Six months in the West-Indies, in 1825

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MARTINIQUE. dad. I believe he disapproves them, and the example of the sober splendor of the Protestant Church in their neighbourhood will much facilitate his endeavours. It was too hot to walk to the theatre or the botanical garden, but I am told that they are both very respectable. The coloured women here, as in St. Lucia and Trinidad, are a much finer race than their fellows in the old English islands. The French and Spanish blood seems to unite more kindly and perfectly with the negro than does our British stuff. We eat too much beef and a b sorb too much porter for a thorough amalgamation with the tropical lymph in the veins of a black; hence our mulatto females have more of the look of very dirty white women than that rich oriental olive which distinguishes the haughty offspring of the half blood of French or Spaniards. I think for gait, gesture, shape and air, the finest women in the world may be seen on a Sunday in Port of Spain. The rich and gay costume of these nations sets off the dark countenances of their mulattos infinitely better than the plain dress of the English. A crimson, green, or saffron shawl cocked on the head, and bent back with sham jewels into a tiara, gives a voluptuous and imperial air, which always put me in mind of the proud mistress of the governor of St. Jago, with whom that sly old rogue Ligon was so smitten.


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