mea, they marched for the encampment of the rebel forces. Within eight miles of the insurgents, they were overtaken by as lovely a Sabbath as ever dawned on creation. Christianity had just begun to influence a few leading chiefs and several of the natives. The warriors halted, and the day was solemnly observed by the performance of religious rites.

With the rising of the morrow's sun, HOAPILI and his chosen band were again seen in line of march. They crossed the highly picturesque valley and river of Hanapepe, and advanced until within a mile of the insurgents. At this spot, HOAPILI knelt in presence of his little army, who followed his example, and sent up an invocation to the God of battles: "O Jehovah! God of the warriors of Kauai! Protector of the liberties for which KAMEHAMEHA, our old warrior-king, fought and bled! we are here in a righteous cause. Our enemies wish to give our lives to the wind, and our bones to the sun-rays that scorch the plains. Put on thy shield, grasp thy war-spear, and lead us on to the struggle. In thy presence we will conquer our enemies, and fight thy battles for freedom!"

The warriors arose from their knees, marched up to the rebel forces, and commenced the battle. The contest lasted several hours. Sometimes the Royalists were repulsed, but at last victory was declared in their favor. The insurgents were scattered. Their chief fled to the mountains, but was subsequently captured. The vanquished were taken to Honolulu, where they received every manifestation of respect and kindness which royal clemency could bestow. Such a step did more to crush a spirit of rebellion than though recourse to their old pagan cruelties had been employed. This was the last battle for the independence of Kauai.

The western boundary of the battle-ground of Wahiawa is the Valley of Hanapepe. In its physical aspect and conformation it is entirely different from the Valley of Hanalei. By the peculiar softness of its scenery, the latter seems to address the finer feelings of the soul; by the rugged sublimity of its features, the former awakens emotions of awe and astonishment. On reaching its brink, both horse and rider naturally come to

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a halt, and a tourist can not fail to admire the richly-cultivated valley below. The only place of descent is near the mouth, where the principal part of the village is located. Here the natives frequently assemble for bathing, and to bask in the warm and delicious sunlight. At the mouth of the river, a heavy sand-bar disputes its natural egress into the boundless ocean beyond.

The bed of the valley is a rich vegetable and mineral debris. Here and there it is dotted with numerous plantations of taro, small cocoa-nut groves, and native dwellings. The ever-peaceful river incessantly glides on through all these objects. As in the Valley of Hanalei, the traveler frequently discovers unquestionable evidences of extensive population in other days, such as village-sites and lands that were once cultivated. War, disease, and epidemics, besides natural causes, have swept away multitudes, whose resting-places remain unknown to the present generation. The inhabitants are kind to visitors who bestow on them the least mark of respect, and endeavor to appreciate their kindly offices.

The Valley of Hanapepe is a noble specimen of Sandwich Island scenery. It is characterized rather by the savage and awful than the beautiful and sublime. There is that, however, which can not fail to attract the profound admiration and awe of the tourist. In some places the valley contracts to a few yards in width, where the river comes sweeping along like a second Phlegethon, freely distributing its "sweat of agony," and moistening the sides of its boundaries, which rise to a perpendicular height of five hundred to a thousand feet. Again the giant sides expand to a considerable width, admitting the warm sunlight, which creates a pleasant temperature. The entire length of the valley is tortuous, and its mighty sides grow in height as its source is approached. In this region, and at an early day, the throes of Nature must have been almost almighty; for a close survey of the lofty table-lands above convey the conviction that the entire valley was formed by a rending asunder of the earth to a great depth by a mighty earthquake. At the head of this valley, Nature's fiat pro

claims to the traveler, "Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther!" On looking upward, the huge cliffs seem as if coming down upon your head, and a few scattered and stunted trees, projecting from their summits almost horizontally, look as if they are retained there against their will, or as if ashamed of their dwarfish stature. A lover never stole the first kiss from the lips of his earthly idol with more modesty and courtesy than the fleecy clouds kiss these shrubs and the rugged rocks on whose sides they grow.

The finishing feature in this savage panorama is a heavy cascade, leaping, with "delirious bound," in three separate distances, down the time-worn cliffs. The first leap is thirty feet, upon a ledge of rocks; the second is a hundred, where it seems to crush another ledge; the third, of equal distance, falls into a deep basin placed by the hand of Nature for its reception, where it whirls and eddies like a miniature Charybdis.

