Father Labat's motive in drawing so glorified a picture of Barbados
peeps out at the end of his account, for he drily remarks that the
fortifications of the island were most inadequate, and that it could
easily be captured by the French; he was clearly making an appeal to
his countrymen's cupidity.

Upon making the acquaintance of Bridgetown some twenty years after my
first quarantine visit, I can hardly endorse Father Labat's opinion
that the streets are strikingly handsome, for Bridgetown, like most
British West Indian towns, looks as though all the houses were built
of cards or paper. It is, however, a bright, cheery little spot, seems
prosperous enough, and has its own Trafalgar Square, decorated with
its own very fine statue of Nelson. Every house both in Jamaica and
Barbados is fitted with sash-windows in the English style. This
fidelity to the customs of the motherland is very touching but hardly
practical, for in the burning climate of the West Indies every
available breath of fresh air is welcome. With French windows, the
entire window-space can be opened; with sashes, one-half of the window
remains necessarily blocked.

Let strangers beware of "Barbados Green Bitters." It is a most
comforting local cocktail, apparently quite innocuous. It is not;
under its silkiness it is abominably potent. One "green bitter" is
food, two are dangerous.

In St. John's churchyard, some fourteen miles from Bridgetown, is to
be seen one of the most striking examples of the vanity of human
greatness. A stone reproduction of the porch of a Greek temple bears
this inscription,