SAN JOSEF. 



the wont of West India roads, are as good as they would he 

 in Eiighand, hut on account of the quaint travellers along it, 

 and the quaint sights whicli are to he seen over every hedge. 

 You pass all the races of the island going to and from town 

 or field work, or washing clothes in some clear brook, beside 

 which a solemn Chinaman sits catching for his dinner strange 

 fishes, known to my learned friend, Dr. Giinther, and perhaps 

 to one or two other men in Europe : but certainly not to me. 

 Always somebody or something new and strange is to be seen, 

 for eight most pleasant miles. 



The road runs at first along a low^ cliff foot, with an ugl>' 

 Mangrove swamp, looking just like an alder-bed at home, 

 between you and the sea; a swamp which it would be worth 

 while to drain by a steam-pump, and then plant \\\i\\ coco- 

 nuts or bamboos ; for its miasma makes the southern corner of 

 Port of Spain utterly pestilential You cross a railroad, the 

 only one in the island, which goes to a limestone quarry, and 

 so out alono; a wide straight road, with Neg'ro cottao'es ri^^ht 

 and left, embowered in fruit and flowers. They grow fewer 

 and finer as you ride on ; and soon you are in open country, 

 principally of large paddocks. These paddocks, like all West 

 Indian ones, are apt to be ragged with weeds and scrub. But 

 the coarse broad-leaved grasses seem to keep the mules in 

 good condition enough, at least in the rainy season. Most of 

 these paddocks have, 1 believe, been under cane cultivation 



