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broader than their top, there being no undercutting, as is apt to occur in etching on metal with acid. An electrotype from this matrix can be printed from in an ordinary press.

It thus appears that the sand-blast even enters the field of art-labor, and promises to prove an efficient ally of both engraver and artisan.

We might dwell at great length, and without undue zeal, upon the possible future of the American sand-blast process. Enough has been written, however, to justify the choice of this subject as a theme for special notice, and if we have omitted to direct attention to any important achievements it has been rather from an over-supply than from a lack of material. Being in no sympathy either with the sentiment or truth of the idea that labor-saving devices injure the prospects of the laborer, we hail with satisfaction the advent of the sand-blast as marking an advance in all of the several branches of skilled labor where its services may be available.

need be by models or drawings, must be sent to the society in London not later than the 31st of December next. In our science column of last week we described the proposed plan of Lieutenant Barber for accomplishing the extinction of fires below-decks by the release of carbonic-acid gas; this was to be retained under pressure in a liquefied state till occasion called for its use, when it would be set free by the opening of suitable cocks and valves. The Illustrated London News of June 12th gives an illustrated description of certain experiments made with the pyroleter, an apparatus designed for the same purpose. As in the plan of Lieutenant Barber's, the extinguishing agent is also carbonic-acid gas, but the method of its application is different and apparently more complex. This apparatus is described as of such a size and dimensions as to allow of its being quickly worked and easily moved from place to place. Its action is simple, and may be readily comprehended. One small pump draws a chemical mixture from a tub or bucket, while a second pump draws another mixture from a similar vessel. Both mixtures meet in a generator, or mixing-chamber, and instantaneously pass into a separator, whence the dry gas passes through suitable piping to the hold or compartment where the fire has arisen. When a moderate-sized pyroleter is worked at an ordinary speed, thirteen hundred and twenty-six cubic feet of air will be so charged with the gas in one minute that it will not support combustion, and this stream may be kept up for any length of time by supplying the material, which is conveniently packed in small bulk, and is not costly. It is estimated that every minute the instrument will give off what fills a space equal to thirty-two tons measurement; so that, making allowance for the space occupied by cargo, which may be taken at onehalf, a vessel of twelve hundred and eighty tons would be filled in twenty minutes, and the fire completely extinguished. During this process the cargo need not be disturbed, nor the hatches removed. The experiments above alluded to are said to have been successful.

THE character of the accident which occurred on a Long Island railway on the Fourth of July last, was such as naturally to add increased interest to all methods by which the approach of trains toward each other, or to stations, may be automatically announced. The fact that in the case here noticed it was understood that a certain allowance was to be made for difference in the watches of the conductors, proves that no simple reliance on "time-tables "" can be regarded as safe. Already the electric system of signals has been adopted on certain of our roads, though it is evident that there is yet room for improvement in the method now in use. Among these recent improvements is that proposed by Sir David Salomons, a working model of which was exhibited at the rooms of the Society of Arts. From a report of these proceedings, as given in the journal of the society, we obtain the following description of the purpose of the invention and the method of its adaptation to so-called "block-signal-cently been conducted with a view to detering:" ""The object of the invention is to enable trains in motion on a line to communicate with stations, and to be warned of the presence of trains before or behind them. For this purpose a slight insulated rail is laid down between the ordinary rails, and on this a wheel, carried by the engine, runs so as to keep up electrical communication between the rail and a machine or battery on the engine. The line

being divided into short lengths, the engine

driver is thus enabled to receive information at once of the presence of a second train on the same length, and apparatus may also be arranged by which the steam can be automatically cut off and the breaks applied. The lengths are arranged so as to overlap' for some distance, and thus enable the train, when near the end of one length, to communicate at once with the lengths in front and that behind, and for this purpose there are two wheels on the engine which are brought into action alternately. For sidings there are special arrangements by which the battery can be thrown out of contact to admit a train; at other times they are protected by a similar arrangement to that above described."

