boundless waters, "the still vexed Bermoothes." Since those days it has become a fashionable watering-place, with grand hotels. Then it had but one little boarding-house, where we got a respectable dinner.
But its beauty is its own; it was always unique. The one day's experience and a drive to St. George was all that was allowed us, and we were soon at sea again.
The planters and their families proved very agreeable travelling companions, although they all talked ruin. They were principally from the Danish islands, St. Thomas and Santa Cruz, and were never tired of telling how the Danish governor, Van Scholten, had issued an edict freeing the slaves, and had then sailed off to Denmark in time to escape the riot, the bloodshed, and the confusion of his act. "In fact," said my infuriated informant, "you will see plenty of ruin. England has neglected and ruined Jamaica, revolution and bad government have ruined Hayti, emancipation and Denmark have ruined Santa Cruz, and Spain has ruined Cuba," and so on, and so on.
"But you still have flowers?" I asked.
"Oh yes, plenty of flowers, and we can give you a good dinner and show you a few of Thorwaldsen's statues. And you will see neglected fields, tumble-down properties, looking-glasses cracked and boarded up, windows broken, etc. Losing our slave labor, we are all poor, poor, poor," etc., etc., ad infinitum.
When we reached the picturesque harbor of St. Thomas, and, looking up a steep mountain like Vesuvius, saw the little town of Charlotte Amalie hanging in air, with palaces and flowering trees everywhere, we were so delighted that I lost all sense of ruin. My gloomy planter, coming up in a suit of white duck, was more cheerful, and watched for his little schooner, which was
