on a level with the street, a light breeze fanning the
thin curtains, the little tables, for two or four, with clean, white
cloths, each with its pyramid of great red oranges and its fragrant
bouquet--the gentlemen in white pantaloons and jackets and white
stockings, and the ladies in fly-away muslins, and hair in the sweet
neglect of the morning toilet, taking their leisurely breakfasts of
fruit and claret, and omelette and Spanish mixed dishes, (ollas,) and
cafe noir. How airy and ethereal it seems! They are birds, not
substantial men and women. They eat ambrosia and drink nectar. It must
be that they fly, and live in nests, in the tamarind trees. Who can eat
a hot, greasy breakfast of cakes and gravied meats, and in a close room,
after this?

I can truly say that I ate, this morning, my first orange; for I had
never before eaten one newly gathered, which had ripened in the sun,
hanging on the tree. We call for the usual breakfast, leaving the
selection to the waiter; and he brings us fruits, claret, omelette, fish
fresh from the sea, rice excellently cooked, fried plantains, a mixed
dish of meat and vegetables (olla), and coffee. The fish, I do not
remember its name, is boiled, and has the colors of the rainbow, as it
lies on the plate. Havana is a good fishmarket; for it is as open to the
ocean as Nahant, or the beach at Newport; its streets running to the
blue sea, outside the harbor, so that a man may almost throw his line
from the curb-stone into the Gulf Stream.

After breakfast, I take a volante and ride into the town, to deliver my
letters. Three merchants whom I call upon have palaces for their
business. The entrances are wide, the staircases almost as stately as
that of Stafford House, the floors of marble, the panels of porcelain
tiles, the rails of iron, and the rooms over twenty feet high, with open
rafters, the doors and windows colossal, the furniture rich and heavy;
and there sits the merchant or banker, in white pantaloons and thin
shoes and loose white coat and narrow necktie, smoking a succession of
cigars, surrounded by tropical luxuries and tropical protections. In the
lower story of one of these buildings is an exposition of silks, cotton
and linens, in a room so large that it looked like a part of the Great
Exhibition in Hyde Park. At one of these counting-palaces, I met Mr.
Theodore Parker and Dr. S. G. Howe, of Boston, who preceded me, in the
"Karnac." Mr. Parker is here for his health, whic