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