A CAMP IN A CRATER. 1 87 



in deep gorges and ravines, requiring courage and 

 patience to penetrate. 



At last came the perfect day, when the Soufriere 

 emerged from the mist that had enveloped it for two 

 weeks, and stood out clear against a sky of blue and 

 clouds of silver gray. A glorious day was that last 

 day in October, with its bright sun illumining the 

 mountain, over whose crest were flitting shadows cast 

 by fleeing clouds. The good people with whom I had 

 rested for a week and more, added to my provisions 

 luxuries I could not purchase, such as guava jelly, 

 Java-plum wine, limes and oranges, and Mr. Evelyn 

 and his son rode with me a little way on my journey. 



At first the road was along the shore, beneath cliffs 

 and groo-groo palms ; we crossed a turbulent river, 

 with wide, rocky bed, and soon came to the bed of the 

 famous n dry river," — the channel worn by that resist- 

 less flood of lava when on its way to the sea. It is 

 two hundred yards in width, barren of vegetation for 

 a mile from the sea, inclosed between high cliffs, 

 clothed in verdure, hung with vines, spiny palms, 

 tree-ferns — a wonderful hanging garden. There 

 are three of these "dry rivers," where the lava filled 

 up the bed of some flowing stream, or excavated an 

 immense furrow for itself in its descent ; nothing will 

 grow in them near the sea, though their banks are 

 rank with vegetation. 



We went through a cane-field, and then over an at- 

 tractive pasture land, leaving which I commenced the 

 ascent. Here, at the foot-hills of the Soufriere, my 

 friends left me, and here my friend's mule ("Betsey," 

 the best mule on the estate) manifested a desire to 

 return also. Vigorously I applied the spur, and she 



