ocoa-nuts, so that trees may grow?" "Oh! I shall
never live to eat them," she carelessly remarked. "True," said the
missionary, "you may not live to eat them, but your children may live
and enjoy the fruit."

She thought a few moments; a new idea seemed to have entered that mind
just coming out from the darkness of heathenism into the light of
Christianity. She had been accustomed only to think of herself, and what
she might enjoy. It had never occurred to her that she could do anything
for those who came after her until now, and she said, "It shall be
done;" and within twenty-four hours, a schooner was sent off, which
brought a load of cocoa-nuts, and these were planted where now is that
beautiful cocoa-nut grove.

On returning from this grove, we passed by fields of sugar-cane, and
visited Mr. Spencer's sugar-mill. It was a sweet place, and sticky too!
They have a mill turned by twelve or fourteen mules in spans, which
grinds the cane and presses out the juice. Then there are several vats
in a row, with fires under them, where the juice is boiled. The sugar is
clarified by lime-water; it is then put into round sieves which turn
with great rapidity, and through which the syrup is pressed, leaving a
clean-looking, dry, brown sugar. That is the process as near as I
remember it. They make barrels in the same building, so that the sugar
leaves the mill all ready for exporting.

Lahaina is a very dusty place, the earth is red and sticky. If we stayed
there long, it seemed as if not only our clothes, but we ourselves, must
become copper-colored.

On the Sabbath, May 3, a large assembly met at the church, and grandpa
addressed them. They listened as usual with great attention, and after
the service was over, they all flocked about him, wishing to shake
hands. The communion service was in the afternoon, and all the ministers
present took part. It was an interesting service, natives and foreigners
sitting together around their Lord's table. Several friends in the
mission coming together in the evening, at Dr. Baldwin's house, we sung
hymns for an hour to our dear home tunes. It recalled to some of us our
own loved America and the family circle where in years gone by we had
sung with these friends the same tunes.

On Monday we attended an exhibition of Mr. Dwight Baldwin's native
school. It was very interesting. The dialogues were exciting, even
though in an unknown tongue and spoken by little boys; for they acted
them out