hm, hm!
Welleli, welleli,
hm, hm!
Maman mon ce maman mon
hm, hm!
Welleli, etc.
TO ELIZABETH BISLAND
Georgetown, Demerara, July, 1887.
Dear Miss Bisland,—I suppose you will have just a tiny little bit of curiosity to know about my impressions here? They have been all flavoured with that enchanting sensation which artists term surprise. The effect upon me has been such that I think the North will always look torpid to me,—as a benumbed and livid part of our planet. Nearly all these isles are volcanic; and this largely accounts for the green and purple symmetry of their shapes. The colours are of the kind called "impossible;”—and the days have such an azure expansion, so enormous a luminosity that it does not really seem to be our sky above, but the heaven of some larger world.