Ⓐ  Dogs . . . CHAPTER 69 (C)  ●  Dogs . . . CHAPTER LXIX. (A)  not in (SU) 

Ⓐ  Bound  (A)  ●  indented from right Honolulu, July, 1866. centered At Sea Again. [¶] Bound (SU) 

Ⓐ  (a hundred and fifty miles distant,) (A)  ●  not in  (SU) 

Ⓐ  that (A)  ●  this (SU) 

Ⓐ  captain (C)  ●  Captain (SU) 

Ⓐ  my comrade (a Mr. Billings), (A)  ●  Brown and (SU) 

Ⓐ  persons (A)  ●  gentlemen and the wheelsman (SU) 

Ⓐ  lay (A)  ●  laid (SU) 

Ⓐ  smoked, conversed, and (A)  ●  smoked and conversed and captured vermin and eat them, (SU) 

Ⓐ  bunks (A)  ●  bunks—though Mr. Brown, with that spirit of irreverence which is so sad a feature of his nature, preferred to call the bunk he was allotted his shelf (SU) 

Ⓐ  ghostly (A)  ●  grim and ghostly (SU) 

Ⓐ  not a long cat (A)  ●  then it would be fatal to the cat to do it (SU) 

Ⓐ  portly (A)  ●  villainous (SU) 

Ⓐ  Balaam’s (C)  ●  Baalam’s (SU A) 

Ⓐ  six (A)  ●  6 (SU) 

Ⓐ  annoyance (A)  ●  annoyance to me (SU) 

Ⓐ  only dodged (A)  ●  simply dodged them (SU) 

Ⓐ  I turned out promptly (A)  ●  Lazarus did not come out of his sepulchre with a more cheerful alacrity than I did out of mine (SU) 

Ⓐ  captain (C)  ●  Captain (SU) 

Ⓐ  lay (A)  ●  laid (SU) 

Ⓐ  summersets (SU)  ●  somersaults (A) 

Ⓐ  overdrawn; it is (A)  ●  an attempt to be spicy; it is simply an attempt to give (SU) 

Ⓐ  condition (A)  ●  condition, I think (SU) 

Ⓐ  It (A)  ●  centered “Roll On, Silver Moon.” [¶] It (SU) 

Ⓐ  my (A)  ●  all my (SU) 

Ⓐ  centre (A)  ●  center (SU) 

Ⓐ  silver— (A)  ●  silver, (SU) 

Ⓐ  heeled (C)  ●  keeled (SU A) 

Ⓐ  back-bone (C)  ●  back bone (SU) 

Ⓐ  waves (A)  ●  billows (SU) 

Ⓐ  Billings’s (A)  ●  Brown’s (SU) 

Ⓐ  eclipse. (A)  ●  eclipse. centered I Endeavor to Entertain the Seasick Man. [¶] I turned to look down upon the sparkling animalculæ of the South Seas and watch the train of jeweled fire they made in the wake of the vessel. I——[¶] “Oh, me!” [¶] “What is the matter, Brown?” [¶] “Oh, me!” [¶] “You said that before, Brown. Such tautology——” [¶] “Tautology be hanged! This is no time to talk to a man about tautology when he is sick—so sick—oh, my! and has vomited up his heart and—ah, me—oh hand me that soup dish, and don’t stand there hanging to that bulkhead looking like a fool!” [¶] I handed him the absurd tin shaving-pot, called “berth-pan,” which they hang by a hook to the edge of a berth for the use of distressed landsmen with unsettled stomachs, but all the sufferer’s efforts were fruitless—his tortured stomach refused to yield up its cargo. [¶] I do not often pity this bitter enemy to sentiment—he would not thank me for it, anyhow—but now I did pity him; and I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. Any man, with any feeling, must have been touched to see him in such misery. I did not try to help him—indeed I did not even think of so unpromising a thing—but I sat down by him to talk to him and so cause the tedious hours to pass less wearily, if possible. I talked to him for some time, but strangely enough, pathetic narratives did not move his emotions, eloquent declamation did not inspirit him, and the most humorous anecdotes failed to make him even smile. He seemed as distressed and restless, at intervals—albeit the rule of his present case was to seem to look like an allegory of unconditional surrender—hopeless, helpless and indifferent—he seemed as distressed and restless as if my conversation and my anecdotes were irksome to him. It was because of this that at last I dropped into poetry. I said I had been writing a poem—or rather, been paraphrasing a passage in Shakspeare—a passage full of wisdom, which I thought I might remember easier if I reduced it to rhyme—hoped it would be pleasant to him—said I had taken but few liberties with the original; had preserved its brevity and terseness, its language as nearly as possible, and its ideas in their regular sequence—and proceeded to read it to him, as follows: [¶] As I finished, Brown’s stomach cast up its contents, and in a minute or two he felt entirely relieved and comfortable. He then said that the anecdotes and the eloquence were “no good,” but if he got seasick again he would like some more poetry. centered The Zones of the Earth Concentrated.  (SU) 

