ere we to miss his deep music, here and at home!
With his assistance we had made a very respectable band; now we were to
be only a wandering drum and fife,--the fife particularly shrill, and
the drum particularly solemn. Well, we went below, and examined the
little den where Can Grande was to pass the other seven days of his
tropical voyaging. The berths were arranged the wrong way,--across, not
along, the vessel,--and we foresaw that his head would go up and his
feet down, and _vice versa_, with every movement of the steamer, and our
weak brains reeled at the bare thought of what he was to suffer. He,
good soul, meanwhile, was thinking of his supper, and wondering if he
could get tea, coffee, and chocolate, a toasted roll, and the touch of
cold ham which an invalid loves. And we beheld, and they were bringing
up the side of the vessel trays of delicious pastry, and festoons of
fowls, with more literal butcher's meat. And we said, "There will be no
famine on board. Make the most of your supper, Can Grande; for it will
be the last of earth to you, for some time to come." And now came
silence, and tears, and last embraces; we slipped down the gangway into
our little craft, and, looking up, saw, bending above us, between the
slouched hat and the silver beard, the eyes that we can never forget,
that seemed to drop back in the darkness with the solemnity of a last
farewell. We went home, and the drum hung himself gloomily on his peg,
and the little fife _shut up_ for the remainder of the evening.

Has Mr. Dana described the Dominica, I wonder? Well, if he has, I cannot
help it. He never can have eaten so many ices there as I have, nor
passed so many patient hours amid the screeching, chattering, and
devouring, which make it most like a cage of strange birds, or the
monkey department in the Jardin des Plantes.--_Mem._ I always observed
that the monkeys just mentioned seemed far more mirthful than their
brethren in the London Zooelogical Gardens. They form themselves, so to
speak, on a livelier model, and feel themselves more at home with their
hosts.

But the Dominica. You know, probably, that it is the great _cafe_ of
Havana. All the day long it is full of people of all nations, sipping
ices, chocolate, and so on; and all night long, also, up to the to me
very questionable hour when its patrons go home and its _garcons_ go to
bed. We often found it a welcome refuge at noon, when the _douche_ of
sunlight on one's _cervix_ be