The Homes of the New World/Letter XXXII.

by Fredrika Bremer

LETTER XXXII.

Havannah, Cuba, Feb. 5. 

Sweet Child!—I am sitting beneath the warm bright heavens, and the beautiful palms of the tropics, and it is lovely and wonderful! The glorious, delicious air, the beautiful palm trees are paradisaical; the rest, I suspect, affords pleasure rather through its novelty, its dissimilarity with anything that I have already seen, than by its own great intrinsic beauty. But the unusual and the novel are amusing and full of refreshment; so I feel it in this case, and I am delighted to be here.

I left New Orleans early in the morning of the 28th of January. It was a beautiful, sunshiny morning, and as warm as summer. My friends accompanied me on board “The Philadelphia.” Lerner H. came to take leave of me, and gave me a red camellia still in bud. His frank, cordial countenance, and that of Anne W., with its pure features, and the quiet fire in the dark eyes, were the last which I saw in the saloon below deck.

When I went on deck, the Crescent city stood bathed in morning sunlight, and the water of the harbour lay like a clear mirror in its light. I stood and enjoyed the delightful air and the expansive scene, but when the ladies came, with their “how do you like America?” &c., my morning joy was disturbed; but I placed them among the goats.

We proceeded on our way, and I seated myself with a book in my hand on the piazza aft, and contemplated the shores and lived—high life. For there I could be alone, and the scenery of the shores was like a beautiful, southern fairy scene. We advanced down the Mississippi upon that arm which falls into Atschafalaga Bay, and thence into the Mexican Gulf. One plantation after another shone out upon the shore with its white houses enclosed in thickets of orange and cedar trees, flowering oleanders, aloes, and palmettos. By degrees they were more scattered; the land descended more and more till it became one vast swamp, overgrown with grass and reeds, and without trees, shrubs, or human dwellings; yet still maintaining itself at a smooth level above the water, till finally it sunk below, but still forming within it that singular, uniform figure which is called the delta of the Mississippi, from its resemblance to the Greek letter of that name. Stems of grass still waved above the water, swayed to and fro by the waves and the wind. Then they too disappeared; the waves alone prevailed. And now the land, the vast continent of North America, lay behind me, and before me the great Gulf of Mexico, with its unfathomable depth, the Southern Sea, with its islands.

The dark-blue, almost black-blue, colour of the water struck me greatly. I was told that it is occasioned by the extreme depth. The heavens, with their soft, white summer clouds, arched themselves light-blue over the dark-blue sea, which heaved and roared joyfully before the fresh, warm summer wind. Oh, how beautiful it was! I inhaled the breeze, and life, and rested from thought and talk, and everything which was not a portion of the beautiful life of the moment. The sea! the sea has in itself an inexpressibly rest-giving, healing, and regenerating power. If thou wilt commence within thyself, and without, a new life—cross the sea. Let the air and the life of the sea bathe thy soul for days and weeks. Everything becomes new and fresh upon the sea.

Thus did I live the first day on the sea; thus did I live the second also. Now, however, I enjoyed a book at the same time, Browning's tragedy, “The Return of the Druses,” the lofty thought and the life-warm spirit of which was in harmony with the spectacle around me; I inhaled from both the boundless, the great and the profound, and if during all this there came one and another gentleman with the inquiry, “How do you like America?” or with a request for an autograph, it was only like a fly buzzing past ear and thought.

There was, however, one gentleman on board who was more agreeable and attentive to me than the others were disturbing. The same polite gentleman who had constituted himself my cavalier at the time of our disaster on Lake Pontchartrain, who conducted me to the beautiful garden at night, and afterwards to New Orleans, was now on board on his way to Cuba, seeking for a milder climate than that of the United States during winter. This gentleman, Mr. V., is middle-aged, with a noble and good countenance, refined and gentle manners, and during long journeys into the East and West he has become acquainted with many subjects of interest. Now again is he my cavalier; as a matter of course, gives me his arm to and from meals, sits at table beside me, and makes his attentions to me agreeable by his interesting and agreeable demeanour and conversation.

This vessel was not like the other splendid and convenient steamers, to which I had become accustomed in America. All below deck was crowded and dark—cabins, passages, eating-rooms. In order to be alone, I had chosen my cabin quite aft, where the motion of the vessel was most perceptible; here, however, I could have a little solitary three-cornered cell, with a round window opening out on the sea. Of sea-sickness I was not afraid, and here I could be alone.

Among the passengers of interest on board was an elderly man, one of the richest planters of Louisiana, and his only child, a young girl. Her mother had died of consumption, and the father ever since the childhood of his daughter, had endeavoured so to bring her up that she might be preserved from the dangerous inheritance. She had lived in great freedom in the country, spent much of her time in the open air, and did not wear stays. Thus she grew up a handsome, blooming girl, and as such made her appearance in society. After merely one season of tight-lacing and dancing in the social circles of New Orleans, the lovely flower was broken; and symptoms of the disease which had carried off the mother showed themselves in the daughter. The brightness of the eye, the flush of the cheek, its hollowness, the bearing of the tall, slender figure, all testified of danger.

It was affecting to see the old father stand and gaze silently at his daughter, with eyes that grew dim with tears. There was such a speechless sorrow, such a deep feeling of helplessness in his expression. Then she would look up at him and smile sweetly, like a sunbeam; but it was evident that the cloud was there, was in the ascendant, and that all the gold of the millionnaire could not purchase life for his child and heiress.

The journey which they were now making was, however, an attempt at this; they were intending first to visit Cuba and then Europe. A handsome and blooming young girl, a cousin of the invalid, was her companion.

There were two Swedes also on board, on their way to Chagrès, whence they would proceed to California. One of them, named Hörlin, the nephew of Bishop H., was an agreeable-looking young man, of cultivated mind; and was now making his second journey to the land of gold, where he already, as a merchant, had made a considerable sum.

On the afternoon of the second day the sky became overcast, and the wind rose. I scarcely believed my eyes when I beheld, rising up to the clouds before us, lofty mountains and craggy peaks, not unlike a fortress with walls and towers, seen in the hazy distance, and was told that that was Cuba! And yet we could not arrive there before the morning of the following day. I had not yet seen such lofty and bold mountain peaks in this western land.

The night was stormy but very warm, and I opened my window for the admission of air. I could see from my bed, which was directly below the window, the cloudy sky and the stormy sea when the motion of the vessel sank it to the edge of the water on my side. The billows foamed and hissed close to my window, and soon came into my bed. But the water was so warm that I did not observe it at first, and afterwards when I had to choose between closing my window and breathing the suffocating air of the cabin, or to breathe the soft sea air, and now and then be embraced by the salt sea waves, I chose the latter. I only got a little wet, but was calm and happy; I felt on the most familiar and affectionate terms with the waves and the great sea. I lay there like a child in its comfortable cradle; it could not hurt me.

The following morning we were in Havanna harbour.

The surf rose high, and broke with violence against the projecting rocky point on which stands the fortress of Morro, with its walls and towers, one of which is very lofty, to defend the narrow entrance of the harbour. But we lay tranquil in that beautiful almost circular harbour, as if in the stillest lake, and the sun shone upon a world of new objects around me.

