The Coolies seemed as merry as the Negroes, even about the face of the Chinese there flickered, at times, a feeble ray of interest.
The coloured women wandered about, in showy prints, great crinolines, and gorgeous turbans.

The Coolie women sat in groups on the glass--ah! Isle of the Blest, where people can sit on the grass in January--like live flower beds of the most splendid and yet harmonious hues.

As for jewels, of gold as well as silver, there were many there, on arms, ankles, necks, and noses, which made white ladies fresh from England break the tenth commandment.
I wandered about, looking at the live flower beds, and giving passing glances into booths, which I longed to enter, and hear what sort of human speech might be going on therein but I was deterred, first by the thought that much of the speech might not be over edifying, and next by the smells, especially by that most hideous of all smells--new rum.
At last I came to a crowd, and in the midst of it, one of those great French merry-go-rounds turned by machinery, with pictures of languishing ladies round the central column.

All the way from the Champs Elysees the huge piece of fool's tackle had lumbered and creaked hither across the sea to Martinique, and was now making the round of the islands, and a very profitable round, to judge from the number of its customers.

The hobby-horses swarmed with Negresses and Hindoos of the lower order.