l6 CAMPS IN THE CARIBBEES. 



reflect, ''They can't show all these in the States in 

 March." 



But effectually to escape the train of thought that 

 these observations might give rise to, I take my gun, 

 ammunition, game-basket and note-book, and plunge 

 into one of the lateral ravines that feed the huge gorge 

 below. It is morning. The bread-fruit, mango, and 

 limes that thickly stud the slope above are glistening 

 with dew, and the low shrubs that line the ravine, as 

 well as the taller trees that darken its recesses, are 

 dropping copious showers. I am following the dry 

 bed of a stream that shows, by huge rocks dislodged 

 and excavated banks, what must have been its size and 

 force in the rainy season. Ferns, lycopodiums, and 

 matted and tangled roots conceal the earth and make 

 every footstep a doubtful one, and the loose stones and 

 rocks, with dark holes beneath and beside them, sug- 

 gest most forcibly the possibility of the presence of 

 snakes. But I am looking for birds (and snakes 

 also, if they come in my way), and do not give them 

 the attention that once I thought I should, when hear- 

 ing tales of their abundance and venomous character 

 in these islands. As this is a search for birds, the 

 snakes shall be left for some future chapter. 



It is well known that each species of bird has its 

 own peculiar haunt, where it feeds, sings, and sports 

 itself. It has also a different haunt for different por- 

 tions of the day, and the birds of the morning which 

 we find in the ravine may be, in the evening, feeding 

 or singing on the borders of open glades, or higher up 

 the mountain sides. At mid-day you will find all 

 under cover of the densest shade, and silent. It is in 

 the morning that they may be found in localities char- 