There lay the large city, Havanna, along the shore to the right of the entrance to the harbour, with its low houses of all colours, blue, yellow, green, orange, like an immense mass of showy articles of porcelain and glass on a stall of fancy-wares; and no smoke, not the slightest column of smoke, to give any intimation of the atmosphere of a city with its cooking and manufacturing life, such as I had been accustomed to in the American cities. Groups of palm-trees rose up among the houses. One height to the left of us was covered by a great number of tall and extraordinary plants, resembling lofty, green candelabra, with many pairs of arms. Between the verdant hills which surrounded the harbour stood groups of country houses and groves of cocoa-palms and other palm-like trees, and over all this, rested the clearest, softest heaven, and the most delicious air. The water of the harbour seemed as clear as crystal, and, above all, atmosphere and colour seemed to be of the most diaphanous clearness and serenity. Among the objects which caught my sight were the fortress, in which the state prisoners are kept, a second prison, and a—gallows. But those beautiful waving palms, and those verdant hills, enchanted my eyes.

Small, half-covered boats, rowed by men with Spanish physiognomies, surrounded our vessel, to convey the passengers on shore. But the passengers could not go on shore. News had reached the Spanish authorities oi the island, that a certain Colonel White, one of the leaders in Lopez's robber-expedition against Cuba, was on board our steamer, and a message now came from them to prohibit the landing of any of the passengers, till further intimation was received from them. This was not quite right. Some of the gentlemen were greatly displeased, and wished anything but good to Colonel White, who, big and bony, with a red face and an Irish nose, and an untroubled and careless expression, now made his appearance on deck, walking up and down, smoking a cigar, in the midst of the wrathful glances of the passengers. He merely intended, he said, to go to Chagrès, on his way to California.

We lay for six hours in the harbour, awaiting our permission to land. For my part, it did not appear long, the view of the shores and the objects around were so enchanting to me. The weather was divine, and we had taken on board great clusters of beautiful, golden bananas.

They were presented by polite gentlemen, and I breakfasted with delight upon my favourite fruit, which is as delicious and beneficial to me as this tropical atmosphere. Sugar-cane was also added to the entertainment, and enjoyed by many. It was a regular tropical breakfast, eaten in the sunshine amid the harbour.

At length a boat approached, bearing the Spanish flag and several officers. They came on board our vessel, Colonel White was taken aside and required to give his word of honour not to land on the island, but to proceed on his way to Chagrès without leaving the vessel. I saw several of the officers (handsome men, with refined features) cast such glances at the robber leader! There were Spanish daggers in them!

The Spanish gentlemen retired, and after that, we innocent passengers prepared to go on shore. Polite gentlemen took charge of my landing, and it was necessary, for I have never experienced greater difficulty in landing than here. I was finally entrusted to an American hotel-keeper in Havanna (a Mr. Woolcott), who conveyed me and my effects on shore, and then through the Custom-house to his hotel, where he promised our respectable captain of “The Philadelphia” to make me comfortable. And before long I was seated in a large hall with a marble floor, and at a well-filled table, amid a numerous company, whilst the beautiful air and light poured in through the open doors and windows; for in Cuba people are not afraid of sunshine.

Here I ascertained that Jenny Lind was still at Havanna, and would not yet leave for a couple of days. I wrote, therefore, a few lines to her, and despatched them by our young countryman, Hörlin, who was glad to be the bearer of my letter. It was in the evening, and after that I took my light and went up-stairs to my chamber, to go to rest. But scarcely had I reached the top of the stairs, when I heard a voice below mention my name. I looked round astonished, and there, at the foot of the stairs, stood a lady holding by the balustrade, and looking up to me with a kind and beaming countenance. It was Jenny Lind.—Jenny Lind here, and with that beaming, fresh, joyous expression of countenance which, when once seen, can never be forgotten! There is the whole Swedish spring in it. I was glad. All was forgotten in a moment which had formerly come between her and me. I could not but instantly go down, bend over the balustrade, and kiss her. That agreeable young man, Max Hjortsberg, was with her. I shook hands with him, but I took Jenny Lind with me into my chamber. We had never met since that time in Stockholm, when I predicted for her an European reputation. She had now attained it in a higher degree than any other artist, because the praise and the laurels which she won everywhere had not reference alone to her gifts as a singer.

I spent with, her the greater part of the two days while she yet remained in Havanna, partly with her in her own apartments, and partly in driving with her on the beautiful promenades around the city, and partly in my own room, where I sketched her portrait;—and I could not help once more loving her intensely. Beneath the palm-trees of Cuba we talked only of Sweden and our mutual friends there, and shed bitter tears together over the painful loss of others. We talked much about old friends and old connections in Sweden, nay, truly speaking, we talked of nothing else, because everything else—honour, reputation, wealth, all which she had obtained out of Sweden—did not seem to have struck the least root in her soul. I should have liked to have heard something about them, but she had neither inclination nor pleasure in speaking of them. Sweden alone, and those old friends, as well as religious subjects, lay uppermost in her soul, and of these merely had she any wish to converse. In certain respects I could not entirely agree with her; but she was always an unusual and superior character, and so fresh, so Swedish! Jenny Lind is kindred with Trollhätan and Niagara, and with every vigorous and decided power of nature, and the effects which she produces resemble theirs.

The Americans are enchanted with her beneficence. I cannot admire her for this, I can only congratulate her in being able to follow the impulse of her heart. But that Jenny Lind, with all the power she feels herself possessed of, with all the sway she exercises, amid all the praise and homage which is poured upon her, and the multitudes of people whom she sees at her feet, still looks up to something higher than all this, higher than herself, and in comparison with which she esteems herself and all this to be mean—that glance, that thirst after the holy and the highest, which during many changes always again returns and shows itself to be a dominant feature in Jenny Lind—this is, in my eyes, her most unusual and her noblest characteristic.

She was very amiable and affectionate to me; yes, so much so, that it affected me. Little did I expect that beneath the palms of the tropics we should come so near to each other!

I met at dinner at her house the whole of her travelling party—Belletti, Mademoiselle Åhrström, Mr. Barnum and his daughter, and many others. The best understanding seems to prevail between her and them. She praised them all, and praised highly the behaviour of Mr. Barnum to her. She was not now giving any concerts at Cuba, and was enjoying the repose and the beautiful tropical scenery and air. She sang for me unasked (for I would not ask her to sing) one of Lindblad's songs:

“Talar jag så hör du mig”—

and her voice seemed to me as fresh and youthful as ever.

One day she drove me to the Bishop's Garden, which was “beautiful, beautiful!” she said; beautiful park-like grounds, near Havanna, where she was anxious to show me the bread-fruit tree, and many other tropical plants, which proves her fresh taste for nature. In the evening we drove along the magnificent promenade, el Passeo di Isabella seconda, which extends for certainly upwards of three English miles between broad avenues of palm and other tropical trees, beds of flowers, marble statues and fountains, and which is the finest promenade any one can imagine, to say nothing of its being under the clear heaven of Cuba. The moon was in her first quarter, and floated like a little boat above the western horizon. Jenny Lind made me observe its different position here to what it has with us, where the new moon is always upright, or merely in a slanting direction to the earth. The entire circle of the moon appeared unusually clear.

That soft, young moonlight above the verdant, billowy fields with their groups of palm-trees, was indescribably beautiful.

I fancied that Jenny Lind was tired of her wandering life and her rôle of singer. She evidently wished for a life of quieter and profounder character. We talked of—marriage and domestic life.

Of a certainty a change of this kind is approaching for Jenny Lind. But will it satisfy her soul, and be enough for her? I doubt.

