It seemed a dull trudge over the black and awful crater, and
strange, like half-forgotten sights of a world with which I had
ceased to have aught to do, were the dwarf tree-ferns, the lilies
with their turquoise clusters, the crimson myrtle blossoms, and all
the fair things which decked the precipice up which we slowly
dragged our stiff and painful limbs. Yet it was but the exchange of
a world of sublimity for a world of beauty, the "place of hell," for
the bright upper earth, with its endless summer, and its perennial
foliage, blossom, and fruitage.

Since writing the above I have been looking over the "Volcano Book,"
which contains the observations and impressions of people from all
parts of the world. Some of these are painstaking and valuable as
showing the extent and rapidity of the changes which take place in
the crater, but there is an immense quantity of flippant rubbish,
and would-be wit, in which "Madam Pele," invariably occurs, this
goddess, who was undoubtedly one of the grandest of heathen mythical
creations, being caricatured in pencil and pen and ink, under every
ludicrous aspect that can be conceived. Some of the entries are
brief and absurd, "Not much of a fizz," "a grand splutter," "Madam
Pele in the dumps," and so forth. These generally have English
signatures. The American wit is far racier, but depends mainly on
the profane use of certain passages of scripture, a species of wit
which is at once easy and disgusting. People are all particular in
giving the precise time of the departure from Hilo and arrival here,
"making good time" being a thing much admired on Hawaii, but few can
boast of more than three miles an hour. It is wonderful that people
can parade their snobbishness within sight of Hale-mau-mau.