Six months in the West-Indies, in 1825

118 ST. LUCIA. a wine glass in my bedroom in Trinidad, and, in order to verify some accounts, which I have heard doubted, I ascertained the hour on my watch by its light alone with the utmost facility *.

We drank tea at the Pavilion, one of the best houses in the West Indies. It is situated on a terrace almost at the edge of the cliff, and the prospect from it by the light of an interlunar sky was most beautiful; the long and deep bay, the broken peninsula of the Vigie, the sea beyond with the Pigeon Rock, the town glimmering with lights, and the dark woods and mountains behind form the outline of the picture.

If the blood of those thrice gallant men which nas been shed like water on the Vigie and Morne Fortune was not to be shed in vain, much must be done to render St. Lucia a valuable acquisition to England. At present it is a British colony in little more than the name. The religion is Romish, and the spirit of its ministers bigoted and intractable. The people are French in language, manners, and feelings. No progress has been made in amalgamating the two nations; nay, every attempt at it has been openly thwarted by the Romish clergy. They have * In Port of Spain they tell a story of a lady appearing at a ball in a black silk gown with a splendid trimming of fire-flies. I forget whether the poor things were strung through, like cockchafers, to keep them in spirits.