The soft breezes sweep across it, heavy with the fragrance of jasmine and gardenia, and through the swaying boughs of palm and mimosa there are glimpses of rugged mountains, their summits veiled in clouds, of purple sea with the white surf beating eternally against the reefs, whiter still in the yellow sunlight or the magical moonlight of the tropics." There: rugs, ices, pictures, lanais, worldly books, sinful bric-a-brac fetched from everywhere.

And the ladies riding astride.

These are changes, indeed.

In my time the native women rode astride, but the white ones lacked the courage to adopt their wise custom.

In my time ice was seldom seen in Honolulu.