young man's humours is rather a new thing.
He shall not come here any more. Indeed, I
suppose he will have enough to do to keep
himself from want. I am sure," she continued,
trying to put up the smile, only now it fitted with
difficulty, and seemed made for another mouth,
"Mr. Tillotson, who was considerate and kind
towards him all through, must have seen what a
thankless, ungracious person he was. Not one
of the girls," continued she, "liked him; and as
for that child, Ada to whom he had some
dislike—I know she will he glad to be free from his
tyranny."

     THE HUMOURS OF HAVANA.

THE morning, you may be sure, did not find
me a sluggard on my couch in the saloon.
Never rose a lark, or a landscape–painter on
his first sketching–tour in Wales, with more
alacrity than did I from the steam–packet's
scrubby velvet sofa. Early bird as I was, there
had been even lighter sleepers; and the ship,
above and below, was full ot joyous life. During
the few hours of darkness, too, that process of
transformation I lately spoke of had been making
rapid progress. I had fallen to sleep, it is true,
in Spanish waters, but in Anglo–Saxon
company, but I woke up on board a caravel
belonging to the Spanish Armada. The grave,
sonorous, and dignified Castilian—noblest and
most Romanesque of tongues—resounded on
every side ; and although the day wanted several
hours of breakfast–time, the blue filmy fumes
of the cigaritos were floating about the cabin
like aromatic gossamer. The consumption of
chocolate was immense. Only yesterday we
had been content with an early morning cup of
coffee ; but chocolate is the sole recognised
Spanish desayuno; nor, with a glass of cold
water and a cigarito afterwards, does it make
you so very bilious. Or is it that your liver
becomes, on your entrance into these torrid
climes, so utterly disorganised, that nothing
can make you more bilious, save the yellow fever,
which kills you?  "If in doubt, take a drink,"
says the American proverb. You had better
give chocolate the benefit of the doubt, and
drink that; for, although made so thick that a
spoon will well–nigh stand upright in the cup,
it is a most delicious and refreshing beverage.
I noticed, too, that several of our transatlantic
fellow–passengers, in compliment to the climate
and the Spanish flag, had substituted chocolate
for their habitual "morning glory," or cocktail;
in fact, one gentleman, used to these latitudes,
informed me that he had "swore off"
alcohol altogether, until when returning from
New Orleans, whither he was bound, he should
be north of Cape Florida again; "and then,"
he concluded, "I guess I will change my breath,
and nominate my p'ison," a prudent resolve,
and one that Englishmen as well as Americans
would do well to imitate in the tropics. Yellow
Jack is a bitter foe, and swamp fever a
fearsome scourge; but I will back Old Rye and
brandy–pawnee to sweep off more Anglo–Saxons
in a week, than the vomito or the fever will do
in a month.

Tables and chairs covered with oranges—
come from none could tell precisely where ;
but it seems to rain oranges in Havana—and
the presence of sundry officials in suits of white
linen or faint blue stripe, with huge Panama
hats, helped to complete the idea of transformation.
Are you aware of the beauties of a
Panama hat? It is of fine straw straw so
fine and so exquisitely plaited, that it appears
to be of one united glossy nature. It is as
soft as silk, and as strong as chain–mail, and
as elastic as caoutchouc. If you are caught in
a shower of rain, and your Panama gets wet
through, you have only to wring it out as
though it were a towel, and hang it on your
walking–stick to dry, and in a quarter of an
hour it will have regained its pristine shape.
The Spaniards declare that a Panama is shot–
proof, and an infallible protection against
sunstroke; but of these assertions I have my
doubts. The life of a Panama hat may be
measured by that of a raven. It is supposed
never to wear put. At all events, there is a
cunning hatter in New York, who, for ten dollars,
will undertake to return to you, as good
as new, a Panama which is twenty years old,
and has been in the wars, and shipwrecked, and
thrown into a lime–kiln, a tan–pit, and a bucket
of tar. This peerless hat is not to be purchased
at a mean price. It is the dearest headgear
manufactured. Indian maidens have intoned
whole cantos of Indian epics while they
plaited and sewed together those minute circles
of straw. A good Panama will stand you in
from fifty to seventy–five pesos de oro from
ten to fifteen pounds sterling.

And now, on this first of tropical mornings,
did the steamer's state–rooms give up their
semi–dead. Whole families of Señoras and
Señoritas made their appearance in shiny black
and pink silks, and low mantillas, and pink
stockings, and white satin shoes, and colossal
fans, ready for any amount of flirtation, seranade–
hearing, and bull–fight witnessing. Where
had those Señoras and Señoritas been for the
last five days? On their backs, I trow, in
their berths, screaching piteously when the
steamer pitched ; moaning dismally when she
rolled ; imbibing chloroform, cognac, tea and
other nostrums against sea–sickness, and calling
upon many saints. Our Lady de los Remedios
might be the best to invoke under such
circumstances, perchance.

There is an immensely stout old lady in
violet–coloured satin, with a back–comb as
high as the horn of Queen Philippa in old
illuminations, a burnt–sienna countenance, a
cavalry recruit's moustache, a bright green
umbrella, and an oaken casket clasped with
brass under one arm. This is the old lady,
I apprehend, to whom the stewardess used
to take in such tremendous rations of stewed
beefsfeak, fried banana, and bottled ale every
day at dinner–time. She suffered awfully. Her