SEEKING information with reference to distances while in Cuba will be found an adventurous enterprise. The answer you receive is, “Far as the voice of a countryman, or the crowing of a cock,” which you find after traveling two or three leagues just beyond. The following are the correct distances across the island by railway: From Cienfuegos to Cruces, nineteen miles; from Cruces to Santo Domingo, twenty-four miles; from Santo Domingo to Matanzas, eighty miles; from Matanzas to Havana, sixty-six miles. Many suppose Cuba has no railroads, except some on which an attempt to ride would imperil their safety, which is a great mistake. The roads are in the hands of the Government, being well built, and the speed all that could be desired. Three kinds of passenger-cars are placed at the disposal of travelers—first, second, and third class. The first class are not cushioned, but have willow-wrought backs and seats to make them cool. Few, except foreigners, ride in them. The second class have cushioned seats, and more passengers. The soldiers also ride in these. The third class cars have seats without backs or cushions on them. The majority of Cubans have no pride in regard to their mode of traveling. These uncomfortable cars are literally packed. Here we see the elegantly-dressed lady, with her crape shawl and embroidered veil—gentlemen-planters, coolies, the blackest slaves on the island—all listening to the blind musician playing on his guitar, while his wife and he are singing their Spanish melodies and gathering up the dinero which the kind-hearted people give them.

The smell of garlic and tobacco are two odorous substances with which travelers in Cuba must become accustomed. Passengers all smoke in every car—the interrogation never being used, Is smoking offensive? Everybody seems trying to pull the greatest possible amount of pleasure from the Havana weed. A vast number of cigars and cigarettes vanish in a short space of time.

As the train started from Cruces, a quiet shower distilled itself. It rains in Cuba without threatening skies or any visible preparation. There is no rolling up of squadrons into threatening ranks, the moisture appearing to come from nowhere. The shower was like beauty blushing through tears, the skies were so lovely, and the rain-drops very gentle. It is harvest-time now on the island. Every thing is hurry and rush, while both men and beasts are, many of them, driven to death. When we stopped at the first station it was early in the morning, and day was breaking. Carts, drawn by oxen and loaded with sugar-hogsheads which had come from miles away, were standing there. Poor brutes! What a look of subjugation they all have, with an immense ring through their noses, and no yoke around their necks but a small one fastened to their heads and horns, by which the loads are drawn! These oxen are of immense size, with tremendously long horns. They are not the Florida stock of cattle, but brought from Mexico. They drive them with goads, or sharpened pieces of iron, which are very severe. Nothing is treated so badly here as the patient ox, the mortality among them being greater than all the other animals combined. Acres of sugar-hogsheads now cover the grounds around the depots. The wealth of the country—that before which all other products sink into insignificance—is the rich sugar-cane, supplying more than half the world with its saccharine deposits. The cane raised here is three per cent. richer than that raised in the Southern States. It grows from four to eight feet in height, according to the fertility of the soil. It is now March, and the summit of the cane is crowned with its useful blooms, which are gathered and dried for upholstering purposes, while the leaves are cut and used for the sustenance of stock, which are herded, watched, and fed, night and day, when not working. In passing through the country we frequently see, remote from any dwelling, small tents stretched over a cot-bed. Here is where the coolie cattle-herder sleeps. The heavy dews, with the hot sunshine at midday, to which they are exposed, must finish out the existence of these poor wretches very soon.

The mornings being a little airy now, the agents come out, on the arrival of the train, dressed in the capa parada, or long brown cloth cloaks, with capes which hang over their shoulders. Below is seen a pair of legs dressed in white, supported by a pair of feet covered with their birthday stockings and leather sandals. This constitutes the uniform of both agents and loafers, worn by them when making their dÉbut from a hasty morning toilet. Travelers, in going through the country now, pass the day in varied vicissitudes of thought and feelings. It is no secret that a war is progressing in Cuba which may end in a Santo Domingo massacre, or, like the Kilkenny cats, continue fighting until they destroy each other. More soldiers are traveling on the trains than citizens—their uniforms being made of light-blue striped linen, with scarlet cuffs, and their hats of Panama, turned up on the left side, on which is fastened a red and yellow cockade. This style of dress seems to be intended as a mark of loyalty to the Spanish Government, used more for a badge of their principles than a uniform designed for those in actual service, as it is worn by men too old for duty, and boys too young for enlistment. The men are all armed with guns, knives, and pistols, until they look like moving arsenals, Barracks are stationed on the railroad at every town of any size, while cavalry soldiers, armed with carbines, go dashing about in all directions. The Cuban saddle-horses are evidently related to the Arabian stock brought from Spain; they are pretty, graceful, docile, easy-gaited creatures. The cavalry braid their horses’ tails, then tie them to the saddles with red and yellow ribbons. When they ride up to a store or hotel, they hitch them under the front veranda. A Spaniard told me “that it was because they were too lazy to walk, and they rode into the house.”

