In the good old days, when men called things by their proper names, those islands which run down in a string from north to south, from the Virgin Islands to the mouth of the Orinoco River, were called the Windward Islands—the Windward or Caribbean Islands. They were also called the Lesser Antilles. The Leeward Islands were, and properly speaking are, another cluster lying across the coast of Venezuela, of which Cura?oa is the chief. Oruba and Margarita also belong to this lot, among which, England, I believe, never owned any.*

    [*The greater Antilles are Cuba, Jamaica, Hayti, and Porto Rico, though I am not quite sure whether Porto Rico does not more properly belong to the Virgin Islands. The scattered assemblage to the north of the greater Antilles are the Bahamas, at one of the least considerable of which, San Salvador, Columbus first landed. Those now named, I believe, comprise all the West India Islands.]

But now-a-days we Britishers are not content to let the Dutch and others keep a separate name for themselves; we have, therefore, divided the Lesser Antilles, of which the greater number belong to ourselves, and call the northern portion of these the Leeward Islands. Among them Antigua is the chief, and is the residence of a governor supreme in this division.

After leaving St. Thomas the first island seen of any note is St. Christopher, commonly known as St. Kitts, and Nevis is close to it. Both these colonies are prospering fairly. Sugar is exported, now I am told in increasing, though still not in great quantities, and the appearance of the cultivation is good. Looking up the side of the hills one sees the sugar-canes apparently in cleanly order, and they have an air of substantial comfort. Of course the times are not so bright as in the fine old days previous to emancipation; but nevertheless matters have been on the mend, and people are again beginning to get along. On the journey from Nevis to Antigua, Montserrat is sighted, and a singular island-rock called the Redonda is seen very plainly. Montserrat, I am told, is not prospering so well as St. Kitts or Nevis.

These islands are not so beautiful, not so greenly beautiful, as are those further south to which we shall soon come. The mountains of Nevis are certainly fine as they are seen from the sea, but they are not, or do not seem to be covered with that delicious tropical growth which is so lovely in Jamaica and Trinidad, and, indeed, in many of the smaller islands.

Antigua is the next, going southward. This was, and perhaps is, an island of some importance. It is said to have been the first of the West Indian colonies which itself advocated the abolition of slavery, and to have been the only one which adopted complete emancipation at once, without any intermediate system of apprenticeship. Antigua has its own bishop, whose diocese includes also such of the Virgin Islands as belong to us, and the adjacent islands of St. Kitts, Nevis, and Montserrat.

Neither is Antigua remarkable for its beauty. It is approached, however, by an excellent and picturesque harbour, called English Harbour, which in former days was much used by the British navy; indeed, I believe it was at one time the head-quarters of a naval station. Premising, in the first place, that I know very little about harbours, I would say that nothing could be more secure than that. Whether or no it may be easy for sailing vessels to get in and out with certain winds, that, indeed, may be doubtful.

St. John\'s, the capital of Antigua, is twelve miles from English Harbour. I was in the island only three or four hours, and did not visit it. I am told that it is a good town—or city, I should rather say, now that it has its own bishop.

In all these islands they have Queen, Lords, and Commons in one shape or another. It may, however, be hoped, and I believe trusted, that, for the benefit of the communities, matters chiefly rest in the hands of the first of the three powers. The other members of the legislature, if they have in them anything of wisdom to say, have doubtless an opportunity of saying it—perhaps also an opportunity when they have nothing of wisdom. Let us trust, however, that such opportunities are limited.

After leaving Antigua we come to the French island of Guadaloupe, and then passing Dominica, of which I will say a word just now, to Martinique, which is also French. And here we are among the rich green wild beauties of these thrice beautiful Caribbean islands. The mountain grouping of both these islands is very fine, and the hills are covered up to their summits with growth of the greenest. At both these islands one is struck with the great superiority of the French West Indian towns to those which belong to us. That in Guadaloupe is called Basseterre, and the capital of Martinique is St. Pierre. These towns offer remarkable contrasts to Roseau and Port Castries, the chief towns in the adjacent English islands of Dominica and St. Lucia. At the French ports one is landed at excellently contrived little piers, with proper apparatus for lighting, and well-kept steps. The quays are shaded by trees, the streets are neat and in good order, and the shops show that ordinary trade is thriving. There are water conduits with clear streams through the towns, and every thing is ship-shape. I must tell a very different tale when I come to speak of Dominica and St. Lucia.