She left that evening for New Orleans, out of spirits, and not happy in her own mind. The vessel by which she sailed was crowded with Californian adventurers, four hundred it was said, who were returning to New Orleans; and Jenny Lind had just heard a rumour that Captain West, who had brought her over from England to America, had perished in a disastrous voyage at sea. All this depressed her mind, and neither my encouragement—I went on board the vessel to take leave of her, to give her my good wishes and a bouquet of roses—nor the captain's offer of his cabin and saloon where, above deck, she might have remained undisturbed by the Californians below, were able to cheer her. She was pale, and said little. She scarcely looked at my poor roses, although they were the most beautiful I could get in Havanna; when, however, I again was seated in my little gondola, and was already at some distance from the vessel, I saw Jenny Lind lean over the railing towards me.

And all the beautiful regular countenances of the West paled below the beaming, living beauty of expression in the countenance which I then saw, bathed in tears, kissing the roses, kissing her hands to me, glancing, beaming a whole summer of affluent, changing, enchanting, warm, inward life. She felt that she had been cold to me, and she would now make amends for it.

And if I should never again see Jenny Lind, I shall always henceforth see her thus, as at this moment, always love her thus.

I have now been six days in this very good but very expensive hotel. I pay five dollars a day for a small chamber, which one can hardly imagine more scantily furnished, and in a couple more days shall be obliged to pay six dollars, or admit some unknown guest into my room; for in two more days a steam-boat comes in, and new guests from New Orleans. I have therefore been inquiring after a new lodging, but it is not here as in America. In the meantime, kind, amiable people, partly Germans, partly English and Americans, desirous of making the place as agreeable to me as possible, have interested themselves about my affairs, and in consequence of their kindness I shall to-morrow remove for a few days to a country house just by the Bishop's beautiful garden, where I can, in freedom, make acquaintance with the trees and flowers of Cuba. Is not that charming? Is not my little travelling fairy careful of me?

I have hitherto spent my day as follows. At half-past seven in the morning Mrs. Mary enters my chamber with a cup of coffee and a little wheaten bread, which looks very enticing. And Mrs. Mary is an Irishwoman, one of the most excellent, nicest, most thoughtful, and good-hearted beings one can imagine, and the greatest treasure of this hotel, to me at least. Mrs. Mary's good temper and kind solicitude give to this hotel a feeling of home, and I should get on infinitely well here if the place were not so terribly dear.

After I have drank my coffee and eaten my bread, I go out, first to La Plaza des Armas, where the governor, the intendant, and the great admiral, the three great dignitaries of the island, have their palaces, occupying three sides of the square, the fourth of which is an enclosed plantation, between the iron railing of which is seen a marble bust standing on its pedestal, and beyond this a chapel. This is the place where Catholic mass was first performed by order of Columbus. The bust is his, and it and the chapel have been erected there in memory of the first divine service on the island. A large white marble statue, that of Charles V., I believe, stands in the middle of the square, surrounded by lofty, magnificent king-palms, regular kings among trees, and around these small plantations of other trees and shrubs. Among these I have observed one tree, which has foliage and a head very like our lime-tree, although not so large, with fire-coloured flowers not unlike our Indian cross-flower, but darker in colour; and shrubs, too, which have the same kind of flowers, and upon the stems of which small, splendid, green lizards dart about and gaze quite calmly at me, while I gaze at them. A number of white marble seats are placed here, where people may rest in the shade of the palm-trees. But they do not cast much shade, and one has to keep watch for the moment, and for the spot where their proud crowns afford a shelter from the sun. But it is a pleasure to see their branches move, rustling in the wind, for their motion is majestic, and graceful at the same time!

Hence I go to an esplanade, or lofty terrace, called La Cortine de Valdez, raised along the harbour on the opposite side to Morro. It is a short promenade, but has the most beautiful view. And here I wander, to inhale the sea air and to watch the waves, if it be calm, break in lofty, white-crested surf against the rocks of Morro, which exclude the tumult of the ocean and leave the harbour calm; watch, through the mouth of the harbour, white sails skimming over the vast blue sea; watch little lizards dart out and in, or lie gently basking in the sun on the low walls which run along the esplanade, and white doves fly down to drink at a white marble basin below a lovely monument in honour of Valdez, which terminates the promenade; from the white wall of this monument a jet of clear water is thrown, which falls into a basin.

At ten o'clock, I am again at home, and eating a second breakfast, with a large company, in the light marble hall at an abundant table, but where I take merely coffee, my beloved Carolina rice and an egg. After that I go to my room, write letters, and draw or paint till dinner. After dinner, one or another of my new friends here call in their volante, such being the name of the carriages of Cuba, to drive me out upon one of the beautiful and magnificent public roads beyond the city. In the evening, after tea, I go up to the roof of the house, which is flat, as are all the roofs here, and is called azoteon, surrounded by a low parapet, upon which stand urns, which are generally grey, with raised green ornaments, and little gilt flames at the top. Here I walk alone till late into the night, contemplating the starry heavens above me, and the city below my feet. The Morro-light, as the lofty beacon fire in the fortress of Morro is called, is kindled, and beams like a large, steadily gleaming star with the most resplendent light over the ocean and city. The air is delicious and calm, or breathes merely like a slumbering child; and around me I hear on all sides the sweetest, most serene little twitter, not unlike that of sparrows with us, but more serene, or with a softer sound. I am told that is the little lizards, which are here found in such abundance, and which have the gift of voice.

The city has a most peculiar aspect. The houses are low, and for the most part of but one story, never above two; the streets are narrow, so that in many cases the linen cloth, which serves as a shade to the shops, is stretched over the street from one side to the other. The walls of houses, palaces, or towers, are coloured blue, yellow, green, or orange, and frequently adorned with fresco-painting. The glare of the sunlight on white walls is feared, as injurious to the sight, and hence they are all tinted. No smoke is visible, nor yet a single chimney. Flat roofs are universal, with their parapets of stone or iron, and their urns with bronze flames. I cannot understand where the fires are, nor what becomes of the smoke. The atmosphere of the city is as clear as crystal. The narrow streets are not paved, and when it rains, as it has done in torrents for a couple of days, immense puddles and holes are the consequence, and when it dries again a great deal of dust. Narrow causeways, scarcely wide enough for two persons to pass, line each side of the street, and along the streets rush about, in all directions, and wind in and out, a sort of huge insect with immense hind legs and a long proboscis, upon which stands a tall black horn, or tower-like elevation, so at least appeared to me at first the Cuban equipages or volantes, which constitute the only kind of Havanna carriage. If, however, you wish to take a clear survey, you will find that they resemble a species of cabriolet, but the two immense wheels are placed behind the body of the carriage, which rests upon springs between the wheels and the horses, and for the most part is supported by them. A postillion, who is always a negro in large projecting riding boots, is mounted upon the horse, which is considerably in advance of the carriage itself. This driver is called calashero, and both he and the horse are sometimes richly caparisoned with silver, often to the value of several thousand dollars. The whole equipage is of an unusual length, and reminds me some of queer kind of harry-long-legs.

When the volante is in great state, or prepared for a longer journey, it has two horses, or even three. The second horse is guided by the hand of the calashero, and runs a little a-head of the first.

When the volante is in great state, you will see two or three Signoras seated in it, always without bonnets, and sometimes with flowers in their hair; bare arms and neck and white dresses, as if attired for a ball. When they are three in number the youngest sits in the middle, a little in advance of the other two. One sees such often on the public drives in the afternoon, or in the evening on La Plaza de Armas, where there is music and a great concourse. It is only seldom that a veil is seen worn over the head and shoulders, and scarcely ever a bonnet, which seems to belong to the foreigner.

