Monday, December 25th (Christmas Day).—­Turning in last night was the work of a very few minutes, and this morning I awoke perfectly refreshed and ready to appreciate anew the wonders of the prospect that met my eyes.  The pillar of fire was still distinctly visible when I looked out from my window, though it was not so bright as when I had last seen it; but even as I looked it began to fade, and gradually disappeared.  At the same moment a river of glowing lava issued from the side of the bank we had climbed with so much difficulty yesterday, and slowly but surely overflowed the ground we had walked over.  I woke Tom, and you may imagine the feelings with which we gazed upon this startling phenomenon, which, had it occurred a few hours earlier, might have caused the destruction of the whole party.  If our expedition had been made to-day instead of yesterday, we should certainly have had to proceed by a different route to the crater, and should have looked down on the lake of fire from a different spot.

I cannot hope that in my attempt to give you some idea of Kilauea as we beheld it, I shall be successful in conveying more than a very faint impression of its glories.  I feel that my description is so utterly inadequate, that, were it not for the space, I should be tempted to send you in full the experiences of previous visitors, as narrated in Miss Bird’s ‘Six Months in the Sandwich Islands,’ and Mr. Bodham Whetham’s ‘Pearls of the Pacific.’  The account contained in the former work I had read before arriving here; the latter I enjoyed at the ‘Volcano House.’  Both are well worth reading by any one who feels an interest in the subject.

It would, I think, be difficult to imagine a more interesting and exciting mode of spending Christmas Eve than yesterday has taught us, or a stranger situation in which to exchange our Christmas greetings than beneath the grass roof of an inn on the edge of a volcano in the remote Sandwich Islands.  They were certainly rendered none the less cordial and sincere by the novelty of our position, and I think we are all rather glad not to have in prospect the inevitable feastings and ceremonies, without which it seems to be impossible to commemorate this season in England.  If we had seen nothing but Kilauea since we left home, we should have been well rewarded for our long voyage.

At six o’clock we were dressed and packed.  Breakfast followed at half-past, and at seven we were prepared for a start.  Our kind, active host, and his wife and baby, all came out to see us off.  The canter over the dewy grass, in the fresh morning air, was most invigorating.  It was evident that no one had passed along the road since Saturday night, for we picked up several waifs and strays dropped in the dark on our way up—­a whip, a stirrup, mackintosh hood, &c.