battle had diminished to a severe skirmish, and the number of killed and wounded was reduced to two hundred. As hours passed, the battle became of less and less importance, pare and shorter grew the list of casualties, until at last the latter dwindled to only four men!!

the p

depa

an

MOORISH ART.

It is a matter of interesting and curious study to note how it is that, while we Chrisitians have borrowed and adapted to our use so be much of Oriental decoration, the Moors, though constantly in contact with other nations, have never, either in Spain or elsewhere, admitted any mixture of Christian art. Jealously and carefully have they ever retained their own mode of building, their own fashion of decorating, and it must be allowed that in both respects their refinement and exquisite taste 1. would only have been deteriorated by any change.

:

animals.

We arrived at the Plaza shortly before twelve o'clock, and by the light of a lantern were taken through many passages and up many stairs to a curious place, a sort of network of strong, narrow, wooden galleries. These crossed and recrossed an inclosure into which the bulls would be driven before they entered the dark pens which were to be their last abode.

From one of these galleries opened the president's box, into which we were shown, and the bulls have to pass from the ring into the inclosure through the opening immediately beneath this box. Not above thirty or forty persons were present, and, excepting one or two small lanterns carried by the assistants,

The skill, also, with which they adapted their buildings to the exigencies of climate is ❘ and the fiery points of the cigars, the place very remarkable. In southern towns, where the beat of summer is the danger to be guarded

was in perfect darkness.

Soon after twelve the noise of distant

against, their rooms were lofty, cool, and dark, | trampling was heard; every light, and every

and a refreshing current of air could be passed through the fretted decorations of the roof.

At Granada, and other colder towns, every great house could be thoroughly warmed by hot air. This was conveyed from the bathroom by brick passages into chambers in the walls, and was let into the apartments through perforated tiles placed near the floor. NothYing could be simpler or more skillful than such an arrangement.

SPANISH BEVERAGES.

Every sort of cooling drink could be had in perfection. Water, to begin with, is always is quite fresh and cold, and this is more than a - luxury, it is an absolute necessity in a country uf where one is literally burnt up with thirst. In avery town sturdy gallegos carry it about, and tis refreshing even to hear their monotonous, bong-drawn cry of "Agua pura," "Agua mas fresca que la nieve," for the east wind brings rith it dust and burning fever, and the sun corches and dries blood and skin with its ery heat. Those who are wise will, when traveling, provide themselves with one of the pretty little white porous jars that keep the rater as fresh as if it had been just taken from he spring. Then, in all the cafés, and at the tornets of the principal streets, may be had tore iced beverages than could be named in a Jingle page - delicious orange and lemonade, ble glass piled high with cool, white snow, kith, perhaps, half a ripe apricot, or a few rawberries thrown on it, to give still more vor to the refreshing mixture. There is d barley-water, or orgeat, mixed with the

ice of fresh fruits or syrups, sometimes

ving also a soupçon of wild-thyme or herbs, it give a slightly aromatic taste, inexpresMy refreshing on a hot day. Besides all the itous preparations of orgeats, there is thin and ginger-beer, and many more drinks the same nature. Above all must be placed hochadas, made of pounded grapes, barleyand water, carefully strained and iced, h a few strawberries, or pieces of orange

Anar

cigar even, was then extinguished, for fear of alarming the animals, and thus checking their entrance into the ring.

It was grand to hear the heavy tramp of the on-coming troop, which rapidly grew louder and more distinct, and, ere many moments had elapsed, a horseman at full gallop dashed into the ring. He was the leader of the herd, and scarcely had he taken up his post beside the entrance when with a thundering rush the animals passed between the gates, and in another second the arena was a mass of huge, dark, moving bodies, careering wildiy round the great space.

There were fourteen bulls, eight tame, besides the six wild ones destined for to-morrow's show, and four or five mounted vaqueros, as the herdsmen are called. The instant the herd had entered, the heavy doors closed with a crash, and lighted torches were waved above them to drive the animals to our end, which still remained perfectly dark and quiet. Among such a crowd of terrified, infuriated creatures, it seemed quite a miracle that the men and horses were not gored or tossed. A vaquero's duties at these times are, in fact, very dangerous, and accidents do occasionally oсcur; but the horses used for this work are excellent, and the men show marvelous address. The tame bulls, also, are an assistance to them, as these animals know and are often attached to their herdsmen.

