return for the next three days. It is a fiesta and Friday.
To-morrow is 'la napa,' or day of grace, 'thrown in' to the
holiday-makers, to enable them to recruit their exhausted frames, which
they do by repeating the pleasurable excitement of the previous day.
Then comes Sunday, another fiesta, which, in most foreign climes, is
another word for day, not of rest, but of restlessness.

The leading characteristics of a Cuban carnival are the street
'comparsas,' or companies of masqueraders--'mamarrachos' as they are
called in the creole vernacular--and the masked balls. Here you have a
comparsa comprised of pure Africans; though you wouldn't believe it, for
their flat-nosed faces are illumined by a coat of light flesh-colour,
and their woolly heads are dyed a blazing crimson. The males have also
assumed female attire, though their better halves have not returned the
compliment. Here is another and a better comparsa, of mulattoes, with
cheeks of flaming vermilion, wigs of yellow tow, and false beards. Their
everyday apparel is worn reversed, and the visible lining is embellished
with tinsel, paint, and ribbons. They are preceded by a band of music: a
big drum, hand tambours, basket rattles, conch shells, and a
nutmeg-grater. The members of this goodly company dance and sing as they
pass rapidly along the streets, occasionally halting in their career to
serenade a friend. Now, they pause before a cottage, at the door of
which is a group of 'mulaticas francesas,' or French mulatto girls. The
maskers salute them in falsetto voices, and address them by their
Christian names as a guarantee of their acquaintanceship. The girls try
hard to recognise the disfigured faces of their visitors. At last:--

'Hola! Musyer Fransoir, je vous conose!' cries a yellow divinity in
creole French.

'Venici! Monte!' calls another; at which invitation, Musyer Fransoir,
who has stood confessed, ascends the narrow side steps which give
entrance to the cottage, and vanishes through a diminutive door. He
appears again hatless, and beckons his companions, who follow his lead
with alacrity. Soon, a hollow drumming, rattling, and grating, is heard,
varied by the occasional twang of an exceedingly light guitar making
vain efforts to promote harmony. A shuffling of slippered feet, and
voices singing, signify that a dance is pending. Everybody--meaning
myself and my neighbours--moves towards the scene. Everybody passes up
the perilous steps, and endeavours