CHAPTER XVI.

Scenery of Antigua--Pilgrimage to "Tom Moore's Spring"--The Goddess Mnemosyne--Fig-Tree Hill--The "Bower of Bliss"--"Old Road"--The Strand--The cross sexton--The parochial school--Old Road Church--Tomb of Col. Williams--Moravian settlement--Salt ponds--Copses--"Crab Hill"--Sandy Valley--The Valley Church-- The rising moon--Arrival in town--Night, and night dreams.

With respect to the scenery of Antigua, it is said to be neither "grand nor magnificent," that "its mountains are too much like mole-hills,"[62] and in many other ways has it been depreciated; yet there are some spots of real beauty, which would strike the eye of even a painter or a poet. To see some of these to the greatest advantage, I would advise all such readers as have it in their power to take a drive or a ride (whichever they prefer) some fine morning to "Fig Tree Hill," and return by "Crab Hill." They will then meet with spots of such transcendent loveliness, as will cause the most unpoetic to exclaim, "Beautiful! beautiful!" But as some of my readers, perhaps, may never have the chance of taking such a tour, in pity to them, I will attempt to describe what I saw in my pilgrimage to "Tom Moore's Spring."

It was a lovely morning (as most West India mornings are) when we started upon our journey. The sun shone bright and clear; indeed, far too clear for actual comfort, had we gone as "pilgrims grey," with "scalloped hat," and "sandled shoon," and resting on our "staves;" but we preferred the less romantic, but more pleasant way of taking it quietly in our carriage. Quickly we passed through the town of St. John's, leaving its busy inmates, its shops and stores, its "Scotch row" and Scotchmen, and all its noise and bustle, for the quietness and freshness of the country. Upon gaining "Otto's Hill," at the outskirts of the town, I looked back upon the beautiful harbour of St. John's, its blue waves just rippling the surface, its barques and brigs, schooners and sloops, bowing their heads as if in graceful homage to some sea-god from old King Neptune's court; and its sloping shores displaying a carpet of luxuriant green, for a little rain which had fallen not long before had clothed the fields in a garb of lovely verdure. While thinking upon all these beauties, and the images they called up, my poetic fancies were crushed by the horrible noise of a long string of "cattle carts" and their sable drivers, coming into town with a load of molasses for "Brother Jonathan," or some other worthy. This brought me down from the seventh heaven, and made me just then find out that it was very _hot_, and the road disagreeably dusty. However, in our pilgrimage through life, we meet with many crosses, and many _dusty spots_; and therefore, in our pilgrimage to "Tom Moore's Spring," we could but expect the same.

The country certainly looked very pretty upon this eventful day, for every spot was green, and as we passed the numerous estates, an air of gladness seemed to be abroad. The breeze blew soft from off the mountains we were approaching, and greeted our olfactory nerves with the odour of the yellow acacia, which grew along the side of the road in vast profusion. In a short time, we reached the banks of a small rivulet, the only real stream Antigua can boast of, for the few others we passed owed their source more to the late rains than anything else. This rivulet was bordered by bamboos, and other species of wild cane, while larger trees, in many parts, shewed their gnarled roots, and bent their long boughs to kiss the swift gliding waters. Various aquatic plants grew along its margin, while in the stream itself sported my own country's water-lily, bright nymphæa. Near to the spot stands a rural little temple of worship, with its plain white walls, and a little cross upon its roof, and across the rivulet is thrown a rustic bridge. This is a favourite resort for country washerwomen, and as we passed, many of them were busily engaged in their very necessary avocations; but as none of them presented the appearance of a nymph or a naïad, I will not introduce them to my readers.

We had heard of the bad state of the roads before we left our home, of the hills we had to mount, and the dingles we had to go down; of the terrible ravines on one side, and the bare rocks on the other, and of places where the least swerve of the carriage would send us over, and then, according to our informant, "it would be no use to go look for you." At every turn of the road, then, we looked for some trial, and "screwed up our courage to the sticking-point," that we might be enabled to overcome them; but after travelling for some time, and meeting with nothing very terrific, we began to console ourselves, and remark, that the difficulties appeared to lie in the imagination. At length, we came to a pretty steep hill, which we surmounted in due time, and again sped on our way joyfully, thinking that all was very fair, when lo! up rose before us, if not a _mountain_, at least, a _giant hill_. Here would be the "tug of war," so we called a council. "What is to be done?" was the first query. "Why, either _go on_ or _go back_" was the answer. The old adage of "out of two evils, choose the least," came into our thoughts. There was the hill behind, and the hill before, so we agreed to lay the various "for's" and "against's" before us in a very orthodox manner.

