skies and
smiling waters; groves of palms and oranges; the bloom of the
heliotrope, the jasmine and the rose; flights of strange and gaudy
birds; tropic nights at once luxurious and calm; clouds of fireflies
floating like unsphered stars on the night breeze; graceful figures of
dark-eyed senoritas in diaphanous drapery; picturesque groups of
Monteros, relieved by the dusky faces and stalwart forms of the sons
of Africa; undulating volantes, military pageants, ecclesiastical
processions, frowning fortresses, grim batteries, white sails,
fountains raining silver; all these images mingle in brilliant
kaleidoscopic combinations, changing and varying as the mind's eye
seeks to fix their features. Long after his departure from the
enchanting island, the traveler beholds these visions in the still
watches of the night, and again listens to the dash of the sea-green
waves at the foot of the Moro and the Punta, the roll of the drum and
the crash of arms upon the ramparts, or hears in fancy the thrilling
strains of music from the military band in the Paseo de Isabella.

If it were possible to contemplate only the beautiful that nature has
so prodigally lavished on this Eden of the Gulf, shutting out all that
man has done and is doing to mar the blessings of heaven, while
closing our eyes to the myriad forms of human misery that assail them
on every hand, then a visit to or a residence in Cuba would present a
succession of unalloyed pleasures, delightful as a poet's dream. But
the dark side of the picture will force itself upon us. The American
traveler, keenly alive to the social and political aspects of life,
appreciates in full force the evils that challenge his observation at
every step. If he contrasts the natural scenery with the familiar
pictures of home, he cannot help also contrasting the political
condition of the people with that of his own country. The existence,
almost under the shadow of the flag of the freest institutions the
earth ever knew, of a government as purely despotic as that of the
autocrat of Russia is a monstrous fact that must startle the most
indifferent observer.

To go hence to Cuba is not merely to pass over a few degrees of
latitude,--it is to take a step from the nineteenth century back into
the dark ages. In the clime of sunshine and endless summer, we are in
the land of starless political darkness. Lying under the lee of a land
where every man is a sovereign is a realm where the lives, libert