167 



tiful than the scenery. Our road lay along the 

 banks of the Rio Cobre, which runs up to Spanish 

 Town, where its floods frequently commit dreadful 

 ravages. Large masses of rock intercept its cur- 

 rent at small intervals, which, as well as its shal- 

 lowness, render it unnavigable. The cliffs and 

 trees are of the most gigantic size, and the road 

 goes so near the brink of a tremendous precipice, 

 that we were obliged always to send a servant for- 

 wards to warn any other carriage of our approach, 

 in order that it might stay in some broader part 

 while we passed it. A bridge had been attempted 

 to be built over the river, but a storm had demo- 

 lished it before its completion, and nothing was 

 now left standing but a single enormous arch. In 

 like manner, " the Dry River " sets all bridges at 

 defiance : when we crossed it between Old Har- 

 bour and Spanish Town, it was nothing but a 

 waste of sand ; but its floods frequently pour down 

 with irresistible strength and rapidity, and some- 

 times render it impassable for weeks together. I 

 was extremely delighted with the first ten miles of 

 this stage : unluckily, a mist then arose, so thick, 

 that it was utterly impossible even to guess at the 

 surrounding scenery; and the morning was so cold, 

 that I was very glad to wrap myself up in my cloak 

 as closely as if I had been travelling in an English 

 December. 



By the time of our leaving the West Tavern 

 the mist had dispersed, and I was able to ad- 



m 4 



