We had been told at Tokanu that at a certain point on these wide plains if we struck a certain native track hard by a certain stream flowing from the rugged gorges of Tongariro, we could see a pole which was strictly _tapu_ in the eyes of the Maoris. When we came to the spot, the pole was there in the form of a portion of a dead tree. Now, a melancholy tale was attached to this singular relic. During the time of the war, when the Hauhaus under Te Kooti carried fire and sword among the loyal tribes of this part of the country, a native girl, it is said, of singular beauty, was passing alone by this very spot, when one of the rebel chief's followers approaching at the same time, brutally attacked her, and having accomplished his villainous purpose, cut her throat, and rode on his way. Even the very name of this man is lost in oblivion, and his soul--well, never mind. When the girl's relatives came to search for her they found her body, and taking off her collaret, placed it on the pole, and tapued the place sacred to her memory, and this pole still standing on the wild plains now forms her only monument. But, strange to say, the collaret, rounded, tied in a knot, and in form as perfect as if taken from the blood-stained neck but yesterday, was likewise there, and Nature, as if anxious to preserve this sad relic, had covered it with a coating of fine spiral moss, which made it look not unlike one of those wreaths of immortelles we sometimes see placed on Christian graves to invoke, as it were, the blessings of Heaven. I made a sketch of this lonely monument, and when the ravages of time shall have effaced it from all ken, these simple words may serve to recall the memory of one who was loyal to her queen, and who met death at a time when war and rapine swept over the land, and when the white and the dark race fought with a deadly and cruel hatred for the mastery of these fair and attractive regions.