The high ridges were brightly green in the afternoon sunshine, with soft, moist clouds drifting about their summits and down their sides - which often suddenly condensed into swiftly-passing showers. Many fields of carefully cultivated kalo were passed, each root of handsome leaves set by itself on a little hill surrounded by water. As this plant is responsible for poi, the national food, its wiser use seemed to me, after tasting, would reserve it exclusively for decorative effect.

In 1795 Kamehameha I. fought a great battle near the present road, in his final

UP A COCOANUT TREE

conquest of this island, Oahu, the last of the group to acknowledge his supremacy. His enemies fought bravely until their leader Kaiana was killed, when they were utterly discouraged and laid low. The remnants, forced before the conqueror up the narrowing valley, were finally driven over the pali at its head, 1,300 feet into the plain below.

From the site of the ancient battle a backward look revealed a charming view, bathed, perhaps, as then, in warm sunlight now shimmering over a wide-spread

city, and a far blue sea, hazy with distance and atmosphere.

The sides of the valley close in as the road advances, and a low wall at last seems to bar farther northern progress, connecting two giant pinnacles of rock five hundred feet above it.

Jumping lightly from the carriage, and stepping forward to see "the view," supposedly some pretty vista in which all countries abound, I reached the wall. What was revealed might well have been some scene from another planet. So rare and radiant, so shining and glorious, so

far and grand- with such suggestion of past volcanic agony and present hard-won peace, lay that indescribable scene, bathed in a light that "never was on sea or land." Its effect was too overpowering for even an exclamation of delight. Directly below fell the same precipice over which Oahu's braves were forced a century ago. At the bottom a fair and sunny country stretched indefinite miles to right and left, finally joining a pale and hazy blue sea, with white surf breaking high on rocky points, or creeping silently up to silvery beaches. curving around distant bays. Close under the cliff a road zigzags to the plain beneath, and a native boy carrying a violin rode blithely down on a muchdecorated horse. Over all the wide scene brooding sunshine lay with gentle brightness, pensive in its still beauty.

Words do not express it-they are cold and ineffectual; no phrase could even suggest the strange grandeur, the foreignness, the illimitable pathos of the Nuuanu

pali. It is in my innermost consciousness for all time-during the first awed instant, it seemed that this world lay solemnly in the very presence of God.

Ah, two weeks were far too short to learn the beauties of these perfect islands - their nature and their civilization, and. the haunting picturesqueness of the old régime, their friendly faces and their strange charm, their unsolved problems and their long, long story, now our own. Sweet Honolulu, in your own gentle word, aloha! MABEL LOOMIS TODD. AMHERST, MASS.

F

The

ROM time to time, says a writer in a London periodical, we are asked, in all seriousness, by correspondents whether we believe in the various methods by which people make money through professing to read character, to recall the past, or foretell the future; and recently a correspondent asked us whether we thought it a sin to try to peep into futurity. We suppose it may be accepted as settled that a considerable proportion of mankind will persist in a superstitious regard for prophecy, and a sort of fearful admiration of anybody who boldly claims to read that which is hidden from the sight of average mortals. original impulse of mankind was to tremble and believe in the presence of anything that it could not understand. The mutter of the distant storm, the flashing of irresistible lightning, the crash of the thunder, the moaning of the sea, the plaintive howlings of the homeless winds, the brightness that caused the earth to sing after a passing shower, the rolling of the mists up the mountain side, the wild waving of the arms of trees, the fateful gliding of deep black waters, the snatching leap of the crested waves up the rocks that fringe the seashore, were all signs of a hidden spirit, good or bad, and greater than man in any case. What is now the basis of poetry was in primitive times a basis for religion. To a large extent we have given up this superstitious fear of nature, but the effects of it, in other forms, remain with multitudes. They love to drag in the supernatural if they can; they reject common-sense explanations based on knowledge, and hark back instinctively to what is eerie and melodramatic and beyond their knowledge. They delight in the twilight of ignorance, with its glooms and uncertainties. Upon this survival of primitive superstition sharp-witted people prey to-day, as they always have done. Just as a child likes to read its fairy-tales, and half believes them to be true. wholly believes them in moments of deepest absorption-so a multitude of men and women lend themselves, with more or less faith, to the hope that Professor A., Madame B., or Miss C. can carry their occult explorations beyond the bounds of time and physical sense. And we are perfectly well aware that nothing

or

we can say will alter the minds of those who wish to delude themselves, and who feel that life would be poorer if it were not surrounded with childish mysteries.

