In pursuance of our plan, I think we may mention filial affection, and the respect they pay it. It is but seldom that a child will behave ill to its parent; on the contrary, they generally do for them whatever lies in their power. Age, too, is particularly venerated; and the noisy little negroes at their sport will stop while one of their old people are passing, with “How d’ye, marm?” and “How d’ye, me pic’nee?” is the courteous reply. Generosity may also be mentioned among the “lights” of their character. When they see one of their own class in distress, they generally relieve them to the extent of their ability, and to their sorrows turn a listening ear. When any of their friends or relatives die, they commonly have some little offering to make to assist in defraying the expenses of the funeral. Sometimes they will carry a bottle of wine or porter— sometimes bread and cheese, or a few biscuits, &c.; but however small the article is, it is always gratefully received, for this feasting at a funeral is as necessary to their idea of etiquette as giving the corpse a shroud or a coffin. Nor do negroes always confine their generosity to their own colour, of which I can give a striking example. It is true, it does not much concern either “Antigua” or “the Antiguans,” but I have already apologized for wandering out of my path, and this comes so _apropos_, that I cannot refrain from mentioning it. In the course of my peregrinations through different parts of the world, it has been my fate to meet with many deplorable objects— the half-starved diseased negroes—the dirty emaciated North American Indians, and their miserable squaws, (as they term their wives,) suffering from the effects of the alcohol they purchase from their white brethren at the expense of their domestic joys— the ragged, quarrelsome “wild Irish,” “the finest _pisantry_ in the world,” in their own estimation—the deformed and almost naked beggars of England; but in all my travels I never saw so truly wretched a class, taking them altogether, as the poor white inhabitants of Barbados. I never shall forget the appearance they presented to my eyes upon my first visit to “Little England,” as the Barbadians in their pride call their pleasant little island. From the intense heat of the sun, and their constant exposure to its rays, their complexions are changed from a natural white to a fiery red. The women allow their long hair to float all down their backs, and be blown about by every zephyr. This may sound very pretty in poetry, but it is anything but pretty in _real life_, particularly when we take into consideration the colour and state of these locks; the fervent kisses of the “great luminary” has changed them into the appearance of dirty flax, while their disordered and matted condition brings the idea forcibly to your mind, that they have seldom, if ever, undergone the ordeal of “brush and comb.” With respect to their persons,