and the truant insects returned to their hive, to the great joy of the observant overseer. “Ah! ah!” said he, as they alighted, heavily laden with their luscious store, “a pretty trick you have played me to-day; but by my patron saint, I will take care of you to-morrow.” He watched until they were all safe housed; and then with hurried steps, and self-congratulatory hitches of the shoulders, he sought the spot where masons had been lately working. Providing himself with some of the soft mortar, he again visited the apiary; and with ready will, and determined purpose, applied to the opening of each hive a sufficient quantum of the cement, so as to effectually forbid the egress of any bee. It is almost needless to mention, that upon the return of the gentleman, whose absence had been protracted, he found his favourite insects defunct; nor need I animadvert upon the vexation his overseer’s management of an apiary caused him.

To resume my subject​—​which the bees, and their untimely fate, drove from my head: after inspecting the school, and expressing our gratification, we proceeded to visit the Methodist chapel, a stone’s throw from the school-room. It is a plain wooden building, measuring 45 feet by 60 feet, and capable of containing 900 sittings. The burying-ground is attached, and serves as the place of interment for the whole town, and some part of the adjoining country. Adjacent to the chapel is the mission-house, a neat little domicile for such an extraordinary-looking place as Bridgetown.

There is nothing interesting about Willoughby Bay. No glittering white sand, or clear blue water with its dazzling surf to be seen. A line of blighted, sickly-looking bushes shuts out the sight of the beach; and the part of the bay which greets our eyes looks gloomy and discoloured, as if from lurking reefs and shoals. Upon the opposite side of the bay, looking across the water, lies the Memoras, a long ridge of rocks, over which the sea rushes with tremendous force, and with a deafening noise, which may be heard at a considerable distance. Upon a still day, the angry moan of the waves can be clearly distinguished at Bridgetown. Willoughby Bay derives its name from Francis Lord Willoughby, who in 1663 was made Lord Proprietor of the whole island, by a grant from Charles II.[[98]]

St. Philip’s, the parish church, is situated upon an ascent, at some distance from Bridgetown, and commands one of the finest views to be met with in any part of the country. The eye ranges with delight over sloping hills and open glades; wood-crowned mountains, and silent valleys. Sugar plantations, in all the beauty of high cultivation, spread out their fields of rich and wavy green beneath our feet, interspersed with groups of simple negro huts, almost hid in their leafy enclosures; while on all sides, the ocean stretched out its interminable blue waters. It was a lovely day when we visited the spot,—

“The whispering winds were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the woods, and on the deep,
The smiles of heaven lay.

It seem’d as if the day was one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which shed to earth above the sun,
A light of paradise.”

Of the first church dedicated to St. Philip no account can be given; but most probably it was built about the year 1690. The second church to that saint was erected about 1717. It was a wooden building, and no doubt possessed but little claim to architectural beauty. The present church is one of the prettiest I have seen in the West Indies. It is built of the smooth freestone, so generally found in Antiguan quarries; the only fault is, that they are cut too small, which, at a distance, gives them more the appearance of white bricks.

The plan, like many of the other Antiguan churches, is cruciform; but there is so much chasteness displayed in the simple arrangement of the interior, that it must please every eye. The large oriel window is furnished with ground-glass, of the most elegant, yet simple devices; and the neat pulpit and desk,​—​the altar, gallery, and pulpit rails,​—​the wooden columns which support the roof,​—​the pews and doors, painted in excellent representation of rich-grained oak, please by their uniformity. They are in the gothic style. The decorations of the altar are very plain, merely consisting of the tables of the Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Creed.

Leaving the town of Bermudian Valley (of which I think there is scarcely a relic) “alone in its glory,” we come to Parham, the remaining place of trade appointed during the time Col. Rowland Williams held the deputy-governorship of Antigua. Parham takes its name from the title of Lord William Willoughby of Parham. In 1697, after the decease of Christopher Codrington, Esq., (the elder,) Parham appears to have been the residence of the lieutenant-governor, in preference to St. John’s; and this circumstance gives rise to the statement of some authors, that Parham was once the capital of the island. It is another of those strangely straggling places whose streets are in many parts bordered with dagger (aloe vulgaris) instead of houses; but still it is far superior to Bridgetown, for some of its edifices boast of covered galleries, or balconies, flights of stone steps, and many other decorations.

The parish church of St. Peter’s, the second of the name, is an old dismal looking building, whose outward appearance is enough to give the observer a fit of that fashionable complaint, dyspepsia. It was erected in 1754, and affords 300 sittings. St. Peter’s has a chapel-of-ease, the private property of the Rev. Nat. Gilbert, a descendant of the “founder of Methodism” in Antigua, who was speaker of the house of assembly in 1764.

From some strange freak, or else from dire necessity, Parham churchyard is situated at about two miles distance from the church and town. It was formerly surrounded by a brick wall, but that is all falling to ruin. A more desolate-looking burying-ground I never saw​—​not a tree or flower near it; the very birds in their aerial wanderings seem to shun the spot.