Two Years in the French West Indies

he horizon,-like puffs of steam. The glow of the sea-light through the open ports of my cabin ma

ormed of cirrus clouds compressed,-so extravagantly white it looks to-day, like snow in the sun. Nev

set aflame.... I ask the ship's doctor whether it is really true that the West Indian waters are any bluer than these. He looks a moment at the sea, and replies, "Oh yes!" There is such a tone of surprise in hi

am-clouds, as they sink down, turn sky-blue,-a sky-blue which now looks white by contrast with the strange and violent splendor of the sea color. It seems as if one were looking into an immeasurable dyeing vat, or as though the whole ocea

deloupe observes that the sea