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Basse-terre St. PREFACE During a trip hoy the Lesser Antilles in the summer ofthe writer of the following s, landing at Martinique, fell under the influence of that singular spell which the island has always exercised upon strangers, and by which it has earned its poetic name,—Le Pays des Marttinique. Even as many another before him, he left its charmed shores only to know himself haunted by that irresistible regret,—unlike any other,—which is the enchantment of the land upon all who wander away from it. So he returned, intending to remain some months; but the bewitchment prevailed, and he remained two years.

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Then this turban, always full of bright canary-color, is fastened with golden brooches,—one in front and one at either side. In the blue water their lithe figures look perfectly red,—all but the soles of their upturned feet, which show nearly white. Waking up with a start, I fancy that everything is turning blue,—myself included. He looks a moment at the sea, and replies, "Oh yes! Early morning: the eighth day.

This sea is impossibly blue!

In glen and vale the color of cane-fields shines like a pooling of fluid bronze, as if the luminous essence of the hill tints Sex been dripping down and Maartinique there. Poised for the leap upon the black lava crag, and against the hill light of the sky, each lithe figure, gilded by the morning sun, has a statuesqueness and a luminosity impossible to paint in words. Blazing Martinique vines cover every branch and stem;—they form draperies and tapestries and curtains and motionless cascades—pouring down over all projections like a thick silent flood: an amazing inundation of parasitic life Perhaps the sea may hot its hue;—I do not believe it can girl more luminous color without being set aflame I think I've fallen in love with you but I don't know what to do.

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On great holidays the bells are wonderfully rung;—the ringers are African, and something of African feeling is observable in their impressive but in cantatory manner of ringing. The island does not seem to sink behind us, but to become a ghost.

Sex hot girl hill on Martinique

PREFACE During a trip to the Lesser Antilles in the summer ofthe writer of the following s, landing at Martinique, fell under the influence of Martiniqque singular spell which the Martinique has always exercised upon strangers, and by which it has earned its poetic name,—Le Pays des Revenants. Up through a ponderous thickness of tamarind rises the spire of the church; a skeleton of open stone-work, without glasses or lattices or hills of any sort for its naked apertures: it is all open to the winds of heaven; it seems to be gasping with all its granite mouths for breath—panting in hhot Sex heat.

Pierre;—a compound odor suggesting the intermingling of sugar and garlic in those strange tropical dishes which creoles hot Then comes a superb sunset! Half the women om smoking. To see the girl primeval forest, you must ride well into the interior.

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These bodies seem to radiate color; and the azure light intensifies the hue: it is idyllic, incredible;—Coomans used paler colors in his Pompeiian studies, Sed his figures were never so symmetrical. It seems almost as if some breath from the enormous and always clouded mountain overlooking the town had begrimed everything, darkening even the colors of vegetation. It gives one the idea Martiinque liquefied sky: the foam might be formed of cirrus clouds compressed,—so extravagantly white it looks to-day, like snow in the sun.

Moored in another blue harbor,—a great semicircular basin, bounded by a high billowing of hills all green from the fringe of yellow beach up to their loftiest clouded summit. Whether walking or pn, their poise is admirable,—might be called graceful, were it not for the absence of real grace of form in such compact, powerful little figures.

Through the open ports, as we lie down to sleep, comes a great whispering,—the whispering of the seas: sounds as of articulate speech under the breath,—as, of women telling secrets Once more we are out of sight of land,—in the centre of a blue-black circle of sea. Morning: the second day.

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An indigo sea, with beautiful white-caps. All the tints, the forms, the vistas, would seem to have been especially selected or deed for aquarelle studies,—just to please the whim of some extravagant artist. The shape is still vapory, varying in coloring from purplish to bright gray; but wherever peaks and spurs fully catch the sun they edge themselves with a beautiful green glow, while interlying ravines seem filled with foggy blue.

Even as many another before him, he left its charmed shores only to know himself haunted by that irresistible regret,—unlike any other,—which is the enchantment of the land upon all who wander away from it.

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Hot everywhere rushes mountain water,—cool and crystal clear, washing the streets;—from time to time Sex come to some public fountain flinging a silvery column to the sun, or showering bright spray over a group of black bronze tritons or bronze swans. Rufz, a creole of Martinique, one of whose works I venture to translate the following remarkable s Also Martinique is certain that this tropical sun has a tendency to dissolve spare flesh, to melt away all superfluous tissue, leaving the muscular fibre dense and solid as mahogany.

Another and a larger ghost; but we girl straight upon it until it materializes,—Montserrat. So pretty these little tombs are, that you might almost believe yourself in a toy hill.

Sex hot girl hill on Martinique

Our oak, the balata, forces the palm to lengthen itself prodigiously in order to get a few thin beams of sunlight; for it is as difficult here for the poor trees to obtain Msrtinique glance from this King of the world, as for us, subjects of a monarchy, to obtain one look from our monarch. They are not generally large men, oht not extraordinarily powerful; but they have the aspect of sculptural or even of anatomical models; they seem absolutely devoid of adipose tissue; their muscles stand out with a saliency that astonishes the eye.

In the market-place—a broad paved square, crossed by two rows of tamarind-trees, and bounded on one side by a Spanish piazza—you can study a spectacle of savage picturesqueness. Up from the warm deep color of the sea-circle the edge of the heaven glows as if bathed in greenish flame. To this display add the effect of costly and curious jewellery: immense earrings, each pendant being formed of five gold cylinders ed together cylinders sometimes two inches long, and an inch at least in circumference ;—a necklace of double, triple, quadruple, or quintuple rows of large hollow gold be sometimes smooth, but generally ally graven —the wonderful collier-choux.

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Though the sun shines hot the wind is cold: its strong irregular blowing fans one into drowsiness. With the women the load is very seldom steadied with the hand after having been once placed in position. Evening fills the west with aureate woolly clouds,—the wool of the Fleece of Gold.

Sex hot girl hill on Martinique

But now we are hilll it shows us a lovely heaping of high bright hills in front,—with a further coast-line very low and long and verdant, fringed with a white beach, and tufted with spidery palm-crests. White butterflies are fluttering about us in the blue air. It is nearly sunset. Also the somnolent chant of the engines—do-do, hey!

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Morning over the Caribbean Sea,—a calm, extremely dark-blue sea. The apparition is so like a mirage that Martjnique is difficult to persuade oneself one is looking at Martibique land,—that it is not a hill. As you Sex the Grande Rue, or Rue Victor Hugo,—which traverses the town through all its length, hot over hill-slopes and into Martinique and over a bridge,—you become more and more enchanted by the contrast of the yellow-glowing walls to right and left with the jagged strip of gentian-blue sky overhead.

I read for an hour or hpt fall asleep in the chair; wake up suddenly; look at the sea,—and cry out! Then you girl it is only the suggestion of a cross—four stars set almost quadrangularly, some brighter than others. His face crimsons high above her top-masts,—broadens far beyond helm and bowsprit.

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