After a short period of wild terror and agitation, some of the tame bulls began to lead the way toward the inclosure beneath us, and no sooner was a wild one tempted in than the gates were closed, and he was now to be driven into the pen that was to be his last restingplace.

Every one now hurried to the galleries above the inclosure. The first bull that entered was a magnificent creature, with a gigantic shaggy head, and short, thick, fearful horns. Furious with rage at being thus entrapped, he tore up the ground with his hoofs, and dashed his broad forehead against the

ries above pricked him with their long goads. He shook his great head and gave a low, angry roar, but would not move. At length, with a sudden plunge, he rushed into the narrow cell before him. In an instant the doors swung to, a massive bar descended, and he was a prisoner, left in darkness and without food until the morrow, when he would again come forth, but only to die.

THE papers in Blackwood entitled "Conversations in a Studio," from which we have given our readers several extracts, are now said to be by our countryman, W. W. Story. Subjoined are a few good comments on the advantages of broad and general culture:

Belton. It would be a charming power to be able to carry one's library in one's mind! I envy men with large memories. Still, nothing is utterly lost; and I comfort myself with thinking that even what has flowed away has at least lent its color to my thoughts, and deepened the channel through which it passed. I hope so, at least. That is the kind of riches I envy. What one is within, and what one has educated himself to do and think and feel, that is truly his, and no one can take it from him. Nor can he himself lose it, or willfully throw it away. But wealth and goods are not ours. They do not really belong to us, but may be added or taken away, and leave us what we were. They may be squandered, or stolen, or lost. But one's mind and one's memory cannot be pilfered like a chest of coin. What we possess in our mind is ours forever till the mind itself decays.

Mallett. When old B- (whose hand was as tight as his morals were loose, and whose life had been devoted almost exclusively to money-getting) died at a ripe old age, somebody asked Outis what he had left. "Every thing," said Outis; "he has taken nothing with him."

Belton. Precisely; nothing is truly ours which we must leave behind.

Mallett. The struggle of the world, the decreased value of money, the crowding of prcfessions and trades at the present day, the strenuous competition for place and wealth, create specialties; and few men now are completely developed; they are rather hands, feet, head, than whole men; a general culture is rare, while a special faculty is trained to the utmost; all the professions and trades are divided and subdivided, and each man has to perfect himself in his department. There is thus a great particular gain to set off against a general loss. In art this is seen almost as much as in law. For it seems to me that culture and a large education are almost necessary to create a great artist. In the ancient days, as well as at the period of the Renaissance, the great artists were accomplished in various branches of art, and did not confine themselves to one. Phidias, for example, was a painter, an engraver, a worker in embossed figures, a sculptor in brass, gold, and ivory, and a musician, if not an architect. The architects of the Parthenon, Ictinus and Callicrates, were also sculptors of note; and, indeed, most of the artists of those times worked in various branches of art. Leonardo da Vinci was as eminent an engineer as he was a painter. He was also architect, sculptor, and

musician, and besides being an author and an inventor in mechanics, he was well versed in various branches of science. Michael Angelo was a poet, sculptor, painter, and architect, and it is difficult to say in which of the last three he was greatest. Giotto was also accomplished in all these arts. Vervecchio was as excellent a sculptor as painter. Benvenuto Cellini was a soldier, a goldsmith, a sculptor, a poet, and an accomplished musician. Salvator Rosa was a painter, a poet, and a musician, and his poetry is certainly, at the least, quite as good as his pictures; while what we have of his music is of a large and admirable character. Orcagna was painter, sculptor, and architect. Ghiberti, who made the famous doors of the Florentine Baptistery, of which Michael Angelo said, with generous exaggeration, they were worthy to be the gates of paradise, was also an architect. But, not to extend the list, in a word, nearly all the artists of any note at this period not only practised several arts, but distinguished themselves in each; and for myself I cannot but think that the knowledge of all made them stronger in each. They threw into every thing they did the full weight of all they knew and were. The breadth of their culture gave refinement and strength to their work.

Belton. But how could they find time to accomplish themselves in so many arts, if one art requires a lifetime, as you say it does?

