Sunday again. We went to the Kawaiahao church, where the congregation is mostly of natives and the sermon in the Hawaiian language. It was very interesting, for the language has fascinating sounds and the earnestness of the people gave us as much of the real sense of worship as if we could have understood what was said. Worship, anyway, is a matter of feeling—not of words.
This afternoon we motored through Kapiolani Park and all about beautiful Kaimuki with its splendid vistas and then up Palolo Hill, where the scene spread out at our feet was wonderful beyond words. Then we went out Waialae Road for a ways, and turned off toward the sea, where we came to a pretty little beach all by itself with only a house or two and a cocoanut grove and some pastures. It seemed almost out of the world, but I loved it. The drive was thoroughly delightful.
Concert by Hawaiian boys at the hotel, as usual on Sunday evening. I never weary of hearing them.
