ichal, from which we rode on
and up through rolling country growing lovelier at every step, and
turned out of our way to see wild pine-apples in a sandy spot, or
'Arenal' in a valley beneath. The meeting of the stiff marl and the
fine sand was abrupt, and well marked by the vegetation. On one
side of the ravine the tall fan-leaved Carats marked the rich soil;
on the other, the sand and gravel loving Cocorites appeared at once,
crowding their ostrich plumes together. Most of them were the
common species of the island {202a} in which the pinnae of the
leaves grow in fours and fives, and at different angles from the
leaf-stalk, giving the whole a brushy appearance, which takes off
somewhat from the perfectness of its beauty. But among them we saw-
-for the first and last time in the forest--a few of a far more
beautiful species, {202b} common on the mainland. In it, the pinnae
are set on all at the same distance apart, and all in the same
plane, in opposite sides of the stalk, giving to the whole foliage a
grand simplicity; and producing, when the curving leaf-points toss
in the breeze, that curious appearance, which I mentioned in an
earlier chapter, of green glass wheels with rapidly revolving
spokes. At their feet grew the pine-apples, only in flower or
unripe fruit, so that we could not quench our thirst with them, and
only looked with curiosity at the small wild type of so famous a
plant. But close by, and happily nearly ripe, we found a fair
substitute for pine-apples in the fruit of the Karatas. This form
of Bromelia, closely allied to the Pinguin of which hedges are made,
bears a straggling plume of prickly leaves, six or eight feet long
each, close to the ground. The forester looks for a plant in which
the leaves droop outwards--a sign that the fruit is ripe. After
beating it cautiously (for snakes are very fond of coiling under its
shade) he opens the centre, and finds, close to the ground, a group
of whitish fruits, nearly two inches long; peels carefully off the
skin, which is beset with innumerable sharp hairs, and eats the
sour-sweet refreshing pulp: but not too often, for there are always
hairs enough left to make the tongue bleed if more than one or two
are eaten.

With lips somewhat less parched, we rode away again to see the sight
of the day; and a right pleasant sight it was. These Montserrat
hills had been, within the last three years, almost the most lawl