CAMP LIFE IN THE TROPICS. 13 
cicade@ have closed their concerts and have left it to the 
birds to usher in the matin hour; and they are singing 
in low, sweet strains far down in the gloomy ravines 
below, and in the thickets bordering distant glades. 
My first duty is to examine my thermometer. It 
registers sixty-eight degrees. That recorded, I step 
out and refresh myself with such ablution as can be 
enjoyed from a small calabash of rain-water. Soon, a 
little colored maiden appears bearing a tray with my 
coffee, and perhaps a cup of milk — oftener without. 
A cup of coffee anda slice of bread or a couple of 
crackers, is my only refreshment until noon, when I 
return from my tramp in the forest. , 
When I first came to this mountain valley I brought 
with me a bright, colored boy as aid, fondly hop- 
ing he would be of much assistance in preparing my 
birds, as well as in the culinary line. But, alas! in 
either profession he was singularly deficient, and save 
in the preservation of cooked provisions, —in other 
words, “to keep food from spoiling,” — he was of no 
use whatever. After three days passed in his society, 
we parted. There was also a question between him and 
Jean Baptiste (the proprietor of my humble cot), relat- 
ing to a few small articles that one night disappeared. 
Now, he was highly incensed that such a thing 
should happen within the limits of his jurisdiction, and 
made such a row about it that I concluded that it were 
best that “ Sonny ” and I should part,,— with no regrets 
on my part, none expressed on his, — for the laboring 
class of the West Indies accept stoically whatever fate 
drops to them as their share. The salary I was pay- 
ing him was princely, being sixpencea day and “ found,” 
while the usual remuneration for such service as he 