To commence then: if we go on, we must mount this hill, but when we have accomplished that, we shall have no other of great consequence; we were near half way, so we should have almost as far to go back as to go on; on the other side, if we returned, we should still have a hill before us, and not have the consolation of visiting the celebrated "fig-tree." Having come to the conclusion of our arguments, the word was given "forward," and forward we attempted to go; but there were some of our party whose opinions had not been asked, but who, no doubt, felt as great concern in the decision as any one else; I mean those very noble animals ycleped "horses," and for reasons my readers may easily conceive they appeared resolved not to proceed. After a few words of encouragement, however, and a few caresses, they agreed to lend us their aid, and once more we started.

During the period that all this momentous business was going on, we had totally neglected the appearance of the weather, and had not a drop or two of rain fallen, and the sound of a distant clap of thunder echoed round us, I dare say we should not have thought upon such a subject. Here, then, was romance; a thunder-storm, and "Sawcolt Hill"--it only wanted an old castle and a horde of banditti to make it a scene worthy the pen of a "Radcliffe." The lambent lightning played for awhile, and the thunder bellowed through the boundless sky, and then passed slowly away to the west, very much to my satisfaction. "Sawcolt Hill" was ascended, and descended, and the road became more beautiful at every turn, until at length we stood by the side of the noted freshwater spring. And what then were my reflections? I thought it was lovely in everything but its name--"Tom Moore's Spring!" Who, in the name of all that's romantic, could call such a spring by such a name? Had it been the "fairy's spring," or the "spring of the mountain sylph," or something of the kind, it would have sounded as it ought, and some charming legend might have been attached. But who could ever inquire after "Tom Moore?" Why, the name of such a being puts all fancies to the flight!

Thus far had my thoughts wandered, when suddenly, an ideal form passed before me; her sweet and classic countenance--her eyes which mocked the heavens in their dye--her long and silken lashes which drank the dew of her vermilion cheeks, all conspired to render me entranced. A blue mantle floated from her shoulders, and a thousand graces hovered round her steps. As she glided away, she placed one of her taper fingers upon her ruby lips, and, in a voice of liquid sweetness, uttered the word, "Remember!" I knew her for the goddess "Mnemosyne," and I tried to follow her behest. My beautiful goddess assisted me, and brought to my recollection that "Bulbul of a thousand songs," that sweet rhymer who charms us with his "bower of roses by Bendameer's stream," as with his melodies of the "Emerald Isle," he who bears the well-known appellation of "Tom Moore." I remembered all this to my shame, and determined in future never to utter one word against it, did all the springs in Antigua bear that name. After making this resolution, I turned once more to inspect "Tom Moore's Spring." The water is as clear as crystal, and of a refreshing coolness; and as it trickles from beneath the roots of a large bamboo growing by, each drop looks like liquid pearl. It has never been known to be dry, let the season be what it will, and consequently must be of inexpressible value to the adjoining estates. It was formerly built round with a stone wall, but that has long ago fallen to ruin, and no one has troubled himself to erect it again. I blame none, however, upon this score, for, in my opinion, it looks more romantic as it is; nature has done much for it, and art would only spoil her work.

After leaving the spring, another height presented itself, clothed with luxuriant woods. This was "Fig-tree Hill," and no description I have ever heard of it has sufficiently set forth its beauty. Upon one side of the road is a deep ravine, whose irregular descent is hidden by trees of every description, which cover it to the bottom, and again ascend upon the opposite bank, until they reach the top of the neighbouring mountain; on the other side are sloping hills, carpeted with the gayest emerald. This beautiful hill takes its name from several large fig-trees which grow around; and from its highest point can be distinctly seen, upon a clear day, the four islands of Guadaloupe, Monserrat, Nevis, and St. Kitts.

After remaining upon the height for some time, and enjoying the extensive prospect, we prepared to descend; but how to describe the loveliness of the path, I know not. We alighted and walked down, that nothing might escape our observation. Trees of all species abound, and--

"With confessed magnificence deride Our vile attire, and impotence of pride."

The lofty "red cedar," the beautiful "white-wood," the glossy-green "loblolly," the treacherous "manchineel," which invites your approach by its beautiful fruit, while it infects you with its poisonous odours; the enormous "ceibar," (or silk cotton,) the native "walnut," (which in every tree presents such varying shades of green,) and the splendid "tamarind," shade each side of the road, and cover the surrounding hills.