When I first saw the rocking motion of the volante as it drove along the streets, I thought “that must be an extremely disagreeable carriage!” but when I was seated in one I seemed to myself rocked on a cloud. I have never felt an easier motion.

The Creole ladies, that is the native ladies of the island, do not make use of any defence from sun or wind; neither do they need it. After the hour of noon, when the breeze comes in from the sea, the air is not hot, neither does the sun burn here as on the continent. The complexion of the Creoles is pale, but perfectly healthy, and has a soft, light olive tint, which, together with their beautiful dark, but at the same time soft eyes, gives a piquancy to their appearance. The priests, in their long cloaks and queer, large hats, go about on foot. The greater number of the people in the streets are negroes and mulattos; even in the shops one sees mulattos, especially in the cigar-shops. Cigars are smoked universally, especially a small kind called cigaritos. The coloured population seem to intoxicate themselves with tobacco-smoke. I frequently see negroes and mulattos sitting dozing before the shops with cigars in their mouths. The calashero, when he waits before a house, alights, seats himself by the carriage, smokes and shuts his eyes in the sunshine. But where goes all the smoke? How can it be? It must be absorbed by the sea-air.

I must, however, make an end of my day. After I have walked about or sate upon the azoteon till towards midnight, enjoying the air, which, it seems to me, is possessed of a peculiarly sanative, beneficial life, and a banana which has the same qualities, and my own solitary thoughts, I retire to my chamber, and go to rest in a bed without any bedding excepting a pillow and a coverlet, but on which I repose excellently and sleep to the fanning of the wind which enters playfully, as it were, through the iron grating of the door and window to which there is neither glass nor shutter.

My chamber, and a row of the other chambers also, have each an outlet to the roof, which is very agreeable to me, as I can thus have air at any time, and I have, from my roof, merely to ascend a little flight of steps to arrive at the azoteon proper. The azoteon is the principal place of assembly for the Cuban families when in the evening they wish to enjoy la Brise.

I must now tell you something about the family which has received me with so much kindness. They are, in the first place, an English family of the name of F., a highly-esteemed commercial house in the city, and a young married couple, Mr. and Mrs. S., the son-in-law and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. F. Mr. F. was formerly the agent in Cuba for the house of Rothschild in London, but he has resigned his business in favour of his son-in-law, Mr. S., who is a German.

Mr. F. is a young elderly man, with a countenance and demeanour full of benevolence and good-humour, lively and witty in society. His wife is of Danish descent, a native of the Danish island St. Croix, and has been a celebrated beauty, and even still, when about fifty, is a very handsome lady, with delicate features, and an expression of goodness which fascinates me. The house is full of handsome children, four sons and five daughters; the daughters, in particular, are handsome, and the two eldest married daughters are infinitely charming. The youngest of these is a blonde, and lovely, like a northern maiden of the old ballads. The eldest son of the family has returned home from England with his wife, a young beauty, with roses on her cheeks, such as only the daughters of Europe can show. The whole house is full of beauty, love, and gladness, with the newly married, newly betrothed, lovetokens, and glances in every corner. The family has besides a cheerful circle of acquaintance, where gentlemen from Europe, Germans, Englishmen, Scotch, or French, come with unstinted music and merriment. Good Mrs. F. drove me last evening in her volante to the villa of her daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. S., at a village two miles distant from Havanna. There we found a company of handsome people assembled, not invited, but because it was the reception evening of the family. They amused themselves with tableaux vivans, music and dancing. Those remarkably handsome ladies (regularly enchanting in the costumes of the tableaux), those well-bred, cheerful gentlemen, that excellent music —the young sisters F. sing extremely well— that Cuban contre-danse and its music so peculiar, so delineative of the Creole temperament, inasmuch as it expresses an effeminate, playful, pleasure-loving, and yet half melancholy life, in which the breezes seem to waft, and the palm branches to rustle; that cheerful, free tone of social intercourse, the many languages which are spoken, the beautiful evenings, the soft winds and stars of night which glance in at open doors and windows—all these made this evening one of the most beautiful, the most perfectly festal occasions that I ever witnessed. Nothing was tiresome, nothing contracted; one rested and enjoyed and amused oneself at the same time.

I have seen mass performed twice in the early morning at the cathedral church here; I have seen there such great priestly show and priestly magnificence in full bloom, that one might fancy oneself removed two or three centuries backward in time; I scarcely saw any praying in the church, and the priests marched hither and thither, and swung smoking censers, and lighted candles, and busied themselves with divers ecclesiastical ceremonies, evidently without any devotion at all. But there was supplication in the music; the music was beautiful and replete with heartfelt prayer. A pious and inspired spirit had breathed its soul into it, and I prayed in unison with it. The cathedral is handsome and light, although not large. It contains some pictures, which gave me pleasure. One of these represents the spirits in Purgatory; above the flames float the Madonna and Child glancing down with compassionate eyes. Some of the souls becoming aware of them are captivated by their beauty, and whilst they gaze upon them, with involuntary prayer, they are raised out of the flames, without themselves being conscious of it.

Another picture represents the holy Virgin standing upon the globe. Her glance is in heaven, her prayers, her whole soul lives there, and without apparent intention she treads upon the serpent, which glides away over the earth. These pictures are evidently the work of an age of profound spiritual inspiration.

The bones of Columbus rest in the cathedral. A white marble tablet in the wall near the chancel, points out the spot. This tablet presents also his head in bas-relief, below which are some symbols of a very common character, and below these again, a poor, ill-constructed inscription, abounding in platitude, the purport of which is that his dust reposes here, but his fame shall live for many centuries.

One day when I visited the church in company with Mr. V., we were attended by a youth who seemed to be one of the young neophytes. When he heard that Mr. V. had been at Jerusalem he was delighted, and so anxious to hear about the holy grave and the holy places near the city, and then was so zealous to show us every remarkable thing about the church, that it was a pleasure to see him. This youth had evidently, as yet, an uncorrupted mind and a firm faith.

Yesterday, during a great procession in the church, and a great kissing of the hand of the bishop, who was a handsome prelate with fat white hands, covered with sparkling jewels, I saw one of the great gentlemen—I fancy it was the Admiral—laugh as he knelt down before the holy father, and make pretence of kissing his hand; and of a truth the bishop smiled too. They both knew that it was merely a great show. The costume of the priests and the official corps as they sat together in arm chairs in the church, produced as picturesque and imposing an effect, as any costume can now-a-days, and I am quite willing to feel its full effect, so long, at least, as I do not see a deceitful mask in it.

I have heard many complaints of the government of the island, complaints of monopolies, injustice, and official robbery of all kinds, as well among government officials as lawyers. They are said literally to devour the portions of the widow and the fatherless. I have heard almost incredible stories of this kind. People are now hoping great things from the new Governor-General Concha, who arrived here from Spain two months since. The last deposed governor distinguished himself by the peculation through which he became a rich man. The clergy are said to be quite unclerical, the greater number living in open defiance of their vows; and religion here is, I am told—dead. Traffic in slaves is also carried on in secret. The government is cognisant of the fact, but winks at it; nay, indeed, it is said that it derives a gain from it.

Ah! that this earthly paradise should be so poisoned by the old serpent!

