An even pleasanter sight we saw once in that large room, a sort of agricultural and horticultural show, which augured well for the future of the colony.  The flowers were not remarkable, save for the taste shown in their arrangement, till one recollected that they were not brought from hothouses, but grown in mid-winter in the open air.  The roses, of which West Indians are very fond, as they are of all ‘home,’ i.e.  European, flowers, were not as good as those of Europe.  The rose in Trinidad, though it flowers three times a year, yet, from the great heat and moisture, runs too much to wood.  But the roots, especially the different varieties of yam, were very curious; and their size proved the wonderful food-producing powers of the land when properly cultivated.  The poultry, too, were worthy of an English show.  Indeed, the fowl seems to take to tropical America as the horse has to Australia, as to a second native-land; and Trinidad alone might send an endless supply to the fowl-market of the Northern States, even if that should not be quite true which some one said, that you might turn an old cock loose in the bush, and he, without further help, would lay more eggs, and bring up more chickens, than you could either eat or sell.

But the most interesting element of that exhibition was the coconut fibre products of Messrs. Uhrich and Gerold, of which more in another place.  In them lies a source of further wealth to the colony, which may stand her in good stead when Port of Spain becomes, as it must become, one of the great emporiums of the West.

Since our visit the great ballroom has seen—­even now is seeing—­ strange vicissitudes.  For the new Royal College, having as yet no buildings of its own, now keeps school, it is said, therein—­alas for the inkstains on that beautiful floor!  And by last advices, a ‘troupe of artistes’ from Martinique, there being no theatre in Port of Spain, have been doing their play-acting in it; and Terpsichore and Thalia (Melpomene, I fear, haunts not the stage of Martinique) have been hustling all the other Muses downstairs at sunset, and joining their jinglings to the chorus of tom-toms and chac-chacs which resounds across the Savannah, at least till 10 p.m., from all the suburbs.

The road—­and all the roads round Port of Spain, thanks to Sir Ralph Woodford, are as good as English roads—­runs between the Savannah and the mountain spurs, and past the Botanic Gardens, which are a credit, in more senses than one, to the Governors of the island.  For in them, amid trees from every quarter of the globe, and gardens kept up in the English fashion, with fountains, too, so necessary in this tropical clime, stood a large ‘Government House.’  This house was some years ago destroyed; and the then Governor took refuge in a cottage just outside the garden.  A sum of money was voted to rebuild the big house:  but the Governors, to their honour, have preferred living in the cottage, adding to it from time to time what was necessary for mere comfort; and have given the old gardens to the city, as a public pleasure-ground, kept up at Government expense.