em the hugest I had ever seen. Below in the valley were the
sugar-works; and beyond this half-natural, half-artificial scene
rose, some mile off, the lowering wall of the yet untouched forest.

It had taken only fifteen years, but fifteen years of hard work, to
create this paradise. And only the summer before, all had been
well-nigh swept away again. During the great drought the fire had
raged about the woods. Estate after estate around had been reduced
to ashes. And one day our host's turn came. The fire burst out of
the woods at three different points. All worked with a will to stop
it by cutting traces. But the wind was wild; burning masses from
the tree-tops were hurled far among the canes, and all was lost.
The canes burnt like shavings, exploding with a perpetual crackle at
each joint. In a few hours the whole estate--works, coolie
barracks, negro huts--was black ash; and the house only, by extreme
exertion, saved. But the ground had scarcely cooled when replanting
and rebuilding commenced; and now the canes were from ten to twelve
feet high, the works nearly ready for the coming crop-time, and no
sign of the fire was left, save a few leafless trees, which we
found, on riding up to them, to be charred at the base.

And yet men say that the Englishman loses his energy in a tropic
climate.

We had a charming Sunday there, amid charming society, down even to
the dogs and cats; and not the least charming object among many was
little Franky, the Coolie butler's child, who ran in and out with
the dogs, gay in his little cotton shirt, and melon-shaped cap, and
silver bracelets, and climbed on the Squire's knee, and nestled in
his bosom, and played with his seals; and looked up trustingly into
our faces with great soft eyes, like a little brown guazu-pita fawn
out of the forest. A happy child, and in a happy place.

Then to church at Savanna Grande, riding of course; for the mud was
abysmal, and it was often safer to ride in the ditch than on the
road. The village, with a tramway through it, stood high and
healthy. The best houses were those of the Chinese. The poorer
Chinese find peddling employments and trade about the villages,
rather than hard work on the estates; while they cultivate on
ridges, with minute care, their favourite sweet potato. Round San
Fernando, a Chinese will rent from a sugar-planter a bit of land
which seems hopelessly infested with weeds, even o