Page:Alice Lauder.pdf/198

“This is a beautiful country,” the professor said at last, pausing with his long spider fingers resting on the keys, “I wish I could put my impression of its beauty into music. What a change it is from the everlasting grind in foggy London!”

“Yes, and you might find some grand themes in our Maori legends. You ought to do something in that line. They are a grand race of people in some ways, and what a tragedy it is to see them fading away, blighted by the mere touch of our civilization!”

“Yes, I like the appearance of this ancient race. The calm dignity of their manner, and their self-possession is splendid.”

“You should see some of the real, genuine Maori chiefs of the older day. Some time ago I went right up the country into the interior, to see an old chief of the vieille roche, who has never ‘come in,’ as they call it, to our civilization. Such a ride it was, up the wildest, roughest bit of country I have ever seen! I was on a real good old stock-horse, and he never funked it once, though I did pretty often. Most of the time I seemed to be standing on his head going down the ravines, when I was not sitting on his tail going up.”

“That would be a little difficult to describe with a full orchestra,” said the professor, “but