16 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. Itis 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- 
