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ANTIGUA.
As Parians see in marble ; skin more fair, More glorious head, and far more glorious hair ; Eyes full of grace and quickness — A milder white composes Your stately fronts ; your breath more sweet than his Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss.
St. John’s is prettily situated on the top and declivities of a moderate eminence on the west side of the island. The streets are wide and laid out at right angles, and are generally clean. They are, however, for the most part stuck full of such purgatorial stones that I doubt if a saint could walk to Paradise, if the road thither were paved with the like of them. The Antigonians delight in a vehicle called a John Bott, which, with the single exception of the patache from Fontainebleau to Orleans, is the most inhuman carriage that ever was invented at the instigation of the Devil for the use of rheumatic man. It is, in fact, the upper moiety of a sentry-hox clapped bodily upon two gig wheels ; up and down, down and up, this way and that way are you banged about, till your head aches, your teeth get on edge, and your stomach is sea-sick. Fifty-one thousand black angels, as said the choleric Manchegan, seize the guilty idolon of John Bott, and trot him into madness in one of his own creations on the stoniest roads of Tartarus! — neque enim lex sequior ulla est, Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.