wisdom of the world is foolishness with God; and that in doing God's work it is infinitely better to obey God than man. In short, it has taught them, in conformity to the maxim summa lex, summa ratio,-that the closest adherence to the Divine precept is the best philosophy.

I am happy, however, to inform the reader, that the New Zealand Mission is now in great measure remodelled; and that under the superintendence of the Rev. Mr. Yate—a missionary not less able, than zealous and indefatigable-it already promises to impart benefits of the highest order to the numerous inhabitants of that most interesting island. On my second voyage from New South Wales to England, in the year 1830, our vessel encountered a gale from the southeastward, of seven days' continuance, off the north. east Cape of New Zealand, during the continuance of which our good ship was carried within sight of the high land on that part of the coast. The circumstance naturally led to a train of thought somewhat similar to the one to which I have just given expression; and, as I paced the heaving deck of our vessel, I endeavoured to embody the ideas

that were thus suggested, in the following lines, which, although the reader will probably perceive that they evince traces of the ennui and squeamishness to which most people are subject during a gale of contrary wind, at the commencement of a long voyage, may yet derive some interest from their birthplace at the Antipodes.

VERSES

WRITTEN WITHIN SIGHT OF THE NORTH-EAST CAPE OF
NEW ZEALAND, AUGUST 1830.

Antarctic isle! thy mountains rise

All dimly o'er the western main;

But gladly I regale my eyes

With the bless'd sight of land again!

O, 'tis a welcome sight to me

Amid this wild and billowy sea!

Thy shores, methinks, sequester'd isle,
Might form a fitting dwelling-place

For men devoid of earthly guile,

For mortals of a heavenly race;

For underneath thy cloudless skies
Fancy might form a Paradise.

Far different is the race that swarms
Along thy rivers, lakes, and bays:
All horribly disguised their forms,

All treacherous their savage ways;
Barbarian war their chief employ,
And deadliest cruelty their joy.

The vile assassin's hideous yell,

The murderer's terrific roar,
The music and the speech of hell

Are heard along thy shelving shore ;
While men, like lions in their den,
Feast on the quivering limbs of men!

See yon tall chief of high command,
With face tattoo'd and bearing proud;
The feast of blood already plann'd,

He eyes his victim in the crowd.
His horrid mien and matted hair
Might well befit a tiger's lair.

Beneath his shaggy flaxen mat,

The dreadful marree* hangs conceal'd;

Nor is his dark and deadly thought

By look, or word, or act, reveal'd;—
The fated wretch fears no surprise

Till suddenly he shrieks, and dies!

How shall we tame thee, man of blood?
How shall thy wild Antarctic isle,

Won by philanthropy to God,

With British arts and science smile?

How shall New Zealand's sons embrace

The habits of a happier race?

"Let agriculture tame the soil,"

The philosophic sage exclaims;

"Let peasants ply their useful toil
Along the wide Antarctic Thames;

* The marree is a short hatchet, resembling a butcher's cleavingknife, and is sometimes made of fish-bone, though generally of serpentine stone finely polished. The handle is perforated, and it is usually attached by a piece of cord to the internal part of the mat or plaid worn by the New Zealanders.

"Let the wild savage know the God

Whose Providence his life sustains,
And Him who shed his precious blood
To save him from eternal pains;
So shall his brutal warfare cease,

So shall he learn the arts of peace ! ”

Yes! "Preach the Gospel," Christ commands,
"To every soul, the world around;
In barbarous, as in learned lands,
Still let the Gospel trumpet sound,
Till every dark and savage isle
In Eden's primal beauty smile."

Yes! though despised in every age,
Thy word of power, Almighty Lord!
Can put to shame the wisest sage,

And civilize the rudest horde;
Can cheer the deepest, darkest gloom,
And make the dreariest desert bloom.

Great Source of light! O, be it given
To every minister of thine,
To wield this instrument of Heaven
With zeal and energy divine,

Till every isle of this vast sea
Be won to virtue and to Thee!

THE END.

PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.