The day was very favourable to our undertaking, for it was fine, but overcast. The sun was robbed of his extreme lustre by the intervention of various clouds, which passed along the sky in many beautiful forms. Some dark as ebon night; others of a silverish grey; the eastern ones tinged with gold and purple; while some again looked so white and fleecy, that you could fancy them so many snow-wreaths spread out upon an ocean of blue. The lights and shadows, too, of the far mountains, with all their blended tints, were beautiful objects in the landscape; and the occasional sight of a herd or two of cattle, standing in their usual dreamy posture, completed the picture. We passed several windmills (used in grinding the sugar-cane) with their sails unfurled, and going round merrily in the breeze; but unlike Don Quixote, I took them not for so many giants, nor wished myself a knight-errant, that I might rescue the “beautiful and high-born damsels” from their clutches. The road to English Harbour is, however, for the most part dull and uninteresting; only here and there a pretty prospect attracts the eye. But on this day (Monday[84]) it was rendered more cheerful by the groups of negroes, who, of every age and sex, were coming into town to purchase their weekly stores. Baskets, trays, and boxes—all kinds of vessels, indeed—were placed in critical positions upon their heads; but this appeared to cause no impediment to their ambling gait, while the chatter and song among themselves, and the smile and courtesy as they passed us, with the accustomed “How d’ye, massa?” “How d’ye, missis?” shewed that they considered their errand as one of pleasure rather than of toil. Carts were also put into requisition by the more extensive purchasers; some drawn by a ragged Canadian pony, similar to the little Sheltie breed; others by a tall grim-looking American horse, with its bones sticking out as bare as “Rozinante’s;” and others again dragged along by a slight-made Creole, its mane and tail the colour of flax. Cattle carts were also bringing in loads of sugar, drawn by six miserable-looking oxen two abreast, their poor necks weighed down by the heavy wooden yokes. In one part of the road we passed All Saints’ chapel of ease, belonging to the parish of St. John’s. It is a very plain building, surmounted by a gothic pinnacle, answering the purpose of a steeple, with an aperture in the middle, intended, I suppose, for the admission of a bell.