Sup

Nevertheless, knowing that we shall not convince people who make no serious appeal to the reason God has endowed them with, it is worth while that we should insist on the common-sense view of all such studies as graphology and physiognomy, such tricks as phrenology and palmistry, such deluding beliefs as theosophy and Christian Science, and such childish nonsense as astrological and other predictions. Fancy anybody asking seriously whether prophecy can be true in face of the absolutely obvious fact that millions of pounds-to take a material view - would be at the disposal of anybody who could prove it true! Yet nobody ever does offer that proof. pose anyone had been able to foretell a year ago that there would certainly be war between the United States and Spain now, what would that information not have been worth to either country? Yet none of the wiseacres could forecast that great and easily foreseen event. So is it with regard to the visits of disembodied spirits to the earth. Human experience is utterly contrary to any such theory. Hundreds of millions of people are living, observing, and dying, and know nothing of what, if it were true, would be the most tremendous fact of the universe. Hundreds of millions of people are making estimates and guesses of the future because their present action, especially in business, depends on it, and they all know that there is no certainty in their guesses, and no clue to what is to be except such as comes from close observation of a limited range of facts and shrewd reasoning; yet, because one guess in a thousand may chance to hit the mark, or one hysterical person here and there, or one clever talker and money-maker here and there, may boldly swear he knows the hidden paths of the Almighty, there are people who will long to set aside all sober human experience and caution and embrace the madman or charlatan with joy.

Obviously there are possible readings of a man's past life, and possible forecasts of his future, by people who are able shrewdly to survey the facts and draw

sound inferences from them; but all such readings of the past or the future are in absolute opposition to the superstitions which please the ignorant and credulous. What sound basis is there for such studies as graphology, physiognomy, phrenology, and palmistry, and how far can they be regarded as justifying talk about the past or the future of men and women?

We should lay down the rule that the only study of the kind worthy of a moment's notice must turn upon a correct reading of character and estimate of the training a person has had or is likely to have. If you see strong signs of a distinct character revealed in any way for the forms of revealing character are innumerable and have the means of judging whether that character is still developing upon right lines, it is not difficult to foresee in a general way what the future is likely to bring - whether honor or shame, success or failure. You cannot tell whether the man will live long or die soon, whether he will stultify himself by some sudden folly, or be advanced by some exceptional visitation of good fortune. You cannot judge whether the woman will marry or remain single, or, if marrying, whether she will be happy, except so far as her disposition tends towards happiness in any circumstances; but any wise, shrewd person, with powers of close observation and reflection, will be able to outline, with a fair degree of correctness, from sober knowledge, the career of any of his acquaintances; and no professor of the semi-supernatural can do more. All the character-reading arts that have the slightest value are based wholly upon this plain sober study of character, which any person may undertake, if he has sufficient perception and sense, not to be misled by semi-supernatural charlatanry.

Take graphology as an example. It is almost impossible that any one should engage in such a personal act as writing, especially when he has so mastered the art as to write with almost complete unconsciousness, without putting a good deal of character into the penmanship. The impetuous and careless man will dash off his thoughts in a way that cannot be mistaken. The writing will be a very valuable subsidiary study of the man himself. The strong, firm man will write firmly; the prim man primly; the swift business-like person in a way that does

not admit of any dissipation of unnecessary energy; the artistic temperament will as unfailingly find means of expressing itself as slovenliness will fail to hide itself. In this way scores of characteristics may be read from handwriting, and from those characteristics shrewd inferences may be drawn as to the future course of the penman's life. In proportion as the study of writing becomes close and habitual, the drawing of deductions will grow in scope and trustworthiness, provided it is not pushed too far, so as to lose its general good sense and become a fad.

