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larity of their appearance and the mode of their origin. The coral-forming polypi are animals of a low order of organisation, not differing greatly in structure from the fresh water polyp, or hydra, to be found in abundance during the summer in our pools and ditches. The principal difference is in the faculty which they possess of secreting and depositing carbonate of lime in the minute cells and interstices of their own tissues, so that their bodies consist of a solid framework, with a soft gelatinous sort of covering. They live, moreover, in communities, not merely associated, but coalesced, individuals growing out of each other as buds grow out of trees, and all uniting to form a common body, having a certain irregular but definite form and size, so that the different corals may be known by the external appearance of their masses, just as trees are.

It is sometimes said that coral animals are worms, and that they build the reefs, like architects building a house. This is altogether a false notion and analogy. The coral polypi do not build their own masses any more than we build our own skeletons, and the reefs are formed simply of the accumulation of dead and living bodies of such corals, which have grown there, lived there, and died there in countless numbers through a long series of years. The dead coral masses are in most instances unmoved and unchanged from what they were when alive, except, perhaps, that their internal structure has become more solid and crystalline. Some of them, however, have been worn and broken by the action of the waves, and their debris, often in a state of fine sand, has been accumulated in the hollows and interstices of the rest, so that all the lower and internal portions of a coral reef have become compacted together into solid stone. Not only corals, but multitudes of fish, crabs, univalve and bivalve shells, seaurchins, star-fish, hard calcareous seaplants, and countless myriads of minute foraminiferous shells have all contributed their remains to the mass of this accumulation. When a pile of materials of this kind, all dead internally, but full of life on its outer surface, reaches the sea level, the breakers soon detach blocks from its outer edge, and roll them on to it, and the currents sweep sand over it, until in some place or other a sand-bank is formed that is

left dry at low water. When this has attained any height, the sun dries the sand at low tide, and the winds then help to drift it and pile it up still higher above the waves, till at last we get a little islet permanently above even high water mark, that becomes the home of the sea-bird and the haunt of the turtle. Driftwood is now and then thrown up on it, with plants from some distant shore, still bearing about them, either in seed or root, the essence of vitality. A low, trailing, scrubby vegetation is thus gradually commenced, which, united with the "guano" of the birds and animals, forms a soil for any nobler individual of the vegetable kingdom, the germs of which may happen to be cast there. This little islet thus, Venus-like, sprung from the sea, is continually added to by the continued action of its parent, and ultimately, perhaps, coalesces with others of similar origin, resting on the same mass of reef. In time there would be sufficient space of ground to collect a considerable quantity of rain water during wet weather, and this, percolating through the soil and the porous rock below, remains there at no great depth, just about the level of low water probably, where it is prevented draining off by the sea water around it. Some persons have fancied that the fresh water thus found was merely the salt water of the sea with the salt filtered out of it, forgetting that filters act only mechanically, while salt is in chemical solution in the water of the sea. If a large sponge, saturated with fresh water, be half immersed in a dish of salt water, the sponge will retain the fresh water at its centre unmixed with the salt for an indefinite length of time. In the same way is the fresh water retained a little way below the surface of a coral islet.

Thus are islets and islands formed on the surface of reefs, and prepared for the habitation of man. But there is another wonder yet about the formation of the reefs themselves on which we must say a few words. The coralforming polypi, of whose solid frames the reefs are composed, cannot live in deep water. A certain amount of light and heat is necessary to their existence, and they seem to flourish best when exposed to the very surf of the breakers. They cannot live at all in a greater depth than twenty fathoms, or one hundred and twenty feet. But

the reefs themselves rise up like huge submarine walls from depths hitherto unfathomable. A frequent depth found just immediately outside the breakers, as close as a boat dare venture, is one hundred and twenty fathoms, or seven hundred and twenty feet, while lines of three hundred fathoms (eighteen hundred feet) and more have been let down from a ship at a little greater distance, without being able to reach the bottom. The explanation of this apparent difficulty is found in the depression of the sea-bed. Wherever such reefs are now found land once existed, with shores on which the coral animals settled in their favourite depths and localities. They grew and flourished there, and laid the foundations of a reef. The land then became affected by one of those great chronic movements which are so slow and gradual that men fail to perceive their effects in any one or two generations, and sank slowly beneath the waves - so slowly that the gradual increase of the solid frames of the polypi was sufficient to counteract the movement of depression so far as they were concerned, and to keep the upper surface of the reef still at the level of low water in the sea. Century after century and thousand after thousand of years went by, and still the sinking of the sea-bed and the up-building of the reef went on, till at length in many instances the original land disappeared altogether from sight. The old island lies buried now deep in his coral tomb, the only symptom of his former existence being the flat slab of coral rock laid horizontally across his head. Every step and every gradation of this process may still be observed in the great Pacific Ocean. Some of the lofty and rugged islands have their margins fringed by corals which are but now commencing to grow only just below the beach; others that have subsided to a certain extent are surrounded by an irregular ring of coral reef at some distance from the present beach, which ring marks the outline of the island as it once existed, a channel of water, or lagoon, running between the outer sea wall and the margin of the present land, to which access is gained from the sea by numerous irregular openings in the barrier, or encircling reef; others again occur either singly or in groups and archipelagos, where the coral reefs alone are to be seen disposed in ovals

