front
of us, it is surely all the more reason why we should enjoy immensely the
agreeable present. That there is some very different weather to be battled
with is apparent by the extraordinary shutters one sees to all the houses.
Imagine doors built as if to stand a siege, strengthened by heavy
cross-pieces of wood close together, and, instead of bolt or lock, kept in
their places by solid iron bars as thick as my wrist. Every door and
window in the length and breadth of the island is furnished with these
_contre-vents_, or hurricane-shutters, and they tell their own tale. So do
the huge stones, or rather rocks, with which the roofs of the humbler
houses and verandas are weighted. My expression of face must have been
something amusing when I remarked triumphantly the other day to one of my
acquaintances, who had just observed that my house stood in a very exposed
situation, "But it has been built a great many years, and must have stood
the great hurricanes of 1848 and 1868." "Ah!" replied Cassandra
cheerfully; "there was not much left of it, I fancy, after the '48
hurricane, and I _know_ that the veranda was blown right _over_ the house
in the gale of '68." Was not that a cheerful tale to hear of one's house?
Just now the weather is wet and windy as well as cold, and the constant
and capricious heavy showers reduce the lawn-tennis players to despair.

If any one asked me what was the serious occupation of my life here, I
should answer without hesitation, "Airing my clothes." And it would be
absolutely true. No one who has not seen it can imagine the damp and
mildew which cover everything if it be shut up for even a few days.
Ammonia in the box or drawer keeps the gloves from being spotted like the
pard, but nothing seems to avail with the other articles of clothing.
Linen feels quite wet if it is left unused in the _almirah_, or chest of
drawers, for a week. Silk dresses break out into a measle-like rash of
yellow spots. Cotton or muslin gowns become livid and take unto themselves
a horrible charnel-house odor. Shoes and books are speedily covered a
quarter of an inch deep by a mould which you can easily imagine would
begin to grow ferns and long grasses in another week or so.

Hats, caps, cloth clothes, all share the same damp fate, whilst, as for
the poor books, their condition is enough to make one weep, and that in
spite of my constant attention and repeated dabbings with spirits of wine.
And this is not the dampes