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MISS HILDA BOOED, ON 



Maori child fell into one of these pools, during our stay at 

 Eotorua, and was so badly scalded that it did not recover. 

 There is a story told, too — and I have no reason to doubt its 

 truth — of an unfortunate man (he gave a church to the Maoris 

 at Tokaanu, which he built with his own hands, by the way), 

 who was walking home one night when he missed his path, and 

 was found, boiled, in one of the hot pools next morning. It is 

 in these boiling pools that the Maoris wash their clothes, and it 

 is in this steaming earth that they make their hangi or earth- 

 ovens. If you but push your stick into the bank by which you 

 happen to be walking, or perchance sitting, as we were in the 

 Wairakei Valley, the ferns hanging all about us moist with 

 condensed steam, this all-pervading steam escapes from the hole 

 you have made. 



Mud-volcanoes are to be seen here and also at Whakarewarewa 

 and Ohinemuto. Mr. Josiah Martin, F.G.S. (to whom I am 

 indebted for some of these photographs), thus describes their 

 formation in a paper printed in Messrs. Thomas Cook and Sons' 

 Handbook to New Zealand, and from which I have refreshed 

 my memory : — 



" The continued escape of steam through soft rocks assists 

 their decomposition into clay of various colours ; and around 

 the centre of action will be formed pits, cauldrons, craters, 

 or cones, according to the consistency of the material ejected." 



I well remember at Ohinemuto we saw a most extraordinary 

 mud volcano throwing black mud into all sorts of fantastic 

 shapes, such as marks of interrogation or interjection, or, again, 

 into the form of a skull ! We tried the effect of throwing in 

 great lumps of earth, but though it stopped its play for a few 

 moments, it was soon absorbed and the play was more eccentric 

 than before. The " Brain Pot " is a famous mud volcano, 

 which we saw at Whakarewarewa, in which the Maoris used 

 (not so very long ago) to boil their enemies' heads. 



Except for one fumarole, or blow-hole, which we saw in the 

 Wairakei Valley (where we are still supposed to ]:ie stationed, 

 though I wander away occasionally), I do not remember seeing 

 any other which I can so classify. And this one had a small 

 tubular opening down which the guide rammed the branch of a 

 tree, which was boiled to nothing in less time than it takes me 

 to describe the proceeding. Sometimes, however, the branch 

 would be promptly ejected with a shriek, or whistle, on the 

 part of the fumarole. This one is, if I remember rightly, 

 known as the " Whistler." The " Devil's Trumpet " at Kara- 

 piti is the finest fumarole in the country, and is said by 



