St. John’s, as the capital of the island, has already been noticed in a chapter by itself, and it now devolves upon me to endeavour to describe, what is almost indescribable, the arrangement of the other towns, which, with the exception of Bermudian Valley, are still in a state of existence.

To commence with Falmouth. As it lies just before the traveller gains English Harbour, the road to it is the same already mentioned in our journey to that place; and consequently another description would be tiresome and superfluous. I must, however, remark that near the entrance of the town a pretty turn in the road leaves the blank-looking country, which so generally predominates between Falmouth and the capital, and leads you into a kind of defile; on one side, bordered by rugged banks thickly covered with the yellow acacia, and its sweet-scented blossoms; and on the other, by the picturesque ascent of Monk’s Hill, surmounted by all its frowning battlements.[[97]]

The town of Falmouth is noted for being the first part of the island settled upon by the English, who, under the command of Mr. Warner, son of Sir Thomas Warner, emigrated from St. Christopher’s in 1632, and laid out the surrounding country in fields of tobacco, cotton, and ginger, which were for some years after the staple commodities of Antigua.

Humble as might have been the architectural ornaments of this town in those early days, it seems almost an impossibility to suppose them less then than they are at present; for if strangers (from some of our bustling maritime cities in Europe, for instance) were suddenly and unconsciously landed in the streets of Falmouth, they would to all certainty believe them to be so many pathways to the “castle of indolence;” and the irregular and dismal-looking buildings to be the habitations of some lawless, vagrant tribe. A few four-cornered houses, in shape like a pigeon-coop, and of dimensions to suit a dweller of Lilliput, are elevated a short distance from the ground by being placed upon empty boxes or barrels, or four pillars of rudely-piled stones, which arrangement forms a snug retreat for the pigs or poultry of the inmate, or serves as a reservoir for sundry discarded pots and pans, or other “household gods.” These habitations are as variously placed as the taste of their owners may chance to dictate. Some present an acute angle, others a broadside to the eye of passengers. Some stand in what I suppose is intended to represent a garden, whose rank weeds and straggling vegetables are guarded from the steps of the unwelcome marauder only by a gate, made from empty candle-boxes or barrel-heads, flanked by a thinly sprinkled row of some dwarf shrub, over which the gallant “Xit” (whom Mr. Ainsworth has so cleverly called into existence in his admirable “Tower of London”) could have stepped with the greatest ease; letting alone the frequent lapses in the enclosure, through which a bulky man might readily pass. To make all secure, however, these rustic gates are generally garnished with a huge padlock, which is of course carefully locked whenever the owner is absent; while the key, with admirable precaution, is tucked into some little peep-hole near, that it may be ready for the use of any stray visitants.

A few of these dwellings are, however, of superior form and fabric; and one stands forth in all the glories of palisading, and if I mistake not, bright green verandahs. It looks, by the side of its pigmy neighbours, like the Colossus of Rhodes, to the mandarin figures in our English grocers’ shops.

The present church, dedicated to St. Paul, is a plain, uninteresting-looking building, standing at the outskirts of the town, and capable of affording about 400 sittings.

The churchyard might be made as picturesque, and looks as quiet, as some of those pretty rural burial-places we oftentimes alight upon in dear old England’s sequestered nooks. Some fine trees, and a few handsome monuments, are to be met with; and if the rank grass was cleared away a little, and some of the various beautiful flowers, which are to be found in all parts of the island, planted there, it would present a spot equalling in appearance many of our modern cemeteries.

It may by some be thought folly thus to beautify the place of death​—​to garnish that spot where the worm revels upon the once animated clay!​—​to plant the gladsome, gaily-tinted flowers where all is mouldering beneath! Be it so​—​yet would I see the flowers blooming over the grave of those I have loved, and while seated near, feel that the bitterness of death is past, and that their happy disembodied spirits range, free from all sorrows, amid the amaranthine bowers of heaven! Like the late talented and oft-lamented “L. E. L.,” I love to frequent the scene of our last resting-place​—​like her, to—

“Stand beneath the haunted yew,
And watch each quiet tomb;
And in the ancient churchyard feel
Solemnity, not gloom.

The place is purified with hope—
The hope that is of prayer;
And human love, and heavenward thought,
And pious faith are there.

The golden cord which binds us all
Is loosed, not rent in twain;
And love, and hope, and fear unite,
To bring the past again.”

The parochial school is held in a small house near the church. It is conducted upon the same plan as the other schools of the kind in Antigua; the instruction consisting of lessons in reading, writing, arithmetic, repetition of catechism and hymns, and plain-work for the girls.