The beautiful description in the song of Mignon, in the "Wilhelm Meister" of Goethe, of a land of fruits and flowers, will apply with singular felicity to these Windward Islands: "Know'st thou the land where the pale citron grows, And the gold orange through dark foliage glows?
A soft wind flutters from the deep blue sky, The myrtle blooms, and towers the laurel high.

Know'st thou it well ?" I have sometimes wondered why the capitalists of New England, in search of recreation and pleasure for themselves and families instead of crossing the Atlantic to visit the oft-described and stale wonders of the Old World, do not charter a yacht or a packet schooner, and with a goodly company take a trip to the West Indies, sail around and among these islands, visit places of interest, accept the hospitality of the planters, which is always freely bestowed, and thus secure a fund of rational enjoyment, gratify a laudable curiosity in relation to the manners and habits of the people of the torrid zone, and bring away a multitude of agreeable impressions on their minds, which will keep vivid and fresh the remainder of their lives.
After leaving Martinico, we found, on broaching our provisions, that they were of bad quality, of the worst possible description.

The bread, deposited in bags, was of a dark color, coarse texture, and French manufacture.

It must have been of an inferior kind when new and fresh, and a long tarry in a tropical climate was not calculated to improve its character.

Besides being mouldy, it was dotted with insects, of an unsightly appearance and unsavory flavor.