art is full and fragrant with flowers, as is the little
mignonette in our flower-pots. There is the allspice, a large tree, each
leaf strong enough to flavor a dish. Here is the tamarind tree: I must
sit under it, for the sake of the old song. My young friend joins me,
and points out, on the allspice tree, a chameleon. It is about six
inches long, and of a pea-green color. He thinks its changes of color,
which are no fable, depend on the will or on the sensations, and not on
the color of the object the animal rests upon. This one, though on a
black trunk, remained pale green. When they take the color of the tree
they rest on, it may be to elude their enemies, to whom their slow
motions make them an easy prey. At the corner of the house stands a
pomegranate tree, full of fruit, which is not yet entirely ripe; but we
find enough to give a fair taste of its rich flavor. Then there are
sweet oranges, and sour oranges, and limes, and coconuts, and
pineapples, the latter not entirely ripe, but in the condition in which
they are usually plucked for our market, an abundance of fuchsias, and
Cape jasmines, and the highly prized night-blooming cereus.

The most frequent shade-tree here is the mango. It is a large, dense
tree, with a general resemblance, in form and size, to our lime or
linden. Three noble trees stand before the door, in front of the house.
One is a Tahiti almond, another a mango, and the third a cedar. And in
the distance is a majestic tree, of incredible size, which is, I
believe, a ceiba. When this estate was a cafetal, the house stood at the
junction of four avenues, from the four points of the compass: one of
the sweet orange, one of the sour orange, one of palms, and one of
mangoes. Many of these trees fell in the hurricanes of 1843 and '45. The
avenue which leads from the road, and part of that leading towards the
sugar-house, are preserved. The rest have fallen a sacrifice to the
sugar-cane; but the garden, the trees about the house, and what remains
of the avenues, give still a delightful appearance of shelter and
repose.

I have amused myself by tracing the progress, and learning the habits of
the red ants, a pretty formidable enemy to all structures of wood. They
eat into the heart of the hardest woods; not even the lignum vitae, or
iron-wood, or cedar, being proof against them. Their operations are
secret. They never appear upon the wood, or touch its outer shell. A
beam or rafter stands as ever with