Island under French control—­which means a community which depends upon quarantines, not sanitation, for its health.

Thursday, April 16.  Went ashore in the forenoon at Port Louis, a little town, but with the largest variety of nationalities and complexions we have encountered yet.  French, English, Chinese, Arabs, Africans with wool, blacks with straight hair, East Indians, half-whites, quadroons —­and great varieties in costumes and colors.

Took the train for Curepipe at 1.30—­two hours’ run, gradually uphill.  What a contrast, this frantic luxuriance of vegetation, with the arid plains of India; these architecturally picturesque crags and knobs and miniature mountains, with the monotony of the Indian dead-levels.

A native pointed out a handsome swarthy man of grave and dignified bearing, and said in an awed tone, “That is so-and-so; has held office of one sort or another under this government for 37 years—­he is known all over this whole island and in the other countries of the world perhaps —­who knows?  One thing is certain; you can speak his name anywhere in this whole island, and you will find not one grown person that has not heard it.  It is a wonderful thing to be so celebrated; yet look at him; it makes no change in him; he does not even seem to know it.”

Curepipe (means Pincushion or Pegtown, probably).  Sixteen miles (two hours) by rail from Port Louis.  At each end of every roof and on the apex of every dormer window a wooden peg two feet high stands up; in some cases its top is blunt, in others the peg is sharp and looks like a toothpick.  The passion for this humble ornament is universal.

Apparently, there has been only one prominent event in the history of Mauritius, and that one didn’t happen.  I refer to the romantic sojourn of Paul and Virginia here.  It was that story that made Mauritius known to the world, made the name familiar to everybody, the geographical position of it to nobody.

A clergyman was asked to guess what was in a box on a table.  It was a vellum fan painted with the shipwreck, and was “one of Virginia’s wedding gifts.”

April 18.  This is the only country in the world where the stranger is not asked “How do you like this place?” This is indeed a large distinction.  Here the citizen does the talking about the country himself; the stranger is not asked to help.  You get all sorts of information.  From one citizen you gather the idea that Mauritius was made first, and then heaven; and that heaven was copied after Mauritius.  Another one tells you that this is an exaggeration; that the two chief villages, Port Louis and Curepipe, fall short of heavenly perfection; that nobody lives in Port Louis except upon compulsion, and that Curepipe is the wettest and rainiest place in the world.  An English citizen said: