bonnet on her head—to make use of her own means of promenade, instead of those of the horse or volante, that little negro boys and girls run after me shouting and laughing, and grown-up people stand and stare, and horses and oxen are sometimes frightened. People are, however, beginning now to be used to me, and to seeing me go out; and I will not, without very good reasons, give up my solitary rambles of discovery.
Will you accompany me on one of them, the first, the most charming which I have yet made, and when I, early in the morning, visited alone the Valley of Yumori? As a matter of course, you must understand that the morning was beautiful; but how beautiful nobody can understand who has not experienced the early morning hour, and the caresses of the spirit of the sea from Matanzas Bay. The Valley of Yumori lies about two hundred paces from Matanzas. You see a gorge between two lofty crags, and through the gorge a bright little river, which flows between verdant banks to unite itself to the sea—I do not say throw itself into it, because it is too tranquil for that. It is clear and calm as a mirror. Let us follow the little stream through the rocky portals, outside of which is open meadow, and the broad blue Bay of Matanzas, with ships from all the nations of the world sailing in, or lying at anchor far, far into the distance.
We walk along the banks of the Yumori river, and pass the mountain portals; and within, a wonderfully beautiful valley expands, the greensward overgrown with palms and verdurous shrubs, and enclosed on each side by lofty mountain ridges. The shadows of the hills lie cool and dusk upon that portion of the valley along which our path runs. How beautiful it is here in the cool shadow! On our left is the mirror-like river, which begins to withdraw, under our gaze, into a wood of mangrove—a species of shrub which grows in the water, and increases by throwing its twigs down to the bottom, where they take
