triangle, and taking in the overseer's houses on the
plantations, with their cone-shaped roofs, the fields of cane and coffee
groves, the cataract between, down to the white snowy beach at the
sea-shore, and the blue water crested by waves as far as the sight could
reach.

The main house was square--standing on stilts, too, like the shaky
bridge--the lower part fenced in by straight bamboos, of one story, with
a broad roomy veranda going all round, where half a dozen grass hammocks
were slung between the windows which opened into the dwelling. A great
airy saloon and dining-room faced the valley, while six or eight cool
bedchambers looked out from the rear up at the green wall of the
precipice, and down on the sparkling stream of the mill.

But there were no loopholes for musketry, nor vaults and dungeons.

The sun had long passed the tall peaks of the blue mountains above, and
the shadows had fallen down the valley until even the patch of white
pebbly cove at the shore had become dim; and no sounds were heard save
the rustling of the sea-breeze, the splash of the torrent as it fell off
from the rickety old wheel of the cane-mill, mingled with the shrill
cries and songs of the negroes as they unloaded the carts.

Yes; but there _were_ other sounds--the low, sweet tones of women's
voices--inside the villa of Escondido. Two lovely matrons were sitting
within that lofty saloon, hand clasped in hand, and gazing with glowing
pride upon a lovely girl, who waved lithe as a lily on its stem before
them.

It is about seventeen years since we last saw this charming trio. And
now look at them, old bachelors, and tell me if, while old Time has been
scraping the hair off your own selfish heads, and pinching the noses,
too, of the ancient maids beside you, has not the scything old wretch
spared these lovely matrons? Look at their rounded forms, those soft
dimpled cheeks, and those bands of brown tresses, kissing the
pear-shaped ears before they are looped up in one magnificent knot of
satin at the back of the head. Look at them, you miserable old
procrastinators, and then kneel down before the ancient damsels you have
sneered at, even if they have the pelican gout and a crow's-foot at the
corners of their eyes! They are better than you are, any day; so bear a
hand, send for the parson--and now stand back.

But come here, my young gallants, and take a peep at that Bordelaise
demoiselle standing before those fair matrons. Strang