Wousters.— Mythology and Traditions of the Maori. 121 
where some women were cooking. They were busy filling flat baskets, like 
dishes, to be carried to the mourners. ‘‘ Give me something to eat,” asked 
Paowa. ‘ Indeed, you are mighty bold,’ said the women, ‘‘ to ask for food 
which is for the mourners, who cry over the death of Paowa.”’ But one old 
woman, more kindly disposed, said, ‘‘ Never mind, poor old man. Give 
him something to eat.’’ So some dried fish were given him. Then again 
Paowa said, ‘‘ Give me some oil.” ‘‘ No,’”’ said the women “ the oil is for 
the mourners ; there is none for you.’’ Again some old women said, “ O 
let us give him some oil.’’ When he had got the oil, he said, ‘‘ Give me 
some clothes.’’ ‘‘ Where are the clothes ?”’ the women exclaimed. ‘ We 
have no clothes for you.” But again some kind hearted women said, 
‘“‘Never mind; let us give him some clothes.” When he had got the 
clothes, he said, ‘‘ Give me some feathers to put on my head.’’ “Indeed,” 
said the women, ‘he even begs for feathers. Go along; we have no 
feathers for you.” But the kind hearted old women said, ‘‘ Let us humour 
him. Give him some feathers to stick on his head.” So that ornament 
was also given him. 
Paowa had now got what he wanted, and went away to the place where 
he had hidden his charm. He washed himself clean, tied up his hair, and 
put the feathers in it. Then he dressed and anointed himself with oil 
mixed with the charmed kura, and so he was transformed into a most 
- handsome Maori gentleman, yet so, through the virtue of the charm, that 
he could not be recognised at once by the people. He now went back into the 
village where the mourners were assembled, crying over the supposed death 
of Paowa. When the people saw him, they exclaimed, ‘‘ What a handsome 
chief is there coming,” and he was invited to come among them. He was 
much admired, especially by the women. A mother remarked, “‘ He must 
be a husband for my daughter.’ ‘For my daughter, I should think,” 
remarked another mother. By and by Paowa made advances to a nice 
young lady, a grand-daughter of the aforementioned kind hearted old 
woman, who was much pleased by that. At last the people ventured to 
ask him who he was. Then, assuming his own natural features, he said, 
“Tam Paowa.” Now all the people recognised him, and there was a great 
and loud rejoicing. The mourning for the supposed death of Paowa was 
now turned into a feast of joy. 
6.—Whiro—Tura. 
I must give Whiro a place here, because he was once, before the old 
Maori religion was understood, through a mistaken identity, nearly being 
taken for the devil by Europeans. He seems to have been a gloomy sort 
of man. Once he held his grand-child, a baby, on his knees, and had 
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