THE question of the extinction of fires in ships is regarded as one of so great importance that the Society of Arts has offered the Fothergill gold medal to any successful competitor in this field. Communications, illustrated if

CERTAIN interesting observations have re

mine the influence of season on the skin of foetal animals. It was determined that calves born in winter have a longer and thicker coat of hair than those born in summer; and even when the hair is removed there is still a difference of more than a pound in the weight of their skin. The same proves true of goats and lambs. Moreover, this difference cannot be dependent on diet or other incidental

changes of condition, since the experiments were made on the offspring of animals kept under cover, and on the same food all the year round.

THE constantly-increasing uses to which paper may be put have stimulated the search for additional materials from which it may be manufactured. In a recent note we directed attention to the possible utilization of the "trash" of the sugar-cane for this waste or purpose, and we now learn that the alfa-fibre, the most important vegetable production of Algeria, may be used for a like purpose. This vegetable is said to grow spontaneously over vast tracts of country where cultivation is impossible. Ten million acres are covered with it. It is estimated that from this source alone a supply of paper-making material could be obtained equal to three-fourths of all the rags sold annually throughout the world.

THE Norwegian Government has entered the field as the patron of scientific research,

| having voted the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars for deep-sea explorations. The waters to be explored are those lying between Iceland, Spitzbergen, the Faroe Islands, and Jan Mayen Island. The method of these operations will be similar to that adopted by the Challenger. It is also announced that this latter vessel will complete her work within the year, and is expected home by April next. In the mean time her former captain will have entered upon the new perils of the north. No news has yet been received from Captain Nares and the Alert and Discovery.

WE learn from Nature that for several months past a firm of engineers have been experimenting, privately at the Crystal Palace, with an aerial steamer of a promising and novel character. Though weighing one hundred and sixty pounds, the propelling agent is a two and one half horse-power steam-engine, which, with water and fuel, weighs eighty pounds.

REPORTS from the Manchester Aquarium justify all our anticipations regarding the zeal and ability of its director, W. Saville Kent. In addition to several examples of wolf- or cat-fish, and three of the monk- or angel-fish, there has lately been placed in one of the great tanks of this aquarium a sturgeon eight feet in length.

Miscellany:

NOTEWORTHY THINGS GLEANED Here

AN

AND THERE.

N article in the Contemporary Review, on Corot, gives an admirable analysis of the great painter's characteristics. We quote a passage or two:

At sight of a picture by Corot, the dominion of the clouds is the first thing noticeable. He himself, it is said, began each picture with the painting of the sky; and it is certain that from this point the spectator is compelled to begin his survey. To the sky and its influence all common facts of landscape are made subject. If there is a pool of water, its first function is to image the fleeting forms and uncertain colors of the heavens. The grass at our feet loses its hues of vivid green, and becomes pale to whiteness in obedience to the fleecy clouds that whiten the sky. The forms of trees and the outlines of distant hills are held imprisoned in a mystery of delicate light and floating mist, and even the remote blue of the sky beyond the clouds loses its intensity, and becomes faint and pale as it passes under the control of "mes nuages gris." And having recognized this constant aspect of Corot's painting, we are left to seek its motive. Of what service to the painter are these forms that advance and recede, now penetrating the substantial air so far as to become half-distinct and tangible shapes of Nature, and again retreating till they are no more than mere vague symbols in a world of shifting lights and shadows? For what purpose does he thus summon these shapes into momentary existence, leaving all else concealed? and of what beauty are the songs of which these are the few stray notes?

Although the French landscape-painters acknowledge the power of Constable's work, and even admit its guidance, the distinction between men like Constable and Corot is important. The art of the English painter, though it employs all the moods of Nature,