The insurgents are more to be dreaded, in the adoption of their present tactics, than regularly organized troops. They are acquainted with every portion of the country—all its defiles and elevations—with their methods and places for secure retreat always selected. They dart about like sunbeams, dealing destruction to every thing in their reach with the celerity of hurricanes. The regular vocations of life are interrupted—all the energies of the nation being expended on arms, and not on arts, which has already sounded the death-knell to their national prosperity. Many Spaniards are now nursing the delusion of peace, but it is only a shadow, evanescent as the gorgeous hues which deck their evening skies. Foreigners, as they pass through the country, feel some anxiety for their safety when they approach the track of the insurgents so close as to see the smoking ruins of burning sugar-houses. Strangers who visit here now, with proper passports and correct deportment, will be protected. Persons who either cannot or will not give any account of themselves are regarded with suspicion, which is the same in all countries that are in a state of insurrection.

In traveling two hundred miles we change cars four times. On the trains we have none of those insinuating, untiring, vigilant, prize-candy boys, to thrust their wares in our faces, just as our nerves are settling from the last jolt, to worry us until we have to make an investment in their sweet flour-paste and brass jewelry, to be rid of them. The coolies seem to do the peddling at the stopping-places. They have for sale sponge-cakes, peeled oranges, bananas, goat’s-milk cheese, and guava-jelly. What a medley of all nations is seen when we halt! There is something in the atmosphere opposed to silence, yet everybody keeps in a good humor. When the train stops there is no hurry or bustle—all the ladies sit down, while the men walk up to the bar for a drink. The favorite beverage is made from the penalis, or “long kiss”—a hollow-shaped banana, molded from sugar, mixed with wine and water. There is no drinking behind screens—it is all public, in a large room, with seats for passengers to sit on. The Cubans drink small quantities each time, yet no one gets drunk, the wines being so light and pure. Each departure of the train is announced by the ringing of a large dinner-bell held in the hands of a negro. The coolies are employed on the cars, both as firemen and brakemen. Our coolie brakeman went to sleep between each stopping-place, but never was behind time when the engine whistled down brakes. The depots are not large; but each one has a flower-yard, or garden, attached, arranged with taste, where the scarlet hibiscus blooms with its showy petals, that flame like “mimic suns.” They gave us flowers freely when we motioned for them; but they gave us looks too, as the inhabitants in the center of the island are not much accustomed to seeing foreigners. Although it is only the first day of March, every thing has on a midsummer dress—all the flowers, like the national colors, are of the grandest hues. The favorite shade-tree is the orange, of which nearly every cabin, however humble, has a few. One arbor had tomato-vines trained over it, hanging full of scarlet fruit, forming a fine contrast with the green leaves. Miles of banana-trees are passed on every side, maturing rapidly. Immense fields of corn give promise of an abundant harvest. The plantations are inclosed by hedges of Campeachy and Brazil wood, besides sessile hemp, Spanish bayonet, and cactus, while some have rock walls. The hedges formed from vegetation are constantly clothed with verdure and flowers: any attempt to penetrate them would be a hazardous enterprise for man or beast, as well as a damaging encounter for all fleshly or furry coverings. The tropical atmosphere which pervades this island is favorable to the growth of plants of various species from all parts of the world. The royal palm, with its curling plumes, rearing its lofty head two hundred feet in the air, stands in rows on each side of the avenues that lead to the dwellings. Its leaves are used in thatching houses, its fruit in fattening hogs, and its stately trunk for troughs. By means of ropes these immense trees are climbed by the natives, with the celerity of monkeys. The acacia-tree also sheds its fragrance in the woods and cultured gardens. The virgin forests are teeming with such a superabundance of vegetation, it has no room for development. The trunks of the trees are covered with moss, ferns, and parasitic plants, which perfume the air, and delight us with the most exquisite odors, while above

