TIME AND CHANGE 



roads, in the fresh morning air, near the beach, to 

 Wailuku, the shire town of the island, two or three 

 miles distant. Here we were most hospitably enter 

 tained in the home of Mr. Penhallow, the director 

 of a large sugar plantation. 



Here for the first time in my life I saw a gang of 

 steam plows working, pulled by a stationary engine 

 at each end of the field, and turning over the red, 

 heavy volcanic soil. The work was mainly in the 

 hands of Japanese, and was well done. We after 

 ward saw Japanese by the score, both men and 

 women, planting a large area of newly plowed 

 land with sugar-cane. 



After we were rested and refreshed, and had 

 sampled the mangoes that had fallen from a tree 

 near the house, Mr. Aiken took us in his automobile 

 up into the famous lao Valley, at the mouth of 

 which Wailuku is situated. It is a deep, striking 

 chasm carved out of the mountain by the stream, 

 rank with verdure of various kinds, and looked 

 down upon by sharp peaks and ridges five or six 

 thousand feet high. We soon reached the clear 

 rapid, brawling stream, as bright as a Catskill moun 

 tain trout brook, and after a mile or two along its 

 course we came to the end of the road, where we left 

 the machine and took a trail that wound onward and 

 upward over a slippery surf ace and through dripping 

 bushes, for we here began to reach the skirts of the 

 little showers that almost constantly career over and 

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