employs them in a way that is essentially dramatic. We do not receive from any of his pictures the impression of a distinct personal sentiment in the mind of the painter. All the powers of the air are admitted to set the landscape in motion, but the artist's observation is still fresh and unprejudiced in its sympathy, and the particular moment chosen for artistic expression is like a moment chosen from a drama where the passion, though strong and energetic, is not the passion of the author. Every picture from his hand records some sudden concord in the things of outward Nature-some moment when bright blue sky and drifting cloud, the hues of running water and the restless branches of blown trees, meet to register a phase of fleeting beauty. And as a result of this impartial selection from the moods of landscape, the first and most impressive quality of Constable's work is the fidelity of the portraiture. True to a land where fair and foul weather come in rapid succession, his landscape is neither overbright nor over-gloomy. If we carry away from his pictures the remembrance of heavy clouds and advancing shadows, we may also recall the sharp green of leaves dancing in sunshine, and spaces of sky of bright and laughing blue. The brightness is no longer the brightness of the earlier painters because it belongs to a single moment and is not of the enduring character of the scene. And in this truth of the moment, in the impression of movement and progress, as of drama, lies the strength of Constable's art. The facts of scenery merely as such are neglected or suppressed. No one would seek from the painter of the "Cornfield" or the "Leaping Horse" an exact imitation of separate flowrs, or a precise outline of the leaves that seem to rustle in each passing breeze. It is no longer the scene itself, but the appearance of the scene as it yields to passing influences f weather, that the painter strives to interpret; and it is his perception of the appropriate color of each changing aspect, whether of gloom or gladness, that gives to his work its anapproached merit.

But the later school of landscape, as represented with so much fascination by Corot, goes further than this. To understand the distinctive quality of his work, we must reall his own phrase: "Je ne suis qu'une alouette; je pousse de petites chansons dans mes nuages gris." The art is no longer dramatic, it no longer registers with impartiality the changing moods of weather, taking the grave and the gay as they alternate in the actual world. If these men were poets instead of painters, we should denote the distinction by saying that it was an exchange of the dramatic for the lyrical faculty; and even in painting these words will serve for a symbol of what we mean. Using this symbol, then, as Corot himself used it, the fitness of his own description of his art becomes very evident. His pictures are in reality songs sent forth from the gray clouds that overspread the world

of his art.
For, to turn to the first appear-
ance of Corot's pictures, what is it that most
distinguishes them? As compared with Con-
stable's painting there is everywhere a failure
of local color. The harmony of color, not less
perfect, is reduced to narrower dimensions;
the separate incidents of each scene, grass
and flowers, trees, and the sky itself, sacrifice
more of their individual character, and take a
tone more uniform, and even personal. As
Compared with early representations of land-
scape, these pictures may be roughly said to
have the qualities that belong also to Con-
stable; there is in both the record of weather

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slightest doubt that it is very like, and that the summer day blazed just so over the rising ground, and upon the clumps of heather and red trunks of the fir-trees. It is like the scene, just as Mary, daughter of J. Jones, Esq.," and "Jane, daughter of W. Robinson, Esq.," are alike-features and frocks, and little fat legs we mean shadows and lights, and the gray dike running across the slope, and the broken hedge. The name of this is not "Mary Jones," but the "Fringe of the Moor." How much more is there in the name than the picture-the fringe of the moor!looking away, no doubt, over that long broken undulating surface, all purple with heather, or green before the coming of the heather, or blurred and pathetic with the bloom going off, and the climax over; with mysterious hollows in it, and faint watery gleams, and

