[Subsection]

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 any thing 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 harbor 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   [p. 253]   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 Atchafalaya Bay, and thence into the Mexican Gulf. One plantation after another shone out upon the shore with its white houses inclosed in thickets of orange and cedar trees, flowering oleanders, aloes, and palmettoes. 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 color 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 every thing 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   [p. 254]   without a new life--cross the sea. Let the air and the life of the sea bathe thy soul for days and weeks. Every thing 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 are 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 afterward 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 demeanor 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   [p. 255]   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 endeavored 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 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 millionaire 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 Chagres, 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.

  [p. 256]  

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 afterward, 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 Havana harbor.

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

There lay the large city, Havana, along the shore to the right of the entrance to the harbor, with its low houses of all colors, blue, yellow, green, orange, like an immense mass of showy articles of porcelain and glass on a stall of   [p. 257]   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 harbor 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 harbor seemed as clear as crystal, and, above all, atmosphere and color seemed to be of the most diaphonous 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 of 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 any thing 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 Chagres, on his way to California.

We lay for six hours in the harbor, awaiting our permission   [p. 258]   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 favorite 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 harbor.

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 honor not to land on the island, but to proceed on his way to Chagres 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 intrusted to an American hotel-keeper in Havana (a Mr. Woolcott), who conveyed me and my effects on shore, and then through the customhouse 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, while 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 Havana, and would not yet leave for, a couple of days. I wrote, therefore, a few lines to her, and dispatched them by our young countryman, Hörlin, who was glad to be   [p. 259]   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 at 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 every where 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 Havana, 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 every thing else--honor, 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   [p. 260]   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 can not 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 traveling party--Belletti, Mademoiselle Aehrström, 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 behavior 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 sae hör du mig"--

  [p. 261]   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 Havana, 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 upward 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 rumor that Captain West, who had brought her over from England to America, had perished in a disastrous voyage at sea. All this   [p. 262]   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 Havana; 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 toward 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 mean time, 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   [p. 263]   and flowers of Cuba. Is not that charming? Is not my little traveling 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 Irish woman, 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 inclosed 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-colored flowers not unlike our Indian cross-flower, but darker in color; 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   [p. 264]   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, aud graceful at the same time!

Hence I go to an esplanade, or lofty terrace, called La Cortine de Valdez, raised along the harbor on the opposite side to the Moro. 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 the Moro, which exclude the tumult of the ocean, and leave the harbor calm; watch, through the mouth of the harbor, 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 honor 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 gray, 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 Moro-light, as the lofty beacon-fire in the Moro fortress is called, is kindled, and beams like a   [p. 265]   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 colored 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 can not 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 my kind of Havana 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   [p. 266]   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 of some 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 ahead 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 des 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 defense 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   [p. 267]   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 mulattoes; even in the shops one sees mulattoes, especially in the cigar-shops. Cigars are smoked universally, especially a small kind called cigaritos. The colored population seem to intoxicate themselves with tobacco-smoke. I frequently see negroes and mulattoes 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 sat upon the azoteon till toward 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   [p. 268]   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 favor of his son-in-law, Mr. S., who is a German.

Mr. F. is a young-elderly man, with a countenance and demeanor full of benevolence and good humor, 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, love-tokens, 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 Havana. 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 tableau), those well-bred, cheerful gentlemen, that excellent music --the young sisters F. sing extremely well--that Cuban contra-dance, and its music so peculiar, so delineative of   [p. 269]   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 one's self 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 one's self 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 while 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   [p. 270]   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 bass-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 pretense 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 nowadays, 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   [p. 271]   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 cognizant 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!