and circles sometimes of many miles in diameter, with a central lagoon of unoccupied water, and a scattered margin of little islets formed from the old sand-banks.

In the great archipelago of the Radack and Ralick islands (or the Marshal islands, as they are sometimes called), extending over a space of four or five hundred miles, not a stone or fragment of a rock is to be seen other than coral; all the old lands, with their hard rocks, have disappeared beneath the sea; and so valuable are even the sinallest pebbles of hard rock, that whenever a drift tree is thrown ashore on one of the islands, its roots are instantly searched, and any little stones that are entangled therein are carried to the chief as "droits belonging to the crown."

The aspect of these "atolls," as they are called, is peculiar. The dark clear blue water of the unfathomable ocean rolls around them, kept in long gentle undulations by the perpetual breath and impulse of the trade-wind. This long, lazy swell, meeting suddenly with the obstruction of the steep wall of the reef, lifts itself into vast, wide, continuous ridges of blue water, that, rising higher and higher, at last roll over, and fall on the outer edge of the reef in broad cataracts of foain. One great ring of snow-white surf thus environs the whole reef-mass except at the leeward openings, forming a wellmarked boundary between the deep blue of the ocean and the bright grassgreen water of the tranquil and comparatively shallow lagoon inside. The little islets on the ring of reef are margined by beaches of glittering white sand, covered with green bushes, and often crowned by the pliant stem and gently waving plumes of the graceful, feathery cocoa-palm. The elements of the scene are few and simple; yet is it not only beautiful, but most impressive. The bright contrast of colour seen under a tropical sun, with the clear deep sky overhead and the few piled-up mountainous and stationary clouds, looking like towers of woolpacks, which are characteristic of the Pacific horizon, pleases and satisfies the eye, while the mind cannot fail to be moved with the contemplation of such wonderful results springing from the apparently antagonistic, but really united, action of the great forces of nature. The great internal disturbing

agencies and the destructive action of waves and winds are together set at defiance and overcome by the vital energies and powers of such an insigni cant animal as a little polyp.

The high islands of the Pacific, whether surrounded by an encircling barrier reef or not, have likewise generally many features in common. They rise into lofty peaks and ridges in the interior, grass-grown, but bare of trees, from which radiate many buttress-like ridges, separated from each other by deep and precipitous ravines, that open into valleys as they proceed towards the sea. Each radiating ridge has its sides also closely and deeply furrowed by rocky glens, that run straight from its crest on either side into the valleys, and each ends frequently in a craggy promontory that juts into the sea, with dark precipices of black rock separating the valleys from each other. Over all the lower parts of the ridges, as well as in the depth of the valleys and ravines, spread dark, umbrageous forests, while groves of cocoa-palmis, bamboos, breadfruits, and the broadleafed banana, extend across the more open and level tracts. Under these trees the inhabitants build their huts, cultivate their gardens, and lead their simple and light-hearted lives. If such an island have an encircling reef, the lagoon between it and the land forms a tranquil sea-lake or natural harbour, in which the natives may disport themselves, while as the reef often closes in upon the land, and cuts this off where the precipitous dividing ridges that bound each valley strike into the sea, it not unfrequently happens that adjacent valleys have no easy method of communication either by land or water, and are thus apt to form isolated districts, the inhabitants of which are often at enmity with each other.

The lofty and often inaccessible interiors of these islands are but rarely visited, and frequently but little known by the careless inhabitants of the coast. Instances are recorded by Mr. Darwin and others, of men guilty perhaps of some crime, or obnoxious to the revenge of some enemy, or perhaps urged only by the moody impulses of that melancholy and misanthropic disposition which drives some men of all nations and ages to prey upon their own hearts in solitude, having taken to lead wild lives in the recesses of the mountains, and having thus passed years,

never seen, save at a distance by some stray wanderer from the coast.

