white lady there, like a mother among the black children, is a picture which I am glad to bear away with me.
But I bear away with me thence the memory of the words which the estimable Don Felix uttered one evening, and which in his mouth could not be questioned:—“Ah, c'est un malheur que d'être esclave!”
That beautiful white lady cannot, after all, protect the poor black slave!
Religion is not altogether dead in Cuba; it still exists there in some beautiful, charitable institutions for the benefit of orphan children, and the unfortunate sick. It still exists there—more vital than in the United States of America in one respect, namely, that it acknowledges as worthy of its care, the black as well as the white, and equally so as regards its hospital and benevolent institutions. I have seen this to-day, and have heard the same from the amiable Creole Alfredo S. with whom I visited the large infirmary of St. Lazare, of which he is Intendente. This great institution is appropriated to the unfortunates who are afflicted with the incurable diseases peculiar to the tropics, and in particular to the African race, leprosy, elephantiasis, in which the legs and feet swell to an unnatural size, and la maladie de St. Antoine, in which the hands and feet are contracted and without apparent cause or sore waste away to nothing. These unfortunates are here provided for in the most beautiful manner. The extensive building—built like an immense bohea around a square court, and with a grated door, is situated by the sea, which bathes with its roaring waves the rocky walls at its feet, and surrounds the home of the sick with its breezes, fraught with life and health. There were in the court beautiful shrubberies of oleanders, now in full bloom, and the beautiful pink flowers of which filled the air with a delicious fragrance. These beautiful shrubberies were the