Serro, Feb. 10.

I have lived for the last three days at a rural abode in the little rural village, or small town, of Serro, two miles from Havanna, with a German-American family of the name of S., who have kindly invited me to spend a few days with them, to know something of life in the country, which I greatly wished, and to make a closer acquaintance with the bishop's beautiful garden which lies very near their home. I have a little, newly-built house to myself, consisting of two airy rooms. Below the window of my sleeping-room stands a little clump of banana-trees laden with their beautiful fruit, and the light-green ell-broad leaves, which are as soft as velvet, are wafted by the wind, and immediately beyond them roars a little mountain stream. Beyond our little garden, and just opposite to it, I see, within a blue-painted enclosure on a little hill, a group of glorious cocoa-palms, poplars, and bamboo trees, beneath which a fountain falls into a magnificent marble basin. The whole village is composed of gardens with their little dwellings, and beyond them the extensive plain is scattered over with king and cocoa-palms, and trees the names of which I am yet unacquainted with.

The first night that I slept here on my cool camp-bedstead, I heard the stream roaring along, and the banana leaves whispering outside my window, and felt the delicious night-winds around me, like the wings of angels; it was to me enchantingly beautiful, so beautiful that I could scarcely sleep. I was obliged to get up many times to contemplate the heavens and the earth. I thus beheld a constellation of incomparable magnificence and brilliancy ascend above the hill of the cocoa-palms. Could it be the ship Argo or the constellation Sagittarius? I do not as yet know. I am still ignorant what constellations of the southern hemisphere may be seen here. I have not yet met with any one who can tell me. People here think a deal more about trade and pleasure than about the stars. When the blush of morning appeared, amid beautiful gold and rosy clouds, I saw the morning-star standing above the earth wonderfully bright and large. I do not know why, but it produced in me a melancholy effect. It seemed to me like an eye full of a bright but sorrowful consciousness gazing calmly, with deep earnestness, down upon earth; as if it knew of the sin and the sorrow of earth. That bright star stood above the beautiful island like its clear, accusing conscience.

There had been for the last two days cold weather with rain in torrents, but the morning was bright and beautiful, and I wished after breakfast to visit the bishop's garden, which lies only a few minutes walk from our Serro. Mrs. S. said, “you will not be able to get there; you will stick fast in the mud after all this rain.”

I would not believe her, and persisted in going. But she was right. I actually could not get along; at every step my feet stuck fast in the thick mud, the quality of which I had never before had any conception of. I was obliged to return, and wait till the sun had dried the earth, which it is not very long in doing. These torrents of rain which have met me in Cuba, and which are a little inconvenient to me are, it is said, the parting salutations of the rainy season, which is now just at an end, and which gives place to the dry season, la secca, which extends from the present time into May. Both yesterday and to-day there has been unremitting sunshine, so that I have to-day been to the bishop's garden; and wandering under palms, bamboos, and many kinds of beautiful tropical trees, among splendid unusual flowers and butterflies, have celebrated alone the most glorious morning, a spirit of thanksgiving among the silent spirits of nature. Ah! when the Creator allows us here on earth to behold such beauty, allows us to experience such joy—what treasures of His kingdom has He not in store for His children, risen again and enfranchised from dust, on the other side the grave!

The beauty of these trees and flowers, and of this air, give me a foretaste of a glory of creation, a fullness of existence in the consciousness of natural life, which exceeds all that I have hitherto imagined. When nature, in a perfected world, becomes a thanksgiving song of beauty, harmonious delight and magnificence, what will not life become, what praises shall we not sing? We are not bold enough, we are not rich enough in imagination, as we glance towards the kingdom of heaven beyond the grave; we are too poor in faith to conceive of the power and affluence of the Creator.

Palms, laurel trees, groves of bamboos, yellow jasmines, which fling their fragrant branches from stem to stem; the beautiful air filled with the purest life, all these whispered to me words and thoughts of that morning which is to be. And I walked alone through these magnificent avenues, amid those silent groves, where hundreds of splendid butterflies, all unknown to me, fluttered up out of the moist grasses, and I praised God in the name of all existence! How happy I was that morning!

“But the slaves, the slavery which surrounds this Eden,” you will say. Yes, I know; but slavery must cease, and the fetters of the slave fall from him; but the goodness and magnificence of God will remain for ever. I lived here in the contemplation of this, and a day will come when the slave shall do so, too.

The garden, or more correctly speaking, the park, is much neglected since the death of the old bishop, and since a terrible hurricane in 1848, which entirely destroyed the house, of which merely a ruin now remains, and injured many trees and statues: but I am pleased with the less trim condition of the park, because it all the more resembles, from that very cause, a beautiful natural scene.

I dined yesterday at the villa of Mr. and Mrs. S. with a select party. The dinner was served in the verandah opening into the garden, which afforded us a glorious view beyond it over the island. This garden was, like other ornamental gardens which I have seen here, very ornamental, but stiff. Palms of many kinds, splendid flowers in beds, bordering well gravelled or flagged paths, marble basins with gold fish, &c. A beautiful little boy of two years old is the best treasure of the house.

In the evening I was once more with the F. family; saw amiable, and cheerful young people dancing in the joy of their hearts, and heard again that enchanting Cuban dance-music. It has a broken, strange, but extremely animated movement. My kind, agreeable host, Mr. S., plays it on the pianoforte with the musical genius of a German.

Feb. 11th.—Yesterday was Sunday, and although our little village of Serro did not go to church—because there is no church there—it still had quite a holiday appearance. At noon I heard from various distances the living cadence of the African drum, not unlike the sound of the flail in the barns around us at threshing time, only that here it has a much more animated life. This was the sign that the dances of the free negroes were now commencing at their assembling places in the neighbourhood. My host had the kindness to accompany me to one of these, very near our Serro. I found a large room, very like those of public-houses among us, in which I saw these negroes naked to the waist, wild, energetic figures and countenances, who were beating drums with energetic animation. These drums were hollowed tree-stems, over the openings of which was stretched a parchment skin, on which the negroes drummed, in part with sticks and in part with their hands, with their thumbs, with their fists with wonderful agility and skill, a wild, artistic perfection, or I should rather say a perfected natural art;—they drummed as bees hum and beavers build. The time and measure, which sometimes varied, was exquisitely true; no one can imagine a more natural, perfect, lively precision, in that irregular, regular time. The drum was held between the knees; they held in their fists a large ball filled with stones or some other noisy things, and ornamented outside with a tuft of cock's feathers. They seem to me to create as much noise as possible. Some dancing couples assembled; ladies of various shades of colour, dressed in ragged finery, men (negroes) without any finery, almost without any attire at all, on the upper part of the body. A man took a woman by the hand, and then began to dance, she turning round on one spot, with downcast eyes, he surrounding her with a vast many gambols, among which are most astounding summersets and leaps, remarkable for their boldness and agility. Other negroes, in the meantime, set up, every now and then, wild cries, and strike with sticks upon the walls and doors. The sweat pours from the drumming negroes, who look desperately in earnest. When the hall began to be crowded, I would not any longer detain my friend and his little daughter; but I shall do all in my power to witness again and again these African dances with their peculiar, wild life, at the same time so irregular and yet so rhythmical.

On our return we heard, both near and afar, the wild sound of the drums. It is only, however, the free negroes of the island who hold their dances at this season. During the whole time of la secca the grinding of the sugar-cane is going forward on the plantations, and the negro-slaves cannot then dance, scarcely have time to sleep. There are, however, in Cuba a considerable number of free negroes.

