butter, and which flourishes as well upon the poor land of the negroes, as in the rich planters' well-manured caffatals. So good a mother is Nature, so good a Father is the Creator of Nature, that the most palatable and the most wholesome food of the earth is, in all countries, the most accessible to all. What have we in our country, which for a continuance, tastes so good and is so wholesome as potatoes and herring, milk and bread, and rye-meal hasty pudding? “Even their Excellencies,” I remember your saying, on one occasion, “may very well conclude with hasty pudding!”—and water, clear, pure spring water, the first, best of all beverages of nature, is the one which is given freely to all!
I must now say a few words about the last negro-dance which I shall witness in Cuba.
It was in the afternoon of this day, under a large shadowy almond-tree, in front of the bohea, which here is not one of those castellated walls, with gates, and bolts, and bars, but a building lying open, and which reminds me of the large barns in our own country. It seems as if the coffee plantations were distinguished from sugar plantations by the style of the bohea.
The dance was altogether similar in character to the dances which I have already described. The negroes stood in a ring and sang, monotonously and inharmoniously, but with measured cadence, the words and the tune which a young negro gave out. In the centre of the ring two or three dancing couples flourished about, leaping and grimacing; the men with much animation, the women sheepishly. The dance was one continuous, monotonous improvisation. A number of little children joined in the ring, and among them stood the good white lady, la dame blanche, as I like to call her, gentle and motherly.
Again, I asked and endeavoured to ascertain the meaning of the words which were sung to the dance, and again
