Vanishes Like the Dew.

The Maori is ever apt with his metaphors and aphorisms. An old chief at Makarau, Kaipara, was engaged in an argument with a Government agent, touching land-selling. The pakeha official was bent on a purchase, the conservative owner of many acres was determined to hold on to them. “Money—your money!” he said. “What is it? We sell the land, and the money vanishes like the dew on the taro leaves, licked up by the morning sun.”