The house has but one story; the timbers of the
roof, unwhitened, forming the only ceiling. The furniture consists of
cane easy-chairs, a dining-table, and a pretty hammock, swung across
one end of the room. Here we sit and talk long. Our host has many good
books in French and Spanish,--and in English, Walter Scott's Novels,
which his wife fully appreciates.
A walk is proposed, and we go first to visit _los negros
chiquitos,--Anglice_, "the small niggers," in their nursery. We find
their cage airy enough; it is a house with a large piazza completely
inclosed in coarse lattice-work, so that the _pequenuelos_ cannot
tumble out, nor the nurses desert their charge. Our lady friend
produces a key, unlocking a small gate which admits us. We found, as
usual, the girls of eight and upwards tending the babies, and one
elderly woman superintending them. On our arrival, African drums,
formed of logs hollowed out, and covered with skin at the end, were
produced. Two little girls proceeded to belabor these primitive
instruments, and made a sort of rhythmic strumming, which kept time to
a monotonous chant. Two other girls executed a dance to this, which,
for its slowness, might be considered an African minuet. The dancing
children were bright-looking, and not ungraceful.
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