HILO, HAWAII.

The Kilauea is not a fast propeller, and as she lurched very much in
crossing the channel most of the passengers were sea-sick, a
casualty which did not impair their cheerfulness and good humour.
After dark we called at Kawaihae (pronounced To-wee-hye), on the
northwest of Hawaii, and then steamed through the channel to the
east or windward side. I was only too glad on the second night to
accept the offer of "a mattrass on the skylight," but between the
heavy rolling caused by the windward swell, and the natural
excitement on nearing the land of volcanoes and earthquakes, I could
not sleep, and no other person slept, for it was considered "a very
rough passage," though there was hardly a yachtsman's breeze. It
would do these Sybarites good to give them a short spell of the
howling horrors of the North or South Atlantic, an easterly
snowstorm off Sable Island, or a winter gale in the latitude of
Inaccessible Island! The night was cloudy, and so the glare from
Kilauea which is often seen far out at sea was not visible.

When the sun rose amidst showers and rainbows (for this is the
showery season), I could hardly believe my eyes. Scenery,
vegetation, colour were all changed. The glowing red, the fiery
glare, the obtrusive lack of vegetation were all gone. There was a
magnificent coast-line of grey cliffs many hundred feet in height,
usually draped with green, but often black, caverned, and fantastic
at their bases. Into cracks and caverns the heavy waves surged with
a sound like artillery, sending their broad white sheets of foam