In short, there is nothing wonderful about sensible graphology, nothing occult, nothing mysterious. It is simply the application of quick-witted observation and sound reflection to certain slender products of a man's character. When that observation has been specially trained it is not unlike the intelligence of the hunter or trapper on the trail. It sees many trustworthy signs where the untrained intelligence sees nothing. But the facts that may be read by the cleverest follower of a trail in the forest are strictly limited in number; and so are the facts that may be safely educed from a specimen of handwriting. The graphologist who pretends to read the past or future with any exactness from a piece of script is as great a charlatan as the hunter would be who pretended to tell from the print of a man's foot in the mud when he was likely to meet with an accident. Our objection to the claims made by almost the whole tribe of characterreaders is that, in order to impress the imagination of customers and make them feel that they are receiving their full money's worth, they pretend to tell more than they can tell truthfully, or they juggle with words in order that their patrons may have chances of romantically flattering themselves.

What we have said of graphology is true of physiognomy. In favor of a study of handwriting as a method of ascertaining character is the fact that the subject is actively employed mentally, and so is the more likely to reveal himself. On the other hand, physiognomy is far more multiform in its scope. Not only the face, but every limb and muscle and movement, has its story to tell to the close observer. Whatever is trustworthy in phrenology is, we hold, found in physiog

nomy, and in so far as the one exceeds the other and pretends to precision and scientific exactness, it is claiming more than its due, and so is becoming fraudulent from the scientific, if not from the financial, point of view. No subject on the earth equals man himself as an interesting study, and it is well that observation should be directed to every method by which he expresses himself, so long as a safeguard is assured against faddishness and chicanery and extremes. If we are able to judge from present appearances what a man is, it is enough; to pretend to read all that he has been, or to foretell what he will be, is to pass from the sound and practical to the impossible, with an immediate suspicion of knavery.

That is where character-study, when it ceases to be general, puts itself out of court. The moment it speaks in the name of fate it blasphemes. Palmistry is perhaps the best illustration of this misuse of character-study. We are not denying that there is much significance in the shape and development of the human hand that the actions of a man will write themselves upon his palms and fingers, which are among the most used and most sensitive parts of the body, easily responsive to the play of the mind; nor are we concerned to deny that some forecast of the future is contained in the hand of the present moment. We have all looked at the long, slender, transparent fingers of the consumptive youth or maiden, and have felt our spirits sink with fear of oncoming death. It requires no great prescience to read character in a powerful firm hand and to know that that man will go far and will not easily be beaten, or to find in another's kindly fingers the certainty that he will make troops of friends wherever he goes. What we do resent is that such limited truth should be made the basis of detailed speculation, which is given forth as though it were truth on which people could build their hopes or found their fears. Still worse are the astrological and other nonsensical prophecies that have absolutely no basis of fact, but are wholly guesses, more or less wild, according as they are less or more cunning.

If people understood the simple truth of character-study, and of attempts to read the past and the future, if they saw clearly that there is no science involved and no mystery, but only shrewd obser

vation, that any revelations of the past are but inferences made from reading present character, just as we infer from a man's red nose that he has presumedly been a very free tippler; if they realized that any prognostications respecting the future can only be precisely such warnings or encouragements as would be given by the moralist who foresees that one lad, if he continues the development of his present tendencies, will end as a gaol-bird, while another will as certainly rise to honor and worldly success, and a third will continue to live hand-to-mouth, without harm and without ambitionif, we say, people understood these things as they are, the glamour of fortune-telling and character-delineation would largely have disappeared, and money would remain in different pockets.

