Chinaman, with two bundles slung on a bamboo, hurries past, jostling a
group of young Creole exquisites smoking their cheroots at a corner, and
talking of last night's Norma, or the programme of the evening's
performance at the Hippodrome in the Champ de Mars; his eye next catches
a couple of sailors reeling out of a grog-shop, to the amusement of a
group of laughing negresses in white muslin dresses of the latest
Parisian fashion, contrasting strongly with a modestly attired Cingalese
woman, and an Indian ayah with her young charge. Amidst all this the
French language prevails; everything more or less pertains of the French
character, and an Englishman can scarcely believe that he is in one of
the colonies of his own country.

VISIT TO PAMPLEMOUSSES.

May 16th.

Few passing visitors, like ourselves, leave the Isle of France without
performing a pilgrimage to Pamplemousses, a pretty village seven miles
distant, near which are the (so-called) tombs of Paul and Virginia, and
the Botanic Gardens. For this purpose--as we sail the day after tomorrow,
I started at daylight. The road, even at this early hour, was crowded
with people--Coolies, Chinamen, Negroes, and others, bringing in their
produce to market, while every now and then a carriage passed by filled
with well-dressed Creoles enjoying the coolness of the morning air, or
bent upon making a holiday of it, for the day was Sunday. I breakfasted
in one of the numerous cabarets by the roadside, dignified with the name
of Hotel de ----, etc. Numerous small streams crossed the road, and the
country, so far as seen, exhibited a refreshing greenness and richness of
vegetation.