A NATIVE LAND COURT.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2478, 28 February 1881, Page 4

A NATIVE LAND COURT.

A Court room or house some 60 by 30 feet, grotesquely carved and decorated with mythical subjects of Maori lore. The iloor is of beateu clay —solid by the countless tread of many colored feet. On an elevated platform at the further end is placed a table and a couple of chairs, upon which sat the semblance of law and order, in the shape of one European and one native judge. The Englishman, grave and stern, as befits his legal position, is a fine, tall, scholarly man, of decided military bearing; a crisp iron-grey beard covering his face and hiding a mobile yet sarcastic looking _ mouth. His learned confrere, a Maori, with a grand yet stern-looking face, deeply lined with indigo-hued tattoo marks—a Maori who was once one of our bitterest foes, but to day is held in esteem by all who know him. Within an enclosure round the platform sits the verbose Clerk of the Court, “ Government official ” written on every line of his features. Hard by stands the Government interpreter, a fine, handsome specimen of the mixed races ; a sharp, shrewd, educated man of the world; the prototype of Macaulay’s dream. Outside the enclosures, at tables, sit various Maoris, fine, strapping young fellows, the beau ideal of the native race—hard at work taking down in the neatest of caligraphy, the verbatim report, both in Maori and English of the evidence before the Court. This scene shows the power of England’s greatness. A few years since these “ braw ” specimens of sun-tanned mortality would have lifted the war club and brandished the tomahawk against the palefaces ; but the pen is mightier than the sword, and to-day the sight of these intelligent Maoris—cannibals, and bloodthirsty as they once were —reveals the secret of England’s conquering power. Misguided policy'' it may be in the eyes of some, by education to place the colored race on an equality with the whites ; but the tiny steel strip of the Birmingham artificer is a far nobler weapon than was ever [produced in famed Damascus of old. At the table pleading, stands a tall native with full, bold forehead, betokening hard, keen reasoning, powers. He is cross-examining a witness respecting a native claim. With keen, glittering eye, and outstretched forefinger ; with the mildest of accents, as though he were asking with deep humility, some great favor ; by delicate insinuation, he draws forth a weak confession of his point. Then with knitted brow and flashing eye, and clenched fist he thunders forth in denouncing tones the important question he deems necessary. Full of dramatic power and pathos, but with a deeper earnestness, the Maori lawyer is, in my humble opinion, a favorable compeer to his British brother-in-law. Bound the sides of the court-house are groups of delegates of the various tribes involved in the question before the tribunal. Such a variety of characters, colors, and clothes ! Standing majestically on the right is a fine tattooed old chief, a gaudy striped blanket enfolding, his nether limbs, and a native mat of fine dressed flax drapes over his broad shoulders. It is whispered in my ear that, meek and mild as he is now, that benign face of his has in former clays gloated over a feast of fried “ long pork ” or “ cold boiled missionary.” Lounging carelessly against the wall stands the picture of a Maori swell; faultlessly “got up” in the correctcst European morning dress, with the whitest of shirt collar and cuffs ; a pair of Oxford shoes revealing (he latest fashion’s freak in colored hose; his handkerchief redolent with perfume ; his jewellery good and in correct taste ; and with a society smile upon his face, he shows the highly civilising power of an English suit of clothes. This reminds me of what I once heard a friend jestingly remark, “ that a ton of paper collars and cheap looking-glasses were equal to ten tons of gunpowder in conquering savage nations,” and I really believe it. The Native Land Court was well attended by the gentler sex(?) Wrinkled old beldames of 70, gloriously arrayed in neat gowns, canary-coloured, with half-crown-sized spots of blood-red hue, sitting cheek by jowl with dainty damsels, clad with the airiest of neatmade latest London fashions, who are fastidious as to the proper tilt of their artistically-built chapeau, handling in their tinted gloves, with the skill of a Spanish madonna, the embroidered fan, which the sultry atmosphere requires ; deeply absorbed by dividing their attention between the legal jargon of the Court and the many attentions of their various admirers. As I gazed round at the interesting sight before me, I longed for the pencil of a Lore, to perpetuate in glowing colors a Native Lands Court in New Zealand.—lmber in the “ New Zealand Herald.”