tions; among the
plantations here and there is seen the little cluster of low buildings
constituting the laborers' quarters, and near by is the tall, white
chimney of the sugar-mill, emitting its thick volume of smoke, like the
funnel of a steamship. A little on one side stands the planter's house,
low and white, surrounded by shade-trees and flower-plats. Scores of
dusky Africans give life to the scene, and the overseer, on his little
Cuban pony, dashes hither and thither to keep all hands advantageously
at work. One large gang is busy cutting the ripe cane with sword-like
knives; some are loading the stalks upon ox-carts; some are driving
loads to the mill; and some are feeding the cane between the great steel
crushers, beneath which pours forth a continuous jelly-like stream which
is conducted by iron pipes to the boilers. Men, women, and children are
spreading the refuse to dry in the sun, after which it will be used as
fuel beneath the boilers. Coopers are heading up hogsheads full of the
manufactured article, and other laborers are rolling up empty ones to
be filled. Formerly the overseers were never seen without the
long-lashed whip, but slavery no longer exists as an institution. The
negroes are free, though they work for very small wages.

Occasionally in the trip across the island we pass through a crude but
picturesque hamlet, having the mouldering stamp of antiquity, with low
straggling houses built of rude frames, covered at side and roof with
palm-bark and leaves. Chimneys, there are none,--none even in the
cities,--charcoal being alone used, and all cooking is done in the open
air. About the doors of the long, irregular posada, or inn, a dozen
saddle-horses are seen tied to a bar erected for the purpose, while
their owners are smoking and drinking inside; but there are no wheeled
vehicles to be seen. The roads are only passable for men on foot or
horseback. The people, the cabins, and the horses all are stained with
the red dust of the soil, recalling our Western Indians in their war
paint. This pigment, or colored dirt, penetrates and adheres to
everything, fills the railroad cars, and decorates the passengers with a
dingy brick color. It is difficult to realize that these comparatively
indifferent places through which we glide so swiftly are of any
importance, and the permanent home of any one. When the cars stop at the
small way-stations, they are instantly boarded by lottery-ticket
sellers, boys with