NATIVES GATHERING PALM-FRUIT.
NATIVES GATHERING PALM-FRUIT.

all climbs the convolvulus to dizzy heights, interweaving and forming arches to crown the rank growth with its perpetual-blooming, campanulated flowers. Here the cactus family, with its collaterals, assume immense proportions, armed with weapons, the appearance of which is sufficient to fill the mind of any explorer with terror. The old man’s beard, with its swinging pendants hanging from the tall trees at the mercy of the winds, flourishes as though its resting-place was something more substantial than the caprice of every fickle breeze. There are no large streams of water flowing through the country; but springs abound, some of which are supposed to possess curative properties. The most airy tales emanating from the pen of the wildest romancer have never equaled the real beauties of this modern Eden. It seems to have been designed as a haunt for the Muses, or a resting-place for ethereal messengers, where they could meet and hold converse before proceeding on their missions of mercy, in administering comfort to the afflicted. The residents of such a land, instead of destroying each other, and manifesting the unfeeling, restless disposition which we see here, should be as contented as crickets, to feed upon dew-drops and bask in sunbeams.

That slave-labor is employed here, and slavery exists, we have sufficient proof in traveling through the country. Negroes being naturally a discontented race, they run away whenever an opportunity presents itself. One planter left us with a black slave at Colon. She had a rope tied around her waist, with which her master was leading her. She was well dressed, had some bundles in her arms, and looked very indifferent, generally. The laws forbid their being whipped; but the plantation-drivers all have huge lashes, which, when popped, sound like the distant report of fire-arms. The slaves are formed into ranks when they go to and return from their work; sometimes a hundred are seen in a drove, composed of both sexes. They are now employed in cutting cane, and load from thirty to fifty wagons at once before they move them to the mills for grinding and boiling. The mules grind the cane with veiled faces and sour looks for such sweet work. Cane only requires renewing here once in five or ten years; consequently, but few are planting or plowing. We visited one plantation for the purpose of seeing them work. Every thing was in a rush. Some had on chains for bad conduct; but their tasks had to be performed all the same. One coolie was pointed out as having been run away two years, hidden out at work with the colliers in the mountains. He was kept in the stocks at night, and made to work with his chains on during the day, of which he complained to the overseer’s wife. She replied, “If they give you liberty you will go away again.” He responded, “I will.” The slaves were never treated with half the severity in the States which they receive here. Their quarters are miserable thatched huts, with earth floors, furnished with only an inclined plank for a bed, sick or well. Their principal food is rice and cassava-root, ground and baked in thin cakes. Slave-property has depreciated very much in Cuba since the insurrectionary movements, and at present none appear anxious to make investments in such precarious property. The importation of more coolies has been forbidden. Negroes from Africa have been landed here this winter. The coolies cannot learn to speak English well, but catch the Spanish language directly. Small negroes are plentiful; they all come around us, with their rude, naked, black bodies and woolly heads, to steal a sly glance at the strangers, and then run away. Many traveling monkeys look brighter, and manifest more signs of intelligence, than these creatures. As soon as they can walk they receive about the same attention as puppies—upon which they thrive very well. There is no Sunday on sugar-plantations, and all the slaves look as though they did not have sense to comprehend it, if any one should tell them they had a soul. They are only taught to work, and if they refuse, the stocks and chains are ready for them, and other punishments too, although the laws make a pretense of redressing their wrongs and ameliorating their condition.

Chicken-fighting is practiced in Cuba as a means of subsistence. When a young man forsakes the paternal roof in the States, to engage in games of chance, he usually carries a pack of playing-cards in his pocket, which are not seen. The young Cuban leaves home attired in his best clothes, with a thorough-bred fighting-cock under his arm, from the body of which all the feathers have been plucked, his wings and tail-plumage only remaining. These chickens are carried with an evident feeling of pride, and for the purpose of display, as an American jockey would show a fine horse. The owners have an ear of corn in their pocket, with which they feed them. When the cars stop they always crow, as if trying to challenge a champion for fight. These fights are not considered disgraceful here, as in other countries, and hundreds of dollars are bet on a single chicken. The Cubans laugh when any thing is said about cruelty to chickens, and reply, “No law has yet been passed here for the prevention of cruelty to animals.” When Bergh visits Cuba, no doubt, his first and warmest sympathies will be enlisted in behalf of the poor chickens, with their bare backs deprived of the natural covering to prevent others with which they fight from holding them by their feathers. The Spaniards, being a nation of strong passions, require something more than mental exhilaration to stimulate and satisfy them—hence the resort to chicken and bull-fights.

