affords a strong contrast with the universal clothing of green. From
the edges of the plain there are distant views either of the ocean, or
of the great Bay with its low-wooded shores, and on which numerous
boats and canoes show their white sails. Excepting from these points,
the scene is extremely limited; following the level pathways, on each
hand, only glimpses into the wooded valleys below can be obtained. The
houses I may add, and especially the sacred edifices, are built in a
peculiar and rather fantastic style of architecture. They are all
whitewashed; so that when illumined by the brilliant sun of midday, and
as seen against the pale blue sky of the horizon, they stand out more
like shadows than real buildings.
Such are the elements of the scenery, but it is a hopeless attempt to
paint the general effect. Learned naturalists describe these scenes of
the tropics by naming a multitude of objects, and mentioning some
characteristic feature of each. To a learned traveller this possibly
may communicate some definite ideas: but who else from seeing a plant
in an herbarium can imagine its appearance when growing in its native
soil? Who from seeing choice plants in a hothouse, can magnify some
into the dimensions of forest trees, and crowd others into an entangled
jungle? Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay
exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these
lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy
flight of the former,--the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing
noon-day of the tropics? It is when the sun has attained its greatest
height, that such scenes should be viewed: then the dense splendid
foliage of the mango hides the ground with its darkest shade, whilst
the upper branches are rendered from the profusion of light of the most
brilliant green. In the temperate zones the case is different--the
vegetation there is not so dark or so rich, and hence the rays of the
declining sun, tinged of a red, purple, or bright yellow color, add
most to the beauties of those climes.
When quietly walking along the shady pathways, and admiring each
successive view, I wished to find language to express my ideas. Epithet
after epithet was found too weak to convey to those who have not
visited the intertropical regions, the sensation of delight which the
mind experiences. I have said that the plants in a hothouse fail to
communicate a just idea of the vegetation, yet I must recur to it. The
land is one great wild, untidy, luxuriant hothouse, made by Nature for
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