ments of their assemblies. I longed for pure air and clear water, and to gratify my longing Mr. F. drove me in his volante to Havannah harbour.
It was sunset. We inquired for our friend, the boatman of the former evening, Rafael Hernandez, who soon made his appearance with his splendid boat, La Leonora Rosita, and rowed us out into the harbour.
Ah! how beautiful, in that tranquil, resplendent evening to row softly along that palm-decorated shore, and silently to inhale the pure air, and to contemplate the soft, clear colouring of every object. The glowing blush of evening tinged all. Presently the lamps were lighted on the quay la Alameda di Paula, and other places along the harbour. These lit up the shore and the water with a wonderfully pure and clear splendour. It seems to me as if light and air here possessed sound and melody; I hear, as it were, their purity, whilst it strikes upon my eye. And now, I felt as if I had come out of chaos into the world of pure light and harmony. But, of a truth, what ball-room would not have seemed to me dusty and stifling when compared with this rotunda of nature beneath the heaven of Cuba.
I asked our boatman—who spoke English as well as Spanish—whether he was satisfied with his condition in life, he shook his head: “Things were going dreadfully with him; he should find himself compelled some fine morning to run away both from boat and city.”
“You smoke too many cigarettos, Hernandez!” said I.
“Only twenty a day, Signora!” said he, and shrugged his shoulders.
April 22nd.—Good morning, my beloved child: I get on charmingly now at the hotel. I have full freedom, have everything excellent, and the good Mrs. Mary does not let me want for anything. Early in the morning I go out to walk on my favourite Cortina; watch the waves