"But," some people who are simple, and others who think themselves sharper than they are, will object and say, "Soand-so, by palmistry, or other device, undoubtedly did tell me a great deal of my past life, and, if he could read the past, how am I to be sure that he cannot somehow, by similar means, read the future ?» To this we would reply, "Are you quite sure that he told you specifically about your past life, without knowing anything of you or your friends? Are you quite sure that what he said that suited your case was not so framed in the wording that it would have suited equally well five people out of six who were addressed?» It is no difficult matter to frame a score of sentences that will apply to almost any life, if the person himself makes the application of the statements to his case. Most men and women of almost any age may be told with perfect truth that they have known what trouble means, that they have loved and been loved, that they have suffered a bereavement, that they have had a providential escape from a step that would have been disadvantageous, and so on. Either these things have happened, or they think they have happened, or they are willing that they should have happened. Talk of this kind, whether it relates to the past or the future, is very much like the forecasts by the humorous knaves who write the prophetic almanacs. About a certain time an eminent personage will die. Of course! If it is not a king, it will be somebody else-king or clown! Also, in the thick of the railway excursion

season there will be a railway accident. There always is. Furthermore, there will be mutterings in the East, and Egypt will not be at peace. When was it at peace? Its wars are a standing certainty for the wide-awake prophets.

Russia and China are also safe cards

to play for unrest. Yet the prophets, if they be astute, can word their foretold certainties in such a manner that thousands of innocent people will believe these charlatans were somehow "in the know" beforehand. One cannot but be sorry for the innocence which

is ready to accept a reading of the profoundest of mysteries from anybody who will "profess" boldly enough. Such simplicity jumps at the acceptance of supernatural inklings, and overlooks the inevitable play of cause and effect, upon which all sound readings of the course of life, in the individual or in the nation, depend. Nobody, we insist, can read the past or the future in any way, as the superstitious believe; but the shrewd observer can often form very clever opinions, singularly close to the facts, and probably worth hearing.

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RESBYTERIANISM in the New World loses, in the Rev. Dr. John Hall, of New York, a highly respected and greatly beloved pastor. Dr. Hall, it will be remembered, some little time ago expressed a desire to retire from his pastorate, whose duties, from advancing age, he felt himself unable to perform with his old time vigor and efficiency. Some of the more "advanced" members of his congregation, it seems, wished a change, and Dr. Hall, learning of this, resigned. This, however, proved unpalatable to the Church members as a whole, and the worthy doctor was induced to withdraw his resignation. This, after some considerable discussion, the reverend gentleman agreed to, and matters were amicably adjusted. This summer, Dr. Hall, feeling the need of a rest, went abroad to revisit in Ireland the scenes of his youth and early ministry, and while there disquieting reports reached this side of failing health, and now comes the cabled news of the beloved clergyman's death, which occurred at Bangor, near Belfast, in his seventieth year.

Though installed over one of the wealthiest congregations in New York, and for nearly a generation ministering to a people who might be supposed to be exacting in the intellectual resources and critical acumen of their clergyman, Dr. Hall was far from being an ideal minister, in the popular sense of the term. It was not his characteristic to shine in the pulpit, preach sensational sermons, or tickle the ears of those who in matters of belief have intellectual doubts. He would never have appeared in the Church courts ac

cused of heresy, nor was he a man to be troubled with the conflict between science and religion. His gifts lay in quite another direction. He was a model pastor,

and his pulpit ministrations were characterized by an old-fashioned orthodoxy and a rather rigid Calvinism. His teaching was the simple Gospel message, and in the presentation of that he was zealous, impressive, and even eloquent. With earnest piety and kindly heart he honestly labored in every good work and exercised a wholesome conservative influence in religion. His stalwart figure and benign face were well known in the region of his important charge, where no creed-battles raged, and religion received no shocks from clerical restlessness or doctrinal quibblings and upheavings. Few men were more loyal or faithful than Dr. Hall to their high vocation. The charm of his personal character was great, and his life was a beautiful exemplification of his creed - a genuine and practical Christianity. His love of peace was unfeigned, and controversy in any form was most alien to him. Speculative theology, consequently, had no attractions for Dr. Hall, since it not only unsettled beliefs, but alarmed the faithful, and, above all, ruffled the quiet repose of the Church. He would make no terms with what is called progressive theology, and sought, both for himself and his people, that all should hold fast to the old anchorage. This attitude, no doubt, had its advantages, especially where the message he had to deliver was addressed to the heart and conscience, rather than to the intellect. G. M. A.