Mallett. There is time enough to do many things, if the person is seriously concentrated in his work, and does not squander his mind and his time by half-work. Nothing is so bad

It is ninety-three years since the death of the seer, whose works the society distributes, and never, it appears, has the interest in these strange writings been "more widely evoked, or more fully satisfied." The lifetime of Emanuel Swedenborg coincided, as his English biographer, Mr. Wilkinson, says, with the most skeptical and, in philosophy, the most materialistic age of thought. The movement that the Germans call the Aufklärung, that the French call the éclaircissement, was in full vigor. Only in Swedenborg's later years did the natural reaction begin, the reaction from Hume to Kant, from Voltaire to a spiritual philosophy. Even Voltaire, perhaps, regretted sometimes that he had done his destructive work too well. Rationalism, he says, in one of his poems, is gaining a morose credit, and error has merits of its own. He would like to have left to peasants and children their fireside tales, while he laughed what he thought more pernicious superstitions out of court. There were three men in Europe, at that time, who in their several ways were helping to restore to Europe the belief in a spiritual life, in a spiritual world, in the existence of things not seen, and the possibility of hope and faith. The three were Kant, Wesley, Swedenborg, all working in very different fields, but all sowing the seeds of the present state of thought, the state of thought which is widely

they are working, when in truth they are only dawdling over their work with half-attention. There is time enough thrown away every day to enable any one of earnest mind to do more than many a man does with his whole day. All depends upon love of the work on which one is engaged, and in concentration of one's faculties. It is, in my opinion, better to be utterly idle, and lie fallow to influences, than to muddle away hours in half-work. Besides, change of labor is rest, and to an active mind more rest than laziness. I have always found

in music a more complete refreshment of my mind, after a hard day's work in my studio, than even sleep could give. The faculties and powers and interests are thrown in a different direction, and while one series works the other reposes. After an entire change of occupation one returns with fresh zest and vigor to the work he has left; whereas, if the thoughts are constantly treading the same path, they soon, as it were, wear a rut in the mind, out of which they cannot extricate themselves, and this begets in the end mannerism and self-repetition. Still more, the various arts are but different exercises of correlative powers. They each in turn refresh and enlarge the imaginative and motive powers, and extend their sphere. Each, as it were, is echoed and reflected into the other. The harmonies of color and forms and tones and words are closely related to each other, and but different expressions of merely the same thing. A sculptor's work will be cold if he is not sensitive to color and music; and a painter's work will be loose and vague unless his mind has been trained to the absoluteness of form and outline: neither can compose well his lines and forms unless he possess that innate sense of balance and harmonious arrangement and modulation which is developed by music.

THE Swedenborg Society of London held recently a meeting in commemoration of the sixty-fifth anniversary of its foundation. This event elicited from the London Daily News the subjoined entertaining paper on the famous prophet:

criticism of Kant threw doubt and discredit, to say the least, on the reasoning of the materialist philosophy, the preaching of Wesley renewed the life of the English Church, and the visions of Swedenborg were to many minds satisfactory evidence as to the unseen world, while his moral application of his mysticism is full of fervent and persuasive eloquence. It is not safe to venture on any account of the system of Swedenborg, for his writings are even more voluminous and various than those of Comte, while his disciples, like the Positivists, are apt to ask critics if they have read all the works of the master. It is easy, however, to select a few points in the general tendency of the Swedenborgian theories, and to show how they are adapted to modern wants, and have thus exercised no slight influence on modern imaginative literature. The life of the seer, as it is generally told, is more strange than any fairy tale, and the incidents and doctrines, with a difference, have been used by Balzac in two of his most powerful stories, "Louis Lambert" and "Séraphitus Séraphita."

The life of Emanuel Swedenborg was a kind of commentary on his views. Born in 1688, he was distinguished as a child for the intensity of his devotion, and, as a young and

