spear, and the unlucky omen fell like a blight upon the brave souls at his back; with a triumphant shout the invaders pressed forward—­the line was crossed—­the offended gods deserted the despairing army, and, accepting the doom their perjury had brought upon them, they broke and fled over the plain where Honolulu stands now—­up the beautiful Nuuanu Valley —­paused a moment, hemmed in by precipitous mountains on either hand and the frightful precipice of the Pari in front, and then were driven over —­a sheer plunge of six hundred feet!

The story is pretty enough, but Mr. Jarves’ excellent history says the Oahuans were intrenched in Nuuanu Valley; that Kamehameha ousted them, routed them, pursued them up the valley and drove them over the precipice.  He makes no mention of our bone-yard at all in his book.

Impressed by the profound silence and repose that rested over the beautiful landscape, and being, as usual, in the rear, I gave voice to my thoughts.  I said: 

“What a picture is here slumbering in the solemn glory of the moon!  How strong the rugged outlines of the dead volcano stand out against the clear sky!  What a snowy fringe marks the bursting of the surf over the long, curved reef!  How calmly the dim city sleeps yonder in the plain!  How soft the shadows lie upon the stately mountains that border the dream-haunted Mauoa Valley!  What a grand pyramid of billowy clouds towers above the storied Pari!  How the grim warriors of the past seem flocking in ghostly squadrons to their ancient battlefield again—­how the wails of the dying well up from the—­”

At this point the horse called Oahu sat down in the sand.  Sat down to listen, I suppose.  Never mind what he heard, I stopped apostrophising and convinced him that I was not a man to allow contempt of Court on the part of a horse.  I broke the back-bone of a Chief over his rump and set out to join the cavalcade again.

Very considerably fagged out we arrived in town at 9 o’clock at night, myself in the lead—­for when my horse finally came to understand that he was homeward bound and hadn’t far to go, he turned his attention strictly to business.

This is a good time to drop in a paragraph of information.  There is no regular livery stable in Honolulu, or, indeed, in any part of the Kingdom of Hawaii; therefore unless you are acquainted with wealthy residents (who all have good horses), you must hire animals of the wretchedest description from the Kanakas. (i.e. natives.) Any horse you hire, even though it be from a white man, is not often of much account, because it will be brought in for you from some ranch, and has necessarily been leading a hard life.  If the Kanakas who have been caring for him (inveterate riders they are) have not ridden him half to death every day themselves, you can depend upon it they have been doing the same thing by proxy, by clandestinely hiring him out.  At least, so I am informed.  The result is, that no horse has a chance to eat, drink, rest, recuperate, or look well or feel well, and so strangers go about the Islands mounted as I was to-day.