The
penitentiary, I have described. The hospital and lying-in room are airy,
well-ventilated, and suitable for their purposes. Neither of them had
any tenants to-day. In the center of the group of buildings is a high
frame, on which hangs the great bell of the plantation. This rings the
Negroes up in the morning, and in at night, and sounds the hours for
meals. It calls all in, on any special occasion, and is used for an
alarm to the neighboring plantations, rung long and loud, in case of
fire in the cane-fields, or other occasions for calling in aid.

After dinner, to-day, a volante, with two horses, and a postilion in
bright jacket and buckled boots and large silver spurs, the harness
well-besprinkled with silver, drove to the door, and an elderly
gentleman alighted and came to the house, attired with scrupulous nicety
of white cravat and dress coat, and with the manners of the _ancien
regime_. This is M. Bourgeoise, the owner of the neighboring large
plantation, Santa Catalina, one of the few cafetals remaining in this
part of the island. He is too old, and too much attached to his
plantation, to change it to a sugar estate; and he is too rich to need
the change. He, too, was a refugee from the insurrection of Santo
Domingo, but older than M. Chartrand. Not being able to escape, he was
compelled to serve as aid-de-camp to Jacques Dessalines. He has a good
deal to say about the insurrection and its results, of a great part of
which he was an eye-witness. The sight of him brought vividly to mind
the high career and sad fate of the just and brave Toussaint
L'Ouverture, and the brilliant successes, and fickle, cruel rule, of
Dessalines--when French marshals were out-maneuvered by Negro generals,
and pitched battles were won by Negroes and mulattoes against European
armies.

This gentleman had driven over in the hope of seeing his friend and
neighbor, Mr. Chartrand, the elder. He remained with us for some time,
sitting under the veranda, the silvered volante and its black horses and
black postilion standing under the trees. He invited us to visit his
plantation, which I was desirous to do, as a cafetal is a rarity now.

My third day at La Ariadne is much like the preceding days: the early
rising, the coffee and fruit, the walk, visits to the mill, the fields,
the garden, and the quarters, breakfast, rest in-doors with reading and
writing, dinner, out of doors again, and the evening under the veranda,
with conversation