a middle-aged man, for success in scientific research and mechanical invention. He was the engineer who invented a way of carrying provisions and artillery to the siege of Frederickshall, where Charles XII. was shot. He was noted for treatises on the assay of metals, and on docks and sluices. Some time after he had gained high office in the miningservice of Sweden, he turned his attention more to speculation, and his philosophy is of that mystic sort which recognizes in the universe a system of correspondences and harmonies, sees in bodies the expression of souls, and believes that the natural world exists in obedience to the spiritual one. Thus Swedenborg would agree with the French student who has lately frightened the Bishop of Orleans by asserting that the sun is the cause of the world. But then Swedenborg goes a step further, and observes, according to his latest translator, "There is in the spiritual world a sun which is different from that in the natural world. To the truth of this I am able to bear solemn witness, inasmuch as I have seen that sun." Here we touch the point where Swedenborg ceases to be the philosopher, in the common sense of the word, and becomes the seer. It was in 1743 that what he considered his education was accomplished, and that he had a view of the spiritual world. Most people have heard the curious anecdote of how, after a hearty meal in a London tavern, he saw a vision of snakes and reptiles, and heard a voice say, "Eat not so much." From that day, with intervals of discouragement, in which doubt of his own gift seems once to have been near him, Swe denborg had what the heathen Norsemen called Forspan: he was a second-sighted man Apart from his visits to the places of departed spirits, and his detailed accounts of them apart from his seeing a friend at the friend' own funeral, and frightening the sister of th dead Frederick the Great with intelligenc from that lamented monarch, the tale of ho he saw and described a fire at Stockhol while he himself was at Gottenburg, thre hundred miles off, is strange, and fairly we authenticated. Kant is usually given as t authority for this marvel, and Kant seems least to have done his best to find out t truth of the story. With the religious a philosophic beliefs based on Swedenbor writings, we have no concern here, but it easy to see how, in an age when physical s ence is so powerful, people are glad to turn a philosophy which makes physical nature it were the veil of spiritual nature, and b the fairy tales of science are neglected for periences more like the elder fairy tales childhood, in their simple marvels.

vendence this island-group was made known the civilized world as the scene where the enturous voyager Captain Cook lost his at the hands of a throng of infuriated res; and marvelous reports of the para

Six Months among the Palm-Groves, Coralfs, and Volcanoes of the Sandwich Islands. By ella L. Bird, Author of "The English WomAmerica." With Illustrations. London: Murray.

same unruffled seas, the same open-air conservatory of all that is most unique and beautiful in flower and foliage, delight the visitor no less than when the perils of an inhospitable reception lent the zest of personal romance to the landing of the voyager. Now, as then, the Sandwich Islands seem the very realization of Tennyson's lovely dreams in "The Lotos-Eaters" and "Locksley Hall;" and civilization has, perhaps, lent a fresh

graphically given in Miss Bird's book.

The approach of the sea-voyager to the Sandwich Islands presents a group of gray, barren peaks rising verdureless out of the sea, and land twenty miles away seems only five, so transparent is the atmosphere. With a closer vicinity, the view changes magically. The great peaks become vari-colored, presenting glowing proof of their fiery origin, and cleft with deep chasms and ravines of cool shadow and delicious green, their sides streaked with flashing water. Nearer yet, the coast-line shows itself with its feathery fringes of cocoa-nut and the long line of foaming surf. The breakers rushing on the coral-reefs girdle the Hawaian Islands with perpetual thunder, and the narrow channel which leads into the harbor of Honolulu

leaves but little margin for the skillful hand of the pilot. Within the reef a first full glimpse of the strange and picturesque beauty of his new surroundings breaks upon the visitor. The coral-fishers ply their graceful trade; the water swarms with canoes, and amphibious brown beings sport in the transparent waters. Beyond the reef and the blue of the harbor the town of Honolulu nestles among palms and bananas, umbrella-trees and bread-fruits, oranges, mangoes, hibiscus, and passion-flowers, almost hidden in the dense greenery, the bright blossom of a sum

mer sea.

The arrival of a ship creates a deep stir

being densely draped with trailing plants of different kinds. It is often difficult to tell which is the house and which the vegetation, so deftly does luxurian: Nature do her work.

The perfect beauty of Honolulu and its surroundings, however, is hardly to be realized from the town or even the sea. A few miles outside of the capital is the Pali, a wall-like precipice one thousand feet high. From this summit the complete glory of land and sea is joined into one entrancing picture. Outside of Honolulu the dense, arborescent foliage ceases, but the ground is covered with a greensward of a deep tint, a perfect sea of verdure, as thick as moss to the feet. Streamlets leap from crags and ripple by the road-side; every rock and stone is cushioned with delicate ferns. The hills are wall-like ridges of colored rock, broken into shafts and pinnacles, like cathedral-spires. At the summit of the ascent the far-famed view bursts on the vision, before shut in by winding

