“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.