Cuba Past and Present

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efore very long, however, you are made aware that you are under the Southern Cross, for, just before you reach your destination, you form your first acquaintance with the banyan tree, of which there is a celebrated group, considered one of the finest in the West Indies, standing in the middle of a field. The central tree, which must be of great age, is of vast size. From its upper branches it has cast down numerous feelers, which, in their turn, have become big trees, and so the one growth contrives to cover some four or five acres of ground. After you have amused yourself by walking in and out of the innumerable arches and avenues formed by this grand specimen of perhaps the most extraordinary species of tr

which is popularly known as the "Dutchman's pipe," on account of the peculiar shape of the flower, which is exactly like a little tobacco-pipe. The Cuban variety is a sturdy creeper, with enormous, heart-shaped leaves. This flower must be seen to be appreciated. When open, it presents the appearance of a huge porous plaster about a foot in diameter. The edge is perfectly white and waxy, the centre a dark brown, with a slit in the middle, opening into a pod-shaped cup, and furnished with sharp bristles, usually garnished with drops of syrup, to allure the flies and other insects, which, when once they enter that little "parlour," find themselves

t Havana with a friend, to make a tour of the oth

t there are no glass windows, and when one considers the heat, one is thankful that there are no cushions, to harbour dust and insects. The

sugar-cane fields, otherwise not particularly picturesque. We stopped for luncheon at a village called, I think, Rincon, where there is a regular Cuban buffet. The principal dish, I remember, was roast sucking-pig, cold but succulent. Coolies and negroes came round with baskets of fruit-bananas, pineapples, oranges, mangoes, and zapadillos. After this station, we travelled between rocky cliffs, in the fissures of which grew the most exquisite ferns I have ever seen out of a hot-house, the hardy, glossy, oak-leaf fern, so sought after in Covent Garden Market being es

them of superlative excellence, and although in all that concerns the elegances of life the "Inglaterra", the "Louvre" and the "Pasage" at Havana ar

a huge turban on her head, ready to bid you welcome, with the very broadest of smiles. As my friend and myself had brought her a letter, which, by-the-way, she could not read, of introduction from one of her Havanese patrons, she made a prodigious fuss in our honour. She felt sure, she said, that, being Englishmen, we should like to have a bedroom all to ourselves, to which reasonable proposition we very naturally assented. Presently she took us upstairs to a very long and very lofty dormitory, furnished with about a dozen brass bedsteads, arranged against the walls in a double line, each duly protected by mosquito curtains, and supplemented by a table, a chair, an iron tripod, bearing a basin and jug, and a flat candlestick. Having paraded us once or twice up and down this apartment, she suddenly stopped in front of two neat littl

les are, of course, splendid, and are cooked as sweet dishes, in a variety of ways. There is one necessary of life which you are obliged to dispense with, and that is butter, which is only likely to appear in the houses of the very rich, or at one or two of the best hotels in Havana. There is an appalling decoction called mantiquella, which is kept in a bottle, and poured out for the benefit of American and English visitors, who are asked to believe it is butter! God save the mark, it's exactly like train-oil. Everything is fried in olive oil, but of excellent quality, so you soon learn to do without butter to your bread, and, indeed, with as little bread as may be, for nowhere is it very good. Otherwise, Cuban cooking is not bad when once the traveller knows the ropes, and what to order. It is certainly much better than the Spanish cuisine. There is a Cuban cookery book in the British Museum, printed and published in Havana in t

picturesque. Round it are arranged little open charcoal stoves, above which are suspended an endless number of copper saucepans. Sometimes, up in a corner, is an image of our Lady of Guadaloupe, blessing, apparently, from the interior of her glass case, the motley gathering of cooks of all ages and colours, who are intently busy doing nothing. Here on the floor sits a little darkie shelling peas, and near him another small sable urchin howls because his ears have just been boxed for licking his

he mosquitoes, and in the second on that of the chorus of snores which resounded on all sides after two o'clock in the morning, when our neighbours, after chattering among themselves like so many magpies, and even

but Matanzas is looked upon, throughout the country, as anything but orthodox. There are, however, several convents, and two very well managed hospitals. The fashionable quarter of the city is called "Versailles." Here the wealthier citizens have built themselves a number of beautiful villas, in the usual classical, one-storied style. These dazzling white marble columns, elaborate iron-work balconies, mosaic pavements and handsome porticoes, are doubtless a very

h by 83 in width. Its walls are of pure crystal. From the lofty roof hang monster stalactites covered with millions of flashing crystals full of prismatic hues. Following the guide, who carries a limelight, you next enter a large hall, or chamber, which looks absolutely as if it had been made of whipped cream. Then, after passing through endless crystal halls, you reach the fuente de nieve, the snow-fountain, in which the stalactites have assumed the semblance of a cascade of frosted snow. These caves extend for about three miles, and are between 300 and 500 feet below the surface of the earth, and may therefo

broken up in the most charming manner, by groups of slender columns, surmounted by waving plumes, which intercept, without impeding, the view of golden cane fields and the tender green coffee plantations which stretch in all directions, until it fades into the delicate mauve tint of approaching evening. The view over the valley of the Yumurri is one of those glorious things which a Milton might have described, a Turner or a Martin might have painted. It baffles the efforts of my humble pen. All I can say is that I have seen a good half of the fair world in which man is called to spend his petty span, but never