FIELD NATURALISTS' CLUB. 17 



examination at some more convenient season. But the day was 

 drawing to a close and we began to hurry home, having had a 

 most enjoyable peep into the great book which Nature ever holds 

 open to the mind which can enjoy the study of her manifold works. 



AN AMATEUR NATURALIST. 

 (R. R, Mole.) 



A RAMBLE ON A COCOA ESTATE IN SANTA CRUZ. 



TLTAVING made no arrangement for a special excursion on 



Whit-Monday, I decided to spend my holiday as I usually 

 do, with some friends residing in the delightful and extensive 

 valley of Santa Cruz, and, in order to show how much work can 

 be done, even at our doors, I have prepared this account of my 

 trip. 



With this object in view, I started from my home at St. 

 Anns about half past six o'clock on the morning of the 22nd of 

 May, and hurried to catch the twenty minutes to seven tram car, 

 so as to be able to get the first train going up the country. 



Having succeeded in doing so, I was soon being rapidly 

 carried eastward in the company of a friend, whom I had met at 

 the Station, and who happened to be going to the same place as 

 myself. Leaving Port-of-Spain behind us, we soon found ourselves 

 rushing through the mangrove swamp to the east of the town, 

 the noisy train startling, every now and then, a white heron or 

 crabier. Rapidly passing drains in which a species of waterlily 

 grew pretty thickly, fields of bulrushes, peasants' houses, and 

 abandoned cane fields, in which other kinds of vegetation and 

 cultivation are now springing up, we soon came to the sugar 

 estates of Barataria and El Socorro ; and nearly opposite to the 

 long avenue leading to the abandoned works of the latter, the 

 train stopped beside a low roofed building, known as the San 

 Juan Station, and the first on the line from Port-of-Spain. 



Here our journey by rail ended, so we got out and prepared 

 to do the rest of it on foot. Crossing the Station yard and the 

 Eastern High Road, which lies at the back of it, we turned into 

 the Saddle Road, which, starting opposite to the entrance of the 

 Station yard, runs in a northerly direction throughout the entire 

 length of the Santa Cruz valley, and crossing the low ridge at the 

 north western end, from which it derives its name, carries the 

 traveller back again to Port of-Spain via Maraval. 



The morning had been a fine one, but now heavy clouds 

 rolling from the east seemed to threaten rain, so we hurried for- 

 ward, and at the junction of the old and new Santa Cruz Roads, 



