Imágenes de páginas


T EAR, loving Kaiulani!—Good little Christian

princess! One seems to hear the brave voice of a Kamehameha reaching out and on to loved Hawaii: “I am coming to plead with your great nation for my flag and my throne"; "I seem to hear the wail of my people for their country.” The “wail” of the Hawaiian!

The low, sad minor note of pain creeping out on the air at break of day, and gradually swelling and increasing in strength and weird, unearthly mournfulness, telling plainer than words could ever tell, of broken hearts. Never have I listened to sound more pathetic-sadder-than this Hawaiian cry of love for their dead!

The young Indian mother wailing and weeping for the new-born baby dead in her lap! The old, wrinkled and care-worn face of the lamenting Irish woman, rocking backwards and forwards on her tired knees at the side of the little mound in the "old buryingground,” in dear New England, crooning in her loved native tongue-crying and wailing by turns, plucking the grass and chewing it, and pressing it back here and there in dots on Nature's sweet blanket filled with white clover tops, above her loved dead ! The poor Portuguese peasant-woman of the Azores, oper-worked and often hardly-used, wailing and crying, standing by her dead, with hands clasped on her bosom, swaying in an attitude of bitterest grief-"My babymy baby!” The woman of English tongue and refined breeding, in darkened rooms--refusing to see or hear priest, or people refusing to listen to voice of husband or father-yea, wailing, too, for her deadselfish in her great woe_"that God should take my baby from my arms—my beautiful, my darling one!” It is the same wail—the same great cry of loss and loneliness! “Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not!”

Have you listened to the bell of some quiet village church, tolling, tolling, tolling, in slow and measured strokes, fifty, sixty, seventy, breaking the still air in grief, and calling the villagers to come and show their love and reverence for the old man for whom the whole country-side is mourning and wailing ? Have you heard the bells of a great city-as just now, for Phillips Brooks-clanging out that toll from “Old North End” to “New South End”—from the east side to the west side — telling in loud, emphatic, solemn tones to sun and air, to sea and sky—to all breathing and living things, to the very stones of the streets he loved to tread, that the great and good man has gone Home--a king has fallen in Israel? “Hear the tolling of the bells—Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !”.

Have you heard the sounds in the far distance, but coming on nearer and nearer, of some powerful and skillful band, the strains of whose “Dead March in Saul” made you tremble? Have you listened in some old cathedral church to tones sounding through nave and arch, Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine"? Do you know what the wail of grief is in its deepest sense? Have you read of the wail, “Great Pan is dead !” that sounded through all creation when the crucified Saviour “yielded up the ghost”?

What was the wail of the Jewish race when their beloved city was made “an heap of stones”? What was heard in Rome when that beautiful and stately city was being laid low by an arch-fiend ? :

Did you hear our nation's wail throughout the length and breadth of the land-spanning seas, and leaping over mountains, when the cry went forth, “Abraham Lincoln is dead!”? Do you know what grief and pain and sorrow mean in music and in bell -in tempest and in storm-in winds and waves and bolder hurricane- in the sands of the desert- in the fierce forest fires — in the treacherous channels - and in the maelstrom of the Northern Ocean? What was the wail of Spain when she learned the loss of the Armada? What the grief of France when lovely Alsace and Lorraine must be ceded to the enemy?

What has been the chagrin and wail of England through all the years of the past century at the loss of- And here I pause and listen.

Now, if you can fathom perchance in some measure the once-heard-never-to-be-forgot wail of a poor native of Hawaii at the death of a loved one—the wailing of the nation as they carry, tramp, tramp, tramp, their dead alii up the magnificent Nuuanu Valley road to the royal mausoleum at its head, with solemn blazing torch and banner, martial music and waving of kahiliswith rites of state and pomp—then (believe me) you will have learned but a single note in



POST OFFICE. The Post Office is on Merchant street. Office hours—8 A.M. to 4 P.

M., except Sundays. When mail steamer arrives after office hours, or on Sundays, mails are assorted as soon as delivered, and a general delivery made. Letters are not delivered in Honolulu by carriers, but must be inquired for at the delivery window of the Post Office. The Post Office Money Order system is in vogue with various foreign countries.

BANKS. Bishop & Co., on Merchant street, and Claus Spreckels & Co., on

Fort street, near Queen, offer opportunities for obtaining exchange on any part of the world.

(American currency is the standard throughout the Islands. Other coin may be exchanged at the banks at about the United States Treasury ruling rates.)

CUSTOM HOUSE. The Custom House is situated on the Esplanade (as the lower part

of Fort street is called), and the office hours are from 8 A. M. to 4 P. M. The Port Surveyor has an office on the dock of the Oceanic Steamship Company.

HOTELS. The Hawaiian Hotel is situated on Hotel street, near the Palace

grounds; the terms reasonable. The Eagle House is on Nuuanu Avenue. Mr. Krouse is proprietor. The Arlington House is on Hotel street, near Fort. Thomas Krouse, Proprietor.

PUBLICATIONS. Daily Pacific Commercial Advertiser. Issued every morning (ex.

cept Sundays). H. N. Castle, Editor. Office, Merchant street.

« AnteriorContinuar »