The market women were habited in garments of a marvelously scanty pattern, better adapted to the sultry character of the climate than to the notions of delicacy which prevail among civilized people in a more northern clime.

The head-dress consisted, in almost every instance, of a calico kerchief, of gaudy colors, fantastically wreathed around the head.

They were respectful in their deportment, exhibited their wares to the best advantage, and with cheerful countenances and occasional jokes, accompanied with peals of merry laughter, seemed happier than millionaires or kings! Their dialect was a strange jumble of Dutch, English, and African.

All were fond of talking, and, like aspiring politicians in happy New England, neglected no chance to display their extraordinary power of language.

And such a jabbering, such a confusion of tongues, as I listened to that Sunday morning in the market-place of Demarara, overwhelmed me with wonder, and days elapsed before I could get the buzz out of my head! In answer to inquiries relative to the health of the place, it was gratifying to learn that the province had not been so free from yellow fever at that season for several years.