We have seen that throughout large tracts of the Pacific we have reason to believe that great tracts of land have sunk below the level of the sea. It has occurred to us sometimes to speculate on the extent to which this depression has been carried, the time it has occupied, and how far this geological agency may have an ethnological bearing or connexion. Instances are not wholly wanting of purely archeological facts which would lead us to ask whether some of the present islands have not once formed parts of larger lands occupied by people of a higher civilisation, and acquainted with more of the arts of life. Such instances are the large grotesque statues found by Captain Cook upon Easter Island, carved out of hard lava rock, and of a colossal size, utterly beyond any apparent means of workmanship possessed by the inhabitants then, and mysterious to them as to Cook in all that respects the time and mode of their production. In the opposite corner of the Pacific again, in the island of Tinian, which was uninhabited when visited by our illustrious navigator, he found temples carved out of the solid rock, supported by columns and pillars of cut and ornamented stone. We remember seeing in the columns of the Daily News, some years ago, a letter from a naval officer who had lately visited Pitcairn's Island, giving an account of a visit he had paid, under the guidance of one of the inhabitants, to some almost inaccessible precipices on the sea shore, where landing from a boat or a canoe was utterly impossible. These precipices, thus overhanging a wild and solitary sea, he described as graven with strange characters and marks, apparently symbols or hieroglyphics, evidently carved by the hand of man. He professed himself utterly puzzled to account for the meaning or object of their existence, or how they could have been cut. If, however, we suppose Easter Island to have been once the summit of a green swelling mountain, rising from a land now buried deep below the sea, it becomes easy to understand how "priests or scribes" may have gone up to carve upon the lofty rock, conspicuous to the people below, inscriptions which now can be rarely visible to mortal eye.

Even as the present islands and islets are but the landmarks and monuments of much larger islands, or even of a once great continent perhaps, that spread over the space now occupied by ocean, may not the people that inhabit those islands, a people so peculiar, yet so widely spread, so similar, yet so utterly separated, may they not also be the relics and the monuments of some more mighty and more numerous race that inhabited the submerged continent or the larger and more closely neighbouring islands of the past?

Whatever truth may lie hidden under such dream-like musings, no one, we think, can be insensible to the interest excited by Polynesia and its inhabitants. Early navigators, shipwrecked sailors, grave and reverend missionaries, scientific travellers, harum-scarum adventurers, and whaling captains and doctors, and last not least, governors of colonies, have all been charmed or interested by this great region of the earth, and have all given excellent, and some unrivalled, contributions to our knowledge respecting it.

Sir George Grey, late Governor-inChief of New Zealand, is a very remarkable man, and one of whom we expect to hear more in the future, and probably in scenes more nearly neighbouring to us. He had barely completed his military education at Sandhurst (we are not sure if we are correct in that locality) when, with a fellow-student, Lieutenant Lushington, he projected an expedition to the northwest coast of Australia, proposing to penetrate from that direction right across the country. In this they failed egregiously, as any one must have anticipated who was acquainted with the character of that country. Australia is not like Europe, but like Africa; and what they attempted could only be paralleled in our part of the world by an expedition to land on the coast south of Morocco, and ride across the desert of Sahara to Tripoli and Egypt. Captain Grey was wounded in a contest with the natives; and, after penetrating a little way, they had to return to their vessel. He then went to Swan River, and made an expedition along the coast in two open whale-boats, got wrecked some three hundred miles to the northward, and had to walk back through the desert, without food, for the greatest part of the distance, for either

One poor young

himself or his men. fellow, a volunteer from the colony, died of hunger and exhaustion by the way. While in Swan River, Captain Grey made himself master of the language, and the habits and customs of the natives; and published, beside his more formal travels, a very interesting comparative vocabulary of the Australian languages. In all this he showed great energy, power of mind, and determination of character; and, though his enthusiasm often led him into difficulties, yet he ever exerted himself heartily and for the most part effectually to extricate himself and his followers from their consequences. After spending some time at King George's Sound, he was made Governor of South Australia, whence he was removed to New Zealand, when that colony seemed to be entangled in many complicated evils. That she has surmounted these we cannot avoid attributing in great measure to the vigour and wisdom of her governor.

We never happened even to see Sir George Grey, though we have heard much of him both from Swan River and South Australia. He does not appear to be a popular man-probably his temper may be grave and his manners reserved. We did not abstractedly approve of many of his acts as Governor of New Zealand, but perhaps those acts may have been made necessary or expedient by circumstances. However that may be, we cannot but recognise the merits of a man who does what he has done, throughout a career, where he has had himself, and for the most part himself alone, to depend on. We believe we are correct in saying that he is not a relative-he is certainly not a near or a close one-of our Earl Grey and our Sir George at home. We do not like him the worse on that account.

