288 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



garden, carries herself with an air that betokens in- 

 dependence, and would sooner lose your patronage 

 than dispense with her pipe. 



Through the Grande Rue, past the Gendarmerie, 

 up a narrow street to the rear of the theatre, I followed 

 a little gamin, one cool morning, to seek birds in the 

 Jardin des Plantes. A shower dropped suddenly now 

 and then, but the summit of the volcano stood out cool 

 and purple against a sky of untroubled blue. Gain- 

 ing a level road at the base of high cliffs, I walked 

 beneath almond and tamarind trees, looking down 

 upon the savane, or level field, beneath, where are 

 held the reviews and occasional shows that visit this 

 island, and across to the lower town, where a white 

 dome thrust itself up from a sea of cocoa palms. The 

 huge cone swept from cloud to foaming river — the 

 Riviere Roxelane, which divides the town, and from 

 which, even thus early, came the sound of blows, 

 telling the listening ear that inoffensive linen was 

 being maltreated by vengeful females. A broad 

 stretch of cane-field climbed well up the mountain, 

 meeting the forest, which sent out detachments of 

 trees to greet the cane, then spread out all over the 

 peak, vast and dark. Houses looked out from gar- 

 dens of fruit-trees ; everywhere was cultivation and 

 growth. 



Descending slightly, I passed a little shrine to the 

 Virgin, built right beneath the vine-hung precipice, 

 which sent down a wealth of trailing, clinging plants 

 to cover it. Leaning above it, as in benediction, is 

 the famous and beautiful Arbre du Voyagcur, which, 

 if pierced, will give forth a stream of pure water. 

 Its long leaves, fan-like in their arrangement, de- 



