I fear that a stranger would feel a shock--and that not a slight
one--at the first sight of the average negro women of Port of Spain,
especially the younger. Their masculine figures, their ungainly
gestures, their loud and sudden laughter, even when walking alone,
and their general coarseness, shocks, and must shock. It must be
remembered that this is a seaport town; and one in which the licence
usual in such places on both sides of the Atlantic is aggravated by
the superabundant animal vigour and the perfect independence of the
younger women. It is a painful subject. I shall touch it in these
pages as seldom and as lightly as I can. There is, I verily
believe, a large class of Negresses in Port of Spain and in the
country, both Catholic and Protestant, who try their best to be
respectable, after their standard: but unfortunately, here, as
elsewhere over the world, the scum rises naturally to the top, and
intrudes itself on the eye. The men are civil fellows enough, if
you will, as in duty bound, be civil to them. If you are not, ugly
capacities will flash out fast enough, and too fast. If any one
says of the Negro, as of the Russian, 'He is but a savage polished
over: you have only to scratch him, and the barbarian shows
underneath:' the only answer to be made is--Then do not scratch him.
It will be better for you, and for him.

When you have ceased looking--even staring--at the black women and
their ways, you become aware of the strange variety of races which
people the city. Here passes an old Coolie Hindoo, with nothing on
but his lungee round his loins, and a scarf over his head; a white-
bearded, delicate-featured old gentleman, with probably some caste-
mark of red paint on his forehead; his thin limbs, and small hands
and feet, contrasting strangely with the brawny Negroes round.