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Maori Leap,

A Native Tradition

Years and years before the white man came to New Zealand, a dense bush surrounded the whole of Waihola Lake, affording shelter to the moa and other gigantic birds which then inhabited our woods; but, alas, they as well as the woods have long since disappeared.

It was a beautiful summer evening, and the declining sun, glancing through the tops of the trees, cast a golden reflection on the smooth waters of the lake, and rested on the form of a young girl by its side, who was reclining on a rude couch of dried grass beneath a large fern-tree, whose noble leaves almost touched a small canoe which was fastened close by.

A various-coloured mat fell in graceful folds to her feet, and was fastened below her shoulder by a large tie of purple flax, while her splendid dark tresses were interwoven with the wild vine and convolvulus. Her dark eyes sparkled with pleasure as the branches were heard to rustle, and a tall handsome young man approached her. He was deeply tattoed, and his spear, the axe at his girdle, and his massive earings, proclaimed by their curious carving that he was a man of some importance in his tribe.

Sitting down beside her, he conversed familiarly with her; but, alas, they knew not that from a tree close at hand a man who, from the fiendish hate displayed in his face might have been mistaken for a demon, was listening to all they said.

Every now and then he poised his spear as if about to throw it, and, at length, just as the lovers were about to step into the canoe, he threw it with such deadly force as completely transfixed the youth. Springing from his concealment he laid hold of the girl, and, with a peal of savage laughter, pointing to the bleeding corpse,' with one blow of his tomahawk he left her head; and the flowers which at sunset had bound her hair, the first beams of the rising moon beheld steeped in her life's blood.

Pursued by the vengeance of the tribes, exasperated by the violation of the sacred tapu in the murder of their gallant chieftain and the loveliest maiden in the pa, the murderer was hunted from place to place, latterly taking refuge in a hollow tree on the spur that leads to that cliff on the river side. Discovered in this, his last retreat, he was pursued to the top of yonder precipice. His enemies were close behind him; there were no means of escape. He knew that if he were taken the most horrid tort ires awaited him: he preferred risking the jump. With a wild, unearthly shriek he sprang from the top, but his head striking the rock in his descent, befell into the water a mangled corpse. From that circumstance the place derives its name.