As we entered the village, we met two young men who were playing a lively air on the guitar, and who were accompanied by several other young men. They were celebrating the birth or name-day of some of their friends;—a beautiful, poetical custom!

I have rambled about a good deal in this neighbourhood, and have become acquainted with some of the beautiful trees of the island. Among these I must introduce to you the Ceiba tree, one of the loftiest and most lovely trees of Cuba. It shoots aloft, a strong and softly undulating stem, to a height exceeding that of the palm, and without any branches until, all at once, it spreads out in a horizontal direction three or four arms, sinuous like those of the oak, but less abrupt; these subdivide themselves into lesser branches, and bear aloft the most beautiful crown of palmated rich-green leaves. It is one of the most lovely trees I ever saw, and I know nothing to which I can compare it. But this beautiful tree has its grudging enemy, and upon the small thorn-like excrescences with which its stem is covered, a parasite is apt to fix itself, which by degrees embraces, and finally kills the tree. I observed also the beautiful dark-green trees, Mamay Colorado, and Mamay Santa Domingo, now covered with fruit, grey-brown outside, and within filled with a reddish-yellow flesh, very sweet, but to my taste insipid; and the Sapota tree, also with dark-green leaves and brown fruit, about the size of small oranges, and like these consisting of juicy segments, very sweet, and extremely agreeable to my taste. The Mango tree has a thick, leafy head, which reminds me, both in form and compactness, of our chesnut tree. The mango fruit is yet green, and hangs in long racemes, several upon a stalk, like colossal almonds in form. They are said to be of a beautiful golden yellow when ripe; they are called the apples of Cuba, and are much liked on the island. The mango tree affords a thick, impenetrable shadow; the Tamarind tree, on the other hand, spreads out above your head like a fine, transparent, embroidered green veil, through which you see the blue sky. It bears pods with small beans in them, which have an acid but very agreeable and fresh flavour.

The gourd, or Calabash tree—(N.B. I tell you the names of the trees as I hear them called here, for I have no access to any botanical work)—resembles an apple tree in its growth, has its branches overgrown with thick-set leaves, and bears fruit round as a ball, without any stem. This fruit, which will grow as large as a man's head, and which has a very hard rind, furnishes the poorer people with their most useful domestic utensils, and becomes, when cut in two, their bowl, dish, plate, drinking vessel, water cask, dipper, ladle, their all in all. The calabash, or gourd, is especially the negro's house furniture, and it is the calabash also which adorns his fists, and which occasions pleasure and noise at their dances. I might mention other trees, and many there are, of which as yet I do not know the names; but I must tell you how my beloved Banana tree blossoms and sets its fruit—for it is a peculiar story, which for a long time has puzzled me when I saw it from a distance, and now I have studied it near.

You see the Banana tree—you shall see it in my album—a tree of low growth, with a palm-like crown not much above your head in height. The stem shoots up straight, surrounded by leaves, which fall off as the stem increases in height, and which leave it somewhat rugged, and with rather a withered appearance. When the tree has attained the height of four or five ells it ceases to grow, but unfolds and expands a crown of broad light-green leaves, as soft as velvet, and from two to four ells long, and which bend and are swayed gracefully by the wind. The wind, however, is not quite gracious to them, but slits the leaves on each side of the strong leaf-fibre into many parts, so that it often looks tattered, but still preserves, even amid its tatters, its soft grace and its beautiful movement. From amid the crown of leaves shoots forth a bud upon a stalk, and resembling a large green flower-bud. This shoots up rapidly, and becomes as rapidly too heavy for its stalk, which bends under its weight. The bud now bends down to the stem and grows as large probably as a cocoa-nut, its form being like that of a Provence rose-bud, and of a dark violet colour. I saw upon almost all banana-trees, even on those which bore rich clusters of ripe fruit, this immense violet-coloured bud hanging, and was not a little curious to know all about it. And now you shall know! One of the outer leaves or envelopments of the bud loosens itself, or opens itself gently at the top, and you now perceive that its innermost side glows with the most splendid vermilion red; and within its depth you see peeping forth, closely laid together side by side, six or seven little light-yellow figures, not unlike little chickens, and very like the woolly seed-vessels in the single peony-flower. The leaf encasements open more and more to the light and the air, and those little light-yellow, fruit-chickens peep forth more and more. By degrees the leaf, with its little family, separates itself altogether from the bud, and a length of bare stem grows between them. The little chickens now gape with pale-yellow flower-beaks, and put out their tongues (they are of the didynamia order) to drink in the sun and the air; but still the beautiful leaf bends itself over their heads like a screen, like a protecting wing, like a shadowy roof. The sun would as yet be too hot for the little ones. But they grow more and more. They begin to develop themselves, to plump out their breasts, and to raise their heads more and more. They will become independent; they will see the sun, they need no longer the old leaf. The leaf now disengages itself—the beautiful maternal leaf—and falls to the earth. I have frequently seen these leaf-screens lying on the ground beneath the tree, and taken them up and contemplated them with admiration, not only for the part they act, but for the rare beauty and clearness of the crimson colour on their inner side; one might say that a warm drop of blood from a young mother's heart had infused itself there. The young chickens, which are cocks and hens at the same time, plume themselves now proudly, and with projecting breasts, and beautifully curved backs and heads, and beaks raised aloft, range themselves garland-like around the stem, and thus, in about two weeks time, they ripen into delicious bananas, and are cut off in bunches.

The whole of that dark purple-tinted bud-head is a thick cluster of such leaf-envelopes, each inclosing such an offspring. Thus releases itself, one leaf after another, and falls off; thus grows to maturity one cluster of fruit after another, until the thick stalk is as full as it can hold of their garlands: but, nevertheless, there always remains a good deal of the bud-head, which is never able to develope the whole of its internal wealth during the year in which the banana-tree lives; for it lives and bears fruit only one year and then dies. But before that happens, it has given life to a large family of young descendants, who grow up at its feet, and the eldest of which are ready to blossom and bear fruit when the mother-tree dies.

Such is the history of the banana-tree, Musa paradisiaca, as it is called in the Tropical Flora. And of a certainty it was at home in the first paradise, where all was good.

One can scarcely imagine anything prettier or more perfect than these young descendants, the banana children; they are the perfect image in miniature of the mother-tree, but the wind has no power upon their young leaves; they stand under the wing of the mother-tree, in paradisiacal peace and beauty.

It has been attempted to transplant the banana-tree into the southern portion of North America, where so many trees from foreign climates flourish: but the banana-tree will not flourish there, its fruit will not ripen; it requires a more equal, more delicious warmth: it will not grow without the paradisiacal life of the tropics.

Roasted banana is as common a dish at the breakfasts of the Creoles as bread and coffee; but I like it only in its natural state.

The ladies in this country have very light house-keeping cares. The cook, always a negro-woman, and if a man-cook, a negro also, receives a certain sum of money weekly, with which to provide the family dinners. She goes to market and makes purchases, and selects that which seems best to her, or what she likes. The lady of the house frequently does not know what the family will have for dinner until it is on the table; and I can only wonder that the mistress can, with such perfect security, leave these matters to her cooks, and that all should succeed so well: but the faculty for, and the pleasure in all that concerns serving the table, is said to be universal among the negroes, and they compromise their honour if they do not serve up a good dinner.

