" Life is dead, and existence is a languid
swoon.
This is the only regular boarding house on Hawaii. The company is
accidental and promiscuous. The conversation consists of
speculations, varied and repeated with the hours, as to the arrivals
and departures of the Honolulu schooners Uilama and Prince, who they
will bring, who they will take, and how long their respective
passages will be. A certain amount of local gossip is also hashed
up at each meal, and every stranger who has travelled through Hawaii
for the last ten years is picked to pieces and worn threadbare, and
his purse, weight, entertainers, and habits are thoroughly
canvassed. On whatever subject the conversation begins it always
ends in dollars; but even that most stimulating of all topics only
arouses a languid interest among my fellow dreamers. I spend most
of my time in riding in the forests, or along the bridle path which
trails along the height, among grass and frame-houses, almost
smothered by trees and trailers.
Many of these are inhabited by white men, who, having drifted to
these shores, have married native women, and are rearing a dusky
race, of children who speak the maternal tongue only, and grow up
with native habits.
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