branches, or on the piazza in a rocking-chair soothed by music and the zephyrs of Paradise; thus could I sit, it seems to me, for an eternity, and feel nothing wanting!
Mrs. B. drove me last evening in her volante to the top of Combre. A pair of horses drew the volante rapidly up the hill, although it is a two hours' journey. The road lay between lofty candelabra-like aloe-plants; and when we had reached the summit or ridge of hills, we beheld the blue, vast sea, stretching out on the right hand, scattered over with trading vessels and ships of war both large and small; all that great world's life and that boundless ocean of the world; and to the left, inclosed within mountains, Yumori valley, with its green and lovely groves of palms, like a quiet, peaceful paradise,—a greater or more beautiful contrast cannot be imagined. Beautiful habitations, the country-houses of the wealthy inhabitants of Matanzas, were scattered about this elevation, surrounded by trees and flowers. We saw the sun set and the moon rise in calm majesty. I could merely say, “God, how beautiful are thy works!”
Oh! I would bring to this height of Combre, the woman wearied and embittered by life; she, who has seen into the darkened abysses of life; I would let her here see, breathe, and derive again courage and hope from these speaking symbols of the affluence and glory of the All-good! I would place her here, and say to her, “See, all this is thine, will be thine one day when thy desert-pilgrimage shall be ended, and thou shalt have won the victory—Trust, and hope!”
We drove back through the clearest moonlight, with the view across the bay lying unbroken before us the whole way. But Mrs. B. and I had absorbed ourselves in a conversation upon quite another subject than the beauties of nature, and I gave to them merely a half attention, a pre-occupied mind, and now feel a little reproach of conscience.
