TIME AND CHANGE 



on slender posts, were passed here and there. Ev- 

 erywhere we saw wooden aqueducts, or flumes, 

 winding around the contours of the hills and across 

 the little valleys, often on high trestle-work, and 

 partly filled with clear, swift-running water, in 

 which the sugar-cane was transported to the mills. 



At Glenwood stages meet the tourists and convey 

 them over a fairly good road that winds through the 

 tree-fern forests to the Volcano House, ten miles 

 away. The beauty of that fern-lined forest, the 

 long, stately plumes of the gigantic ferns meeting the 

 eye everywhere, I shall not soon forget. I saw what 

 appeared to be a large, showy red raspberry grow- 

 ing by the roadside, but I did not find it at all 

 tempting to the taste. 



It was dark when we reached the Volcano House, 

 and we saw off to the left a red glow upon the fog- 

 clouds, like the reflected light from a burning barn 

 or house in the country, and inferred at once that 

 it came from the volcano, which it did. From my 

 window that night, as I lay in bed, I could see 

 this same angry glow upon the clouds. The smell 

 of sulphur was in the air about the hotel, and very 

 hot steam was issuing from cracks in the rocks. A 

 party of tourists on horseback, in the spirit of true 

 American hurry, visited the volcano that night, but 

 we chose to wait until the morrow. 



The next morning the great crater of Kilauea was 

 filled with fog, but it lifted, and the sun shone be- 



150 



