cast a shadow which
rendered it unnecessary to keep the jalousies closed, except during the
hottest hours of the year. This morning every blind was swung wide
open, and the room was cool and shady, while, without, all was bathed in
the mild, golden sunshine of January--bright enough for the strongest
eye, but without glare.

To the east and north spread the Cul-de-Sac--a plain of unequalled
richness, extending to the foot of the mountains, fifteen miles into the
interior. The sun had not yet risen so high but that these mountains
cast a deep shadow for some distance into the plain, while their skirts
were dark with coffee-groves, and their summits were strongly marked
against the glowing sky. Amidst the wide, verdant level of the plain,
arose many a white mansion, each marked by a cluster of trees, close at
hand. Some of these plantation houses looked bluish and cool in the
mountain shadows; others were like bright specks in the sunshine, each
surmounted by a star, if its gilded weathercock chanced to turn in the
breeze. To the north, also, this plain, still backed by mountains,
extended till it joined the sands of the bight.

Upon these sands, on the margin of the deep blue waters, might be seen
flashing in the sun a troop of flamingoes, now moving forward in a line
into the waves, and diligently fishing; and then, on the alarm of a
scout, all taking wing successively, and keeping their order, as they
flew homewards, to the salt marshes in the interior--their scarlet
bodies vividly contrasted with the dark green of the forests that
clothed the mountain-sides. To the west lay the broad azure sheet of
the bay, locked by the island of Gonave, and sprinkled with
fishing-boats, while under the forest-tufted rocks of the island two
vessels rode at anchor--a schooner belonging to Saint Domingo, and an
English frigate.

In the shady western piazza sat a party who seemed much occupied in
looking out upon the bay, and watching the vessels that lay under the
island; from which vessels boats might be seen putting off for the town
just at the time of the commencement of the levee. The party in the
piazza consisted chiefly of women. Madame L'Ouverture was there--like,
and yet unlike, the Margot of former years--employed, as usual--busy
with her needle, and motherly, complacent, tenderly vigilant as of old;
but with a matronly grace and dignity which evidently arose from a
gratified mind, and not from external state. Her