At last the right tree came crashing down, and a branch of the flowers was brought up, to be carried home, and verified at Port of Spain; and meanwhile, disturbed by the axe-strokes, pair after pair of birds flew screaming over the tree-tops, which looked like rooks, till, as they turned in the sun, their colour--brilliant even at that distance-- showed them to be great green parrots.
After breakfast--which among French and Spanish West Indians means a solid and elaborate luncheon--our party broke up.

.

.

.

I must be excused if I am almost prolix over the events of a day memorable to me.
The majority went down, on horse and foot, to Blanchisseuse again on official business.