TIME AND CHANGE 
on slender posts, were passed here and there. Ey- 
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 