Ⓐ  Hualalai (SU)  ●  Hualaiai (A) 

Ⓐ  said to be sixteen (A)  ●  fourteen (SU) 

Ⓐ  winter (C)  ●  Winter (SU) 

Ⓐ  summer (C)  ●  Summer (A)  Summers (SU) 

Ⓐ  four or five (A)  ●  eight or ten (SU) 

Ⓐ  flies! . . . passes (A)  ●  flies. centered The Refuge for the Weary. [¶] We landed at Kailua (pronounced Ki-loo-ah), a little collection of native grass houses reposing under tall cocoanut trees—the sleepiest, quietest, Sundayest looking place you can imagine. Ye weary ones that are sick of the labor and care, and the bewildering turmoil of the great world, and sigh for a land where ye may fold your tired hands and slumber your lives peacefully away, pack up your carpet-sacks and go to Kailua! A week there ought to cure the saddest of you all. [¶] An old ruin of lava-block walls down by the sea was pointed out as a fort built by John Adams for Kamehameha I, and mounted with heavy guns—some of them 32-pounders—by the same sagacious Englishman. I was told the fort was dismantled a few years ago, and the guns sold in San Francisco for old iron—which was very improbable. I was told that an adjacent ruin was old Kamehameha’s sleeping-house; another, his eating-house; another, his god’s house; another, his wife’s eating-house—for by the ancient tabu system, it was death for man and woman to eat together. Every married man’s premises comprised five or six houses. This was the law of the land. It was this custom, no doubt, which has left every pleasant valley in these islands marked with the ruins of numerous house inclosures, and given strangers the impression that the population must have been vast before those houses were deserted; but the argument loses much of its force when you come to consider that the houses absolutely necessary for half a dozen married men were sufficient in themselves to form one of the deserted “villages” so frequently pointed out to the “Californian” (to the natives all whites are haoles—how-ries—that is, strangers, or, more properly, foreigners; and to the white residents all white new comers are “Californians”—the term is used more for convenience that anything else). [¶] I was told, also, that Kailua was old Kamehameha’s favorite place of residence, and that it was always a favorite place of resort with his successors. Very well, if Kailua suits these Kings—all right. Every man to his taste; but, as Brown observed in this connection, “You’ll excuse me.” centered Stewed Chicken—Miraculous Bread. [¶] I was told a good many other things concerning Kailua—not one of which interested me in the least. I was weary and worn with the plunging of the Boomerang in the always stormy passages between the islands; I was tired of hanging on by teeth and toe-  |  nails; and, above all, I was tired of stewed chicken. All I wanted was an hour’s rest on a foundation that would let me stand up straight without running any risk—but no information; I wanted something to eat that was not stewed chicken—I didn’t care what—but no information. I took no notes, and had no inclination to take any. [¶] Now, the foregoing is nothing but the feverish irritability of a short, rough sea-voyage coming to the surface—a voyage so short that it affords no time for you to tone down and grow quiet and reconciled, and get your stomach in order, and the bad taste out of your mouth, and the unhealthy coating off your tongue. I snarled at the old rooster and the cockroaches and the national stewed chicken all the time—not because these troubles could be removed, but only because it was a sanitary necessity to snarl at something or perish. One’s salt-water spleen must be growled out of the system—there is no other relief. I pined—I longed—I yearned to growl at the Captain himself, but there was no opening. The man had had such passengers before, I suppose, and knew how to handle them, and so he was polite and pains-taking and accommodating—and most exasperatingly patient and even-tempered. So I said to myself “I will take it out of your old schooner, anyhow; I will blackguard the Boomerang in the public prints, to pay for your shameless good-nature when your passengers are peevish and actually need somebody to growl at for very relief!” [¶] But now that I am restored by the land breeze, I wonder at my ingratitude; for no man ever treated me better than Captain Kangaroo did on board his ship. As for the stewed chicken—that last and meanest substitute for something to eat—that soothing rubbish for toothless infants—that diet for cholera patients in the rice-water stage—it was of course about the best food we could have at sea, and so I only abused it because I hated it as I do sardines or tomatoes, and because it was stewed chicken, and because it was such a relief to abuse somebody or something. But Kangaroo—I never abused Captain Kangaroo. I hope I have a better heart than to abuse a man who, with the