Mrs. S. sits during the morning and reads with her two little girls in a hall, the doors of which open upon the piazza, and thence to the street or high road, and as the country people (Monteros, as they are here called, and who are always men), pass with their little horses heavily laden with vegetables, fruit, or poultry, now and then, one of them will stop at the door and call to la signora, inquiring whether she will purchase this or that, and she says a couple of words in reply in that melodious Spanish tongue, and the whole is done in few words, without her needing to rise from her seat. Life might be very easy here. In the evening, after tea, we sit in rocking-chairs in the piazza, dressed as lightly as propriety will allow, and enjoy the air and the dolce far niente. All is then quiet in the little village; to breathe here is to live and enjoy!

My kind friends have taken me to the beautiful gardens of some of the aristocracy of the neighbourhood,—they are splendid but formal. Everything is set in rows along the gravelled walks, and the tropical trees, the forms of which are regular by nature, add to the formality, when they are not grouped with some artistic and poetical feeling. In the lovely garden, for instance, of El Conti Hernandinos, it was this feeling which led to the planting of a circle of king-palms. In this way the most beautiful columned rotunda was formed which can be imagined, the crowns being all at the same height, locked their branches into each other, and formed a gigantic verdant garland which waved and rustled in the wind, whilst the blue vault of heaven shone brightly through it.

I have taken a walk every morning into the bishop's garden; but I was one morning persecuted there by a couple of half-naked, horrible-looking negroes, who probably said witty things while they begged, although I did not understand them, and they disturbed my comfort. Another morning I was so very unwell from something which I had taken, though I knew not what, that the joys of Paradise could not have pleased me; a third morning I was free and at peace and again enjoyed life, but not as I did on the first morning. But neither was that needful; I was happy and thankful: one single morning such as that is enough for an immortal memory.

I have, every night again, saluted that large, magnificent constellation above the palm-tree mound, and have seen the quiet, melancholy, clear glance of the morning-star over the earth. These nights, with the roar of the mountain stream and the rustling of the banana-trees, I shall never forget.

This morning Mrs. S. and myself went into the park. I observed some verses in Spanish inscribed upon a bamboo-tree, and asked her to read them to me. She could not do it, because their meaning was of the grossest kind. Again the old serpent!

One sees, in the country around here, small farms, on all of which are houses built of palm-trees, and thatched with tawny palm-leaves; the roofs are all pointed, and frequently taller than the cottages themselves. But all the dwelling-houses on the island are low, on account of the hurricanes which, otherwise, would destroy them. Many small cottages are built of bark, or of woven brush-wood. The palm-tree, however, is the principal tree of the poor; it supplies them with material for their houses, and the calabash furnishes them with household wares. The little farms have a peculiar, although not ornamental appearance; still they adorn the landscape with their own character.

I have heard a good deal of what occurred during the last hurricane. One spot was pointed out to me, near here, where stood a little peasant farm. The whole family were assembled in the house, twelve in number. The tempest shook the dwelling; the father admonished them all to pray; they threw themselves on their knees around him; he stood upright in the middle of the room, and prayed in the name of all. The tempest tore open a hole in the roof, and in the same moment overturned the house, leaving the father standing upright, but burying his wife, his children, and servants. Not a single one escaped excepting himself!

I shall in the morning return to Havanna. If I could but some time give pleasure to the excellent, kind people who have, by their hospitality, given so much to me! I am sorry to leave them, and in particular the youngest, most charming little girl, the dark-eyed little Ellen!

Havanna, Feb. 15. 

Again I am here! Heat is a good thing, but too much is—too much! And this heat is too stimulating both for soul and body. It may be possible to keep in health, but to keep in spirits is an impossibility; one becomes quite enervated. A fine sand-dust enters through the jalousies from the streets, and fills the air of the room and covers everything. Evening is the only time of the day in which one can breathe at all freely, partly in the open air, partly in the airy galleries within the house, opening into the court.

I am now staying with the F. family in Calle (street) de Obra Pia. Good Mrs. F. has arranged a room for my accommodation, and seems to have my comfort at heart in every possible way. She is one of those beautiful, maternal natures who make life so rich, and all in the house love her. I should love her if it were for no other reason than because she likes the negroes; is a motherly protector of the slaves; and openly takes the part of the negro character on all occasions, and can relate many beautiful traits of their nobility of mind, their faithfulness, and good disposition. She spends one portion of the forenoon quite patriarchally in sitting and sewing among her female slaves, as well as in reading to the younger children in one of the long open galleries, where she also receives visits, and gives orders for the business of the kitchen, or the toilette. In the evening the large family party, and their circle of friends, gather around her in the galleries or the drawing-room. Then come the two young, lovely ladies, her daughters, with their husbands, both Germans, and one of whom is very musical; then come the English consul, Mr. C., with his lovely young wife, a daughter also of Mrs. F., though by a former marriage, and there are the enamoured pair, the eldest son of the house, and his blooming wife; and there are the betrothed couple, Louisa F., still almost a child—and her lover, a young Scotch gentleman, who is desperately in love and very agreeable; there are the younger sons and daughters of the house, the youngest of these my grave little Maestro in the Spanish tongue, the thirteen-year-old Gulio and Emily, as pretty and graceful as one imagines a good fairy; then also come other friends of the family, and there is music, singing, and dancing; but the enamoured bridegrooms, married or betrothed, sit beside their young brides and gaze at them, and will not let them dance or leave their sides.

The construction of houses in Havanna is very peculiar, and one must get accustomed to them to like it. Everything is arranged so as to produce as much air and as much circulation as possible. Long galleries, with wide semi-circular arcades, open into the court (this house has them on four sides); in these galleries the whole household may be found, all busy and leading a sort of public life; dinner is eaten, visits are received, the lady of the house sews surrounded by her female slaves, or instructs her children; her domestics wash, or perform their other respective household duties, everything is done all in these open galleries, in which people and air circulate alike unimpeded. Within these galleries, which generally have marble floors, lie the sleeping rooms, separated from the gallery by Venetian shutters, the windows opening to the street and which in the upper story of the house are inclosed in the same manner. On the ground-floor, however, the windows have iron bars or grating, and behind this grating a curtain which is drawn at night. During the day no curtain is seen, and these grated windows, with their upright iron bars, give a dismal prison-like appearance to the story nearest to the street. In the more elegant houses, however, this window-grating is much ornamented, and frequently handsome ladies sitting, rocking themselves in rocking-chairs, and fanning themselves with splendid fans, may be seen behind the grating. Glass is never used. This construction of houses and arrangement of rooms gives free and general circulation to the air, and the air of Cuba cannot be other than welcome, but with it comes, here in Havanna, a vast deal of dust which is detrimental both to neatness and comfort.

If one goes into the city—and I have rambled about a great deal by myself in the evening—one gets glimpses, on all hands, through arcades and half dusky passages, into homes and amid households, the figures of which are seen in a charming clair-obscur. They pass by and vanish into shade. On all sides you see new vistas open, new pictures in dusky arcades, and beneath porticoes, ornamented with fresco-painting of fruits and flowers; but all is seen in a half light. Publicity has here a mystery, a shadowy depth; and in front of the open windows of the houses is iron grating. There is in the building of the city a great mixture of regularity and irregularity, of old and new, of the splendid and the dilapidated. Close beside the elegant arched arcade, with its gaily painted walls, stands a half ruinous wall, the fresco-paintings of which are half obliterated or have pealed off with the mortar. And this old wall is not repaired, nor the old painting restored. All this; the countenances and life of the coloured population; the silent, wedge-like way in which the volantes insinuate themselves between the rows of houses, give to Havanna a peculiar character, and a romantic life which is unlike that of any other city which I have seen, and especially unlike those of England and North America.

