celebrated Moro, resting upon its craggy eminence, frowns over the narrow inlet. The Cabañas crowning every summit of the hills opposite the city, is a continuous range of fortifications of great extent, from whose outer parapet, elevated at least a hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, a most commanding view of the city and its beautiful environs is obtained. These fortifications are said to have cost forty millions of dollars. Within a mile on the opposite shore from the Moro, is still another fortress, so situated upon a considerable height, that its batteries could easily sweep the whole space between. Looking down from these frowning battlements upon the busy scene below, I was struck with the variety of flags, from almost every nation under heaven, blending their various hues and curious devices, amid the thick forest of masts that lay at my feet. But of all the gay and flaunting streamers that waved proudly in the morning breeze, the stripes and stars, the ensign of freedom, the pride of my own green forest land, appeared always most conspicuous.
The city of Havana stands on a plain, on the west side of the harbor, but is gradually, with its continually increasing population, stretching itself up into the bosom of the beautifully verdant hills by which it is surrounded. Its general appearance is that of a provincial capital of Spain. There is an air of antiquity about this, and the cities of Mexico, which has no similitude in the United States. The streets, which are straight and at right angles to each other, are McAdamized, and, in good weather, are remarkably clean; but, during the rainy season, they become almost impassable. They are also very narrow, and without any side walks for the foot passenger. The houses, many of which are one story high, with flat roofs, have a general air of neatness, and comfort. They are usually either white or yellow washed. Many of them are of the old Moorish style of architecture, dark and sombre, as the ages to which it traces back its origin. The doors and windows reach from the ceiling to the floor, and would give an airy and agreeable aspect to the buildings, were it not for their massive walls, and the iron gratings to the windows, which remind one too strongly of the prison's gloom. It is here, however, that the females enjoy the luxury of the air, and display their charms. They are never seen walking in the streets. Those who cannot afford the expense of a volante, arraying themselves with the same care as they would for a promenade, or a party, may be seen daily peering through their grated windows upon the passers by, and holding familiar conversation with their friends and acquaintances in the streets. Many a bright lustrous eye, and fairy-like foot, have I thus seen through the wires of her cheerful cage, which were scarcely ever seen beyond it.
A characteristic anecdote is related of an American sailor, who saw several ladies looking out upon the street, through their grated parlor windows. Supposing them to be prisoners, and sympathizing with their forlorn condition, he told them to keep up a good heart—and then, after observing that he had been in limbo himself, he threw them a dollar, to the great amusement of the spectators, who understood the position of the inmates.
But notwithstanding the gloomy appearance of the windows, the houses are well ventilated by interior courts, which permit a free circulation of air—a commodity which is very desirable in these latitudes. The floors are of flat stone or brick, the walls stuccoed or painted—and the traveller, judging from the external appearance, is led to imagine that within, every desirable accommodation may be obtained. In this, however, he is disappointed, and must content himself with some privations. Huge door-ways and windows, a spacious saloon, together with solidity of construction, are the chief objects to which the architect in this country seems to direct his attention. The main entrance answers the purpose of a coach-house; and it is no uncommon thing to see the volantes occupying a very considerable portion of the parlor. The amount demanded for rent, in proportion to similar accommodations in other cities, is exorbitant. The present population of the city and its suburbs, is about 185,000.
Society in Havana—and it is the same throughout the island—is a singular anomaly to the stranger. It is neither that of the city, nor that of the country alone—neither national, oecumenical, nor provincial, nor a mixture of all. There are three distinct classes of what may be termed respectable society—the Spanish, the creole, and the foreigner. Among the former, with here and there an individual of the second grade, there are some who have purchased titles of nobility, at prices varying from thirty to fifty thousand dollars. They are often distinguished by the ludicrous sobriquet of "sugar noblemen," most of them having acquired their titles from the proceeds of their sugar plantations. Besides these, there are some few who have obtained the coveted distinction, as a reward for military services. Though more honorably obtained, the title is of less value to such, as they rarely have the means to support the style, which usually accompanies the rank. There are some sixty or seventy persons in the island, thus distinguished, who cannot, as a matter of course, condescend to associate in common, with the untitled grades below them. Neither do they maintain any social relations among themselves. The proud Spaniard despises the creole, and, titled or plebeian, will have nothing to do with him, beyond the necessary courtesies of business. Then the "nobleman," who has worn his dearly bought honors twenty years, esteems it quite beneath his dignity to exchange civilities with those novi homines, who are but ten years removed from the vulgar atmosphere of common life;—while he, in his turn, is quite too green to stand on a par with those, whose ancestors, for two or three generations back, have been known to fame.
The same impassable distinctions exist among the plebeian grades of society. The Spaniard hates the foreign resident, and will have no intercourse with him, except so far as his interest, in the ordinary transactions of business, requires. He despises the creole, who, in his turn, hates the Spaniard, and is jealous of the foreigner. The result of this position of these antagonist elements of society is, that there is no such thing as general social intercourse among the inhabitants of Cuba, and scarcely any chance at all for the stranger, to be introduced to any society but that of the foreign residents. As these are from almost all nations, the range, for any particular one, is necessarily small.
This being the case, with the constitution of society in Cuba, it would be extremely difficult for a temporary sojourner correctly to delineate the character of its inhabitants, perhaps, even unfair to attempt it. He can never see them, as they see each other. He can rarely learn, from his personal observation, any thing of society, as a whole, though he may often have favorable opportunities of becoming favorably acquainted with individual families. And here, two remarks seem to me to be demanded, before leaving this subject. First, that in all cases where such marked distinctions, and deeply rooted jealousies exist between the different sections of society, the open slanders and covert insinuations of the one against the other, should be received with the most liberal allowances for prejudice. Envy and contempt are, by their very natures, evil-eyed, uncharitable, and arrant liars. They see through a distorted medium. They judge with one ear always closed. And he who receives their decisions as law will generally abuse his own common sense and good nature, by condemning the innocent unheard. Secondly, if the society which Cuba might enjoy may be judged of by the known urbanity and hospitality of individuals, it might become, by the breaking down of these artificial barriers, the very paradise of patriarchal life. I know of nothing in the world to compare with the free, open-handed, whole-souled hospitality which the merchant, or planter, of whatever grade, lavishes upon those, who are commended to his regard by a respectable introduction from abroad. With such a passport, he is no longer a stranger, but a brother, and it is the fault of his own heart if he is not as much at home in the family, and on the estate of his friend, as if it were his own. There is nothing forced, nothing constrained in all this. It is evidently natural, hearty, and sincere, and you cannot partake of it, without feeling, however modest you may be, that you are conferring, rather than receiving a favor. This remark may be applied, with almost equal force, to many of the planters in our Southern states, and in the other West India Islands. Many and many are the invalid wanderers from home, who have known and felt it, like gleams of sunshine in their weary pilgrimage, whose hearts will gratefully respond to all that I have said. What a pity then, that such noble elements should always remain in antagonism to each other, instead of amalgamating into one harmonious confraternity, mutually blessing and being blessed, in all the sweet humanizing interchanges of social life.
Much as the inferior grades of society envy and dislike those above them, they
