We could not leave this part of the island without paying a visit to that very remarkable phenomenon of nature, the Pitch Lake of La Brea. A party of friends was formed in Port of Spain (among whom I must mention the Rev J. Brodie, whose christian affection and kindness, on this and other occasions, I most gratefully record), and we joined them on board the gulf steamer, on its arrival at the jetty of San Fernando. An hour's run on the placid waters of the gulf, brought us to a low promontory, formed by the flow of the pitch from the lake into the sea. The shore was black, and strewed with nodules of pitch. After a brief delay, a cart was obtained, a plank for crossing fissures and runnels of water, and, with a few refreshments, we set forth. A gradual ascent of about a mile, along a road formed by the pitch, brought us to the borders of the lake, or rather lagoon. On either side of the black road, the grass grows luxuriantly; some low hills skirted it at a little distance. At the edge of the lake we dismounted, and laden with the plank, set out to cross it. At first the surface was undulating and hard; but gradually became soft as we neared the centre, where we found the pitch in a state of ebullition, boiling up, and spreading itself slowly about.