Hinehopu Stand a while with me Beneath this mighty matai, Planted on this shadowed forest track By Hinehopu Four centuries ago. This was the spot on which She met her husband, Pikiao. For love of him she placed it here, And named it for herself. Custom says that those who pause Before this ancient tree— Make some small offering of greenery, And a prayer—will be guarded well Throughout their journey. Stand a while with me And see the reverent offerings Of our modern travellers. Broken beer bottles, Scraps of dirty paper, Empty packages, as empty As their hearts. — Joan Taylor.

Kaumatua Hori was a big man— On the Railway scales he weighed twenty stone. He loved the pictures. The seats were narrow so he sat in the aisle. The Manager said, ‘Hori is a good Patron.’ He removed an arm between two seats— In the front row. Hori was comfortable, On the screen—Cowboys. That was years ago. * * * * Now Hori is a respected old man. He spreads himself out on the living-room couch. His back is rested. His toes Released from pinching boots, Curl in delicious freedom. On the screen—Cowboys. Hori watches Television. — Marie Andersen.

The Home-coming by J. Edward Brown Tevita lounged in the shade of his parents' thatched roof house, strumming his guitar softly. It was 10 o'clock by his new gold watch, and back in New Zealand in the car assembly factory, it would be morning tea time. If he was still there, he would be drinking tea in the cafeteria and eating those big buns with the pink icing that he had liked. He missed them. He missed so many things since he had come back to his home island after five years away. And he had come home with such enthusiasm too. Only three weeks ago he had been aboard the ship coming up to the island. He had been excited, so excited that he couldn't sleep, and it had been 3 a.m. when he had got out of his bunk and shaved, while the other three men in the cabin had muttered angrily. He had ignored them. It wasn't every day that a man came back to his island after making good in the outside world. And he had made good. He had three fine suitcases of clothes, and presents for everybody—a sewing machine for his mother, a double-barrelled shot gun for his father and a bicycle for his sister. Five years before, he and his brother had