REVIEW.*

New Zealand Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 4267, 23 November 1874, Page 3

REVIEW.*

Carlylein "Sartor Re-sartus" disserts learnedly on the great national virtue of the* rag-heap. His meaning is, no dqubtj'that. the "great ultimate reservoir and conservatory of the mental force of a people is its literature. We have no hesitation in recording our own-conviction that not much ultimate good • can come, of a, society of men whose intellectual energies ; do not or can not enshrine themselves in the enduring forms of national literature. Just as little hope can, we think, be entertained of the future advance along the paths of progress of any young society which displays no mental activity apart from that which owes its stimulus to the pure love of aain. This feeling, deeply set in the hearts of all men, and good in its own sphere, is most corrupting and debasing ,when it engrosses the entire field of human nature and energy. .The only alternative to: literature as an antiseptic against the corrupting power of too exclusive devotion, to the, god .of gain is war. Among a people of coarse fibre and sensual nature war, no doubt, has often in history done good service, by;stirring up their blood that otherwise, might stagnate and rot through indulgence. If this test be a true one, as in the main we have no doubt it is is, ; there is good hope and promise of this, our young island home of New Zealand, yet becoming the seat of empire and the mighty-mother of men. Young as she is how full and fair is the early promise she is giving in the graceful early buds and blossoms of literary life ! Already she displays a list that older lands might envy, of wellknown and favored names in literature. There is Judge Manning's inimitable "Pakeha Maori," with its shrewd and keen observation, and its fine humor. There is Mr. Domett's fine poem of Ranolf and Arnohea, with the deep tones of its philosophic melody and its lighter harmony of tenderness; there is that aptist pupil that has ever yet been nurtured, of Swift, the mighty master of irony, the author of " Erewhon," with his terrible fire-tipped tongue, and his withering scowl of scorn ; there is Mr. Carlton's recent graceful "Life of Bishop Williams," and now we have before us the book of our old townsman Mr. George Wilson, not unworthy to take a place in the honored catalogue. " Ena; or the Ancient Maori" is a praiseworthy and we think fairly successful attempt to exhibit in the form of a connected story, with dramatic incidents and actors, a picture of the life of the Maoris as it was of yore—how they lived and loved, how they suffered and fought, how tribe or hapu made alliance or war with tribe, and how the bloody circle kept on expanding till it exterminated hapus and tribes alike. The chief scene of the action is the part of the West Coast opposite the Island of Kapiti, where was the Wairauki pa, the stronghold of the native tribe of the Mauopoko. The main interest is made to gather round the fortunes of this tribe, aided by the active alliance of their friends on the island opposite, and assailed and finally exterminated. as a tribe by the hostile inland tribe of the Ngatiraukawa, aided by their powerful and warlike friends, the Waikatos. As the action proceeds, a very good notion is obtained of the virtues and the vices of the old Maori life ; for virtues it had as well as vices, though these were savage virtues. The attacks and the defence, the sorties from the beleaguered pas, the ambushes and stratagems, the courage and hardy skill of Maori warfare, are well and truthfully pictured. The story itself is very simple; and the leading actors few. Mary Morven, the daughter of the master of an American ship, which is wrecked on a reef off the Wairauki pa, is rescued from a watery grave, and kindly received into the shelter of the Mauopoko stronghold. Here she becomes the object of the tender regard of young Raukawa, the son of the chief of the tribe, and contracts a close friendship with Ena, his beautiful and heroic sister, who is the ' affianced lover of Te Koturu, the young chief of their allies on Kapiti. The mutual regards of the young chief of the Mauopoko and thej pakeha maiden having become developed, excite the jealousy of Hinema, a half-caste girl,: an