The journey to this scene is one replete with toil and absolute danger to a visitor, but he is amply repaid for both.

Within a short mile of Waimea village, and on the east side of the river, stood a rude frame, which had once served the purpose of a gallows. Several years since, four natives murdered a foreigner who resided in Waimea. They were arrested, found guilty, and sentenced to expiate their transgressions by a forfeiture of their own lives by hanging. From this rude gallows they took their final leave of all below, and passed into the sublime mystery of death. On the spot where the crowd stood to witness the execution of their countrymen, a small grove of kou bushes (Cordia sebestena) has sprung up, as if in mourning for the wretched criminals. The existence of this ominous relic is sacredly protected, and it stands as a faithful monitor to all evil doers.

Waimea may be seen at a distance of several miles from the eastward. On coming up to the banks of the beautiful river which has originated the village, the cooling water is exceedingly grateful. The traveler advances some distance up the stream to the regular fording-place, where he is sure to find a number of natives ready to assist him over to the other bank.

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If the tide should be in and the river high, he may unsaddle his horse, take him by the bridle-rein, and jump into a canoe propelled, probably, by some Naiad of a native girl. In traveling over this interesting group of islands, such incidents are by no means uncommon, and certainly not objectionable to a reasonable foreigner. But the most amusing part of these performances is the eagerness displayed by the natives in their kindly offices to the traveler. Now and then a huge, brawny fellow will take him up out of the canoe when it reaches the opposite bank, and, to prevent his boots becoming wet, will carry him in his arms, and deposit him safely on terra firma, and see that the horse is resaddled. For all this, however, a good remuneration is, of course, expected.

From the west bank of the ford, a ride of two minutes brings the traveler into Waimea.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Waimea Village-River - Harbor. Historical Reminiscences.Charges against Captain Cook.-Visit to an ex-Queen.-A Glance at her History.—Russian Fort at Waimea.—Expulsion of the Russians. Missionary Church and Station.-Peculiarities of this Station.-A Sabbath at Waimea.-Missionary Labor.-Practice versus Poetry. The right kind of an Epitaph.

THE village of Waimea is the capital of Kauai. In this relation, however, it differs in no respect from any village on the island, unless it be that a few of the houses are composed of adobes; that there is one street in it, and that the village itself is a little larger. The population in the village and up the river numbered about seven hundred-a fearful decrease when compared with the census of a few years past. Year by year the population declines.

About this village there is not the least attraction to the permanent stay of a foreigner of any merit; on the contrary, all is cheerless and monotonous, and unless the visitor becomes deeply interested during his visit—a thing not at all likely—

he is glad to get away as early as possible. The least motion of men or animals, and especially of the wind, is certain to raise a cloud of thick red dust, which covers the entire village; and when the breath of Boreas does get fairly aroused, the result is almost insupportable. Eyes, mouth, nostrils, ears, and `clean linen especially, seem to be the chief objects of vengeance. Numerous ablutions are required to remove the evil, before a person can fully recognize himself in a mirror. Ophthalmia may be attributed not so much to the action of the trade-winds alone as to these clouds of red lava-dust. Vegetation, what little there is of it, and every fixed object, borrows from these flying atoms an unnatural tinge.

But it may be deemed sacrilegious thus to speak of an islandcapital.

The river of Waimea is one of the chief objects of attraction. To the existence of this romantic stream may be traced that of the village. Having its source in the central mountains of the island, it flows on for miles in undisturbed repose toward the embrace of the ocean. Like an infant Nile, its influence is highly fertilizing. Flowing as it does by numerous dwellings, and watering scores of taro beds; affording drink to the people, and convenience for canoe-sailing, it is of more value to the inhabitants than though it were a second Pactolus.

The bosom of this tranquil stream has been the scene of many a loving embrace, and of many a final avowal, by the youthful Hawaiians of many generations. Sailing along in their swift canoes beneath the sun-lit sky, or when Nature was bathed in the more poetic light of the moon and her attendant orbs, the zephyrs alone caught those vows and their soft and languishing responses. The undefinable emotions which Cupid breathes in the bosoms of his votaries are not, and can not be, confined within the luxurious bowers of haughty potentates. Not merely do they sway the houri, who glide with smooth steps and soul-beaming eyes through the immortal saloons in Mohammed's paradise; not merely does love solitarily hover amid the damask curtains and perfumed couches of an Oriental harem; in all probability, it glows as intensely in the bos