In New Zealand {36a} ’the natives regarded the wind as an indication of the presence of their god,’ a superstition not peculiar to Maori religion.  The ‘cold wind’ felt blowing over the hands at spiritualistic seances is also regarded (by psychical researchers) as an indication of the presence of supernatural beings.  The windy roaring noise made by the bull-roarer might readily be considered by savages, either as an invitation to a god who should present himself in storm, or as a proof of his being at hand.  We have seen that this view was actually taken by an Australian woman.  The hymn called ‘breath,’ or haha, a hymn to the mystic wind, is pronounced by Maori priests at the moment of the initiation of young men in the tribal mysteries.  It is a mere conjecture, and possibly enough capable of disproof, but we have a suspicion that the use of the mystica vannus Iacchi was a mode of raising a sacred wind analogous to that employed by whirlers of the turndun. {36b}

Servius, the ancient commentator on Virgil, mentions, among other opinions, this—­that the vannus was a sieve, and that it symbolised the purifying effect of the mysteries.  But it is clear that Servius was only guessing; and he offers other explanations, among them that the vannus was a crate to hold offerings, primitias frugum.

We have studied the bull-roarer in Australia, we have caught a glimpse of it in England.  Its existence on the American continent is proved by letters from New Mexico, and by a passage in Mr. Frank Cushing’s ‘Adventures in Zuni.’ {37} In Zuni, too, among a semi-civilised Indian tribe, or rather a tribe which has left the savage for the barbaric condition, we find the bull-roarer.  Here, too, the instrument—­a ‘slat,’ Mr. Gushing calls it—­is used as a call to the ceremonial observance of the tribal ritual.  The Zunis have various ’orders of a more or less sacred and sacerdotal character.’  Mr. Cushing writes:—­

These orders were engaged in their annual ceremonials, of which little was told or shown me; but, at the end of four days, I heard one morning a deep whirring noise.  Running out, I saw a procession of three priests of the bow, in plumed helmets and closely-fitting cuirasses, both of thick buckskin—­gorgeous and solemn with sacred embroideries and war-paint, begirt with bows, arrows, and war-clubs, and each distinguished by his badge of degree—­coming down one of the narrow streets.  The principal priest carried in his arms a wooden idol, ferocious in aspect, yet beautiful with its decorations of shell, turquoise, and brilliant paint.  It was nearly hidden by symbolic slats and prayer-sticks most elaborately plumed.  He was preceded by a guardian with drawn bow and arrows, while another followed, twirling the sounding slat, which had attracted alike my attention and that of hundreds of the Indians, who hurriedly flocked to the roofs of the adjacent houses, or lined the street, bowing