After receiving his orders, and well poising his load upon his back, the man started upon his journey. The weather was very sultry, and the way was very long; the bag was very heavy, and poor _blacky_ was very tired. Still he plodded on “his weary way,” stopping only now and then to dash the flowing perspiration from his brow, and had arrived within a mile of his home, when he was suddenly joined by a friend. “Eh, buddy! (brother) why you loaded true! War you got in that great big bag?” “’Tornes, (stones,) me friend.” “’Tornes! why war you go do wid dem all, eh?” “Me no no. Massa gubbunor gib me dem to _fetch_ home, but me no no war he go do wid dem; me no dem well heaby though.” “Well, if eber me hear de like! for one somebody to go haul all dem ’tornes sich a long way, when dere plenty ob dem all ’bout ‘Dows Hill.’ I tell you war me go do if deys gib me dem to carry, me go heabe dem ebery bit away, an when me get to de ‘Hill,’ fill me bag wid some of dem big ’tornes as stop all ’bout dere—sure one ’torne as good as anoder.” “’Tank’e, me friend, me neber think ob dat me sure; but if you just help me down wid dem, me soon do war you tell me.” No sooner said than done; the splendid specimens were thrown away without compunction, and the negro, who found it much easier to march with an empty bag than with his former load, sped on his way joyfully. At the bottom of “Dows Hill” he stopped, and once more replenished his bag with the rough stones, which liberally bestrewed the pathway, choosing the largest for the purpose. These he safely conveyed to his master’s study, carefully shut the door, and left them. The surprise and consternation of the governor when, upon inspecting, as he thought, his hard-earned specimens, he found only a heap of useless rubbish—the interrogations he addressed to his servant, and the ludicrous answers of the negro,—are matters for the imagination to dwell upon. It is customary with many store-keepers in this island to wash the outside of their stores or shops, yellow, or some other colour. Should this take the fancy of a negro as he passes, he immediately exclaims—“Ah, me like dat, massa’s ’tore really look gran; he whitewash he yellow, an make he stop quite good, de trute!” With regard to the negro tongue, much cannot be said for its purity; the Creole negroes speak a dialect bad enough, but the Africans’ is almost unintelligible. There is one peculiarity in their mode of speech very remarkable—the making use of only one gender. For example:—if they speak of a female, or any inanimate object, they invariably say _he_; thus, if a woman is speaking of her sister, she says, “_he_, my sissy;” or of something that particularly attracts their notice, they exclaim—“_he_ one handsome house,” or “_he_ one gran’ carriage.”