Long cathedral aisles stretched away in far-off
vistas, and so perfect at times was the Gothic illusion, that I
found myself listening for anthems and the roll of organs. So cool
and moist it was, and triumphantly redundant in vagaries of form and
greenery, it was a forest of forests, and it became a necessity to
return the next day, and the next; and I think if I had remained at
Koloa I should have been returning still.
This place is outside the beauty, among cane-fields, and is much
swept by the trade winds. Mr. Rice, my host, is the son of an
esteemed missionary, and he and his wife take a deep interest in the
natives. When he brought her here as a bride a few months ago, the
natives were so delighted that he had married an island lady who
could speak Hawaiian, that they gave them an ahaaina, or native
feast, on a grand scale. The food was cooked in Polynesian style,
by being wrapped up in greens called luau, and baked underground.
There were two bullocks, nineteen hogs, a hundred fowls, any
quantity of poi and fruit, and innumerable native dishes. Five
hundred natives, profusely decorated with leis of flowers and maile,
were there, and each brought a gift for the bride. After the feast
they chaunted meles in praise of Mr.
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