that his brother should have his new musket.”  This speech I felt quite irresistible; therefore, in order to comfort the old queen, I promised that I would send the musket for her second son; which declaration seemed to afford her great consolation, and considerably abated the violence of her grief.

Just at the dawn of morning we started from the bay in Rivers’ canoe, accompanied by his wife, one child, and the two stout slaves he had mentioned to me.  My luggage, which consisted of one leathern portmanteau and my bed, was placed in the centre.  I had also provided myself with a small basket of cooked meat, with bread, and a small bottle of brandy, which was given me by the captain of one of the whalers.  The day broke around us with more than usual brightness; the dewy mists of night were just rising from the waters, and the huge and abrupt forms of the mountains were beginning to develop themselves; flights of wild ducks and stray birds skimmed rapidly by us.  The thoughts that crowded my mind were strange and varied, while contemplating scenes of such tranquil beauty as were now presented, glowing with the tints of the rising sun.  I contrasted these with the