Matanzas is situated on the north-west coast of Cuba, latitude 23° north, and sixty-six miles from Havana. The sea-approach to Matanzas Bay is indicated by two singularly shaped hills, called The Pan of Matanzas, which appear to stand like sentinels guarding the entrance. The harbor is fine, affording protection from all winds but the north-east. The surrounding elevations of land give the city the appearance of an amphitheater, or half circle. The soil in the vicinity is the richest in Cuba. The range of mountains here evidences marks of convulsions in nature, and they have, no doubt, been the seat of volcanic action. The rocks forming the basis of these mountains are limestone—some of them containing caves, one of which is said to extend under the town. As we approach the depot, what a medley we see! A regular Pentecostal illustration of olden times, where every one hears his own tongue spoken! We noticed an official on duty whose services are much needed in many places. It was a man with a moderate-sized rod, which he used in clearing the car-shed of idle boys and lazy servants—making porters, carrying bundles, move with accelerated velocity. A subordinate race here has no show for the development of their slothful proclivities; the authorities arrest them when discovered, and, without any appeal, send them to work, miles away, on the sugar-plantations—vagrancy and vagabondism being dangerous experiments in Cuban cities.

I am unable to explain the cause, but all the Cuban men wear visages as though their bodies were the abode of numerous pains, which distorted their facial nerves, while their attenuated limbs look like the home of rheumatics, whose frequent twitchings had absorbed the flesh, leaving only a little parchment-covered bone and muscle, resembling a has-been foundation of an aristocratic family. No smile sleeps or wakes on their faces; if one should, perchance, light on them, it soon leaves, for want of encouragement. The ladies all look plump and well kept as any scions of royal blood. Care rests lightly on them as their clothing, which entire outfit resembles the lace and gauzy drapery for the more substantial ornamenting of an American lady’s toilet.

Here we see the coolies engaged in all kinds of servitude—cooking, waiting on tables, attending in sleeping-apartments—always moving in that snail-pace which, apparently, nothing less than a tornado would cause them to vary. What a sad, solitary, sullen-looking race they are, with a cloud of discontent always hanging over their faces, rarely, if ever, engaging in pleasantries with their companions but always creeping around with a shadowy frown, which resembles a graveyard-parting more than any thing with which we are familiar! A pleasant look on their features would be as foreign to them as a ray of sunshine to their hearts.

When we pass the gateway through which all passengers are required to enter and surrender their tickets, how reviving the prospect to strangers the notice, “English and French spoken,” which enables them again to hold intelligent communication with the outside world, after spending a whole day in a crowd, with only their own thoughts and suppositions on subjects and novel sights, surrounded by a Babel of unmeaning sounds! The above direction, designating the languages spoken, is the only requisite sign for a hotel. As we enter, a reception is given us by the proprietor, who is a keen, sharp, smiling French Creole, with the clearest of ideas in regard to the amount of funds he can extract from every guest. A lovely and refreshing breeze passes through the house, coming from both mountains and sea. Here it meets us like a welcome friend, to fan the warm and refresh the weary traveler with its combined influences. Let all the contracts of those who come to Cuba be made in advance; it will save much unpleasantness, as the proprietors charge in proportion to their avarice, if no previous terms have been agreed upon by both parties. Four dollars per day, in gold, will give a guest the full benefit of all accommodations furnished, including wine for dinner. You can receive your attentions in Spanish, French, or English. Dinner commences at 4 P.M., of which we will now avail ourselves at a later hour. The table is spread with a white linen cloth and damask napkins. The little ants have been inspecting the premises, and many of them are still exploring the precincts. Some have selected the caster as the most prominent point for reconnoitering, where they are still taking observations. These are all soon brushed away by the waiter without ceremony, and then comes the repast. The cooking is on the French restaurant order. The savory odor of onions and garlic exhales from soup and meat on every side—chickens cooked in all styles that a connoisseur could invent—beef, mutton, Irish potatoes, tomatoes, and squashes, besides other vegetables of all kinds. After having our plate changed ten times, the meats are all removed for dessert, which consists of cheese, guava jelly, cocoa-nut grated and cooked in sirup—the meal concluding with a cup of cafÉ noir. The Cubans laugh at the Americans for mixing flour and sugar into pies and sweet-cakes.