neglect of precise form and minute details of
color. But in comparison with Constable
himself, new features are revealed in Corot's
art. We detect at once the source and the ex-
pression of the French painter's originality,
we recognize the freshness and distinction of
his attitude toward Nature. Still keeping to
the criticism of his technical method, it may
be observed how marked is the increased im-
portauce given to the use of tone. At the first
sight, Corot's works scarcely suggest the
presence of color; all tints are so far subdued
that we recognize scarcely more than their
agreement on some neutral ground of gray.
On the side of form a similar tendency is
manifest. Constable's drawing of a tree is
precision itself, compared with what serves for
drawing in Corot; his definition of a scene is
full and exact by the side of the French paint-tufted knolls rough with whins and blaeber-
er's timid and tremulous outlines, that lose
themselves in a pale, uncertain sky. And
when these appearances in Corot's painting
are taken in connection with the effect they
are intended to produce, it is seen at once
that they are deliberately given, and are not
the results of carelessness or imperfect re-
source. Outward Nature to him is a means of
expressing himself. Constable perceived and
interpreted the drama of wind and clouds, of
sun and shadow. But to Corot these changing
aspects of the earth are serviceable only as in-
terpreters of different phases of personal emo-
tion. The artist employs the moods of Na-
ture as a musician employs the notes of music,
and invests the facts of scenery with particu-
lar sentiments, charging them with the color
of his own thoughts. It is because this pur-
pose is the controlling element in his art that
his pictures of scenery, merely as pictures, are
permitted to be imperfect. From a single
scene he selects only a few of the features im-
portant to his design-the rest are left half-
concealed or wholly hidden. And with this
desire to select a few things out of many, to
summon here and there as he wills the shapes
and colors of the earth, the presence of at-
mosphere, and the constant control of mist
and cloud, are valuable assistants. Behind
these clouds the landscape rests under the do-
minion of the painter. What he needs for
the thought he would express may be brought
into view all else may be suppressed without
loss of natural truth; for the changes of at-
mosphere afford all degrees of distinctness,
and the painter familiar with all may choose
what he will.

Blackwood, in its review of the Royal Academy pictures, dashes in its own vigorous fashion at the painter Millais, who, it declares, was twenty years ago the rebellious yet beloved hope and favorite of the Acad. emy:

What has come to the daring and splendid youth which once took us by storm, all prejudices and articles of faith notwithstanding? Mr. Millais has resigned himself to Mammon, or, what is the same thing in his case, to portrait-painting; yes, to portrait-painting, notwithstanding the fact that the first picture bearing his name which meets our eye is a socalled landscape. Just as he painted a little girl without shoes, and a little girl with them, in another room-and a young lady with a hat over her eyes, and a young lady without any hat at all, in a third-so he has painted the portrait of a bit of undulating hill-side, "somewhere in the neighborhood of Dun

ries, and here and there a stunted fir strayed
and belated out of its way, or forlorn young
birch waving her silvery branches, with lan-
guishing lamentations over her own solitude.
And then the mysterious sweet skies above,
dark with presage of storm, or heavy with
sweeping of rain like human eyes worn out-
or bursting forth into a pathos of delicious
brightness, as who should say which of us can
tell whether this sweet sun may ever come
again? Such are the moors we know, not dull
things inanimate and expressionless, but alive
in every line, full of thought and sentiment
and mystery. How the sun glows upon them
when he comes, and a hum of universal life
breaks forth, soft, all - pervading, multitudi-
nous! How the great ling-bushes glow, and
the daintier bell-heather waves its round tufts
of bloom, and the green gale breathes sweet-
ness under the wayfarer's feet! We have seen
pictures out of which the very fragrance of
the gale and the hum of the insects came
breathing, making canvas into poetry. But
Mr. Millais perhaps never trusted the damp
footing where the bog-myrtle grows; anyhow,
his "
Fringe" has as little to do with the
moor as if it had been the prosperous smooth
slope of an English hill. It is the portrait
of a well-to-do landscape, where, no doubt,
cows would find good grazing, comfortable
breathings of warmth and profit; which, to.
be sure, are fine, solid things compared
to such foolishness as the mysterious atmos-
phere over the moor, or the sweetness of the
gale.

And just of the same class are the pretty little Marys and Janes aforesaid. We verily believe that a far-sighted woman could tell within a few pence how much a yard was given for the pretty muslin-work of which these little garments are made-and the little pink shoes and open-worked socks would be the adoration of a nursery-maid; but what manner of child it is which is enshrined in all that redness and whiteness, who could guess? Does any one remember nowadays that saucy sweet little Lady Geraldine Somebody who is walking out of the sky with her little petticoats held up, and dainty rosettes upon her shoes, in Sir Joshua's delicious picture? or the absorbed angelical gravity of that other child in the national gallery whose portrait is called the Age of Innocence? A century ago, that was what art could make out of a child's portrait. To-day, is this all that art can make of it? Surely Mr. Millais is strangely unworthy of himself when he forces us to ask such a question. If he will paint portraits, it is a worthy and a noble art, and one in which Englishmen have been splendidly successful; but, in the name of all that is worthy, why

should he paint these sweet little specimens of humanity as if they were their own dolls? Even at three or four there is a something in a pair of living eyes, liquid with dews of childhood, that tells more than this-an open secret which he who looks for it may divine and disclose, a delicious betrayal which is no trea

son.

