construction from notions of economy. You see
that all but the very narrowest strip of sky must
be shut out. For why? The heavens above are
for ten hours out of the twenty–four one blazing
basin of burnished copper. The Cubans,
however, being wealthy, can afford to leave a wider
space between their houses; but while the sun
shines they shut him out with vast awnings of
parti–coloured stuffs. This aspect of Havana
would delight the heart of an Edgington. The
populous part of the city is one huge marquee.

Ah! and how shady the shops are. There
are some as dark as the purser's store–room in
a cockpit. You enter them, not only to shop, but
to bestow yourself in a rocking–chair, to nod and
to take, if you please, forty winks. The
shopkeeper never dreams of disturbing you. He puts
your nap in the bill; that is to say, he adds
fifty per cent to the price of the articles you
wish to purchase. Of course you beat him
down. You bargain for everything in Havana
mayor or minor, wholesale or retail. The
apothecary who sells you a blue pill expects an
amicable little tussle over the price. What
matters? It fills up the time, and, unless you are
concerned in sugar or coffee, you are sure to
have plenty of time hanging on your hands.
"Are there no beggars at your gate? are there
no poor about your lands?" the Poet Laureate
might indignantly ask. Well, the poor are
slaves, and are very fat and shiny, and
seemingly well cared for (which does not in the least
militate against slavery being a stupid, blundering,
and accursed anachronism, of which the
Spaniards themselves are heartily sick), and as
for the beggars, I never saw any in Havana;
and, had I met one, I should certainly not
have presumed to offer him less than a golden
dollar.

The tradespeople seldom, if ever, put their
names over their shop–fronts. They adopt
signs instead—not painted or plastic ones as
the Americans and the Germans do, but simply
written inscriptions usually implying some
ethical allusion. "La Rectitud," our old friend
of the boat, is much patronised by the mercers;
but that tradesman in the Calle O'Reilly must
have had queer ideas of rectitude when he
charged me seventy–five dollars for a dress
professedly made of pina or pine–apple fibre, but
which subsequently turned out to be a silk
grenadine from Lyons, not worth three guineas.
Then you have "La Probidad," "La Integridad,"
"La Buena Fé," "La Consciencia"—all special
favourites with the gentlemen of the narrow
width and ell wand. Their signs are very pretty,
but methinks they do profess too much. Some
are simply arrogant, "Todos mi elogian"—
I am praised by everybody; "Mi famo per
l'Orbo vuela"—my fame is universal: these are
over the cigar–shops. The photographer has a
flourish about "El Sol de Madrid" and "El
Rayo de Luz;" one studio went by the name
of "El Relampago"—the flash of lightning;
and I never could refrain from laughing at the
motto adopted by the proprietor of a shop for
the sale of lucifer matches—"La Explosion."

And now, if you please, picture these thread–
my–needle thoroughfares, not one of them a third
so wide as Hanway–yard, shady to intensity, but
yet rich in the tender tints of reflected light,
and semitones stealing through the diaphanous
awnings overhead, with here and there a pod,
a splash, an "explosion," of positive light and
colour—where the sun has found a joint in the
armour of awning and made play with his
diamond dart; picture these lanes thronged
from morning till night with sallow Spanish
Creoles, in white linen and Panamas, and negroes
and negresses gaudy, gaping, and grinning,
according to the wont of our African brothers
and sisters. Now and then a slouch–hatted,
black–cassocked priest, now and then a demure
Jesuit Father; many soldiers in suits of
"sursucker," a material resembling thin bed–ticking,
straw hats, and red cockades; many itinerant
vendors of oranges, lemonade, sugar–plums, and
cigars, for though every third shop is a
tobacconist's, there is a lively trade in cigars done in
the streets. The narrowness of the foot–pavement
affects you little. You may walk in the
roadway without inconvenience. There is
nothing to run over you save the bullock–drays,
whose rate of speed rarely exceeds a mile an
hour, and the pack–mules, which are so laden
with fresh–cut Indian corn–stalks for fodder
that only their noses and the tips of their tails
are visible beneath their burdens, and they look
like animated hayricks, and the volantes, which
are so light and springy that they would scarcely
crush the legs of a fly if their wheels passed over
him.

I confess that these several and sundry
humours of Havana were, when first I viewed
them, subordinated to my intense desire to find
an inn in which I could take mine ease; and I
was on the point of desiring the old negro
(who was frantic with rage by this time) to
turn his bullock's head to the city gates and
joumey towards Legrand's, when the odour of
a decidedly first–rate cuisine attracted me, and
ultimately induced me to put up at an inn in the
Calle del Obispo. To tell the truth, I wanted
my breakfast, desperately.

    THE LAY OF THE PHANTOM SHIP.

        And soon
        Those ugly human shapes and visages,
        Of which I spoke as having wrought me pain,
        Past floating in the air, and fading still
        Into the winds ....
                                       Prometheus Unbound.

ALL in a gay and goodlie ship
    There sail'd away to sea,
Beneath a blue and golden sky,
    A gentle companie;
Old men and young, and maidens, too,
    As faire, as faire could be.

High, high in air, exceeding faire,
    A golden sky did glance
With limpid eye upon the waves,
    That merrilie did dance:
And the white foam stream'd behind the ship
    O'er this ocean's vast expanse.