it to them once by an experiment upon the cook’s coppers, but failed,—­ probably as much from my own ignorance as from their want of apprehension, and, I have no doubt, left them with about as clear an idea of the principle as I had myself.  This difficulty, of course, existed in the same force with respect to the steamboats; and all I could do was to give them some account of the results, in the shape of speed; for, failing in the reason, I had to fall back upon the fact.  In my account of the speed, I was supported by Tom, who had been to Nantucket, and seen a little steamboat which ran over to New Bedford.  And, by the way, it was strange to hear Tom speak of America, when the poor fellow had been all the way round Cape Horn and back, and had seen nothing but Nantucket.

A map of the world, which I once showed them, kept their attention for hours; those who knew how to read pointing out the places and referring to me for the distances.  I remember being much amused with a question which Hope asked me.  Pointing to the large, irregular place which is always left blank round the poles, to denote that it is undiscovered, he looked up and asked, ``Pau?’’ (Done? ended?)

The system of naming the streets and numbering the houses they easily understood, and the utility of it.  They had a great desire to see America, but were afraid of doubling Cape Horn, for they suffer much in cold weather, and had heard dreadful accounts of the Cape from those of their number who had been round it.

They smoke a great deal, though not much at a time, using pipes with large bowls, and very short stems, or no stems at all.  These they light, and, putting them to their mouths, take a long draught, getting their mouths as full as they can hold of smoke, and their cheeks distended, and then let it slowly out through their mouths and nostrils.  The pipe is then passed to others, who draw in the same manner,—­ one pipe-full serving for half a dozen.  They never take short, continuous draughts, like Europeans, but one of these ``Oahu puffs,’’ as the sailors call them, serves for an hour or two, until some one else lights his pipe, and it is passed round in the same manner.  Each Kanaka on the beach had a pipe, flint, steel, tinder, a hand of tobacco, and a jack-knife, which he always carried about with him.[1]

That which strikes a stranger most peculiarly is their style of singing.  They run on, in a low, guttural, monotonous sort of chant, their lips and tongues seeming hardly to move, and the sounds apparently modulated solely in the throat.  There is very little tune to it, and the words, so far as I could learn, are extempore.  They sing about persons and things which are around them, and adopt this method when they do not wish to be understood by any but themselves; and it is very effectual, for with the most careful attention I never could detect a word that I knew.  I have often heard Mr. Mannini, who was the most noted improvisatore among them, sing for an hour together, when at work in the midst of Americans and Englishmen; and, by the occasional shouts and laughter of the Kanakas, who were at a distance, it was evident that he was singing about the different men that he was at work with.  They have great powers of ridicule, and are excellent mimics, many of them discovering and imitating the peculiarities of our own people before we had observed them ourselves.