Neither could it have been on the wonderful production entitled romantically. "The Crown of Love" that Mr. Disraeli looked when (with the smile concealed beneath the lines of his impenetrable countenance) he spoke of the power of the imagination as exhibited in the pictures of 1875. Here a slim but well-formed youth is visible carrying a robust young woman, who, throwing her arms out, is evidently trying her best to overbalance him. It is intended to represent that story of Charlemagne's secretary or page, who, having been found out to be privately the lover of Charlemagne's daughter, was given the chance of winning her by carrying her to the top of the nearest hill. No wonder he died when he got there, poor young fellow, if she was like this large and stalwart maiden." We wonder if Mr. Millais remembers a picture which made a great noise twenty years ago, and was called "The Huguenots?" It is to be found in reflection all over the country nowadays, in poor little prints and blurred photographs. When a boy at school has got beyond the gamekeeper's stage, it is the first indication of improving taste, and shows what a leap his mind has taken when he hangs up this picture over his mantel-shelf, dethroning Landseer in its favor; and it is the first illustration of her walls which the girl thinks of when she becomes the proud possessor of a maidenly bower of her very own. And how fine it was! the tender, wistful woman, all her soul in her anxious eyes, making her forlorn attempt to cheat him into safety-the man not beautiful, almost ugly in his worn and untrimmed strength, with the shadow of a tragedy upon him, tenderly undeceiving her with sad, fond smile at the impossible. That was imagination, if you please: a whole dim chapter of history-a chapter dim with blood and treachery and horror, so revolting in its heat of massacre that we shudder and pass by, almost missing the heroism for hatred of the crimegrew suddenly visible on the noble side, comprehensible in its anguish and heroic truth and duty; which was a worthy deed for a painter to do if he had never done another. Here are two again, the man and the womanonly the back of him, which is perhaps as well, for the veiled sinews and their strain are always something; but the face of her-in which the expression is little but a weak abandon of fondness, incapable of comprehending the tragical dangers in the way.

But why should we rail? "The Crown of Love" is about the same size as "The Huguenots." It is as genuine a "Millais" as its predecessor, and will probably suit in the picture-market as an investment of capital just as well. What does Mammon care for imagination-he who even in heaven thought more of the golden floor than of any thing more lovely? And why, indeed, should the artist give himself the labor and strain of producing "The Huguenots," when a "Crown of Love" brings in as much money, and fills up its place quite as well? Is it for the satisfaction of a set of peevish critics that he is to give himself all this trouble? and, who knows, the critics, presumably disappointed painters, who have never themselves been able to succeed in any thing, might not be contented all the same?

In a recently-published letter by Charles Dickens, the great novelist expresses himself as opposed to tragic climaxes in fiction; and this expression elicits from the London Daily News the following sound comments:

It is to be feared his remarks will lead the public to believe that the writer of a story ean do just as he pleases with his characters, plunging them into utter misery at the end of the three volumes, or winding up on the "marry and live happy ever after" principle, just as the caprice of the moment may dictate. Well, this may be true of the manufacturers of mechanical fiction-and it must be remembered that Mr. Dickens was tendering advice to a mere aspirant or amateur, not to a master of the craft-but it is assuredly not true of great writers of fiction, like Mr. Dickens himself. Unless the characters in a work of fiction grow in reality in the mind of the man who is going to write about them to such a degree that they take their destiny altogether out of his hands, and live their life in their own fashion, they will remain mere puppets to be pulled with a string. Oddly enough we can appeal for confirmation of this theory to Mr. Dickens's own experience. Did he not at one time receive, not only from all parts of England, but from all parts of the world, letters begging and imploring him not to let Little Nell die? How easy it must have seemed to those people for the great writer to save the child from destruction, and send joy to thousands on thousands of households that were already fearing the end! Dickens knew of this vast amount of pleasure he could give; he knew of the keen pain he must himself experience in describing her death; but the true instinct of the artist overmastered all other considerations. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not have enabled him to twist aside the inevitable doom. . . . Now, we are not arguing that stories should end gloomily, but only that certain sets of circumstances, acting on certain characters, must necessarily, if the writer is a true artist, produce a tragic climax, and that to interfere with that climax in order to please people who like pretty endings must inevitably involve an artistic failure. There is another point mentioned in these brief letters which is interesting enough. Mr. Dickens seems to hint that the public would probably