After dinner we went to visit some friends on the bark Adelaide, anchored in Matanzas Bay. The process of being pulled on board from a small boat would be a hazardous experiment for those whose arms were not well fastened. It makes a consequential person feel very diminutive, as though he were about the same size and importance as any other fish, dangling at the end of a line, previous to being taken in and served up for chowder.

Over eighty vessels are anchored in the bay—all waiting for cargoes of sugar and molasses. The captains are complaining on account of the low bids made for freights. Every day fifty of them can be seen in the consigning-office of Mr. Sanchez. They all have an anxious, care-worn look, and some of them so old, seasoned, and toughened, by hardships and exposure, that, if they were to fall overboard, the shark that would have the temerity or skill to seize them, would never survive a similar experiment, unless a Jonah miracle were wrought in him. Each captain, as he arrives, gives the morning salutation by asking his companions in turn, “Is your vessel entered?” “Are you chartered?” “Where you going to sail for?” Most of the vessels are from Maine and Massachusetts. Strange as it may appear, many of these captains have their entire families with them. The ladies, while in port, extract some sweets, despite the rough life they lead, in making calls, visits, and even giving dinners and concerts—all the invitations being limited to their maritime acquaintances from the four quarters of the globe. Then they take little excursions, in their long-boats, up the beautiful and historic valley of Yumori, or walk to the city in crowds of fifteen or twenty, accompanied by all the children who are not too small to go with them. Batteries of black eyes are leveled at them, as they pass, from every side. No hippodrome, in making its grand entree, was ever scrutinized more closely. Clerks leave their counters to gaze at them; servants forget their business; pack-mules endanger the wares of their owners; coolies drop their cakes of ice in the river when unloading vessels, as the foreigners cross the bridge, while idle boys and girls follow them, to take a good look! The gratification is mutual—each gazer is happy, and, apparently, satisfied in the enjoyment of sight-seeing. Some of these ladies have sailed with their husbands for years, under stormy skies, or crossing polar seas. A few of them have learned how to compute latitude and longitude by the quadrant. They speak of wrecks as we would heavy thunder-showers on land.

The time for leaving the bay soon arrived. Nature had veiled her face, like the Cuban beauties, with a tissue so transparent that, instead of concealing her charms, they were only increased. The darkness seemed like a mist, produced by the enchanting movements of some invisible spirit, more than the shades of night in other places. The lights beamed from the shore in the distance. All the ships had their signals, of varied hues, burning brightly, while the stars shone with, the same unfading, brilliant luster as when their first song echoed through the ethereal vaults of heaven, and “all the sons of God shouted for joy.” The process of being returned into the little boat, at night, appears like a leap in the dark, as I stepped backward down a rope-ladder until the pilot says, “Let go,” when my hands unclasp; at the same instant a very uncertain hold is taken, with my feet on something that moves, but I am safe. Before us lies a scene in which our imagination has reached its culminating point, where enthusiasm gains the ascendency, when an approach is made toward extravagance in the use of language—the barge of Cleopatra, borne on the placid Cydnus—which, in musical cadence, echoed no more sweetly than the plash of our oars with the brilliant phosphorescent light by which each stroke was followed, and the train of silvery waves that marked our movements through the illumined waters of Matanzas Bay. Near the wharf we obtained a carriage, without difficulty, that conveyed us to the plaza, and, afterward, to the hotel. The plaza resembled a panoramic view, drafted from the imagination by some skilled artist—the beautiful seÑoritas, with no dull, meditative moods in their eyes, but merry flashes of the sunshine, in which they spend their lives, reflected back to beautify the world in which they live. Decked in their pink and creamy robes, floating through the avenues among gorgeous flowering plants, they resembled a festival in fairy-land more than the enjoyments incident to real life.

