Usually the women of the family make the leis, the men cultivating the flowers for their manufacture in the home garden patches. There are perhaps two dozen of these women in Honolulu, each of whom has her regular stand on one street corner or another. But the leis themselves are made everywhere. A trip through a tenement block at eleven o’clock at night disclosed an entire family, men, women, half-grown girls and children,—eight in all,—asleep on the floor, while an older woman, an aunt, sat on the floor in the farthest corner making yellow paper leis for a suffrage meeting, by the light of an oil lamp. It is the most general home occupation of the Hawaiian woman, and the lei itself in one form or another, usually of red or yellow paper, decorate picture frames and mantels at least in every other home one enters. It was found even on the occasion of a visit to the high-perched cottage of a Black Forest German iron-worker, married to a French woman from the Pyranees, who owns a homestead at the head of one of the beautiful valleys, with an outlook sweeping from the crest of one hill to the next, the sound of a nearby waterfall always accompanying the soughing of the trade wind. The crescent moon, accompanied by Venus, topped one of the hills as our host settled himself back in his veranda chair and grunted comfortably: “I think I don’t know any better place as Honolulu for a working man.—No?” Lei making is evidently a profitable occupation. The vendors say that the usual receipts are $9.00 a day on steamer days, and from $2.00 to $3.00 or $4.00 on other days. It is taught by the older Hawaiian women to the next generation, and I fancy any newcomer to the ranks would have much the same sort of fight for place as would a newsboy on a rival’s route. The garlands sell at twenty-five cents each, and the blossoms are either gathered up in the hills or are raised at home. Only one lei-maker talked with purchased any of her flowers. She said she bought about half her supply from a Japanese gardener. * * * * * Lauhala weaving is a passing native industry, and while mats, fans and pillow-covers are found in the curio shops, dealers and some of the older Hawaiians say that the rush to turn land into pineapple and sugar cultivation has eradicated the lauhala until it is not now obtainable in any quantity sufficient for commercial uses, from every island but Molokai. The mats, of a soft, light tan color, are the ideal covering for bungalow floors. They are woven in inch or two-inch squares, and have a dull, satiny finish that is very attractive. They are scrubbed with soap and water, and the lauhala fiber may be preserved indefinitely for mending purposes, if moistened with water occasionally.