96 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



dom treated himself to ; and when I reflected to what 

 extent my host had deprived himself, and upon the 

 recent, the very recent, demise of the chicken, I could 

 scarcely eat. My friends refused to sit at table with 

 me, but attended upon my wants, bringing me fresh 

 cocoanut-water, and mangos and guavas for dessert. 

 To be sure, there was neither fork nor table-knife ; but 

 one living in the woods is never without his pocket- 

 knife, and a fork can be quickly whittled from a palm- 

 rib. After the repast I retired to the shade of the 

 mango ; the father gathered about him his materials 

 for making baskets, and the daughter wove for me 

 a curious cone of basket-work, used by the children 

 in their games, which, being slipped over the ringer, 

 cannot be removed so long as it is tightly drawn. 



The sun at noon is very powerful in that climate, 

 and one quickly feels its somnolent influences. The 

 people are up early, and work a little in the morning, 

 but in the heat of the day little is done. No traveler 

 passes, unless some one on a long journey ; and no one 

 works except the basket-maker, who can do so under 

 the broad-spreading shade of a mango or tamarind. 

 Even he, as noon draws nigh and breakfast is dis- 

 posed of, stretches himself upon a board and dozes 

 for an hour or two. Everything is hushed in uni- 

 versal calm, and even the insects and birds feel the 

 influence of the solar rays and are silent, drowsy, 

 and indulging in mid-day siestas. Dolce far nicnte 

 is the life these people lead ; the sweet-do-nothing 

 more than is absolutely necessary. 



Hospitality such as I have mentioned is not ex- 

 ceptional. If an Indian takes a liking to you, hence- 

 forward you are his compere; all he has is yours — 