crags. Great masses of black, ferruginous volcanic rock form the Pali on either side, the tops splintered into fantastic pinnacles, that rise with the regularity of a work of art. A broad mass of green clothes the lower buttresses, fringing itself away in sweeps of palm and garden-like fields, variegated with grass and sugar-cane, white villas, banana-groves, and red tufa-cones, which glitter in the sun, witnesses of the devilish forces slumbering under the smiling greenery. Beyond this stretches the coral-reef, with its white line of foaming surf, and the broad, blue Pacific, just silvered by the light touch of the wind, which comes to the peak with a refreshing chill. The semicircular sweep of ocean, and the exquisite beauty set in its midst, would

of excitement in the quiet little island-capi-paths and prison-like colonnades of mountaintal. Two or three thousand people welcome the advent, whites, natives, and Chinamenfor the Celestials are numerous on the island. Men and women of a deep-brown tint swarm over the ship, all smiling and chattering in a language whose liquid syllables seem to have no backbone. The men display their lithe figures to the best advantage in white trousers and gay red shirts, and many of the younger beauties wear the gorgeous blossom of the red hibiscus in their abundant black hair, with many a garland besides of sweetscented vines and ferns trailing down their backs. Indeed, all the Sandwich-Islanders have a passion for flowers, and the stranger's eyes are charmed by the picturesque effect of the rich brown skins set off with the most gorgeous wreaths and festoons, a habit by ❘ call to mind Homer's description of the fabno means confined to gala-days, so that he veritably sees a rainbow-tinted crowd. The wharf, heaped with piles of delicious fruits, oranges and guavas, strawberries, papayas, chiramoyas, bananas, and a thousand productions of a most prolific climate; heaps of fish, strange in shape and dazzling in color, such as one would associate with the bright coral-forests beneath the waters; groups of coral-divers with the beautiful products of their submarine toil-all inspire the stranger with a realization of the novel and fantastic land to which he has come.

The town of Honolulu is unique, being a congregation of little villages almost hidden in bowers of glowing greenery. It is said that fifteen thousand people are buried away in the low-browed, shadowy houses under the glossy trees, which overarch the streets till they seem like magnificent forest-avenues, huge-leaved, bright, spreading trees, many of them exotics from the South Seas, rich with parasitic ferns and bright with fantastic flowers, through which the sunlight only breaks in dancing glints. The air is heavy with the odors of tuberoses, lilies, roses, and oleanders, many of which grow as large as rhododendrons, besides a great variety of lovely flowers almost unknown in our northern climate, except in hot-houses. In the deep shade of this perennial greenery the

rication of Achilles's shield :

"Thus the broad shield complete, the artist crowned

With his last hand; and poured the ocean round;
In living silver seemed the waves to roll,
And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the
whole."

This Pali was the scene of one of the his toric tragedies of the island. Kamehameha, the conqueror, a fierce and ruthless warrior, who finally united the island sovereignties in his own person, drove the last remnant of the army of the King of Oahu up this precipice, and compelled them, in their mad despair, to plunge off, where their bones now lie bleaching in the valley below.

The drives about Honolulu are every af ternoon thronged with brilliant equestrians, for the Hawaians are almost as much born to the saddle as to the water. Hundreds of native horsemen and horsewomen, their heels armed with long spurs, tear along at furious pace. The women seem perfectly at home in their gay, brass-bossed saddles, which they always sit astride, and fly by with their orange and scarlet riding-dresses streaming in the wind, a bright, kaleidoscopic flash of bright eyes, white teeth, shining hair, garlands of flowers, and many-colored dresses; while the men seem hardly less picturesque in their jaunty costumes. The eye almost

people live, even the verandas of the houses | tires of the gay and exciting spectacle, with

its boisterous chatter and laughing; and the return to the cool, spacious hotel, with its embowered verandas, becomes a relief. Let us get a brief glimpse of a Honolulu inn,

A large lawn, shaded with noble trees, like an English park, conducts by a semicircular drive to a long, two-storied house of stone. On the front of the upper story is the dining-room, running the whole length of the building. It has no curtains, and its tints are cool and neutral, looking through its windows on cool mountains and flashing seas revealed in the open vistas of foliage. On the same level is the parlor, with ever-open windows, that take in the same charming outlook. The bedrooms, paneled with aromatic woods, have jalousies, which insure at once coolness and privacy. The verandas are thick with lounging-chairs, and a cool breeze whispers through all the passages night and day. The eye takes in nothing but pleasure the play of light and color on the mountains, the glint of the seas, the deep green of the valleys, where showers, sunshine, and rainbows, make perpetual variety.

