ASCENT OF THE GUADELOUPE SOUFRIERE. 331 
the fallibility of passport-makers. Indeed, were I 
furnished with a few more accurate descriptions, I 
should certainly lose my identity and wander about in 
a maze of uncertainty, feeling, like those immortal. 
twins, decidedly mixed. My American description 
gives my eyes as brown, mouth small, nose straight, 
hair brown, and face oval. To this a justice of the 
peace has affixed hand and seal. A French official, 
in the name of the governor, positively asserts that 
eyes and eyebrows are black, mouth large (douche 
grande), nose aquiline, “wzsage ovale,” and com- — 
plexion 4/anc— which is supposed to be light. To 
avoid any unpleasantness with the numerous gen- 
darmes who patrol the couniry, I carried both pa- 
pers. 
Armed, then, with my permis de chasse, and sped 
on my way with a hearty don voyage from the chief 
of police, I turned my horse’s head toward the moun- 
tains. He was a picturesque animal, that horse; and 
when I say picturesque, I use the term in its most 
artistic sense, for by no other can I do justice to his 
many projecting points, bold features, and rough angu- 
larities. He, indeed, was a horse of many points — 
good ones, too, perhaps, in a certain sense. Hang- 
ing my umbrella from one of his shoulder-blades, and 
grasping his mane with one hand, I vaulted into the 
dilapidated saddle, deeply sunken between loins and 
withers. With a groan he started forward, putting in 
motion his somewhat formidable array of joints, and I 
ascended the hills to the rattle of bones. 
Beyond the government buildings is the Convent 
of Versailles, where the girls of the island are edu- 
cated; and higher up, occupying a broad plateau 