In many places, huge masses of fantastic rocks rear their bare fronts to the heavens; some taking the form of old castles, with their frowning battlements and strong ramparts; and others looking as if about to fall into the valleys beneath.

Just at the termination of the first descent is one of the sweetest spots in Antigua. It is one of tranquillity and repose. The fierce beams of the sun are excluded by the umbrageous foliage of the trees, around whose trunks various creepers entwine themselves, and throw their slender limbs from one to the other of these

"Green-robed senators of mighty woods,"

forming many beauteous alcoves, carpeted with the lowlier flowers; whilst the "purple wreath" hangs its tasseled blossoms on all sides, and gives an air of lightness to the whole. A little silver stream (one of those the offspring of the balmy showers before mentioned) crossed the road in this part; and after leaping over roots of trees, or any other slight impediment which fell in its way, and thereby causing a thousand translucent waterfalls, at length lost itself in the impending woods. Oh! it was a lovely scene, and put me very much in mind of Spenser's "Bower of Bliss;" particularly when

"Was heard a most melodious sound Of all that could delight a curious ear; Such as might not upon terrestrial ground, Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere. Full hard it was for him, who did it hear, To guess what sort of music this might be; For all that pleasing is to living ear Were there soft mingled in one harmony: Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree."

This was a true delineation; for although most tropical birds are devoid of song, the "painted warblers" might here be said to hop "from spray to spray." The pretty little humming-bird fluttered among the flowers, extracting from them, with its long and slender beak, the liquid honey; and the doves courted each other with soft, but melancholy cooing, from many a leafy brake. Upon my remarking I never before heard birds _sing_ in the West Indies, our negro-servant joined the conversation with--"Oh, missis! if you was to come here early in the moring, before the sun high, you would hear the birds singing in such a manner, that it would make you feel quite dismal all de day." The first time I ever heard of the song of a bird producing such an effect.

But to return to my description of this sweetest of all sweet spots. Did we live in "days of yore," when fairies were wont to visit our world, and astonish the benighted swains with their glittering processions, we could fancy this one of their favourite retreats; but, alas! those harmless goblins have long disappeared, and with them all moonlight revels. The negroes, however, are determined it shall not be without some aerial visitants, so have peopled it with a tribe of _jumbies_, who, according to their account, are very different in behaviour and appearance to the pretty little elves.

After carving our names upon the trunk of a noble tree, which appears to grow out of a rock, we proceeded on our journey through the same lovely scenes, which now became interspersed with palm-trees, until we entered upon a plain, on one side studded over with ruined Carib houses, and on the other, laid out in luxuriant cane-pieces, belonging to the Hon. Rowland E. Williams, the descendant of a long line of noble ancestors, and whose paternal domain extends throughout the lovely scenes I have been endeavouring to describe. A few minutes' drive brought us to "Old Road," so called because it was the first high-road made in Antigua.

This town, if town it can be called, is, as regards architective arrangement, a perfect nondescript; for streets there are none, but here and there a straggling house. There is the _beach_, indeed, which may justly be termed "_the strand_;" but, unlike that far-famed street in London, boasts no splendid shops--no arcades or bazaars, with their "euterpeons"--no brilliant lines of lamps, or crowds of well-dressed and busy passengers. A plentiful supply of bushes and "rock-stones" (as the Creoles call all descriptions of stones) make up for those deficiencies; and the murmur of old Father Ocean is the only music heard. Of the houses which are to be found, a few of them are in repair; but the greater part are falling to ruin, and have become a receptacle for hordes of green lizards. One of these buildings struck me as rather peculiar in appearance. Nothing remained of it, it is true, but the walls of rough masonry, with huge gable-ends pointing to the skies; but still it seemed as the work of another race of beings. Upon making inquiries about it, an inhabitant informed us her grandmother (who had died several years before, at the advanced age of 116) remembered it in the same ruinous state from her earliest years; but we could learn no further particulars.

Our principal object for visiting "Old Road," was to see a tombstone in the church, laid down to the memory of Col. Rowland Williams; and consequently, as soon as we arrived, our first inquiry was for the person who kept the keys of the church, and who acts in the capacity of sexton. While waiting for this official, we walked down to the beach. The harbour is a very fine one, and forms a complete rotund, except in the opening, where the sea stretches out beyond ken. A line of smooth silver sand borders the sea, diversified with clumps of mangrove, manchineel, and sea-side grapes; while here and there a cocoa-nut tree rears aloft its proud head, as if scorning to herd with the lowlier of its kind. For some time we amused ourselves with picking up various small shells, matted sea-weed, and corallines, which were scattered about the beach in profusion; but the heat, notwithstanding the fresh sea-breeze, was beginning to be felt oppressive; when turning the angle of one of the old buildings, a man with a bunch of keys in his hand appeared in sight.

