p o s t e i s i a 121 



and refasten an unhooked trace, but 

 always coming up all right on his seat 

 again, though we feared every disap- 

 pearance over the fender would be his 

 last. As we approached a village, our 

 driver, without seeming to cease for a 

 moment his antics with the mules, 

 would whisk out a horn and blow an 

 ear-splitting blast which reverberated 

 through the surrounding woods and 

 hills, with the result that when we tore 

 up to the little wayside cabin labelled 

 postoffice the mail was always ready. 



At Port Antonio there is now one 

 of the finest hotels in the world, at 

 least the most enjoyable at which we 

 ever tarried, built and managed by the 

 Fruit Company. Here we lived in 

 luxury until we were ready to embark 

 for home. 



On our third trip to Jamaica we 

 left the steamer at Montego Bay, an 



