A MONKEY HUNT IN THE MOUNTAINS. 265 
leys of palms to the sea. Above, the road is narrow 
and steep, but flagged with rough stones; it leads 
through diminutive forests of cacao, each with a little 
thatched hut as its center, and then houses and groves 
are left, and the high woods entered, cutting through 
banks of clay over which vines and trees lean, ready 
to fall. On the crest of the mountain-ridge, three 
miles from any neighbor, is a house surrounded by a 
cleared space; flowers bloom in a little garden, and 
PRAND ETANG. 
bananas wave tattered pennons in the wind. A ve- 
randa looks to the south, and a negro policeman looks 
at me as I ride to the door. This was the police sta- 
tion, the “Grand-Etang House;” and to the man in 
charge I gave a letter from his chief in town, directing 
him to aid, by all lawful means, my attempts to secure 
a monkey. 
From the elevated character of the region, the 
Grand Etang House was most unpleasantly cold at 
night; rude blasts assailed it, and fierce tempests 