One most meritorious line of conduct he has pursued is, that wherever he has been, he has always made himself acquainted with the nature and resources of the country, and the character and language of the people he has had to deal with, and has not shown himself backward in communicating the results of his labours to the public. He is evidently an earnest man, not given to affectation, not afflicted with mock modesty, and ready to speak plainly and sincerely of that which he has seen or that which he has done. That

this has been work of no ordinary character we shall show by extracting the commencement of his preface to his last publication on Polynesian mythology

"Towards the close of the year 1845, I was suddenly and unexpectly required by the British Government to administer the affairs of New Zealand, and shortly afterwards received the appointment of Governorin-Chief of those islands.

"When I arrived in them, I found her Majesty's native subjects engaged in hostilities with the Queen's troops, against whom they had up to that time contended with considerable success; so much discontent also prevailed generally amongst the native population, that, where disturbances had not yet taken place, there was too much reason to apprehend they would soon break out, as they shortly afterwards did, in several parts of the islands.

"I soon perceived that I could neither successfully govern, nor hope to conciliate, a numerous and turbulent people, with whose language, manners, customs, religion, and modes of thought, I was quite unacquainted. In order to redress their grievances, and apply remedies, which would neither wound their feelings nor militate against their prejudices, it was necessary that I should be able thoroughly to understand their complaints; and, to win their confidence and regard, it was also requisite that I should be able at all times, and in all places, patiently to listen to the tales of their wrongs or sufferings, and, even if I could not assist them, to give them a kind reply, couched in such terms as should leave no doubt on their minds that I clearly understood and felt for them, and was really well disposed towards them.

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Although furnished with some very able interpreters, who gave me assistance of the most friendly nature, I soon found that even with their aid I could still only very imperfectly perform my duties. I could not at all times and in all places have an interpreter by my side; and thence often when waylaid by some suitor, who had, perhaps, travelled two or three hundred miles to lay before me the tale of his or her grievances, I was compelled to pass on without listening, and to witness with pain an expression of sorrow and keenly disappointed hope cloud over features which the moment before were bright with gladness, that the opportunity so anxiously looked for had at length been secured.

"Again, I found that any tale of sorrow or suffering, passing through the medium of an interpreter, fell much more coldly on my ear than what it would have done had the person interested addressed the tale direct to myself; and in like manner an answer delivered through the intervention of a third person, appeared to leave a very different

impression upon the suitor from what it would have had coming direct from the lips of the governor of the country. Moreover, this mode of communication through a third person was so cumbrous and slow, that, in order to compensate for the loss of time thus occasioned, it became necessary for the interpreters to compress the substance of the representations made to me, as also of my own replies, into the fewest words possible; and as this had in each instance to be done hurriedly, and at the moment, there was reason to fear that much that was material to enable me fully to understand the question brought before me, or the suitor to comprehend my reply, might be unintentionally omitted. Lastly, I had on several occasions reason to believe that a native hesitated to state facts, or to express feelings and wishes, to an interpreter, which he would most gladly have done to the governor, could he have addressed him direct.

"These reasons, and others of equal force, made me feel it to be my duty to make myself acquainted, with the least possible delay, with the language of the New Zealanders, as also with their manners, customs, and prejudices. But I soon found that this was a far more difficult matter than I had at first supposed. The language of the New Zealanders is a very difficult one to understand thoroughly: there was then no dictionary of it published (unless a vocabulary can be so called); there were no books published in the language, which would enable me to study its construction; it varied altogether in form from any of the ancient or modern languages which I knew; and my thoughts and time were so occupied with the cares of the government of a country then pressed upon by may difficulties, and with a formidable rebellion raging in it, that I could find but very few hours to devote to the acquisition of an unwritten and difficult language. I, however, did my best, and cheerfully devoted all my spare moments to a task, the accomplishment of which was nesary to enable me to perform properly every duty to my country and to the people I was appointed to govern.

"Soon, however, a new and quite unexpected difficulty presented itself. On the side of the rebel party were engaged, either openly or covertly, some of the oldest, least civilised, and most influential chiefs in the islands. With them I had either personally, or by written communications, to discuss questions which involved peace or war, and on which the whole future of the islands and of the native race depended; so that it was in the highest degree essential that I should fully and entirely comprehend their thoughts and intentions, and that they should not in any way misunderstand the nature of the engagements into which I entered with them.

"To my surprise, however, I found that these chiefs, either in their speeches to me, or in their letters, frequently quoted, in ex

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