turn aside from a story that it knew ended painfully. This assumption is in direct opposition to every thing that can be learned from the history of literature. Tragedy has always held an overmastering power over the mind of man, and that for the simplest of reasons. The mystery of evil and unmerited suffering, the most awful and insoluble of problems, has never ceased to exercise an irresistible attraction for the imagination. We laugh at and are pleased by a comedy; we remember a tragedy. The pretty ways of Rosalind are pleasant enough; we like to see Perdita scattering her blossoms; the bewilderment of the two Dromios gratefully passes the present hour; but when we think of Shakespeare, we think of the utter misery of King Lear, of the gloomy fate of Macbeth, of the perishing of Juliet among the tombs. In the domain of fiction, there can be no doubt that those stories which end tragically have a better chance of being remembered than those which end with the 66 marry and live happy ever after" business. The people who get through all their troubles, and are comfortably settled for lifewhy should one trouble one's self further about them? We bid them "Good-by" and hope they will enjoy their honey-moon. But the memory of the brave or beautiful soul crushed down by the irresistible cruelty of a hapless fate - that is something to ponder over and recall with a sad and wistful regret. Suppose that "Paul and Virginia" had ended with a commonplace marriage-what mother would remember her interest in the book for twenty years after her reading of it, and insist on her daughter reading it also, to see if the younger generation had also a capacity for unlimited tears? If the unutterably tragic story of Margarete's woes had not been incorporated by Goethe into the old legend of "Faust," who would care to read and reread the desultory metaphysics of that famous poem ? When people heard of the story of Hetty Sorrel - which is almost identical with that of Gretchen did its painful character deter

all England from reading "Adam Bede ?" Pain in a novel may be unnecessary;" but fiction would soon cease to have any relation with the realities of life if it systematically turned aside from the darkest problem of existence, and dealt only with the rose-water trivialities which are the proper pabulum of album-verses.

Notices.

ART-WORKERS IN SILVER.-THE GORHAM COMPANY, established 1831. Bridal, Christening, Birthday, and Household Silver. The most extensive and brilliant collection to be found in the city. Salesrooms, No. 1 Bond Street, near Broadway.

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APPLETONS' JOURNAL.

No. 332.]

NEW YORK, JULY 31, 1875.

[VOL. XIV.

THE

A TROPICAL PARADISE.

HE contrast between the present and the near past of Hawaii is indeed wonderfal. Only thirty years since a large majority of the natives were given over to a brutal paganism, hardly to be surpassed among any of the savage tribes of the world. Many of the temples wherein their bloody and cruel rites were practised are still standing, and furnish a melancholy clew to the depths from which they have arisen. On the leeward side of Hawaii, near the village of Waimea, is the

II.

of Oahu. The shape is an irregular paral-
lelogram, two hundred and twenty-four feet
long by one hundred wide. The walls are
built of lava-stones in a very solid and com-
pact style. There were paved platforms all
around the side for the accommodation of
alii, or chiefs, and the people in their orders.
At the south end there was an inner court,
where the principal idol stood, surrounded
by a number of inferior deities, for the Ha-
waians had many gods. Here also was the

they were bound and taken alive into the temple. The priests in slaying their victims were careful not to mangle their persons. They were laid in a row, with their faces downward, on the altar before the idol, and, if hogs and bullocks were offered with them, the whole mass was left to putrefy together, poisoning the air for miles around with an inconceivably sickening stench. At the close of the rites the chiefs and the people gave themselves up to hideous debauch, accom

