short, as I had in Will’s office. There I got $2 a week and had time to study and read. I had to open the office in the morning, sweep out and dust, stay in the office while Will was gone, and run errands. Quite likely my position was a sinecure, but anyway such an one or one with even considerably more to do at the same wages, would make me for the year one hundred dollars in; a good item to set against the terrible travelling expenses. Again, if you keep house, I will in the first place get my room for nothing, for Father would not rent it, and in the second place the only difference of expenditure by being there in the eating line would be the bare cost of the raw material: bread, butter, milk, meat, salt, and that would be very little. How much more of those would you buy? I think I may safely put it at a dollar a week. You would pay your cook the same, were I present or absent. Every expense would be the same except the raw materials. Board and room then for $1 a week. Here I pay $4, year in and year out. For the year that I would be at home then, there is a clear saving of $150: $3 a week for fifty-two weeks; another nice item to put against the terrible travelling expenses.
So you see, dear Mother, that it may not cost so much more for me to go home, after all. And now let me remind you folks that if you approve of my plan, you will besiege brother Will with letters in my favor. Be on my side with all your might, if you can conscientiously be so. I mean for all of you to write; Jim, Carrie, Helen, yourself and Julia, if you would like to. Uncle and Aunt expect to leave here Wednesday morning. But they will hope to see you, Helen, Jim and Julia in Chicago. Please give my love to all the family. I wish that I might be there at the wedding, and then again I don’t, for I should be scared half to death. What shall I do at my own, I wonder? I shall have to put it off, or perhaps I won’t have any.
With love,
HENRY.
P. S.—You spelt your “tos” and your “toos” wrong the other day. You thought you didn’t, you know.
H. N. C.
PAPAIKOU, Tuesday, January 27, ’80.
DEAR MOTHER,
My pen is rusty—persistently refuses to write, my ink is pale in all respects, and I don’t seem to be able to write decently
To face page 45
The old Home as it was in 1862.
in general. Hence, all inelegancies, &c., of this letter, you may lay to any one, or all combined, of these sufficient reasons. These deficiencies are the more inexcusable that I am just now in a position which ought to be inspiring me to strains of more than ordinary grandeur. For I am sitting on the verandah of Uncle Tenney’s house here at Papaikou listening to the music of wind and sea, combined with the melodious cackle of a persistent rooster keeping time in a sort of Runic rhyme with the shrill notes of a hen, who is discordantly announcing the advent of her daily egg. I have been having a good time up here during the week which has elapsed since I left you, though the time has passed slowly. I have been at Hilo during the greater part of it, though I came out to Papaikou with Reky and his father last week and spent a night there, getting a little accustomed to the riding over these rough roads, which shakes one up a little at first as you know. We came out at the edge of evening and I enjoyed the ride very much. The next morning we rode three or four miles up in the cane fields before returning to Hilo, during which time I made long and fierce inroads upon the soft and juicy cane, which process I have kept up ever since. I pretty nearly broke my neck though once. But I didn’t, you may be sure. My horse was at full gallop along a grassy level leading up here, when suddenly a little ditch appeared. It was impossible to avoid it, and the horse floundered right in it, slipped along and nearly fell. I found myself way over the pommel, but to my astonishment, still on the horse. What an affair it was you can imagine when I tell you that the horse got his foot over the bridle. But I am riding a horse now that wont serve me so. Yesterday, Aunt Mary came out with Ida, escorted by Ed. Tenney and I accompanied them. Ida was brought out in a comfortable chinese chair, carried by four stout kanakas, on poles. We took it easy and had quite a gay time. I have come out here to stay until I leave for the mountain excursion which will be Thursday. In the meanwhile, I am enjoying myself up here reading to Ida, and devouring sugar cane. Tell Jim that I have discovered another story by Boyesen, called The Norseman’s Pilgrimage, and I am deep in the contemplation of its mysteries with Ida. It is published in some old numbers of the Galaxy, and there are in the same magazine some articles by Coan, his friend in New York. One called A New Nation, which I should judge to be excellent and should like to read. The view from this front verandah is fine. This grassy upland, dotted with mangoes, lilacs and lauhalas, besides others whose names I do not know, stretches for half a mile down to the sea, and then the sea itself spreads out and out for miles and miles. I can see the surf breaking on the Hilo reef, and the waves dashing up in spray on the other side of the point, many miles further on. There is a delicious breeze, and things are gay in general. I think I must go saddle up my animal and take a ride now, as I have been cooped up in the house all day reading. So good-bye till we meet again, which will not be long.
With love to all the folks,
HENRY.
PAPAIKOU, Wed., Feb. II, ’80.
DEAR, DEAR MOTHER,
You understand of course why you did not hear from me last steamer. You know I was up in the mountain and couldn’t write. But now I am safely back again in a civilized community.
Please thank Helen and Julie for their kind letters. Ask Julie if she has missed her knife yet. Tell her I have it safe in my trunk, and maybe if she is a real good girl, and invites me to dinner often after she sets up housekeeping, I will let her have it again some time. Anyway I will see when I get home. I did not get home in time to go to the Volcano with Ed. Tenney, so that question is settled. If I get an opportunity can I land on Maui and go up Haleakala, and visit the Wailuku Valley when I come back. It is my best time. Thank you greatly for sending my clothes, and your careful mending of my drawers.
As to your proposition, let me say definitely this. What my views have always been they are now. If Father can afford it, I should like to go to Kauai before my return. I should also like to go to Molokai with Grandma Hitchcock. She wants sorely to go, but has no one to accompany her. If I take a position in Lewer’s & Dickson’s of course I cannot do these things. I should like to go up Konahuanui again, make an excursion to the Pali perhaps, and go around the Island, as opportunity offers. These too I will have to give up. If I take that position, probably to keep up with my class, I will have to use my eyes in the evening. All lengthy postponement of my return to the States I am opposed to, and equally so to the idea of falling behind my class. I am also convinced that work in Honolulu will not make me stronger as Charley thinks. I have gained five pounds in two weeks up here. It is breathing the air, and going on tramps which will make me strong I think. I need not be idle at home. I will map out my time in reading and studying so as to use it all and use it well. If you wish, for exercise, I will work a certain amount at home every day, an hour or two hours, whatever you please. Because I may not happen to work down-town is no evidence that I am idle.
In conclusion, if you or Father wish me to take this position (if I can get it) for the sake of the salary involved I will cheerfully and willingly do it; but if it is because you think it for my best good that I take it, I enter my protest, prepared in any case to abide by your decision. With love to all.
HENRY.
HONOLULU, No alas, I mean
THE ELLA AT SEA, July 25, ’80.
MY DEAR MOTHER,
It is Sunday afternoon, and we are five days out this noon. We are supposed to be between 500 and 600 miles from Honolulu, nearer the latter than the former I devoutly hope. We have recovered from sickness, and now are going through the inevitable routine of ship’s life, which is not life at all. But why repine? The barkentine Ella did not strike out past Diamond Head for San Francisco, but instead sailed down past Hunter’s point, and so around the Island. Fortunately, we did not get sick immediately, and so enjoyed the views of Oahu, our last of the Islands, to their