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.