When we reached the summit we sat down to rest, and take a little wine. Then the guide led us around to the crater, where the fumes of sulphur and clouds of steam were rising out of the volcano, and around a great, yawning gulf, that was a complete mass of fire. We had to hold our kerchiefs over our noses to save us from suffocation, and even with this it was almost impossible to breathe. The crater, at that time, was comparatively small,—at least, so they told me,—but it seemed to me a very fair crater for all practical purposes. The flames filled it from side to side. Their colors were white, purple, yellow, and crimson, and they threw up clouds of smoke and steam. It seemed as if the summit of the mountain was hollow, and might easily be broken in. If a man should fall into the crater, his chance of escape would be as good as if he was dropped into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, with a twenty ton anchor fastened to his neck. It seemed to me as if there might be an eruption at any moment, and I wanted to get away from the place; but the guide said there was no danger, that the crater always filled up before an explosion, and that they knew days and weeks beforehand when it would occur. To convince me that there was no danger, he said that he had a family to support, and wanted to live, though I could see no reason why, and he had no hesitation in going close up to the edge. Although I had no family to support, I knew a man who had one. I therefore concluded to do as he did, and so crept up and looked over, holding the kerchief all the while to my face. [Sidenote: LOOKING INTO THE CRATER.] A very brief gaze was sufficient for me, not because the sight was less grand than I had expected, but because the fumes of sulphur were so strong that I feared I might faint, and in falling, drop into that confounded hole. There are various modes of death which I should consider disreputable, and dropping into a volcano is one of them.