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.