::::::;::*; TWO BIRD- LOVERS IN MEXICO W=^" 



— seem once more miited. The fearfully red glow at 

 the crater's edge is, to the eye, translated, until it 

 seems to feed and flow and merge into the sj^lendour 

 of the setting sun. 



Never shall we forget our parting night with the 

 volcano. During the next two hours of our ride, 

 while the fading light of the afterglow is replaced by 

 the fitful, flickering light of the living volcano and 

 the thin star-gleams from Orion and Leo overhead, the 

 gradual changes are no less impressive. 



The red becomes rose ; the rose salmon ; then only 

 an evanescent yellow tinge remains. Finally, the 

 sunset gone, the great mountain draws a cloak of 

 steaming mist about its jagged shoulders, and, with 

 a low, hollow rumbling, settles into the quiet of night, 

 reflecting indistinctly the hue of dead lava, which 

 it assumes when the world is dark. The clothing 

 of pines about the lower slope seems to hug more 

 tightly to their scanty-earthed root-hold. At one 

 side a fresh, seared line shows where a small crater 

 has recently opened and consumed the upper line 

 of trees, — the trunks and roots melting to nothing 

 before the terrible outpouring. Actual molten lava 

 seldom escapes from the lofty crater, hot ashes and 

 stones being the most common form of eruptive ma- 

 terial. 



The mood of the mountain soon changes, the ground 

 quivers beneath our horses' hoofs, the trees rustle their 



■^4 354 -^ 