kindest and most generous and unselfish motive in the world, went into the galley, and with his own hands baked for me the worst piece of bread I ever ate in my life. His motive was good, his desire to help me was sincere, but his execution was damnable. You see, I was not sick, but nothing would taste good to me; the Kanaka cook’s bread was particularly unpalatable; he was a new hand—the regular cook being sick and helpless below—and Captain Kangaroo, in the genuine goodness of his heart, felt for me in my distress and went down and made that most infernal bread. I ate one of those rolls—I would have eaten it if it had killed me—and said to myself: “It is on my stomach; ’tis well; if it were on my conscience, life would be a burden to me.” I carried one up to Brown and he ate a piece, but declined to experiment further. I insisted, but he said no, he didn’t want any more ballast. When the good deeds of men are judged in the Great Day that is to bring bliss or eternal woe unto us all, the charity that was in Captain Kangaroo’s heart will be remembered and rewarded, albeit his bread will have been forgotten for ages. centered The Famous Orange and Coffee Region. [¶] It was only about fifteen miles from Kailua to Kealakekua Bay, either by sea or land, but by the former route there was a point to be weathered where the ship would be the sport of contrary winds for hours, and she would probably occupy the entire day in making the trip, whereas we could do it on horseback in a little while and have the cheering benefit of a respite from the discomforts we had been experiencing on the vessel. We hired horses from the Kanakas, and miserable affairs they were, too. They had lived on meditation all their lives, no doubt, for Kailua is fruitful in nothing else. I will mention, in this place, that horses are plenty everywhere in the Sandwich Islands—no Kanaka is without one or more—but when you travel from one island to another, it is necessary to take your own saddle and bridle, for these articles are scarce. It is singular baggage for a sea voyage, but it will not do to go without it. [¶] The ride through the district of Kona to Kealakekua Bay took us through the famous coffee and orange section. I think the Kona coffee has a richer flavor than any other, be it grown where it may and call it by what name you please. At one time it was cultivated quite extensively, and promised to become one of the great staples of Hawaiian commerce; but the heaviest crop ever raised was almost entirely destroyed by a blight, and this, together with heavy American customs duties, had the effect of suddenly checking enterprise in this direction. For several years the coffee-growers fought the blight with all manner of cures and preventives, but with small success, and at length some of the less persevering abandoned coffee-growing altogether and turned their attention to more encouraging pursuits. The coffee interest has not yet recovered its former importance, but is improving slowly. The exportation of this article last year was over 263,000 pounds, and it is expected that the present year’s yield will be much greater. Contrast the progress of the coffee interest with that of sugar, and the demoralizing effects of the blight upon the former will be more readily seen. [¶] Thus the sugar yield of last year was more than twenty times what it was in 1852, while the coffee yield has scarcely more than doubled. [¶] The coffee plantations we encountered in our short journey looked well, and we were told that the crop was unusually promising. [¶] There are no finer oranges in the world than those produced in the district of Kona; when new and fresh they are delicious. The principal market for them is California, but of course they lose much of their excellence by so long a voyage. About 500,000 oranges were exported last year against 15,000 in 1852. The orange culture is safe and sure, and is being more and more extensively engaged in every year. We passed one orchard that contained ten thousand orange trees. [¶] There are many species of beautiful trees in Kona—noble forests of them—and we had numberless opportunities of contrasting the orange with them. The verdict rested with the orange. Among the varied and handsome foliage of the Ko, Koa, Kukui, bread-  |  fruit, mango, guava, peach, citron, ohia and other fine trees, its dark, rich green cone was sure to arrest the eye and compel constant exclamations of admiration. So dark a green is its foliage, that at a distance of a quarter of a mile the orange tree looks almost black. centered Woodland Scenery. [¶] The ride from Kailua to Kealakekua Bay is worth taking. It passes (SU) 

Ⓐ  boughs (SU)  ●  bows (A) 

Ⓐ  billowy (A)  ●  hillowy (SU) 

Ⓐ  We . . . fruit. (A)  ●  no ¶ The jaunt through Kona will always be to me a happy memory. indented from right MARK TWAIN. (SU) 

