ENTERING THE TROPICS.

7

were now seen, and two or three small whales of the species called by seamen "black-fish" were sighted during this part of the voyage.

On the afternoon of the 26th we entered the tropics, and this and the following day were thoroughly enjoyable, but did not offer much of novelty. The colour of the sea was here of a much deeper and purer blue (rivalling that of the Mediterranean) than we had hitherto found it, while that of the sky was much paler. The light cumuli with ill-defined edges were such as we are used to in British summer weather; and, excepting that the interval of twilight was sensibly shorter, the sunsets were devoid of special interest. At this season the Southern Cross was above the horizon about nightfall, and was made out by the practised eyes of some of the officers; but, in truth, it remains a somewhat insignificant object when seen from the northern side of the equator, and to enjoy the full splendour of that stellar hemisphere one must reach high southern latitudes.

Although the thermometer never quite reached 80° Fahr. in the shade until we touched land, the weather on the 28th and 29th was hot and close, and few passengers kept up the wholesome practice of a constitutional walk on the long deck of the Don. Of the rain which constantly seemed impending very little fell.

At daybreak on the morning of the 30th, in twelve days and seventeen hours, we completed the run of about 3340 nautical miles which separates Southampton from Barbadoes, and found ourselves in the roads of Bridgetown, about a mile from the shore.

Being somewhat prepared, I was not altogether surprised to find that this first view of a tropical island forcibly reminded me of the last land I had beheld at home-the northern shores of the Isle of Wight. Long swelling hills, on which well-grown trees intervene between tracts of tillage, present much the same general outline, and at this distance the only marked difference was the intense dark-green colour of the large trees that embower the town and nearly conceal all but a few of the chief buildings. The appearance of things as the morning advanced quite confirmed the reputation of this small island as the most prosperous, and, in proportion to its extent, the most productive of the West Indian Islands. With an area not greater than that of the Isle of Wight, and a population of about sixty thousand whites and rather more than a hundred thousand negroes, the value of the exports and imports surpasses a million sterling under each head; and, besides this, it is the centre of a considerable transit trade with the other islands. Under local representative institutions, which have subsisted since the island was first occupied by the English early in the seventeenth century, the finances are flourishing, and the colonial government is free from debt. The average annual produce of sugar is reckoned at forty-four thousand hogsheads, but varies with the amount of rainfall. This averages from fifty-eight to fifty-nine inches annually, but any considerable deficiency, such as occurred in the year 1873, leads to a proportionate diminution in the sugar

crop.

Among other tokens of civilization, the harbour

ARRIVAL AT BARBADOES.

9

police at Bridgetown appeared to be thoroughly efficient. As, about nine o'clock, we prepared to go ashore, we found on deck two privates-black men in plain uniform-who seemed to have no difficulty in keeping perfect order amid the crowd of boatmen that swarmed round the big ship. We had already learned the event of the hour-the fall of three inches of rain during the day and night preceding our arrival. This is more than usually falls during the entire month of March, and seemed to be welcomed by the entire population. On landing we encountered a good deal of greasy grey mud in the streets, but all was nearly dry when, after a short excursion, we returned in the afternoon. After a short stay in the town, where there was a little shopping to be done, and where some of my companions indulged in a second breakfast of fried flying-fish, I started with a pleasant party of fellow-travellers to see something of the island. It was arranged that, after a drive of six or seven miles, we should go to luncheon at the house of Mr. C-, the owner of a sugar-plantation, whose brother, Colonel C- —, was one of our fellowpassengers. We enjoyed the benefit of the recent heavy rain in the comparative coolness of the airthe thermometer scarcely rose above 80° Fahr. in the shade-and in freedom from dust.

A small, low island, nearly every acre of which has been reduced to cultivation, cannot offer very much. of picturesque beauty; nevertheless the first peep of the tropics did not fail to present abundant matter of interest. In this part of the world the dry season, now coming to an end, is the winter of vegetation,

and, of course, there was not very much to be seen of the herbaceous flora; but the beauty of the trees and the rich hues of their foliage quite surpassed my anticipations. The majority of these are plants introduced either from the larger islands or from more distant tropical countries, that have been planted in the neighbourhood of houses.

One of the first that strikes a new-comer in the tropics is the mango tree, which, though introduced by man from its original home in tropical Asia, is now common throughout the hotter parts of America. Its widespreading branches, bearing dense tufts of large leathery leaves, make it as welcome for the sake of protection from the sun as for its fruit, which is a luxury that some persons never learn to appreciate. The cinnamon tree (Canella alba), common in most of the West Indian Islands, is another of the plants that serve for ornament and shade while ministering products useful to man. Of the smaller shade-trees, the pimento (probably Pimenta acris) was also conspicuous, and very many others which I failed to recognize, might be added to the new impressions of the first day in the tropics. One of the most curious is that known to the English residents as the sandbox tree, the Hura crepitans of botanists. It belongs to the Euphorbiacea, or Spurge family, but is strangely unlike any of the Old-World forms of that order. Here the fruit is in form rather like a small melon, of hard woody texture, divided into numerous—ten to twenty-cells. If, when taken from the tree, the top is sawn off and the seeds scooped out, no farther change occurs, and it may be, and often is, as the

POPULATION OF BARBADOES.

II

name implies, used as a sand-box. But if left until the seeds are mature, the whole capsule bursts open with a loud report, scattering the seeds to a distance. Thinking that a small young fruit, if dried very gradually, might escape this result, I carried one away, which, after my return to Europe, I placed in a small wooden box in my herbarium. Some nine months after it had been collected it must have exploded in my absence, for, unlocking the room one day, I found the box broken to pieces, and the valves of the fruit and the seeds scattered in all directions about the room.

Next to the vegetable inhabitants, I was interested in the black population of the island. The first impression on finding one's self amid fellow-creatures so markedly different in physical characters is one of strangeness, and one is tempted to ask whether, after all, there can be any pith in the arguments once confidently urged to establish a specific difference between the negro and the white man, But this very quickly wears away, and a contrary impression arises. The second thought is that, considering what we know of the conditions under which the native races of Equatorial Africa have been developed during an unrecorded series of ages, and of the subsequent conditions during several generations of slavery, the surprising thing is that the differences should not be far greater than they are.

It would be very rash to draw positive conclusions from what could be seen in a visit of a few hours, but, undoubtedly, the general effect was pleasing, and tended to confirm the assertion that the difficult