The hotel is the centre of stir in the Hawaian capital-a club-room, parlor, lounging-place, and news-exchange, all in one. Its corridors are lively with naval uniforms and the whiteduck dresses of the planters. Health-seekers, resident boarders, sea-captains, and a stream of townspeople, percolate everywhere in a free-and-easy commingling, and life seems pervaded with a free-and-easy bonhomie and kindliness. This charming hostelry was built by the government at large expense, and is a great addition to the attraction of the island capital, though its cost caused con siderable grumbling in the discussion on th year's financial budget in the little Hawaian Legislature, where there is not much of grea moment to talk about. We cannot forbes giving a brief extract, descriptive of the firt night in Honolulu, in our author's own la guage:

"A soft breeze, scented with a slight ar matic odor, wanders in at every openin bringing with it, mellowed by distance, th hum and clatter of the busy cicada. T nights are glorious, and so absolutely st that even the feathery foliage of the algaro is at rest. The stars seem to hang amo the trees like lamps, and the crescent mo gives more light than the full moon at ho The evening of the day we landed, parties officers and ladies mounted at the door, with much mirth disappeared on moonli rides, and the white robes of flower-crow girls gleamed among the trees, as groups natives went by speaking a language wi sounded more like the rippling of water 1 human speech. Soft music came from iron-clads in the harbor, and from the band at the king's palace, and a rich grance of dewy blossoms filled the deli air. These are indeed the isles of F the 'sun-lands, musical with beauty. seem to welcome us to their enchanted st Every thing is new, but nothing strange as I enjoyed the purple night, I remem that I had seen such islands in dreams cold, gray North. 'How sweet,' I thou would be, thus to hear far off the low murmur of the 'sparkling brine,' to res

12

'... ever to seem

Falling asleep in a half-dream!'י

Let us not linger at the capital, however, but follow our traveler in her wanderings to other scenes even more beautiful and striking. A crazy and creaking steamer carries its voyagers along the smiling coast over the smooth tropic seas, just outside of the belt of reef over which the surf crashes cease

worth the aching bones, strained muscles, and severe fatigue of the ascent. A slow,

lessly. The sun drops its intense light and | depth, likely at any time to upheave a cataract heat on the glassy waters, in the submarine chaparral of which strange fish flash in an endless game of hide-and-seek. The vessel creeps along slowly by the great red rocks of Maui, and finally a huge mountain-summit uplifted in a region of endless winter. This is Haleakala, the "House of the Sun," the largest extinct volcano in the world, its terminal crater being nineteen miles in circumference at a height of ten thousand feet. A snail-like voyage of forty-eight hours, made interesting, however, by the bright scenery, ends at Hilo, one of the celebrated places of Hawaii. The great coast-line of gray cliffs, hundreds of feet in height, shows itself draped in green, but often black, rent, and - caverned at the bases. Into the cracks and caves the surf rolls like thunder, sending broad sheets of foam high up among the ferns and trailers. Numberless cascades fall

of destruction from its bosom. It ever throbs and palpitates, and its low rumblings every few days give warning that in a moment beautiful Hilo may become a thing of the past, a red waste of smoking ruin. Such before has been the fate of the town, involving general destruction of life. Hilo proves even more fascinating on close acquaintance. There is no road except bridle-paths, and the houses of the missionaries, while they suggest NewEngland life, do it in such an idealized way as to make it a quaint element of poetry and antiquity in the wild luxuriance of Nature.

from the cliffs, or gush through the clefts and chasms, at the foot of which open out wide green lawns, each with its grass-house and patches of banana and palm, so close to the ocean that the spray is often frittered away on the fan-like fringes of foliage. Above are grassy uplands, glades and dells streaked with cataracts, and the dark, dense forests, which girdle Mauna-Kea and Mauna-Loa, two vast volcanic heights, which rise, capped with snow, fourteen thousand feet. In the last twenty-nine miles before reaching Hilo, there are more than sixty gulches, from one hundred to seven hundred feet in depth, each with its cataract, and fantastic with the wildest vagaries of tropical foliage and blooms. White churches dot the coast like mile-stones, too many even for the fast-dwindling population.

The paradise of Hawaii, Hilo, is best described as being without effort what Honolulu attempts to be. The crescent-shaped bay is the most beautiful in the Pacific, the farther extremity being formed by a black-lava inlet, where the cocoa-palm attains its greatest perfection; and beyond it again another fringe of cocoa-nuts marks the deep indentation of the coast. The whole bay is belted with golden sand, on which the deep monotone of the surf roars drowsily, mingled with the merry music of living waters, the Waiakea and Wailaku, which splash off the mountaintside, and rush to the ocean, fern-fringed to the very mouths. White houses dot the treenery and the hills above, and churchpires denote the foreign element.