Although not always the case, still very generally, the face is the index to the mind; and when I first saw that man, I felt prejudiced against him. He came forward with a slovenly gait, and downcast looks, and to our inquiries for the keys of the church, he returned for answer, "Yes, but I can't let you in." On asking the reason, the rejoinder was, "Because the parson told me not to let any one go into the church." This was by no means cheering news for us; it was far from satisfactory after riding fifteen miles, to be turned away without seeing the very object we came to look at. Every kind of persuasion was used to induce him to comply. I joined in urging him to "ope' the door, and bid us enter," but alas! I found him as insensible to the voice of woman, as to everything else. "Can we go into the churchyard?" was then inquired. "Yes," was the surly answer; and following his steps, we soon reached that quiet spot.

Even here he apparently viewed us with suspicion, thinking, perhaps, we not only looked capable of _sacrilege_, but of carrying away the church also; for although he still had the keys in his hand, and the rain began to fall, he not only remained inexorable, but looked as if he should be quite as well pleased if we quitted the place altogether. "The rain was falling fast," and obliged us to retire to the shelter of a large white-wood tree, which no doubt was coeval with the first settlers, and beneath its spreading branches we remained for some time, until one of our party determined to try some other expedient, to gain the wished-for admittance, and for that purpose left myself and attendant in our shady retreat.

After the lapse of about a quarter of an hour, a well-known voice was heard; and at an opening in the leafy covert, the person it proceeded from appeared, accompanied by a female. This was the parochial school-mistress; and a kind-hearted creature she appeared to be. She immediately sent in search of the cross sexton, and promised to take upon herself the responsibility of letting our party into the church; but the man was not to be found--he had left the town, and carried the keys with him. With native politeness, Miss Austin (as the worthy school-mistress was called) invited us to rest in her house until she could make further inquiries after the "keys;" and following our conductress, we shortly arrived at her residence, where (with a very warrantable kind of pride) she informed us, her mother was born, and married, and had reared eight children. Long before we gained the house, the hum of little voices was heard; and upon approaching the open door, about forty children, who formed the school, rose up, and commenced singing, "We make our obeisance to you, ma'am," to the tune of "L--a--w, Law;" while a parrot, suspended from a beam, if she did not _sing_, at least _screeched_ in chorus. After looking at these little negroes for some time, and inspecting the simple decorations of their school-room, we were ushered up stairs, and introduced to Miss Austin's two sisters.

I cannot help speaking more fully of the polite behaviour of this trio. I came among them a perfect stranger, my name even being unknown, and in all probability never again to meet in this world; but every little attention possible was lavished upon me, the choicest produce of their garden tendered, and without the least parade. I have mixed with society in a far higher grade, where courtly manners prevail, and every art is tried to invest each action with a polished grace; but often, very often, has less native good-breeding, fewer sterling qualities of the mind been displayed than I found in the sisters of "Old Road." They are not like the generality of persons in their line of life; hospitality indeed is, I believe, a virtue which most of them possess; but there was no aping of their betters, as is too frequently the case with this class of people; no flying away, when we came so suddenly upon them, to put on a brass chain, or a string of glass beads; or to take off an untidy wrapper, to enrobe themselves in a smart gown; their neat dresses and snow-white collars, like beauty, needed not "the foreign aid of ornament."

Many a beautiful tree grew around their humble dwelling, and many a sweet-scented flower almost entered the open windows. When we had rested for a short time, we proceeded to the garden, to see a lime-tree. Knowing as I did the blighted state of these trees in Antigua, I expected to see a diminutive shrub; what, then, was my surprise, upon entering the little paddock, (for it had more the appearance of that than a garden,) to see a noble tree, covering the space of about fifty square feet, loaded with its fragrant fruit to the very ground. Well worthy was it to be looked at! well worthy to be praised by an abler pen than mine!--no indefinite article could be used to this shrub; it must be called _the_ lime tree, and nothing else. While looking, again and again, at this beautiful tree--pressing its odorous leaves, and inhaling the scent of its golden fruit, the youngest sister remarked, "The archdeacon was here the other day, to catechise the children, and upon seeing this tree, said it looked as if the blessing of God was upon it." And in truth it does appear so, for it flourishes on in its beauty in the midst of a burning sand, whilst most of its species are blighted and seared.

