them invites us to test the strength of the precious spirit, which the
gentlemen of our party do with their mouths, while the ladies are
content to bathe their hands and temples in the icy-cold liquid.

Everybody takes a deep interest in all that is shown by our amicable
cicerone, save, perhaps, Don Manuel and his inamorata, who occasionally
loiter behind congenial cogwheels, huge coolers, clarifying pans, and
other objects used in the process of sugar-making. The attachment which
the lovers conceive for this particular portion of Don Benigno's
possessions is so great, that it is with difficulty that they are
induced to abandon it. Their repeated visits to the same secluded spot
upon subsequent occasions, only confirms our host's theory, that
machinery has a strange fascination for persons of all ages and sexes!

Our morning's perambulations terminate with a visit to the infirmary
where the sick people, employed on the estate, are tended, and a stroll
through the black barracks, which consists of rows of neatly built
cottages, occupied by the Don's slaves and their families.

After a substantial breakfast, which resembles dinner in the variety of
dishes provided, some of our party betake themselves to their
dormitories with a siesta in view, being incapable of any more active
service till the hot hours have passed. Nicasio and I, however, prefer
to improve the sunny moments under the grateful shade of our improvised
wigwam, in which position we may sketch, fish, or shoot without much
exertion: but despite our laudable efforts to do something useful, our
pencils drop from our hands, our angling is neglected, and we surrender
to the overpowering heat.

I am awakened by my companion, who enjoins me, perhaps because I am
indulging too loudly in somnolence, to be silent.

'What is it? Fish or feather?' I ask.

'Both,' he replies, under his breath. 'Hush! it's a river bird.'

'What is its shape?'

'I haven't seen it yet; but it has been chirping among the reeds and
long grasses there, for the last half-hour.'

My friend's gun is half cocked in readiness, and presented through an
aperture in our hut. After a long pause the bird emerges from its
hiding-place, and with astonishing velocity half flies, half skims
across the river, and vanishes between the reeds on the opposite bank.

Bang! bang! go both barrels of Nicasio's 'escopeta,' and both have
missed their mark. My sporting friend is, however, determined to secu