inmate of the pa, who loves Raukawa.! This half-caste girl' when, on making a] confession of her , passion to its object, she finds herself supplanted by the stranger, begins to contrive vengeance. One day, when Ena, Mary, and herself, attended by the slaves, are in , the bush, Bhe vents'her. vindictive jealousy, through the agency of Horo, her till now unrequited lover, by betraying the whole party to their enemies, the Ngatiraukawa, who cany off the captives to the district of Lake Taupo. The hopeless bereavement of the loss of his daughter causes the death of the old chief Te Rangitukaroa, which is graphically described. The . captives are finally rescued from Pukawa pa at Lake Taupo by their lovers, the young chiefs Raukawa and Te Kotoru, but only to find on their return the home of the tribe abandoned, and the remnant of thei people taking refuge on Kapiti, where they are soon assailed by their persevering foes. Raukawa and Te Kotoru are there both killed in defence of the island. Mary Morven droops and dies, and Ena hangs herself in despair. Round this somewhat meagre story are grouped much excellent and graphic narrative of incident, description of scenery and portrayal of; savage character. Mr. Wilson has the eye and temperament of a poet, and in the presence of nature his enthusiasm fairly at times, carries him away. This, though sometimes an advantage, is not, always so, and we shall have, before we conclude our notice, to give Mr. Wilson a hint or two on this head. The author Beems to feel that description is his Btrong point; and, indeed, to some extent it has rather overlaid and encumbered the movement of the story. The. heroine of the tale is Ena, the beautiful daughter of the chief of the Mauopoko. Here is a sketch of her as she is in tranquility and before the heroic fire was kindled:— Her person was tall, graceful, and fully developed; her dress, a snow-white • flax mantle bordered with black, and fastened on her breast with a curiously carved bono pin; the border was further adorned with diamond-shaped figures, in white and red colors, in correct and appropriate' divisions. Her feet were hare, long and tapering toes, uniting classic Interest with faultless proportion and symmetry. Her features were cast in tho severest style of Maori beauty; melancholy was the leading expression of her face, but it was quite unlike tho Europoan trait understood by the same name. Hers was tho index to an implicit trusting of the real part of human love to the care and keeping of a dearly prized object. Unalterable devotion reposed in tho eyes of the queenly maiden, and over her finely cut lip curled the fragrant incense of her heroic soul. In the tresses of her raven hair she wore a feather of the huia ; and from her nock, suspended by a narrow band, a largo and exquisftoly carved greenstono hetlki rested on her bosom. 4 How Ena appeared when her heroic soul was roused may be read, well described, at pages 69 to 72, where, in the absence of the leaders of the tribe, she takes the command of the defence of the pa against an attack of the hostile tribe. These pages are a good specimen of the author's power in description of another sort, and convey a good idea of the Maori tactics on such occasions. We said Mr. Wilson had the temperament of a poet, andthiß appears to very great advantage indeed in the beautiful and graceful little bits of translation of Maori song to which here and there through the volume we are treated. Here is a 'charming little morse], in which the Maori women chant the tangi over the dead body of Mary Morven's lover after the shipwreck : All thy sorrows, gentle maiden, All thy griefs so dark and drear, ; / C'lainvour pity ; thou art laden ■\VitlV death's cold and gloomy fear. ; Tears are falling, Siritcs arc calling, Calling us to smooth tho bier. Kve>foiind thee, gentle stranger, Slay a charmed circle cling ; Ne'er may pain or envious danger :. Fix on thee their veuomed sting. Tears are falling,. . Sprites aro calling, •'■';' Calling us death's wail to sing, • There is in chapter ix. a fine littlo scene where tho tohunga, or priest, and the old chief Te Rangitukaroa, in the early morning, are looking at the snow-white cone of Mount * Ena ; or the Ancient Maori, by George Wilson. London: Smith Elder and Co.