After leaving the lime-tree, we returned to the house and heard the children read a chapter in the Bible, and repeat the gospel, which they did very correctly, although some of them had not numbered their fifth year, thus proving the pains their tutoress takes with them; and then, putting up with our disappointment, left for home. As we were passing the church, Mr. Sexton appeared to have altered his mind in some degree, for (but with a very indifferent grace, it must be owned) he condescended to open the church door, and allow us entrance. The church, which is composed of hewn stone, is built in the form of a cross, and is noted for being the first place of public worship erected in Antigua. There is nothing very remarkable in the interior; the walls are plain white, and the floor paved with brick; but it is a quiet little church, where the good people of that neighbourhood may worship their God in peace. Over the altar is an old painting of Moses and Aaron in their robes; and under the communion table reposes the ashes of him who may be called the founder of the church; for he gave the land, and liberally contributed towards its erection. This was Col. Rowland Williams, who, as before-mentioned, was celebrated for his various good qualities, as well as humanity, in a period when the West Indies were generally enveloped in moral darkness. The epitaph upon his tomb-stone is inscribed in Latin; but as many of my readers no doubt prefer the English translation, I will insert it, which I am enabled to do through the kindness of the Rev. H. G. Hall.

Here safely lie in Mother Earth The mortal remains of Rowland Williams. We are but dust and ashes! He was the first male infant of European extraction Lawfully born in this island. When he attained to manhood, he conducted himself As a man, Being equally in military, as in civil life, an honour As well to himself, as to his connexions. In the field, he was a bold commander; In the senate, he was a wise councillor: What avails strength without wisdom? He was a loyal subject of his king, a protector of His country, A true father to his children, hospitable to his guests, A friend to his friends. In a word, He was all things to all men. Throughout his whole life he displayed, With health of body, soundness of mind. Possessing the strictest honesty and much wealth. He fell a tardy victim to death, Having survived about eighty years. He was buried the twentieth day of ------ 1713. Since it is certain that we must die, We should without delay take warning against it.

Near the altar is an elegant and chastely ornamented white marble tablet, erected to the memory of Mrs. Williams, daughter of Sir Patrick Ross, K. C. B., and wife of the Hon. Rowland E. Williams, the great-great-grandson of the above Col. Williams. This exemplary lady died at the early age of 32; respected by all classes, and deeply regretted by those who were honoured with her friendship. The following lines are engraved on the tablet:--

"Death, ere thou canst claim another, Fair, and good, and wise as she, Time shall hurl his dart at _thee_."[63]

After copying these inscriptions, and casting one more glance round this rustic church, we returned to our carriage, and proceeded on our journey to "Crab Hill." Before relating the rest of our adventures, I must remark, that the line of conduct pursued by the sexton of "Old Road" is not common in Antigua, such officials being generally very obliging.

Near to "Old Road" is a pond, which is formed by the hand of nature into a complete bason. It is surrounded with some fine and noble trees, which form a screen, and is embellished with a variety of odoriferous flowers, which bloom and die unknown and uncared for, illustrating those beautiful lines of Gray's--

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

Near to this spot is a natural excavation, called the "Devil's Punch Bowl," which, although I had often heard it spoken of as something very grand, did not cause me much pleasure or astonishment, being, in fact, nothing more than a deep hole, with a little turbid water at the bottom.

About a stone's throw from "Old Road," on the top of the hill, stands a Moravian settlement, with its neat white house and chapel; there is always an air of comfort around these settlements, which speaks to an English heart; and the Moravians themselves are a quiet, well-meaning people, diligent in the discharge of their ministerial duties, and earnestly desiring their people's welfare. May they meet their reward!

After passing the fort of "Old Road," the next place which attracted our notice was the salt ponds, with their fringe of mangrove trees and little islands. Innumerable soldier crabs were hurrying to and fro,--some looking out for a new coat of mail, in the form of a new shell, and others hunting for their prey, which is very frequently the weak and small of their own class. The sea now burst upon our sight, and added to the beauty of the scene; its surface was as smooth and clear as a mirror, except where the breakers played over a long reef, which runs far out from shore, and threw up their lovely but dangerous spray in measured showers,--no wonder the ancients fabled their goddess of beauty to have sprung from this sparkling object.

