THE ANGELIC MAORI.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXI, Issue 74, 10 November 1911, Page 7

THE ANGELIC MAORI.

“Jim Crow,” the licensed crank and flippant critic* of Horatio Bottomley’s journal “John .Bull,” recently discovered the Maoris at the White City, and in the current issue of “Bull” devotes a whole page to singing 'their praises. Space forbids quotation of his ultra-complimentary article in its, entirety, but New Zealanders will read with zest—and maybe a few grins and chuckles—the following excerpts. From one of them one may gather that Maggie Papakura completely captivated Jim Crow, and that she - took advantage of his innocence to, in the vernacular, “pull Jus leg.” It will certainly come as news to those who are familiar with Maggie’s history to hear that her acquaintance with the English language is of recent date. But to the muttons. Thus says Jim Crow: “I used to think the Montenegrins and the British were the only fine people in the world. Now 1 have discovered a tertium quid, a tortius gaudens, in the gentle Maoris. . . . Now, they arc, perhaps, the only people in the world who combine a charming simplicity with the attractive side of civilisation. In a sense they remain children, they derive delight from the most innocent amusements, they brush shoulders with modj ern life, and suffer no contamination. ... ; Like all true sportsmen, the Maoris have the manners of Crichton and the gentleness of sucking doves. ■ Gaunt warriors, who execute wild, barbaric dances such as would freeze our blood.if we were tied to a stake in their midst, they have the blandest of smiles when we lure them on to a scenic railway. Nor is it;the blandness of the witless. On the contrary, they are shrewd and sharp witlrmmds like lightning, souls of refined gold. Though they have been incontact with the rude civilisation of a crude colony fpr generations, they.,,Remain; utterly unspoiled. . . . They are, perhaps,' the only children of Nature who are unspoiled by civilisation. Go. in the White City and talk to Maggie Papakura, the Maori Queen, and realise how conversation'tan he a liberal education. A dry humor, an instinctive knowledge of.men and women, indulgence, benevolence, diplomacy of the highest order n fact, tlie lovable qualities are hers. . .; Let me illustrate her' by ’saying tlilvt' she' knew ho English a short while ago, and now speaks it better than any Englishman except myself; she is overwhelmed with compliments—3oo letters a day on a modest ayerage—hut is unspotted of the world/ ... Hara Poata is the genius of this fair land. nowhere in this round world hi ay you discern such exquisite grace, such sublime poetry of motion. With glad eyes, whose eloquence is of the mystic moon, with satin face of rare candescence, with the stately troad v of some glorious desert chief, with the transfiguration of an apostle and the hedonism of Amaryllis and the soothing radiance of the Gioconda, she captures every heart. She is at once a sphinx, a hagiology, and an illumination. To sec her dance, it slays imagination’s ecstasies. . . . The rich pale skins of the Maoris combine the warmth of the Pacific and the peacefulness of sunsullicd pleasaunces. The very men are attractive. To see their women walk is an education in deportment such as no Imperial Court can show. To hear them sing is to listen to the music of the spheres. 0, Iwa, your voice will ever convey carreses to the very agony of death., Beautiful, gracious creatures, they intoxicate our horizon, only bewildering us because they are so far above our ken. Kindly, cynical observers, they coino here and watch and wonder. All our faults are laid bare to their calm gaze. They are not sure that ywo realise our responsibilities, but they forgive us in advance. They question our belief in the sanctity of love, which to them is an eternal sacrament. But they arc, above all things', natural. . ,

The more I know them the more- I am convinced that they hold the key of happiness. Listen to this from Queen Maggie Papakura: ‘1 haw» been to Oxford. How shall I speak of the peaceful meadows, the streams,, the grey, silent, old buildings? They spoke to my heart. They were like the dreams of my girlhood come girlhood, when I wandered all alone in the wilds around my native village; far away in New Zealand, with no companions but the trees and the birds.’ What an idealisation of Oxford! . . . Think what a mentality here stands revealed! Ponder over

the personality which can still find sweetness in the parched honeycomb or Oxonian austerity! . . . They are probably the only example of a native race which has derived benefit iron; civilisation. Instead of driving them to drink, and vice, and insolence, as it drives the horrid negro of West Africa, and the intolerable mongrels of Abyssinia, it refines them with culture, quickens their ready wit, teaches them toleration. . . . Tnc-ir only hatred is for pretence, and they will forgive anything for the frankness which they recognise as a feature of our national character. They may be summed up as the Britons of the Southern Seas—not Angles, hut angels.”