Yellow fever rarely appears on shore, as the natives do not take it, and the foreign population is small and mostly acclimatised. The other diseases from which people suffer are ordinary tropical fevers, agues, small-pox, and the other ills to which humanity is subject; but although Port-au-Prince is the filthiest town I have ever seen, it has not yet been visited by cholera. In the spring of 1882 small-pox broke out in so virulent a form that the deaths rose to a hundred a day. This dreadful visitation continued several months, and it is calculated carried off above 5000 people in the city and its neighbourhood. If Hayti ever becomes civilised, and if ever roads are made, there are near Port-au-Prince summer health-resorts which are perfectly European in their climate. Even La Coupe, or, as it is officially called, Pétionville, about five miles from the capital, at an altitude of 1200 feet, is from ten to twelve degrees cooler during the day, and the nights are delicious; and if you advance to Kenskoff or Furcy, you have the thermometer marking during the greatest heat of the day 75° to 77°, whilst the mornings and evenings are delightfully fresh, with the thermometer at from 57° to 68°, and the nights cold. On several occasions I passed some months at Pétionville, and found the climate most refreshing after the burning heats of the sea-coast. The regular rainy season commences about Port-au-Prince during the month of April, and continues to the month of September, with rain again in November under the name of “les pluies de la Toussaint.” After several months of dry weather one breathes again as the easterly wind brings the welcome rain, which comes with a rush and a force that bends the tallest palm-tree till its branches almost sweep the ground. Sometimes, whilst dried up in the town, we could see for weeks the rain-clouds gathering on the Morne de l’Hôpital within a few miles, and yet not a drop would come to refresh our parched-up gardens. During the great heats the rain is not only welcome as cooling the atmosphere, but as it comes in torrents, it rushes down the streets and sweeps clean all those that lead to the harbour, and carries before it the accumulated filth of the dry season. In very heavy rains the cross streets are flooded; and one year the water came down so heavily and suddenly that the brooks became rushing rivers. The flood surprised a priest whilst bathing, swept him down to the Champs de Mars, and threw his mangled body by the side of a house I was at that moment visiting.