Ⓐ  At (A)  ●  indented from right Kona (Sandwich Islands), July, 1866. centered Still in Kona—Concerning Matters and Things. [¶] At (SU) 

Ⓐ  flavor (A)  ●  flavor while on our horseback ride through Kona (SU) 

Ⓐ  sixteen times  (A)  ●  over and over again (SU) 

Ⓐ  replanting, (A)  ●  replanting⁁  (SU) 

Ⓐ  two tons  (A)  ●  two tons (SU) 

Ⓐ  astounding (A)  ●  extraordinary (SU) 

Ⓐ  required. (A)  ●  required. [¶] In Central Kona there is but little idle cane land now, but there is a good deal in North and South Kona. There are thousands of acres of cane land unoccupied on the island of Hawaii, and the prices asked for it range from one dollar to a hundred and fifty an acre. It is owned by common natives, and is lying “out of doors.” They make no use of it whatever, and yet, here lately, they seem disinclined to either lease or sell it. I was frequently told this. In this connection it may not be out of place to insert an extract from a book of Hawaiian travels recently published by a visiting minister of the gospel: [¶] “Well, now, I wouldn’t, if I was you.” [¶] “Brown, I wish you wouldn’t look over my shoulder when I am writing; and I wish you would indulge yourself in some little respite from my affairs and interest yourself in your own business sometimes.” [¶] “Well, I don’t care. I’m disgusted with these mush-and-milk preacher travels, and I wouldn’t make an extract from one of them. Father Damon has got stacks of books shoemakered up by them pious bushwhackers from America, and they’re the flattest reading—they are sicker than the smart things children say in the newspapers. Every preacher that gets lazy comes to the Sandwich Islands to ‘recruit his health,’ and then he goes back home and writes a book. And he puts in a lot of history, and some legends, and some manners and customs, and dead loads of praise of the missionaries for civilizing and Christianizing the natives, and says in considerable chapters how grateful the savage ought to be; and when there is a chapter to be filled out, and they haven’t got anything to fill it out with, they shovel in a lot of Scripture—now don’t they? You just look at Rev. Cheever’s book and Anderson’s—and when they come to the volcano, or any sort of heavy scenery, and it is too much bother to describe it, they shovel in another lot of Scripture, and wind up with ‘Lo! what God hath wrought!’ Confound their lazy melts! Now, I wouldn’t make extracts out of no such bosh.” [¶] “Mr. Brown, I brought you with me on this voyage merely because a newspaper correspondent should travel in some degree of state, and so command the respect of strangers; I did not expect you to assist me in my literary labors with your crude ideas. You may desist from further straining your intellect for the present, Mr. Brown, and proceed to the nearest depot and replenish the correspondent fountain of inspiration.” [¶] “Fountain dry now, of course. Confound me if I ever chance an opinion but I’ve got to trot down to the soda factory and fill up that cursed jug again. It seems to me that you need more inspiration——” [¶] “Good afternoon, Brown.” [¶] The extract I was speaking of reads as follows: [¶] “We were in North Kona  The arable uplands in both the Konas are owned chiefly by foreigners. Indeed, the best of the lands on all the islands appear to be fast going into foreign hands; and one of the allegations made to me by a foreign resident against the missionaries was that their influence was against such a transfer. The Rev. Mr. —— told me, however, that to prevent the lands immediately about him, once owned by the admirable Kapiolani, from going to strangers he knew not who, he had felt obliged to invest his own private funds in them.” [¶] We naturally swell with admiration when we contemplate a sacrifice like this. But while I read the generous last words of that extract, it fills me with inexpressible satisfaction to know that the Rev. Mr. —— had his reward. He paid fifteen hundred dollars for one of those pieces of land; he did not have to keep it long; without sticking a spade into it he sold it to a foreigner for ten thousand dollars in gold. Yet there be those among us who fear to trust the precious promise, “Cast thy bread upon the waters and it shall return unto thee after many days.” [¶] I have since been told that the original $1,500 belonged to a ward of the missionary, and that inasmuch as the latter was investing it with the main view to doing his charge the best service in his power, and doubtless would not have felt at liberty to so invest it merely to protect the poor natives, his glorification in the book was not particularly gratifying to him. The other missionaries smile at the idea of their tribe “investing their own private funds” in this free and easy, this gay and affluent way—buying fifteen hundred dollars worth of land at a dash (salary $400 a year), and merely to do a trifling favor to some savage neighbor. (SU)