I occasionally met with small patches of the indigo plant. This is cultivated by seeds, which are sown in rows, about a foot apart. In three months the top part is cut off, leaving the roots to shoot up anew. I used to suppose that indigo was a kind of mineral, but I now learned that it was made from these small plants. The tops of the herbs being cut, as I have mentioned, are steeped in vats. They are then pounded and put in water. The coloring matter, consisting of a fine powder, forms a sediment, which is cut into small pieces about an inch square, before it is perfectly dry. It is then packed in barrels, or sewed up in sacks for sale. The process of making indigo is very curious, and one thing is strange: the plant itself is harmless, but the indigo drug is a deadly poison. Although I had frequently a lonely sort of feeling, as I pursued my way, and sometimes wished that I was snug at home with my mother and sister, I still found it, on the whole, very pleasant to travel in this strange land, and picked up a good deal of information, and saw many things that were quite rare and wonderful to me. I was constantly impressed with the strangeness of everything around me. Instead of forests of chestnut, walnut, and maple trees, so common in Connecticut, I here saw forests of gigantic mahogany, live oak, and other curious trees, the names of which I could not learn. The birds, too, were all different from those to which I had been accustomed. The woods were all alive with flocks of green parrots and red macaws, which kept up a constant chatting. The latter seemed perpetually scolding each other, and I could sometimes fancy that they were calling each other all the hard names they could think of. I saw a great many toucans, with bills half as long as their bodies; they kept bowing their heads and making a kind of motion, like a minister in the pulpit. Hence, the people call this bird the preacher. I saw a great many other birds, most of which were adorned with magnificent plumage; but they had harsh voices, and were all very unlike my feathered acquaintances in the “land of steady habits.” I once met with a woodpecker, which resembled the red-headed thief, who spears so many of our cherries with his long bill. He nodded his head, and uttered a sort of cry, which reminded me so strongly of home, that the tears filled my eyes, and I paused and partly turned about, for the purpose of returning. But this weakness was transient, and I soon pursued my way.