For fruit, too,
we have been spoilt in the South Seas. The fish-market here, however,
is unrivalled.
Fish--raw or cooked--is the staple food of the inhabitants, and almost
everybody we saw had half-a-dozen or more brilliant members of the
finny tribe, wrapped up in fresh green banana leaves, ready to carry
home. Shrimps are abundant and good. They are caught both in salt and
fresh water, and the natives generally eat them alive, putting them
into their mouths, ana either letting them hop down their throats, or
crushing them between their teeth while they are still wriggling
about. It looks a very nasty thing to do, but, after all, it is not
much worse than our eating oysters alive.
[Illustration: Chalcedon Imperator.]
From the fish-market we went to the prison, a large and apparently
admirably managed establishment, built of stone, and overlooking the
harbour. After a pleasant drive along shady fragrant roads, we
returned to Emma Square, to hear the excellent performance of the
Saturday afternoon band. There was a good assemblage of people, on
horseback, in carriages, and on foot, and crowds of children, all more
or less white, languid, and sickly-looking. Poor mites! I suppose the
climate is too hot for European constitutions. Still, they abound
among the foreigners, while the natives are gradually, but surely,
dying out.
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