We have now moonlight, and I cannot but admire its brightness and transparency. Our moonlight in Sweden is tolerably bright, but has a colder, more blue tinge; here it is light yellow, and seems to me almost rose tinted. Moonlight here is considered dangerous, and people do not venture into it with uncovered heads.

I have been two evenings to La Plaza de Armas, to hear the music, with my good friends Mr. and Mrs. F. Elegant signoras with light mantillas over their heads, which are adorned with flowers, walk about with polite caballeros under the magnificent king-palms, or sit on marble benches talking, while the music plays Cuban dances, or marches, and pieces from favourite operas. A more beautiful festal hall than this place, with its palms and palaces, seen beneath the moonlight, and the beaming heaven of Cuba, cannot be conceived. I have also seen here lovely poetical forms, and poetically lovely costumes. That transparent Spanish veil is like moonlight, a talisman which conceals deformity, and enhances beauty by its mystic, shadowy, half light.

My amiable entertainers drove me one day to a village, or small town, called Guanabacoa, which is said to be the oldest on the island, and which still preserves some memories of the aborigines, the mild, peaceful Indians who inhabited Cuba, when the Spaniards discovered this beautiful island. And it is one of the peculiarities of Cuba that its aborigines were as mild as its climate, which even to this day exercises its delicious influence upon those who are born in the island. The Creoles are mild and of good disposition. There exist on the island neither poisonous plants nor venemous creatures. The native bee of Cuba has not even poison in its sting. The barbarities of the Spaniards in the island have not been able to poison its natural character; the blood of its massacred, inoffensive aborigines cries still from the earth, but its cry is a beautiful melody; it has baptised the most beautiful valley of Cuba with the name of Yumori!

Among the memories which the Indians have left in Guanabacoa, is a kind of earthen vessel made from a sort of porous clay, peculiar to the place, and which is still made there. These earthen vessels are universal in Cuba for the keeping drinking-water cool in the house. The water evaporates through the porous vessel, around which a cloth is bound, which is thus always moist, and the water which is drawn off is fresh, if not always cool enough for my taste. The want of good drinking-water is a great want in Cuba. Ice is not as yet used there for the cooling of water, except in the large hotels of Havanna.

The day was beautiful on which we drove to Guanabacoa, and the drive was beautiful also: but I was not able fully to enjoy it. I was worn out, from the want of rest for two nights, owing to the heat and the mosquitoes, and I saw everything in a half slumbering state. The little town reminded me of a miniature picture of Havanna, the houses built and painted in the same style, with the same flat roofs, and even ornamented azoteons, but all less and lower. The country exhibits still the same expanse of billowy plain scattered with palms and small farms, and with a background of that lofty mountain chain, which runs from east to west, and which is everywhere a fine prominent feature of its landscape. The highest peaks of these mountains, Patullo and Cobre, are said to be upwards of 3000 feet.

The natural fortresses and strongholds of the island have their own gloomy, romantic significance. Fugitive slaves live in these mountains, and have fortified themselves in their innumerable grottoes and caves, so that any pursuit of them is impossible. They have there built dwellings for themselves and obtained firearms, and at one time amounted to so large a number—it is said many thousands—that the government of Cuba entertained serious apprehensions from them. The difficulty, however, of obtaining food for themselves in these remote fastnesses have caused them of late greatly to decrease in number. Nevertheless, they prefer to live free, amid those free stern mountains, than to come down and live amid still sterner men.

The palm always constitutes an important feature in the landscape, especially when it stands singly or scattered in small groups. It strikes me as being the noblest and most human-like of all trees. On our homeward drive from Guanabacoa, I observed, in the clear moonlight, two palm-trees standing solitary in a large field. They stood a little apart, but the stems had more and more inclined towards each other, and their crowns met. Thus they stood, embracing each other with whispering branches, beneath that beautiful vault of heaven, themselves forming below it a lofty gothic arch. Thus sometimes will two noble-minded adversaries approach each other and grow together, the nearer they grow towards heaven.

Our road through the whole drive lay between quick hedges consisting, for the most part, of immense aloes, the pointed, thorny leaves of which forbade any approach. I saw in the middle of these plants tall, white and pink spikes of flowers not yet fully blown, and Mr. F. had the kindness to gather two of them for me. They resembled at a distance an immense hyacinth stem; they were the beautiful spike's of the aloe flower, and which afterwards produce a pleasant juicy fruit, with a pine-apple flavour. Here and there an orange-tree shot up in the hedge, as well as that strange candelabra-like plant or tree which I had already observed on the heights around Havanna harbour, but have not learnt either its name or genus. Very unlike were these quick hedges to those of our country fields; they are, however, more odd-looking than really beautiful. We drove home in that clear, gold, and rose-tinted moonlight. I understand that there are many beautiful flowers which bloom only in this light, among which is the night-blowing cereus.

Among the miracles which the sun performs here, that which it performs in the depth of the sea is perhaps the most remarkable. The sun casts his prismatic bow into the deep and colours the fish therewith. I yesterday paid a visit to the fish-market of Havanna, and no stranger in Havanna should fail of seeing this remarkable sight.

The fish glow with all the colours of the rainbow, with the most splendid clearness and distinctness; they are blue, yellow, red; they are edged with gold and violet, gold-tinted, and so on;—it is the most magnificent fish-splendour that any one can imagine. The most beautiful algæ and corals are gathered from the sea around Cuba.

Good Mrs. F. has frequently invited me to accompany her to the opera, but I am so covetous of the air and the moonlight here, that I prefer spending my evenings on La Plaza de Armas. Nature here is to me No. 1. People and their fine shows No. 2; I shall, however, go to-morrow to a large soirée at the house of the English consul, and see there the Spanish beauties. And then farewell to Havanna for a time.

I have received two invitations which have greatly pleased me. The one to Matanzas to the house of an American merchant there. The other to a plantation, at a few miles distance, from a Mrs. de C., whose friendly letter was a real refreshment to me; for there I shall be able to get out into the country, and to become acquainted with palms, and coffee-shrubs, and sugar-cane, and other tropical growths. I am greatly delighted. I wished to leave Havanna, where the oppressive heat and the unusual mode of living have caused me to suffer from an intolerable headache, which I have now had for three days, and which I cannot get rid of, although I am as much in the air as possible. To-morrow I shall go by railway to Matanzas, which is not quite a day's journey.

Before I close my letter, I must tell you the arrangement which the Swedish consul here, Mr. N., and Mr. S., wish to make for me. Mr. N. has a small country-house which he does not occupy, in the beautiful garden region close by the S's. This he wishes to furnish for me, and there I am to live in rural peace and freedom, attended by a respectable duenna, and to take my meals with the S's, who also invite me to take up my quarters with them, as soon as their guest-chamber, which is now occupied, shall be at liberty. Is not this charming? I shall not probably avail myself of this proffered kindness, but I am grateful with all my heart for such hospitality. The good F.'s are, however, at the bottom of it all. God bless them!

You have now frost and snow, and cold, cold air, cold all around you! and here it is too hot for me; and heat is not much better than cold, particularly when one has a headache. But heart and soul are sound, and with them I embrace you in all love!