An old Calvinistic minister of Jamaica happened early one morning to see a black man walking out of his stable-yard with a saddle. Later in the day he met the negro and stopped him. "Look here, David," said he, "I want you to bring back the saddle you took from my yard this morning." tonight, you'll be sent up, that is all." "Now, minister, yo' no rough me so, sah! Because dere am a certain amount of teefed saddle that am predesperated to be took back, an ef yo' saddle am one of dem yo'll find it in yo' yard tonight, sah. Good day, minister." The natives are not wholly de "Fore de Lord, Massa, me nevah pendent upon the planters for a livesee yo' saddle, sah!" "Well, never mind talking about it, David, but if that saddle isn't returned tonight I shall have you arrested." "Now, minister, yo' jes' listen ter me, sah. Yo' is a old Calvinis' minister, no so, sah?" "Yes." "Well, minister, yo' allus done. teach me 'bout de doctrine of predesperation, sah?" lihood. Many of them own the land on which their houses are built, and are thrifty in a simple way, for the few wants of their mode of life can be satisfied by a small exertion. Along the roads, under the shade of a guava or a bread-fruit tree, one may see native women pounding chocolate, making baskets, sorting coffee, sewing, or cooking their bread-fruit or yams. In their little communities someone will have a "Yes, David, that is so. What crude sugar mill to which girls has that to do with it?" "Well now, massa, mek me tell you, sah. Dere am a certain amount of saddle dat am predesperated to be teefed, (stolen) an' ob course a certain amount ob nigger to teef dem, an ef I should be de nigger predesperated to teef yo' saddle-I not sponsible, am I, sah?" The minister, feeling himself somewhat cornered, replied evasively. "I don't care so much about the saddle, David, as I feel sorrow to know you should tell me a lie." "Hi, minister, yo' too funny, sah! Dere am a certain amount of lie to be telled in dis world an a certain number of nigger to tell dem. Ef I should be predesperated to told yo' a lie, I'se not 'sponsible fo' dat eider." "I don't care for your arguments, David, but let me tell you one thing -if that saddle is not in my yard bring upon their heads bundles of cane for crushing. The sap is boiled down into syrup and sugar to sweeten the bread of honest lazi ness. The language of the native Jamaican is an amusing English patois, with many words of Spanish and African derivation, somewhat different from the dialect of the southern states, and if anything, more musical. In a land where throat and lung troubles are almost unknown the voice gains a rich fullness of tone seldom heard in the voices of the American negro. These simple people have a great deal of social pride, and the intermixture of races has brought about a strong feeling of caste. A yellow girl and a black girl were disputing over some matter, when the black maiden, growing angrier, said with disgust: ONE OF THE THOUSAND LITTLE CASCADES THAT BEAUTIFY JAMAICA STREAMS "How yo' done mek dat out, yo' garden-spot of Jamaica-the Parish black buzzard!" of St. Ann. One must borrow his similies from the lapidary, the artist and the alchemist, in order to describe the wonderful and varied color display which bursts at every turn of the road upon the enchanted vision. The whole island, indeed, "How I mek dat out!" said the black girl with contemptuous sarcasm. "Yo' nothin' but a yaller gal. Yo' aint white; yo' aint black. What is yo'? Yo' aint nothing; dat's what vo' is!" And at all their religious meetings during the summertide, seems to be a primitive worshiper of the sun, and rises to his light in efflorescences of emerald and gold, of lusters incomparable; an iridescent sheen of vivid and luminous verdure, dotted with millions of flowers, the colors of which no king's casket of jewels can rival. To the highest mountain peak this extravagance of beautiful green stretches in multiform loveliness. On the mountain tops the convexity of the sea produces a peculiar optical illusion; it seems instead, to rise, a solid wall of purest turquoise, shutting the island and its exuberant beauty from an ignorant and incurious. world beyond the horizon. The road to St. Ann's Bay winds in and out among the hills, now skirting the shore for a few miles, then disappearing beneath the towering forest, in a clear green twilight that is only comparable to that seen by divers in the depths of the sea. Like fantastic fishes, birds of brilliant plumage fly before the carriage from one shadowy recess to another. In the emerald dimness it is cool as if one had wandered into a cavern's mouth, a cavern of green glass, through which the light faintly makes its way. Four miles from the town of St. Ann we cross Roaring River bridge, one of the beauty spots of the road. The bridge covers the river at its narrowest point, where in a deep chasm the white water rushes to the sea a mile away with a tumult and roar indescribable. Dense growths of bread-fruit and guava trees, cabbage palms and laurel, shadow either bank of the stream. In a field across the bridge there is a banyan tree, under the wide shade of which a thousand people might stand. The branches of the parent trunk have dropped roots along their growth, which in turn do their part toward the sustenance of this genuine family tree. Here, at the suggestion of the driver, who proves to have also excellent powers as a philospher and guide, we leave the carriage, follow him over a narrow path, through a virgin forest for a mile, and come out upon a mass of greenery over which is visible the falls of Roaring River. This magnificent cascade has a fall of over one hundred feet. The humid atmosphere, the warmth and moisture and the fertile silt brought down by the river make the vegetation rankly luxurious. Giant lianas trail down from the branches of lofty cottonwood trees, garlanded with wild growths of convolvulus and Bourganvilliers, dotted with blossoms. The tremendous noise which this river makes along its entire course is due to a peculiar habit it has of damming itself at every possible point. The water is strongly impregnated with lime and silica, which are deposited in walls that constantly break the course of the stream. In the tropics the activity of nature is untiring. Life and decay go hand in hand with awful intensity. Dead tree trunks are quickly covered with enshrouding vineage; over every stone and broken limb is woven a robe of living green, insidious in its destructive and obliterating power. Nature has no memory, no heart; she leaves no monuments, she cherishes no past. Inexorable, cruel, fruitful-in the tropics her boundless energy exhibits itself in a supreme perpetutation of her forms, with no regard for the individual exhibition, but with a tigerlike ferocity for manifestation, for renaissance. It comes to one often, during this summer communion with DIANA'S POOL, NEAR ST. ANN'S BAY. TWELVE CASCADES EMPTY INTO THIS BEAUTIFUL BASIN jesty of a voiceless and encroaching Decay, that comes, garlanded with green leaves and flowers, bearing the slow erosive poisons of death. One of the most charming spots in this beautiful river is Diana's Bath -truly a fitting place for hamadryads and nymphs-a veritable pool in fairy land, screened by a dense wall of cabbage palms, of fern and ban Brownstown. It is sometimes hard to find a Jamaica town until one is really in it, so dense is the surrounding forest. The road to Brownstown passes extensive estates where the aromatic Allspice, or Pimento, is grown, a product peculiar to Jamaica. The pimento trees have trunks of dingy silver and a foliage dark green |