LETTER V.

VOLCANO OF KILAUEA, Jan. 31.

Bruised aching bones, strained muscles, and overwhelming fatigue,
render it hardly possible for me to undergo the physical labour of
writing, but in spirit I am so elated with the triumph of success,
and so thrilled by new sensations, that though I cannot communicate
the incommunicable, I want to write to you while the impression of
Kilauea is fresh, and by "the light that never was on sea or shore."

By eight yesterday morning our preparations were finished, and Miss
Karpe, whose conversance with the details of travelling I envy,
mounted her horse on her own side-saddle, dressed in a short grey
waterproof, and a broad-brimmed Leghorn hat tied so tightly over her
ears with a green veil as to give it the look of a double spout.
The only pack her horse carried was a bundle of cloaks and shawls,
slung together with an umbrella on the horn of her saddle. Upa, who
was most picturesquely got up in the native style with garlands of
flowers round his hat and throat, carried our saddle-bags on the
peak of his saddle, a bag with bananas, bread, and a bottle of tea
on the horn, and a canteen of water round his waist. I had on my
coarse Australian hat which serves the double purpose of sunshade
and umbrella, Mrs. Thompson's riding costume, my great rusty New
Zealand boots, and my blanket strapped behind a very gaily
ornamented brass-bossed demi-pique Mexican saddle, which one of the
missionary's daughters had lent me. It has a horn in front, a low