d in
darkness and mist. Once only we caught sight of part of its lip,
and the sight was one not to be forgotten.

The sun was rising behind the hills. The purple mountain was backed
by clear blue sky. High above it hung sheets of orange cloud
lighted from underneath; lower down, and close upon the hill-tops,
curved sheets of bright white mist

'Stooped from heaven, and took the shape,
With fold on fold, of mountain and of cape.'

And under them, again, the crater seethed with gray mist, among
which, at one moment, we could discern portions of its lip; not
smooth, like that of Vesuvius, but broken into awful peaks and
chasms hundreds of feet in height. As the sun rose, level lights of
golden green streamed round the peak right and left over the downs:
but only for a while. As the sky-clouds vanished in his blazing
rays, earth-clouds rolled up below from the valleys behind; wreathed
and weltered about the great black teeth of the crater; and then
sinking among them, and below them, shrouded the whole cone in
purple darkness for the day; while in the foreground blazed in the
sunshine broad slopes of cane-field: below them again the town,
with handsome houses and old-fashioned churches and convents, dating
possibly from the seventeenth century, embowered in mangoes,
tamarinds, and palmistes; and along the beach a market beneath a row
of trees, with canoes drawn up to be unladen, and gay dresses of
every hue. The surf whispered softly on the beach. The cheerful
murmur of voices came off the shore, and above it the tinkling of
some little bell, calling good folks to early mass. A cheery,
brilliant picture as man could wish to see: but marred by two ugly
elements. A mile away on the low northern cliff, marked with many a
cross, was the lonely cholera cemetery, a remembrance of the fearful
pestilence which a few years since swept away thousands of the
people: and above frowned that black giant, now asleep; but for how
long?

In 1797 an eruption hurled out pumice, ashes, and sulphureous
vapours. In the great crisis of 1812, indeed, the volcano was
quiet, leaving the Souffriere of St. Vincent to do the work; but
since then he has shown an ugly and uncertain humour. Smoke by day,
and flame by night--or probably that light reflected from below
which is often mistaken for flame in volcanic eruptions--have been
seen again and again above the crater; and the awful earthquake o