The reason for this is, I think, well given in a useful guide to the West Indies, published some years since, under the direction of the Royal Mail Steam-Packet Company. Speaking of St. Pierre, in Martinique, the author says: "The streets are neat, regular, and cleanly. The houses are high, and have more the air of European houses than those of the English colonies. Some of the streets have an avenue of trees, which overshadow the footpath, and on either side are deep gutters, down which the water flows. There are five booksellers houses, and the fashions are well displayed in other shops. The French colonists, whether Creoles* or French, consider the West Indies as their country. They cast no wistful looks towards France. They marry, educate, and build in and for the West Indies, and for the West Indies alone. In our colonies it is different. They are considered more as temporary lodging-places, to be deserted as soon as the occupiers have made money enough by molasses and sugar to return home."

    [*It should be understood that a Creole is a person born in the West Indies, of a race not indigenous to the islands. There may be white Creoles, coloured Creoles, or black Creoles. People talk of Creole horses and Creole poultry; those namely which have not been themselves imported, but which have been bred from imported stock. The meaning of the word Creole is, I think, sometimes misunderstood.]

All this is quite true. There is something very cheering to an English heart in that sound, and reference to the word home—in that great disinclination to the idea of life-long banishment. But nevertheless, the effect as shown in these islands is not satisfactory to the amour propre of an Englishman. And it is not only in the outward appearance of things that the French islands excel those belonging to England which I have specially named. Dominica and St. Lucia export annually about 6,000 hogsheads of sugar each. Martinique exports about 60,000 hogsheads. Martinique is certainly rather larger than either of the other two, but size has little or nothing to do with it. It is anything rather than want of fitting soil which makes the produce of sugar so inconsiderable in Dominica and St. Lucia.

These French islands were first discovered by the Spaniards; but since that time they, as well as the two English islands above named, have passed backwards and forwards between the English and French, till it was settled in 1814 that Martinique and Guadaloupe should belong to France, and Dominica and St. Lucia, with some others, to England. It certainly seems that France knew how to take care of herself in the arrangement.

There is another little island belonging to France, at the back of Guadaloupe to the westward, called Marie-Galante; but I believe it is but of little value.

To my mind, Dominica, as seen from the sea, is by far the most picturesque of all these islands. Indeed, it would be difficult to beat it either in colour or grouping. It fills one with an ardent desire to be off and rambling among those green mountains—as if one could ramble through such wild, bush country, or ramble at all with the thermometer at 85. But when one has only to think of such things without any idea of doing them, neither the bushes nor the thermometer are considered.

One is landed at Dominica on a beach. If the water be quiet, one gets out dryshod by means of a strong jump; if the surf be high, one wades through it; if it be very high, one is of course upset. The same things happen at Jacmel, in Hayti; but then Englishmen look on the Haytians as an uncivilized, barbarous race. Seeing that Dominica lies just between Martinique and Guadaloupe, the difference between the English beach and surf and the French piers is the more remarkable.

And then, the perils of the surf being passed, one walks into the town of Roseau. It is impossible to conceive a more distressing sight. Every house is in a state of decadence. There are no shops that can properly be so called; the people wander about chattering, idle and listless; the streets are covered with thick, rank grass; there is no sign either of money made or of money making. Everything seems to speak of desolation, apathy, and ruin. There is nothing, even in Jamaica, so sad to look at as the town of Roseau.

The greater part of the population are French in manner, religion, and language, and one would be so glad to attribute to that fact this wretched look of apathetic poverty—if it were only possible. But we cannot do that after visiting Martinique and Guadaloupe. It might be said that a French people will not thrive under British rule. But if so, what of Trinidad? This look of misery has been attributed to a great fire which occurred some eighty years since; but when due industry has been at work great fires have usually produced improved towns. Now eighty years have afforded ample time for such improvement if it were forthcoming. Alas! it would seem that it is not forthcoming.

It must, however, be stated in fairness that Dominica produces more coffee than sugar, and that the coffee estates have latterly been the most thriving. Singularly enough, her best customer has been the neighbouring French island of Martinique, in which some disease has latterly attacked the coffee plants.

We then reach St. Lucia, which is also very lovely as seen from the sea. This, too, is an island French in its language, manners, and religion; perhaps more entirely so than any other of the islands belonging to ourselves. The laws even are still French, and the people are, I believe, blessed (?) with no Lords and Commons. If I understand the matter rightly, St. Lucia is h............