We take the fashionable drive of Saigon, the _tour d'inspection_. Off we go, flying as the wind, past some native houses, built on piles over a green swamp, with waving palms above them. Here flourish the Cochin China pig, the real pig of original breed, with its pink, bow-shaped back, and earth-touching stomach, and the bright-plumaged Cochin China fowls. We should like to buy specimens of the animals that have made Cochin China celebrate at home, but doubt the warmth of our reception on board-ship if we return with them. We cross the bridge, and look over the hundreds of sampans that swarm up this creek of the river; then drive along for a few yards by the steam tramway which connects the China town of Cholons with Saigon, out under the cool wide avenues of the Quai du Commerce, with its arsenal and Bureaux d'Affaires. The roads are as flat and firm as a billiard table.
Beautiful boulevards, wide streets, great cafés, where pale-faced Frenchmen sip absinthe and petits verres. It is Paris. Bravo, La France! But it would be much better for these gay causeurs, to play lawn-tennis, and football, cricket, rackets and rounders, as do the English at Hong Kong, Singapore, and Colombo, thus defying, in large measure, or at least postponing, the action of the tropics. It is thirty years since the French acquired Saigon and Cochin China. At one time it promised to be a prosperous colony. But that day is past. Commercial depression reigns supreme, and France wearies of the large subsidies swallowed up without results by Tonquin. That, though, is not our business. We rather admire the feats of engineering, of laying out, and the horticultural skill.
[Illustration: BOTANICAL GARDEN, SAIGON.]
We see this in perfection in the Jardin d'Acclimitasion, but with a wealth of natural vegetation, how easy it is to make a garden such a paradise as is this. In the deep bend of the river are the green lawns and forest-trees of this botanical garden. There are banyan trees with their trellise curtains of roots sweeping the ground, cacti in a mighty spiky group, standing apart. Single aloes, with their blooming crests, and the palms--they form a palmery of themselves, with the various specimens of cocoa or tree palms, their straight grey stems tufted at the top; of sago palms, with their graceful curving arms, shadowing the lawns; of travellers, with their hands of mighty fingers outspread from the single stem, all and every kind luxuriantly magnificent, a single one of which would assist in making the fortune of a London florist, such as we who see them dwarfed and frozen when exiled to our northern climes, are scarcely able to realize that they are of the same species. There are magnolias and camellias, growing to the height of our forest trees, bamboo clumps, whose single-jointed stems spring equally high, and mimosa trees, with their tender sensitive leaf, as spreading as our chestnuts. And all these trees are banked up with and grow out of brilliant beds of variegated green and yellow crotons, of caladiums, with their enormous boat-shaped leaves of pink oleanders, of crimson hibiscus, and purple bougainvillea, and cconvolvulus, whilst orange and lemon trees, India rubber and mangoes, mingle with the heavy green and yellow melon-like fruit of the pommelo. In the midst of this is an aviary, and cages of rare animals, natives of these tropical regions. We particularly notice the white pigeon, with the single blood-red spot on the bosom.