"WE are ready to hear about that queer-named place now, aunty," said Alice at my elbow as I sat writing in my room.

Oh, yes, about Kohala.

Every thing at Mr. Bond's was the pink of neatness, and though we were shut in by rain for five days, we enjoyed it. Sometimes, it would look like clearing up, and we would walk in the garden; but usually we had to hurry in to escape the rain.

The garden looked beautifully, with some rose-bushes twenty-five feet in circumference, and scarlet geraniums perhaps fifteen feet. It does one good just to look at them, after seeing only our little dwarf shrubs at home. Kanoa and his wife, the good Hawaiian missionaries to Micronesia, came with their little baby to bid us good-by.

We had mangoes for the first time at Mr. Bond's, which were delicious. In shape they are like a pear, only flatter, with the large end growing next the stem. I can not describe the taste, it is unlike any thing we have. The seed is very large, being nearly two thirds the size of the fruit. Fresh figs, too, we tried for the first time, and to our surprise liked them. We had some papaias, which grow on trees; the fruit tastes like a musk-melon, and pies made of them are very much like squash-pies.

Sabbath morning it cleared up about eleven, so that we could go to church. Notwithstanding the weather, a goodly congregation assembled, and listened to grandpa with great respect and attention. After meeting, as usual, they all wanted to shake hands with us. As I was going down the aisle, thinking I had shaken hands with all, I heard some one call "keika mahine, keika mahine" [daughter, daughter], and looking round, there was an old man standing up on a seat with his hand stretched out to shake hands. Of course I must gratify him. Fortunately for us, Monday, April 20, was a pleasant day, and we started about nine o'clock for Waimea across the mountain. Grandma rode about twelve miles in Mr. Christianson's wagon, and then as the wagon-road ended, she went the remainder of the way on horseback. The rest of us were in the saddle all the way. How the wind did blow! It seemed as if I should be carried out of my saddle bodily; but we rode on over fields and barren wastes, and through steep and rocky gulches. At noon we reached the house of a foreigner, and were hospitably entertained. Mr. Lyons was waiting for us there, and Mr. Bond left us. What was more to us than dinner, was a feast of home letters, which Mr. Lyons had brought for us. After resting an hour or more, we were all in our saddles again. As we were riding, on the summit of a hill, or mountain as we should call it, a beautiful scene opened before us. High above us the fleecy clouds parted, and we caught a glimpse of what seemed like "the promised land." There stood the peak of a lofty mountain covered with newly-fallen snow, shining white and beautiful in the sun's clear beams. It seemed too high up, too pure and fair in its framework of clouds, to belong to earth. This was the summit of Mauna Kea, and we shall not soon forget that vision of beauty. It seemed as if angels might flit over its snowy sides without any danger of soiling their pure white garments. We arrived at Mr. Lyons's about five, and were cordially met by Mrs. L. and her daughter.

On Wednesday, we attended a meeting at Mr. Lyons's church. The house was filled with nicely-dressed natives. Grandpa and Mr. L. sat in front of the pulpit. At the back of the church was a large choir of men and women, who sung well and with animation, beating time with their hands.

Soon after we entered, they sung an original hymn by a native named Lyana, which the choir sung to the tune of "Hendon."

Mr. Bingham, one of the first missionaries to the islands, has given us this translation:

Grandpa then made an address, and told them about the missions in Western Asia. Then Kanoa, the missionary to Micronesia, made a prayer; after which, he and his wife sung a Micronesian hymn. Grandpa told them, in another short address, about the India missions. Mr. Lyons then arose and spoke about his own mission, and introduced his senior deacon, Timotao Nalanipo, who made a speech in Hawaiian. Mr. Lyons translated it, and I will read you the translation.

"The church-members of the highlands of Waimea, the old men, the aged women, the strong men, the youth and children tender, through me, their salutation to you, the secretary, your companion, and daughter. Great, indeed, is our joy in being permitted to see you, to welcome you to our land. You have been sent by the learned Missionary Society of great America, as its delegate, to see the works of the gospel heralds you have sent to us.

"We, the ancient men of Kamehameha's time, were once idolaters, murderers, guilty of infanticide, polygamy, and constantly quarreling one with another. On the death of Kamehameha, the kingdom devolved on his son Liholiho. He abolished idolatry, broke the tabus; men and women for the first time ate together, and the temples and gods were burned to ashes.

"Still we lived on in poverty and darkness, and in secret worship of idols, and were without the knowledge of the living and true God. Men, women, and children were promiscuously devoted to the most sordid pleasures, heathenish dances, and revelries, day and night. In the year 1820, the missionaries, Mr. Bingham and company, came to these islands to proclaim the blessed gospel to us, who knew not God, nor had heard of the death of Jesus, the Messiah, the Saviour of the world. It was you, the Missionary Society you represent, that loved us, and sent the good missionaries to our dark land.

"The king and his premier allowed the missionaries to dwell with us to introduce a new order of things; to teach us first the twelve letters of the alphabet, then spelling, then reading and writing.

"During the forty-three years the missionaries have resided on the islands, much seed has been sown, much labor performed, and wonderful have been the results. We were once all dark, buried in darkness, sunk to the lowest depths of ignorance, roaming about the fields and woods, like wild beasts, without clothing, our naked bodies most shamefully exposed and blackened by the sun, without books, without Bibles, without Christianity, plunging into the darkness of hell. Now we are clothed, like civilized beings; we are Christianized; we are gathered into churches; we are intelligent; we are supplied with books, Bibles and hymn-books; and are living for God and for heaven; and this through the labors of the missionaries you have sent us.

"Our joy is inexpressible in seeing you; and we beg you to carry back to your associates, to the Missionary Society, to all the American churches connected with it, the warmest salutations of the churches of Waimea and Hamakua."

This good old man has since died, and gone, doubtless, to be with his Lord whom he so long loved and served.

At the close of the Hawaiian address, another original native hymn was sung, composed by Samuela, and sung to the tune of "Farewell, farewell is a lonely sound."

Mr. Lyons translated it for us:—

After this was sung, we shook hands with nearly all in the church. Many, to our embarrassment, brought little tokens of good-will in money, amounting in all to ten dollars. With this we bought Hawaiian Bibles to be distributed among the people. Imagine a man, coming up to shake hands, but stopping before he did it diving his hand into the pocket of his pantaloons, taking out a quarter of a dollar and laying it on the table, then shaking hands as if he had paid for it! They have, however, none of that feeling.

The tea-bell! the tea-bell!