re enough, and killed him before he ate him: which was civil,
for it was not always done. But then, certainly, the pakeha was a
_tutua_, a nobody, a fellow not worth a spike-nail; no one knew him; he
had no relations, no goods, no expectations, no anything: what could be
made of him? Of what use on earth was he except to eat? And, indeed,
not much good even for that--they say he was not good meat. But good
well-to-do pakehas, traders, ship-captains, labourers, or employers of
labour, these were to be honoured, cherished, caressed, protected--and
plucked: plucked judiciously (the Maori is a clever fellow in his way),
so that the feathers might grow again. But as for poor, mean, mere
_Pakeha tutua, e aha te pai_?

Before going any farther I beg to state that I hope the English reader
or the new-comer, who does not understand Maori morality--especially of
the glorious old time--will not form a bad opinion of my friend's
character, merely because he ate a good-for-nothing sort of pakeha, who
really was good for nothing else. People from the old countries I have
often observed to have a kind of over-delicacy about them, the result
of a too effeminate course of life and over-civilization; which is the
cause that, often starting from premises which are true enough, they
will, being carried away by their over-sensitive constitution or sickly
nervous system, jump at once, without any just process of reasoning, to
the most erroneous conclusions. I know as well as can be that some of
this description of my readers will at once, without reflection, set my
friend down as a very rude ill-mannered sort of person. Nothing of the
kind, I assure you. You never made a greater mistake in your life. My
friend was a highly respectable person in his way; he was a great
friend and protector of rich, well-to-do pakehas; he was, moreover, a
great warrior, and had killed the first man in several different
battles. He always wore, hanging round his neck, a handsome carved
flute (this at least showed a soft and musical turn of mind), which was
made of the thigh-bone of one of his enemies; and when Heke, the
Ngapuhi, made war against us, my friend came to the rescue, fought
manfully for his pakeha friends, and was desperately wounded in so
doing. Now can any one imagine a more respectable character?--a
warrior, a musician, a friend in need, who would stand by you while he
had a leg to stand on, and would not eat a _friend_ on any account
whatever--e