310 A DAY IN THE WOODS OF JAMAICA. 



whose long racemes of purple berries tempt the eye 

 and the palate, and admire the tufts of white lilies, 

 having the fragrance of carnations, whose bulbs delight 

 to be washed by the wavelets of the sea. 



We are mounted ; and now let us rapidly get over 

 the lowland slopes, to reach the loftier regions as early 

 in the day as possible. The sun has not yet risen ; 

 and there is a dewy freshness in the air, as the dying 

 land-wind of the night comes off in intermittent 

 breathings, bringing the perfume of ten thousand 

 flowers. Here, between cliffs of limestone, where 

 creepers festoon the rock, and the noble trumpet- 

 blossoms of the Portlandia, snowy-white, and each 

 eight inches long, hang down from the clustering foli- 

 age, out of every fissure, we make our way up a 

 steeply rising track. The cliffs on either hand soon 

 begin to recede, and we emerge on a road between pas- 

 tures of Guinea-grass, whose brightness never withers 

 under the driest seasons. Orange-trees line the road, 

 loaded with their golden fruit ; and sops and custard- 

 apples, arid luscious naseberries and guavas, are scat- 

 tered over the fields. Birds have awaked : the Petchary, 

 earlier than the yard-cock, long ago piped from the 

 fronds of the tall cocoa-palm ; and yonder we see one 

 continuing his simple song with unabated energy, 

 opening ever and anon, as he shifts from twig to twig, 

 the bright golden coronet upon his head. Ha ! he is 

 not doing that for nothing. It is the expression of 

 excitement. He has ceased to sing ; watch him ! 

 A large beetle is crawling near, which is in the act of 



