so very pitifully, that he took it up again and carried it in his
arms, where, in a few minutes, it fell sound asleep.

About ten yards farther on, the felled trees became more numerous,
and the track, diverging to the right, followed for a short space
the banks of a stream. Suddenly we came to a spot where once must
have been a rude bridge, the stones of which were scattered in the
stream, and those on each bank entirely covered over with moss. In
silent surprise and expectancy we continued to advance, and, a few
yards farther on, beheld, under the shelter of some bread-fruit
trees, a small hut or cottage. I cannot hope to convey to my
readers a very correct idea of the feelings that affected us on
witnessing this unexpected sight. We stood for a long time in
silent wonder, for there was a deep and most melancholy stillness
about the place that quite overpowered us; and when we did at
length speak, it was in subdued whispers, as if we were surrounded
by some awful or supernatural influence. Even Peterkin's voice,
usually so quick and lively on all occasions, was hushed now; for
there was a dreariness about this silent, lonely, uninhabited
cottage, - so strange in its appearance, so far away from the usual
dwellings of man, so old, decayed, and deserted in its aspect, -
that fell upon our spirits like a thick cloud, and blotted out as
with a pall the cheerful sunshine that had filled us since the
commencement of our tour round the island.

The hut or cottage was rude and simple in its construction. It was
not more than twelve feet long by ten feet broad, and about seven
or eight feet high. It had one window, or rather a small frame in
which a window might, perhaps, once have been, but which was now
empty. The door was exceedingly low, and formed of rough boards,