There is an Englishman by the name of Hunter, who has a sugar plantation on this island, and employs seventy five hands, all natives of the country. He has about one hundred and seventy five acres under improvement. The sugar manufactured here is of good quality. There is a kind of root that grows here called tarrow, which resembles a potatoe. This is the only vegetable that I saw cultivated on the island. To raise these, the people burn over a spot during the dry season, and sow the seed, and get it in with sticks, where the land is not very mellow. It generally will sprout, and grow without any labor being bestowed upon it after sowing. The roots are fit for use in three months. These are cooked by roasting as we roast potatoes.

There is a missionary on this island, and the people are more intelligent than most of the other islanders in that vicinity.—They are one of the most peaceable and happy people with whom the writer was ever acquainted. They seem to be peculiarly the favorites of our Great Father. Possessing one of the most salubrious of climates, with every thing formed in nature, and growing spontaneously for their support, they are well fitted to enjoy life and all its attendant blessings. They are happy in their poverty, and contented in their simplicity; and I assure my readers, that it was not without many painful sensations, that I left this ocean isle, and its peaceful inhabitants. May God ever be with, and preserve them for their many acts of benevolence, shown to the writer of this narrative, when a stranger thrown among them, and more than fourteen thousand miles from the land of his nativity.

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