You come to breaks now and then in the green steep to your
left,--openings created for cascades pouring down from one mossed
basin of brown stone to another,--or gaps occupied by flights of
stone steps, green with mosses, and chocolate-colored by age.
These steps lead to loftier paths; and all the stone-work,-the
grottos, bridges, basins, terraces, steps,--are darkened by time
and velveted with mossy things.... It is of another century,
this garden: special ordinances were passed concerning it during
the French Revolution (_An. II._);--it is very quaint; it
suggests an art spirit as old as Versailles, or older; but it is
indescribably beautiful even now.

... At last you near the end, to hear the roar of falling water;--
there is a break in the vault of green above the bed of a river
below you; and at a sudden turn you in sight of the cascade.
Before you is the Morne itself; and against the burst of
descending light you discern a precipice-verge. Over it, down
one green furrow in its brow, tumbles the rolling foam of a
cataract, like falling smoke, to be caught below in a succession
of moss-covered basins. The first clear leap of the water is
nearly seventy feet.... Did Josephine ever rest upon
that shadowed bench near by?... She knew all these paths by
heart: surely they must have haunted her dreams in the after-
time!

Returning by another path, you may have a view of other
cascades-though none so imposing. But they are beautiful; and
you will not soon forget the effect of one,--flanked at its
summit by white-stemmed palms which lift their leaves so high