Egmont irradiated by the light of the morning sun, and as they gaze are each overcome with the sentiments roused in their breasts by the sight of their early home, from which the tribe had been driven by the, exigency of war. This feeling finds vent in the following poetic lament, chanted'by the old chief : O ! that on thy snow-white breast I might weep, Might within thy valleys rest, And calmly sleep My last long sleep : ; my death is near— I feel it now; It creeps o'er my vision drear, And scathes my brow. . Home ! O, home ! beloved by me, Shall I again Breathe thy air. so pure, so free. On hill and plain ? On the blue wave I shall ride, Safe, whilst death Brings the exile o'er the tide, Like crested wraith. ■■: Home to thee dear mountain, mine! And ne'er again Shall my worn spirit there repine . At earthly pain. ' • We make no apology for giving at length this beautiful little poem, displaying alike exquisite poetic feeling, and simple, graceful diction. Another scene well described is where, at page 116, the tohunga comforts the old chief, who is overwhelmed with grief for the unsuccessful quest in the bush for his lost daughter Ena ; but our space does not permit our quoting it. The grosser side of the Maori character is not neglected, and at page 6i will be found al very spirited ; and life-like description of, a Maori funeral feast ; we must, however, hasten on and content ourselves with referring our readers to the page. Probably as good a piece of description as there is in the book is the" following description of the sceriery of Lake Taupo :—' Taupo lay beneath in' all its tranquil beauty ; the tall cone of Euapehu, snow-capped and silent, attaining a height and proportions of magnificent dimensions. Tongariro, active with her internal fires, emitting columns of white smoke; both mountain cones lifting skyward their noble crowns, on which the evening clouds linger and gather for the. coming night. The Motiiopa peninsula stretching its wooded eminence far out into the blue water of the lake. Motutaiko Island, set in the placid water like on emerald on the surface of an azure shield. Numerous canoes hastening shore wards; ; the..song3 of .'the rowers, the plashing of the paddles, the singing of the bush birds, the barking of dogs, the loud talking and merry laughter of men and women— all together mingled, and produced a sweet, varied, and cheerful harmony. The wooded ridges of the Eangitoto mountains, with their numerous points of interest and sylvan beauty; the Tituranga mountain, crowned with naked, grey, pyramidal towers, like a cyclopean castle in ruins ; its mouldering walls loopholed by the blast and the rains of winter, its wide arching doorways, through which ages have silently flowed, leaving a few scattered lichens on the hoary surface of tho walls, as a memento of their passing visit; the echoless corridors, where the lizard crawls along the broken floors with slow and gliding tread ; the rock pinnacles whitened by the keen air of the mountains, scarcely offering a fojthold or a shelter to the wandering fly ; no busy humming insect lingers there ; the winds are its nurse, the storm its companion. No less impressive the widely glittering white cliffs of pumice-stone standing around the strands of the lake, gleaming in the evening sun ; the slanting light, playing in pointed beams on the snow-white assemblage,-causing tho imposing array of rock and cliffs to resemble bivouacking hosts of armed men. These extracts show sufficiently Mr. Wilson's command of simple graphic English style, appropriate both to the requisites of prose and poetry. There is therefore no excuse for his allowing his imagination, in its very wantonness, to run away with him as it does in the following passage,, of which sort there are a few in the book: —"The night, which in its early part had been calm and warm, with scarcely a breath of wind, suddenly underwent a change; from the north-west, large masses of black cloud rolled up the sky, obliterating the starlight; the winds stretched out their pinions, and hollow and ominous noises reached the earth from the upper regions of the atmosphere, where it was evident that the northwester was driving his myriad chariots in their aerial race over the resounding prairies that separate universe from universe; slowly, and by measureless degrees, the : pinions of the wind drooped, until, with their anger-barbed tips, they swept the rolling earth." This is, in our opinion, no better than pure fustian, the sort of thing that Sam Slick would recommend to be " catawampbusly chawed up with a small smell." Whatever may be allowable in poetry, it is certain that when one is treading the humble paths of pedestrian prose, Pegasus is a very dangerous animal to mount, and we strongly advise Mr.. Wilson, if there be a second edition of the book, to rein in these winged steeds. We say this in no spirit of : unkindness, but give the passage as an in-' stance of the exuberance of misplaced andunpruned faculty. We repeat, Mr. Wilson has no- need to bedaub his work with such tinsel. • There are also ' several attempts at wordcoining, such as " cloud-seape," &c, and whatever justification there" may be in the way of etymological analogy for these brand-new terms, the practice is always dangerous, and above all injudicious in a young writer. On the whole, we may say that we have read the work with much pleasure ; that it is, in itself, a praiseworthy literary effort, and gives promise of future excellence. Let us, in conclusion, record our opinion, which we think the extracts justify, that we have no reason to be ashamed; but, on the contrary, good reason to be proud of our townsman—Mr. George Wilson.