son, Tuterangiwhaitiri. His tohunga position is laid aside, he descends from the altar to the front of the house and there he mourns as a father, crying bitterly over the loss of his only child. He rangi au e tatari, he raro au e manako Mo taku mea ra, kaore ano i puta mai I te ra ka taau, ka tu mai kei uta I te tai ka taui, ka maunu mai te hukinga Ko wai ka tohu iho ko te rangi tonu tenei o te mate Ka hupeke ra koe, te akito rawa iho Ko te ngenge ra, e ka waiho nei ki ahau. Kuru rawa aku iwi, i te ra roa o te waru. Kia noho ake au i konei, e hika ma, e. All day long I wait, with every breeze from the north my hopes arise For my beloved one who has not yet appeared As the sun declines, and stands yonder in the west While the tide falls slack, and leaves bare the headwaters. Who can say that this is, indeed, the day of death So suddenly have you withdrawn and have not chosen to linger Only weariness remains with me: my bones ache in the long days of summer. Let me remain here, my friends, alone in my sorrow. It is said that Tuterangiwhaitiri's death was caused by witchcraft. He was dearly loved by his father who cherished him in his heart that he might carry on the treasures of Te Rawheoro, the great house of learning, when this disaster overtook him. A great number of tangis refer to the child, to the husband, who is dead or absent or has been taken away, or for the absent lover. Then again we have tangis for the homeland, for the tribe that has been lost, for a wrecked canoe, for a basket of seed that has become rotton, or the crops that have failed. The style of composition in all these is the same as those in the preceding groups. Amongst the songs published in the two volumes to which I refer,* Sir Apirana Ngata's Nga Nateatea, Vol. I and II. are three composed by a person on his sickness. These are, however, treasures in themselves. That of Harata Tangikuku is confined to the district of Ngati Pourou, that of Te Rohu on her leprosy circles the island, and that of Timotiu on his asthma remains a favourite with all the Maori orators speaking of some calamity on every village green. In these songs, the spirit is directed inwards as are the thoughts of the speakers on the marae taking unto themselves the death which they are lamenting: Listen to Harata Tangikuku, dying of consumption:— Tiro iho ai au ki ahau; Rinoi ra e te uaua; Te koha kore o te kai ki ahau Heke rawaho ki te kiri ora, Waiho au kia poaha ana He rimu puka kei te akau. I turn my eyes upon myself; My veins stand out like twisted cords; Food no longer sustains me, And I gradually decline in strength. Soon I shall be only a hollow frame Like the dried seaweed lying on the strand. In all the languages of the world there is perhaps no better example of a soliloquy composed by a singer in respect to his own sickness. Consider also the following quotation from the lament of Te Rohu, a beautiful girl stricken with leprosy:— Ka ura mai te ra, ka kohi au he mahara E hoa ma, e, he aha tenei hanga E te tau, e pae, tirohia mai ra Aku pewa i taurite, tenei ka titoko Kei te ngaru whakateo e tere i Taupo. The sun glows red and I sit here and ponder Oh! my friends what is this affliction? Oh! all of you before me, look at me See how my eyebrows once so straight and smooth Are now raised up in sharp ridges Like the ruffled waves that break on Taupo's shore. The second verse in the lament of Timotiu is known to all Marois:— Whakarongo e te rau Tenei te tupuna o te mate Ka piri ki ahau. Listen all you people! This is the ancestor of all ills That afflicts me closely.