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her, very simply dressed in black silk. The king, at whose entrance the band played the national anthem, stood on another lawn, where presentations were made by the chamberlain; and those who were already acquainted with him had an opportunity for a few minutes' conversation. He was dressed in a very well-made black morning-suit, and wore the ribbon and star of the Austrian Order of Francis Joseph. His simplicity was atoned for by the superlative splendor of his suite; the governor of Oahu, and the high chief Kalakaua, who was a rival candidate for the throne, being conspicuously resplendent. The basis of the costume appeared to be the Windsor uniform, but it was smothered with

*

epaulets, cordons, and lace; and each dignitary has a uniform peculiar to his office, so that the display of gold-lace was prodigious. The chiefs are so raised above the common people in height, size, and general nobility of aspect, that many have supposed them to be of a different race; and the alii who represented the dwindled order that night were certainly superb enough in appearance to justify the supposition. Beside their splendor and stateliness, the forty officers of the English and American war-ships, though all in full-dress uniform, looked decidedly insignificant; and I doubt not that the natives who were assembled outside the garden-railings in crowds were not behind me in making invidious comparisons.

"Chairs and benches were placed under the beautiful trees, and people grouped themselves on these, and promenaded, flirted, talked politics and gossip, or listened to the royal band, which played at intervals, and played well. The dress of the ladies, whether white or colored, was both pretty and appropriate. Most of the younger women were in white, and wore natural flowers in their hair; and many of the elder ladies wore black or colored silks, with lace and trains. There were several beautiful leis of the gardenia, which filled all the garden with their delicious odor. Tea and ices were handed round on Sèvres china by footmen and pages in appropriate liveries. What a wonderful leap from calabashes and poi, malos, and paus, to this correct and tasteful civilization! soon as the brief amber twilight of the tropics was over, the garden was suddenly illuminated by myriads of Chinese lanterns, and the effect was bewitching. The upper suite of rooms was thrown open for those who preferred dancing under cover; but I think that the greater part of the assemblage chose the shady walks and the purple night. Supper was served at eleven, and soon after the party broke up."

As

Both the men and women of Hawaii have no little claim to personal comeliness, which age does not touch quickly, as it does the harassed, care-worn people of more energetic nations. The laughing, careless faces of the Hawaian women are a perpetual marvel. But the expression has little of the innocence and childishness of the negro physiognomy. They are a handsome people, scornful and sarcastic looking even in their mirth, and those who know them best say they are always quizzing and mimicking each other. The women are free from tasteless perversity, both as to color and ornament, and have an instinct of the becoming. At first the holuku, which is only a full-yoke night-gown, is not attractive, but its devices are wise. It conceals awk

*It need hardly be said that the chief here referred to is the present King Kalakaua who recently visited the United States, Luanillo having been on the throne when our author was in the Sandwich Islands.

wardness, and fosters grace of movement, and, equally adapted to riding or walking, it has the general appropriateness desirable in costume. The women have a peculiarly graceful walk, with a swinging step from the hip, in which the shoulder sympathizes. It has neither the delicate shuffle of the Frenchwoman, the robust, decided movement of the Englishwoman, the stately glide of the SpanᎪ iard, nor the stealthiness of the squaw. majestic wakine, with small, bare feet, a grand, swinging, deliberate gait, hibiscus-blossoms in her flowing hair, and flower-wreaths trailing over her holuku, has a tragic grandeur of appearance which makes the pale-skinned foreign lady marching in high-heeled shoes by her side look grotesque and insignificant.