After passing the rectory of St. Mary's, our road lay through copses, whose overhanging boughs formed a beautiful and verdant arch. The sunbeams, penetrating through them, danced in sportive glee upon the chequered ground, while between the boles we caught picturesque glimpses of the ocean. I could not help noticing one peculiarity in passing through these woods, that almost every tree is decorated with that species of parasite called wild pines;[64] the great varieties of cactus was also remarkable.

After journeying along the road for about a mile, we came in view of "Crab Hill," noted for the dangers it presents to travellers, should their horses prove restive, or night overtake them. Here again we alighted, determined that nothing should escape our gaze. The road rises about 180 feet from the sea, in an abrupt precipice clothed with the dwarf acacia and "milk-bush"--those ever-to-be-found productions of Antigua. A low wall of stones, loosely piled, borders the edge of the road, which would prove but a sorry guard against any accident. In the steepest part of the hill, we looked over, and watched in silence the beautiful but treacherous waves, as they laved the rocky base of the precipice. Here and there a blasted parasite clung to it, and feebly strove to hide its ugliness; and one or two sea-birds sat watching for their prey, and pluming their rumpled feathers. At the sound of our voices they started, and after turning upon us their bright quick eyes for a moment, as if to ask why we obtruded upon their solitude, flapped their wings and soared screaming away through the vaulted ether.

We enjoyed the scene for some time longer, and then remembering we were still many miles from the capital, and the sun had almost completed his daily journey, we resumed our seats and set our faces towards home. A ride of a few more minutes brought us to a place called "Sandy Valley," which proved not to be, like some places, a _misnomer_, for there is sand enough for any one's taste, and fine glittering sand it is too. The sea bounds one side of the valley, and a stagnant marsh the other.

Leaving this, we passed by the valley church and school, cultivated cane-pieces and neat-looking "great houses," negro huts and provision grounds, and an open country, for we were rapidly leaving the mountains behind us. On our right, we passed a methodist settlement, and another belonging to the Moravians, and hard by a fresh-water spring; but I began to feel very tired, and consequently did not find out beauties which otherwise might have attracted my attention. A pretty sloping hill lay before us, and as we passed, the "full-orb'd moon" rose above it, and

"O'er the night her silver mantle threw."

A sudden turn in the road placed her lovely face behind us, and languidly reclining in a snug corner, I mused in silence upon the beautiful scenes I had passed through in our pilgrimage, until roused by a bustle in the road, just at the entrance of the capital, where men and boys, long poles and ropes, and that very respectable quadruped, dignified by Antiguans with cognomination of "a cattle," formed the _figurantes_. The poor creature had been landed from an American vessel that morning, at a neighbouring bay, and exhausted, I suppose, with the discomfits of its voyage, had fallen down on its way to the butcher's. I don't think its sufferings were of long continuance, for the next morning I heard the black bellman announcing to the public, that "A fine fat 'merican ox was slaughtered at the shambles of 'Seizar' James."[65]

But to conclude our adventures; we rapidly passed through the grass-market and the town, heard the jingle of many a piano and the squeak of many a flute, (I mean no disparagement to the performers,) almost ran over a pig or two, who, spite of a late prohibition, were walking out to enjoy the cool of the evening; and at length safely alighted at our residence in "Spring Gardens."

In the course of an hour or two, I willingly resigned myself to the dominion of sleep, and dreamt of mountains and thunder-storms, springs and fairies, precipices and lime-trees.

------

[62] "The highest mountains are not more than 1500 feet above the level of the sea."

[63] The above lines are taken from an epitaph written upon the Dowager Countess of Pembroke, sister to the celebrated Sir Philip Sidney one of the favourite courtiers of Queen Elizabeth, and author of a romance entitled "Arcadia," which he dedicated to his sister the Countess. On this account it is frequently called "the Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia." This lady was noted for her great learning, in an age when classical knowledge was the common accomplishments of the court ladies. Her principal work was a translation of "Antonius," a French tragedy.

"Underneath this marble hearse, Lies the subject of all verse. Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast kill'd another, Fair, and learn'd, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee."

[64] There is one great peculiarity in this plant which deserves notice. The leaves are cellular, and so formed as to make sure reservoirs for the drops of rain, which fall into them from the top, through small openings. The seeds are furnished with a downy substance, by which means they float through the air, and take root upon any part of a tree or shrub upon which they chance to fall. The leaves always grow erect, by which means they safely hold the rain water. Dampier mentions piercing these plants with his knife, and catching the water in his hat when suffering from thirst.

[65] It may be proper to note, that such events are not of everyday occurrence in Antigua. Not more than two "cattle" are slaughtered in the capital in a week, and when such deed is committed the bellman announces it to the public.