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And so say all of us, although the Saint and the Little'un and O'Gaygun hold aloof from matrimony as yet. These Maori maidens are not to be thought of as savages. Far from it. They can read and they can write, in English as well as Maori. They can read the newspaper or the Bible to their less accomplished papas and mammas.

Marahemo, I may mention, is a hill about three miles back from the river. It is about one thousand feet high, I suppose, and lies behind our land. "Did ye ivver hear the loike av that, now?" roared O'Gaygun, boisterously. "Here's the bhoy for ye!

"Well done, Saint!" was the general exclamation; "that's a good excuse to get yourself off a job of humping over the rocks." The Saint flushed up, and proceeded argumentatively, "Look here! Wouldn't it be better to burn dead shells?" "F'what did shells is it, me dear?" asked O'Gaygun, in a wheedling tone. "Well, there's plenty on Marahemo, for instance."

We say, why should not we go in for it? So many acres of beet, a crushing mill, a few coppers and some tubs, and there you are! Wealth, my boy! Wealth! But O'Gaygun has misgivings. "This is not a whate-growin' counthry," he declares. It is far too rough and hilly. There are too many difficulties in the way. You can grow wheat to a certain extent, of course.

Within our shanty there are certain species which make themselves felt, smelt, or otherwise apparent to our annoyance, without taking into consideration the hosts that, as far as we are concerned, are innocuous. St. Patrick is reported to have driven all the snakes out of Ireland; and, according to O'Gaygun, he afterwards journeyed over here, and performed the same service in these islands.

The component parts of Miss Fairweather's immediate train may change from time to time; men may come and men may go, as it pleases her; but the gallant O'Gaygun, the devoted Dandy Jack, the obliging Old Colonial, and the fascinating Fiend are ever hovering around her, deferent, attentive, and adoring.

Neither of our two unmusical associates cared to be left out of the proposed excursion, so a drum was manufactured for Old Colonial, by stretching a sheepskin over the open ends of a cask; O'Gaygun was found incompetent to play on any other instrument but the ancient comb and piece of paper of his happy youth.

O'Gaygun says that he loves to "astthronomise" when lying comfortably in bed; but he adds, that, "a shower-bath is a quare place to sleep in." It will be surmised from this that our roof is leaky. All roofs are that, you know, in a greater or lesser degree, only ours in a greater, perhaps. Those shingles will come off. We are sure we put them on properly and securely.

It is well, then, that some should be preserved while that is possible. Old Colonial is a great hand at yarns. He loves to hear himself talk, and, in truth, he can tell a tale in first-class dramatic fashion. O'Gaygun and Dandy Jack are both given to the same thing a good deal. They run Old Colonial pretty close in all respects save one, and that is when he gets into a peculiarly Maori vein.

Old Colonial does not play, neither does O'Gaygun. They fiercely decline to add to what they term the beastly uproar. If we have a failing, it is to be found in an inability to hang together in our play, and an incapacity for comprehending the said fact.