Our hotel is soon reached, where quiet rules the hour, all the inmates having gone to the plaza, or slumbering in the arms of tired repose, but the majoral and a few of his assistants. A tall, ebony-colored servant conducts us to our apartments, and turns on the gas, which, in the jail-like rooms, is much needed. I commenced speaking English to the valet de chambre, when he looked at me as if in distress, and said, “Pourquoi ne vous me parlais en Francais!” “Vous parlez Francais!” I relieved his anxiety by giving all our orders in French, to which he responded with much alacrity. The bolting of blinds and doors, combined with the high, substantial brick and mortar walls which surround us, savors very much of captivity—all the oxygen we have at night passing through a small square made in the apertures of the blinds. The canvas-framed stretchers, designed for reclining, and the accommodation of only one person, are canopied over with beautifully-wrought lace, looking both clean, cool, and inviting, to our weary frames. The atmosphere at this place is said to be conducive of sleep. Every thing sleeps, no difference when or where. The driver nods on his cabriolet, which might be attended with direful consequences, but the poor brutes are so jaded they are sleepy too. The salesman snores on his stall, sometimes stretched out full length. The cooly nods over his chopsticks and rice, after he has eaten his dinner, while the more elegant matron inclines her head gracefully, saying, Siesta. Morning dawns, leaving no marks of intervening space, but every thing is full of life and business. The butler’s voice is heard above the din of dishes and kettles, giving orders, while his busy hands are preparing delicate loin-steaks, mutton-chops, and veal-cutlets, for broiling, and 9 o’clock train from Havana. The coffee is prepared on a separate range near the dining-tables, close to the call of every new applicant for the delightful beverage; it comes steaming out into the big China cups, the servant holding in one hand a kettle of boiling milk, and one of coffee in the other, furnishing us milk and coffee, or vice versa. “Mi cafÉ,” at six or seven in the morning, accompanied with a small French roll, fortifies the inhabitants for any movements which they wish to make until breakfast-time. While drinking our coffee the porter, hat in hand, announces El Volante, which we had ordered the night before for the purpose of visiting the cave. All efforts to describe that curious conveyance must fail, when compared to the reality of riding in one—it being a vehicle of Cuban origin, not in general use on the island now, except in the country. It is drawn by two horses, one placed between the shafts, the other on the left in rear of the first, upon which a booted, liveried postilion, called a calesero, is seated in a diminutive saddle. The center of gravity is nowhere in a volante, while it swings and vibrates along softly as a boat on smooth water. When the wheels strike a rock it is accompanied with no unpleasant jolts, like our American carriages. Fancy could not conceive of spirits borne on the wings of an ethereal messenger being wafted more gently. As I was carried through clouds, illumined by the morning sun, which ascended sweetly as incense from the altar of devotion, I was seized with indescribable sensations, elevating emotions, comparable to nothing—partaking of no other event of which history has any record, except the transit of a perfect man, who passed beyond the realms of space, and never returned. It is materialized enjoyment, the realization of momentary happiness, at peace with all the world; our feelings are pure like the air that surrounds us, which comes direct from its heavenly home on cloud-like wings. If permitted to live longer, I feel prepared to tread paths of life with fortified strength, meeting ing its exigencies “with a more calm and virtuous majesty.” If the angel of death were to come, he would find me ready in feelings—the mowing-blade of Time could cut me down and swing me off without a pang. Every sound appears harmonious, from the bird-orchestra, tuned by the voice of God, to the cricket that chirps from the rock-wall as we pass.