Hilo is unique. A humid climate and ong repose from volcanic disturbance have iven it a great depth of vegetable mould. ich soil, rain, heat, and sunshine, stimulate Fature to its most prodigal efforts. Even igh-water mark on the shore is draped with le convolvulus. The wood is so dark that le town is suggested rather than seen. From

The houses of the foreigners yield the palm in picturesqueness to the thatched residences of the natives with their fantastic verandas covered with flowering trailers. Everywhere may be met flowing waters; each house has its pure stream arrested in a bath-house, and thence liberated among the kalo patches. Each veranda is a gatheringplace, and the dresses of the inhabitants are always brightened with wreaths of flowThese gay gatherings (for the islanders always keep open houses), the hot-house temperature, the strange trees and flowers, the rich odors which load the air, and the low recitative of the groves and the distant surf, transport the visitor out of his accustomed feelings into a new world of sensations.

ers.

broken paths, through the matted luxuriance of forest-trails, ends at the Crater House, some miles from the volcanic pit, a unique house, kept by a half-native, who remains in spite of the peril of his situation, for his gains are large from curiosity-hunters and sight-seers. The fire-abyss, about four thousand feet high on the flank of Mauna-Loa, is nine miles in circumference, and one thousand feet in depth to the igneous lake within. All around the margin, great jets of steam and blowing cones are seen, and the pit itself is constantly rent and shaken by earthquakes. Terrible eruptions occur at intervals, but the phenomena of the volcano are incessant. This fiery lake is known in Hawaian mythology as the "House of Everlasting Fire," the abode of the dread goddess Pele.

As the visitor approaches the crater, all vegetation is blotted out. The accustomed sights and sounds of Nature cease, and there is nothing but a Plutonic region of blackness and desolation, terraces, cliffs, lakes, ridges, rivers, mountain-sides, whirlpools, chasms, solid, black, and shining, or ashen gray, stained yellow with sulphur or white with alum. The lava is fissured everywhere by earthquakes, and is almost too hot for the feet. He who seeks to see the hearth of Pele must climb painfully over the rough and broken lava-flow, stumbling nearly every step, and breaking through the steaming crust, till boots and gloves are nearly burned through. Suddenly, without forewarning, fiery drops are spun high in the air, like liquid glass from the blow-pipe, and the traveler stands on the awful brink of Kilauea. A new glory is added to the possibilities of sight, and common words become tame. There are groanings and detonations, the crash of breakers, but of fiery waves on a fiery coast. Below one sees an irregular lake ranging from five hundred feet to nearly a mile in width, the sides perpendicularly bold and craggy. The prominent object is fire in motion, but the surface of the great lake is constantly skinning over with a surface of grayish white

blossoms, meets one at every turn, and the palm-trees have an indescribable grace and witchery. Through the bridle-lanes, native women and the foreign ladies may be seen at any hour riding in the winged Hawaian dress, or in full Turkish trousers and jauntily-made riding-habits, dashing about like female Cen

taurs.

The habits of the people are very simple. They visit each other without even the ceremony of knocking, and there are no bells on the doors. The evening, however, is the recognized time for calling, and they go about through the sombre groves, which shut out the starlight, with lanterns. It is presumed that people are always ready to receive their friends, for hospitality is a second nature both with the natives and foreign residents.

from the sides to the centre, like the rush ot a whirlpool, and at each burst of agitation there are hissings and roarings. Now furious and demoniacal, now playful and sportive, again languid, the imprisoned forces are in perpetual change. Sometimes a dozen firefountains play around the verge, then they are swallowed up in one fierce vortex. Sometimes the whole lake takes the form of great waves, and lashes the sides with clots and splashes of fire thrown up almost to the top of the crater, where the awe-stricken visitor stands rooted. All is confusion, force, terror, and majesty. The color has not the crimson gleam of blood, nor the whiteness of light, but something awful and indescribable between the two.

The crust is wrinkled in great folds, which seem to crawl and writhe like serpents. Great pieces are constantly broken off and engulfed, while the fiery fountains dance round the lake with a joyousness which would be en