FAR AND NEAR 



maica, but only to a very limited extent. We saw 

 ripe com, and by its side com just coming up. 



On one occasion, my son and I, getting tired 

 of the heat and noises of Kingston, went seeking 

 discomfort, and we found it, the genuine article; 

 but it was the discomfort of campers-out under 

 adverse conditions, — discomfort that time and 

 distance always soften, and, in a measure, trans- 

 form. Indeed, the woes of campers-out are always 

 better to look back upon than the pleasures of the 

 stay-at-homes. My son, with our traveling compan- 

 ion, Mr. Kellogg, had spent a night at Great Salt 

 Pond, a little side pocket of the Caribbean, beyond 

 Port Henderson, twelve miles distant, where, as 

 the fishermen hauled their nets, he had seen the 

 most wonderful phosphorescent fireworks in the 

 water, and where crocodiles promenaded the shores 

 at midnight. Hither we would go and get a taste of 

 the salty and, no doubt, seamy side of Jamaican 

 nature. But the ten-mile row across the harbor 

 from Kingston to Port Henderson, over that iri- 

 descent sea, under a soft (to us) midsummer sun, 

 the grand Blue Mountain scenery rising up into 

 the clouds on our right, the long, low arm of Port 

 Royal on our left, the wooded heights of Port Hen- 

 derson in front, great pelicans soaring and diving 

 obliquely into the water, all along the route, were 

 not without their charm to me, especially as my 

 companion did most of the pulling. 

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