CAMP I.IKE IN THE TROPICS. 21 



waiting for the summer rains. Soon I emerge into a 

 grassy glade, surrounded by mango, coffee-trees, and 



trees resembling the live-oak. The mangos are bris- 

 tling with spikes of blossoms — white with them — but 

 not a bird nor a butterfly is hovering above them, 

 though the surrounding trees and shrubs are alive with 

 them. This is a fact I have long noticed, that the mango 

 is ever deserted, though adjacent trees may be vocal 

 with bird-music. But, flitting across this green glade, 

 now bright under the rays of an ever-brightening sun, 

 are many birds; that is, many for this island, for it is 

 not abundant in species, nor in numbers either, save of 

 the humming-bird. 



There is a tree full of warblers of strange species — of 

 Sucricr, or sugar-bird — a bird resembling our yellow 

 warbler ; several of the more strictly fly-catching birds, 

 and a few sparrows, grosbecs, and blackbirds. The 

 three species of humming-bird are well represented, 

 and dash hither and thither seeking their favorite food, 

 indulging in mimic battles and amorous caresses. I 

 push on, after an hour's stop, perhaps, over a rugged 

 trail made by the half-wild cattle as they travel from 

 glade to glade, and crossing another stream, climbing 

 a hill, and descending into a ravine, I climb the steep 

 slopes of the hill on which my cabin is perched. Every- 

 thing is as I left it five hours before. The door, which 

 is merely kept fastened by a stick braced against it, 

 has not been opened ; but I find on the floor a clus- 

 ter of oranges, a branch of fragrant lime-flowers 

 for my humming-birds, and a tastefully arranged bunch 

 of roses from one of the girls. 



While I am putting the finishing touches to my bird- 

 notes, the girl comes in with my lunch, and my little 



