Having endeavoured to give the Antiguan definition of lumber, I will now proceed to describe “the yard.” It is generally entered by passing through the store, at the hazard of putting your foot into pools of rosin or varnish, slipping over stray peas, or half-breaking your neck over heaps of brickbats. At length the yard is gained, and drawing a long breath, as much from heat as exercise, I look around. On each side of the door are huge stacks of staves, piled up in a very uniform manner, used for making hogsheads or tierces for packing sugar, or puncheons for the conveyance of rum. In other parts of the yard are bundles of cypress or cedar shingles,[69] white and pitch pine boards, planks and scantlings, all packed in appropriate order; that is, when they are not landing cargoes, and the master has an eye to tidy appearances; but if this is not the case, the different species of lumber are tumbling about in all directions. Then there are large sheds erected in various parts of the yard, for the purpose of securing “hard-wood” (as mahogany, mill-timber, &c.) from the effects of the weather. There is also very generally a pigeon-house or two to be met with, and their pretty inmates may be seen gliding about, picking up the scattered grain, or, perched upon one of the lumber stacks, watch your every movement with their bright round eyes, while their variegated breasts glitter in the sun-beams like so many gems. At the bottom of the yard large gates open to the sea, furnished with a huge crane; and here it is that all those incongruous articles which fill their stores, and bring wealth to their coffers, are landed. When the merchants are visited by certain fears and twitchings, relative to the fact of their not being able to dispose of their diversified merchandise, they “call an auction;” and under the auspices of the red flag,[70] and with the assistance of the auctioneer’s lungs and hammer, instead of harlequin’s magic wand, turn all these “creature’s comforts” into pounds, shillings, and pence. In some parts of the town are auction rooms, where, with the same laudable zeal for “charming variety,” things as distinct from each other as the nadir is from the zenith, are put up, the mysterious words “going, going, _gone_” uttered, and finally knocked down to the attendants—whites, blacks, and coloured. Having mentioned the stores of those philanthropists, who, for the mere consideration of a little dirty _pelf_, undertake to provide so liberally for the inner man, it will be necessary to take a look at those temples of fashion, fancy, and fascination, commonly known in this island as “Scotch shops,” or in other words, Antiguan haberdashery stores.