8 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



rounded, dashes over its rocky bed with a roar that 

 reaches our ears even at this height of several hun- 

 dred feet, and runs at the foot of a lygh white cliff 

 across another plantation into the sea, peaceful enough 

 at the end. 



The streets of Roseau are straight, paved with rough 

 stone, and they never echo to the sound of wheels. 

 They cross at right angles and dwindle down to three 

 bridle-paths leading out of the town, one north and one 

 south, along the coast, and one, narrow and tortuous, 

 over the mountains to the eastward. Most of the 

 houses are one-storied boxes of wood, with bonnet 

 roofs, sixteen by twenty feet ; many in a state of de- 

 cay, with tattered sides, bald spaces without shingles, 

 and dragging doors and shutters. Every street, how- 

 ever, is highly picturesque with this rough architect- 

 ure, and with cocoa palms lining and terminating the 

 vistas. The town is green with fruit-trees, and over 

 broken roofs and garden walls of roughest masonry 

 hang many strange fruits. Conspicuous are the 

 mango, orange, lime, pawpaw, plantain, banana, and 

 tamarind. Over all tower the cocoa palms, their long 

 leaves quivering, their dense clusters of gold-green 

 nuts drooping with their weight. 



From the mountains, from the " Sweet River," comes 

 the purest of water, led in pipes through all the streets, 

 and gushing out in never-ceasing flow from the sea 

 wall on the shore. The market, near the south end 

 of the town, a small square surrounded by stores, is 

 the centre of attraction on Saturdays, when it is dense- 

 ly packed with country people, black and yellow, who 

 come, some of them, from points a dozen miles dis- 

 tant, each with his bunch of plantains, or tray of 