That remarkable cavern of El Cueva de Bellamar was discovered over twenty years since, under the following circumstances: A slave, having been engaged in the preparation of a lime-kiln, accidentally dropped one of his tools in a cavity near the place where he had been collecting rock. Hoping soon to recover it, for fear of punishment, he commenced reaching where he had last seen it. All his efforts proved useless. He then threw in rocks, which were a long time finding soundings. The next day excavations were made, which revealed a cave over two hundred feet perpendicular below the surface of the earth, and a mile in length. This remarkable subterranean passage has, no doubt, been the work of centuries, the water dripping on the lime-rock, which dissolved it—all these beautiful transformations taking place in midnight darkness, under the guidance of the great Architect whose omnipotent hand formed all things, whether above or under the earth. While descending the steps which lead into the cave, a singular phenomenon is observable. It is an intense, stifling heat, which increases as we advance, and oppresses us until we become accustomed to it. This descent may be compared to an approach into the lower regions—the torches in the hands of our guides flickering and snapping like fiery serpents. Any fears of having found the realm of his Satanic majesty are soon dispelled by the prismatic view presented to us. As we enter the cave two avenues describing a triangle are seen, it being the commencement of an apex with converging lines, which terminate not in regions inferno, but the “Devil’s Gorge,” near which stands El Organ, with its silent pipes reaching to the dome. We come in contact with rough edges on every side, while narrow passes almost obstruct our progress, when suddenly we are ushered into El Cathedro, forty feet in height, and nearly the same in length, with a variable width of twenty feet. Here is found the basin of holy water, blessed by no earthly priest, fed by a fountain whose innermost recesses have never been penetrated, or measureless depths fathomed. The palace halls of princely dwellings, decked with costly gems of priceless value, shine with no more dazzling luster than the icicle-shaped pendants of snowy whiteness hanging from the arch and sides of this remarkable underground temple. The stalactites in many places form solid columns of transparent crystals, which meet the stalagmites, and extend to the earth. Oyster-shells and sea-urchins of immense size are found imbedded in the rocks, which demonstrate that this has been the home of the restless sea, where old Neptune combed his “hoary locks,” and beat his foaming billows. To enter this subterranean cavern seems like standing on the brink of a volcano, our only hope of escape, being a fickle flame extinguished by a breath, looking into the domains of futurity, not knowing how soon we might be called upon to try its realities. No one can conceive the period of time which has been consumed in the production of this remarkable formation—a drop of water, containing the fractional part of a grain of lime, leaving an imperceptible deposit in its downward course, thus forming the stalactites and stalagmites of fantastic forms and delicate proportions, which the ingenuity of no human hand, however skillful, can imitate. A kind of awe-inspiring sensation seizes our minds while surrounded by the oppressive stillness in these depths, where mighty forces are fulfilling their great purposes in producing mountains by infinitesimal accessions.

As we approach the lake, the atmosphere becomes cooler, when a virgin sheet of water presents itself, on whose surface no heavenly zephyr has ever danced, or rude winds plunged into maddening strife. Here, stretched before us, is a body of water nearly two hundred feet long, thirty feet in width, and eighteen feet in depth; while firmly attached to its bed are blooms perennial as the plants of paradise, resembling double dahlias, not less than eight inches in circumference, with variegated petals of delicate pink, violet, and straw color—the coloring attributable, no doubt, to the mineral deposit contained in the waters which trickle from above. As we gaze into its pearly depths, we are impressed with the thought that here all is peace. Many visitors who come here have the grasping relic-hunting propensity so strongly developed for wanting every thing attractive which they see, that they can only be restrained from breaking the finest stalactites by the guides threatening to extinguish the lights, which is sufficient to terrify into submission the stoutest sea captain that ever walked the quarter-deck of a vessel, or any of his attachÉs. As in other explored caverns, names have been given by the natives to the different formations found here, which so nearly resemble English that they can be readily translated. The resemblance of these curious figures to the objects indicated by the names they bear are sufficiently striking to produce an increased emotion of admiration:

“Cathedral de San Pablo.”

“Manto de la Virgen.”

“La Sagua bordado.”

“El Organ.”

“El baÑo de la Americana.”

“Los Apostles.”

“El Altar de la Virgen.”

“El Confessionario.”

“La Boca del Diablo.”

The almost overpowering glare of sunshine, accompanied with other unpleasant sensations, resulting from a return to the outside world, was a disagreeable reminder that I had not been translated, or presented with a new body which never ached, or a heart that always beat in harmonic measures to the tasks imposed on it. Persons must never imagine that no rough places are to be gone over, or fatigue endured, when exploring the recesses of this wonderful cavern; but all slight obstacles overcome will amply repay those who make this cave a visit. It is about a league distant from Matanzas, accessible by land or water.

We will now have to descend upon our light wings of ecstatic admiration and delight to the plainer realities of earth. The bay, like a restless spirit, always in motion, rolls up its deposits of seaweed and shells almost under the volante wheels as we pass, while the golden waves of borrowed brightness, reflected from the shining orb of day, rise to recede again, and keep time to the evolutions of the great universe, of which they form a part.