The island of Kauai, belonging to the isl and group, is specially distinguished for the personal beauty and grace of its people. Indeed, the whole island, though not so exigent in its startling demands on the admiration of the visitor, has an extreme and characteristic beauty of its own. Its sparkling rivulets and swelling uplands have the charm of the quiet scenery of New England, and again its broken woody ridges and broad sweep of mountain outline recall the picturesque Alleghanies. It has not the warm tropical coloring, the luxuriant vegetation, nor yet indeed the volcanic wildernesses of Hawaii; but the scenery is charmingly calm and restful to the eye, full of quiet subtile effects, which the beholder never wearies of study. ing. The principal foreign household has for its head a venerable old Scotch lady, who emigrated with her family to New Zealand many years since. The story is quite a ro

mance:

The husband was accidentally drowned, and the widow left to take charge of a large property, and bring up the children. Her great ambition was to keep her family together on the old patriarchal system. When the children grew up, and the New Zealand property became too small, she sold it and embarked with her family and movable possessions on a clipper-ship, owned and commanded by one of her sons-in-law, to sail through the wide Pacific in search of some suitable home wherein to erect her household gods. They were strongly tempted by Tahiti, but some reasons decided them against that island. Mr. Damon, the seamen's chaplain, on boarding the trim bark, was amazed to find this great family party on board, with a beautiful and brilliant old lady at the head, books, pictures, work, and all that could add refinement to their floating home, and cattle and sheep of valuable breeds in pens on the deck.

The island of Nihau was then for sale, and was purchased of Kamehameha V. at a ridiculously low price. There they were established for seven years, but finally moved to Kauai, the second son only remaining in their former homestead. This patriarchal family consists of a bachelor son, two widowed daughters with six children, three of whom are grown-up young men, and a tutor, a young Prussian officer, who was on Maximilian's staff at Queretaro. The remaining daughter, married to a Norwegian gentleman, lives on the adjoining property. All the young people are thoroughly Hawaianized,

speaking the language fluently; are great athletes, and bold surf-riders, an accomplishment generally supposed out of the reach of foreigners. Such is a typical example of many foreign families who have settled in the Hawaian Islands, and on whom the future pros. perity of the little toy kingdom will largely 'depend.

One of the show-places of the island is a superb cañon. The valley which leads to it is walled in by palis, two hundred feet in height, grooved vertically in layers of conglomerate and basalt. The cañon itself is about twenty-five hundred feet in depth, not so grand, indeed, as the famous cañon of the Colorado, but so clad in verdure and parasitic trailing vines as to make the precipitous sides an inconceivable wealth of color. The upper end of the cañon is closed in by a superb waterfall, formed by the river Hawapipi falling over a wall three hundred and twenty-six feet in height. Two high and stately peaks form an imposing gate-way for the entrance of the stream. Numberless other small cascades also contribute their little warble to the deep diapason of the whole. Into this cool, dark abyss only the noontide sun ever penetrates; all beautiful things which love damp-all shade - loving parasites-flourish here in perennial beauty. Only a scarlet tropic bird occasionally flashes across the solemn silence, and the arches, buttresses, and columns, suggest a grand temple.

The island next to Hawaii in size and importance is Maui, which contains about twelve thousand inhabitants, and is highly cultivated for the most part, there being many wealthy and enterprising foreign residents. It is specially distinguished for the crater of Haleakala (House of the Sun), the largest crater in the world, though now, fortunately, extinct. The mountain is a dome ten thousand feet in height, with an enormous base, and the windward side is gashed by streams which, in their violence, have excavated large pot-holes, which serve as reservoirs. On the leeward side several black and fresh-looking streams of lava run into the sea. The whole coast for some distance above the ocean-level, indeed, shows signs of terrible volcanic action. The great surprise of Haleakala to the visitor is that where, according to calculation, there should have been a summit, an abyss of vast dimensions opens below. It is as if the whole top of the mountain had been blown off by some inconceivable convulsion. Though its girdling precipices are nineteen miles in extent, the whole crater can be taken in at a glance. The vast, irregular floor is two thousand feet below the opening. New York could be hidden away in it, with ample room to spare. On the north and east are huge gaps as deep as the crater, through which oceans of lava once found their way to the sea. The volcanic forces, by one gigantic effort, seem to have rent the whole top of the mountain asunder, and then passed into endless repose.

The crater seems composed of a hard, gray clinkstone, much fissured, and the internal cones look as if they had just gone out, so glowing is their red. Not even a hot spring or steam crack is found in any part of the mountain. With its cold ashes and

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