were hoisted up a rude pier which was crowded, for what the arrival
of the Australian mail-steamer is to Honolulu, the coming of the
Kilauea is to Hilo. I had not time to feel myself a stranger, there
were so many introductions, and so much friendliness. Mr. Coan and
Mr. Lyman, two of the most venerable of the few surviving
missionaries, were on the landing, and I was introduced to them and
many others. There is no hotel in Hilo. The residents receive
strangers, and Miss Karpe and I were soon installed in a large buff
frame-house, with two deep verandahs, the residence of Mr.
Severance, Sheriff of Hawaii.

Unlike many other places, Hilo is more fascinating on closer
acquaintance, so fascinating that it is hard to write about it in
plain prose. Two narrow roads lead up from the sea to one as
narrow, running parallel with it. Further up the hill another runs
in the same direction. There are no conveyances, and outside the
village these narrow roads dwindle into bridle-paths, with just room
for one horse to pass another. The houses in which Mr. Coan, Mr.
Lyman, Dr. Wetmore (formerly of the Mission), and one or two others
live, have just enough suggestion of New England about them to
remind one of the dominant influence on these islands, but the
climate has idealized them, and clothed them with poetry and
antiquity.

Of the three churches, the most prominent is the Roman Catholic
Church, a white frame building with two great towers; Mr. Coan's
native church with a spire comes next; and then the neat little
foreign church, also with a spire. The Romish Church is a rather
noisy neighbour, for its bells ring at unnatural hours, and doleful
strains of a band which cannot play either in time or tune proceed