rose long before daylight on the third day of our visit to Ohinemutu,
and awaking a couple of natives, took a row-boat over to the island of
Mokoia, which is situated about four miles from the mainland, toward the
centre of Lake Rotorua. This island is itself a sleeping volcano, lying
now placidly enough upon the bosom of the waters, but originally thrown
up from the bottom of the lake in some past century. Though the natives
evidently thought us crazy to abandon a comfortable bed at such an hour,
we only gave them the necessary direction and sat down quietly in the
stern of the boat. It was just sunrise as a landing was effected on the
island, when a sight was enjoyed which had not been anticipated. As the
monarch of day showed his face above the volcanic hills, the effect was
superb. Mokoia is a well-wooded island, and on the side farthest from
Ohinemutu there is some level fertile land occupied by natives; indeed,
there is here quite a Maori village. It was once a favorite missionary
station, but as such was long ago abandoned. It is a sort of second
edition of the villages lying about the Lake House on the mainland. When
the missionaries were here they planted fruit-trees, which are still
thriving and annually productive of pears, apples, peaches, and the
like. One of the boatmen spoke English after the Maori fashion, and
wanted to relate the love-story of the island, the Hinemoa legend; but
we knew it already. We did listen, however, to the story of the
blood-thirsty chief Hongi, who came hither when Mokoia was the
stronghold of a prosperous tribe, and putting them to the sword, killed
one half and more in a terrible hand-to-hand fight; after which he and
his followers feasted on their bodies for weeks. We got back to the Lake
House by mid-day.

The faulty and incomplete traditions of the natives concerning the last
eruption previous to that of about a twelvemonth ago which occurred in
the Hot Lake District, are entirely unsatisfactory; but the late
terrible one which destroyed the beautiful pink and white terraces at
Tarawera by one sudden throe of Nature, and by which nearly two thousand
square miles of territory were sensibly affected, we know all about. The
destructive demonstration lasted only six hours, but during that time
the amount of lava, volcanic bombs, stones, and fiery substances thrown
out by the burning mountain is beyond calculation. This volcanic
outburst seemed to us just what might be expected at