LETTER II.] 



THE HAWAIIAN HOTEL. 



23 



Nevada's officers, riding in the stiff, wooden style which Anglo- 

 Saxons love, and a horde of jolly British sailors from H.M.S. 

 Scout, rushing helter skelter, colliding with everybody, be- 

 striding their horses as they would a topsailyard, hanging on to 

 manes and lassoing horns, and enjoying themselves thoroughly. 

 In the shady, tortuous streets we met hundreds more of native 

 riders, dashing at full gallop without fear of the police. Many 

 of the women were in flowing riding dresses of pure white, 

 over which their unbound hair, and wreaths of carmine-tinted 

 flowers fell most picturesquely. 



All this time I had not seen our domicile, and when our 

 drive ended under the quivering shadow of large tamarind and 

 algaroba trees, in front of a long, stone, two-storied house with 

 two deep verandahs festooned witla clematis and passion flowers, 

 and a shady lawn in front, I felt as if in this fairy land any- 

 thing might be expected. 



This is the perfection of an hotel. Hospitality seems to 

 take possession of and appropriate one as soon as one enters 

 its never-closed door, which is on the lower verandah. 

 Everywhere, only pleasant objects meet the eye. One can 

 sit all day on the back verandah, watching the play of light 

 and colour on the mountains and the deep blue green of the 

 Nuuanu Valley, where showers, sunshine, and rainbows make 

 perpetual variety. The great dining-room is delicious. It 

 has no curtains, and its decorations are cool and pale. Its 

 windows look upon tropical trees in one direction, and up to 

 the cool mountains in the other. Piles of bananas, guavas, 

 limes, and oranges, decorate the tables at each meal, and 

 strange vegetables, fish, and fruits vary the otherwise stereo- 

 typed American hotel fare. There are no female domestics. 

 The host is a German, the manager an American, the steward 

 a Hawaiian, and the servants are all Chinamen in spotless 

 white linen, with pigtails coiled round their heads, and an air 

 of superabundant good-nature. They know very little English, 

 and make most absurd mistakes, but they are cordial, smiling, 

 and obliging, and look cool and clean. The hotel seems the 

 great public resort of Honolulu, the centre of stir — club-house, 

 exchange, and drawing-room in one. Its wide corridors and 

 verandahs are lively with English and American naval uniforms, 

 several planters' families are here for the season ; and with 

 health-seekers from California, resident boarders, whaling 

 captains, tourists from the British Pacific Colonies, and a 

 stream of townspeople always percolating through the corridors 



