more than half a mile wide, and on the shore opposite to the Moro the
town of Havana comes down to the water's edge, withdrawing up the bay on
one hand, and up the sea-coast on the other. A pilot is not necessary
except for the perquisites of office, but one comes on board, and with
anxious countenance directs the ship straight on through clear water for
a mile, when the anchor is dropped.

Just as day breaks on the high ground on the Moro shore, and the growing
light brings houses and trees and ships into relief, with all their rich
variety of color, the scene is memorable and full of beauty. On the
green slope behind the castle, while the outline of the tropical
vegetation is only stealing into view, there is hid, and yet visible, a
long, low building of yellow columns, blue facade, brown gables and red
tiles: if you shut out the rest of the landscape with your hands, you
would say it was a picture by Fortuny. The expanse of the bay is fine,
and the large fleet at anchor furnishes it but thinly. Townward, as the
sun's rays begin to dissipate the brown shadows and define shape and
color, the city sparkles like a gorgeous mosaic; but in another half
hour, when the sun is higher, the hazy softness has departed and the
city is ablaze with light, so that your eyes can scarcely look at it.
Then, if you have seen it earlier, it loses its charm.

I was jealous of Havana from what I had heard and read of it: if the
shore-line, and the entrance, and the bay, and the scene were finer than
Rio, I was prepared to be angry; but Rio is grand and Havana is pretty,
so that one may like both and not divide his allegiance. A patchwork of
good pictures in the Moorish vein of town, and shore, and water would
reproduce, and yet not copy, all that Havana has to offer; but there is
not a picture in the world that aspires to the grandeur of Rio. But I
won't deny the sparkle and brilliancy of Havana. At this moment the sky
is of a perfect "Himmel-blau." I can see from my window, near the roof,
the rich, harmonious Moorish blending of varied colors in the houses;
and beyond these "the white feet of the wind shine along the sea." A
ship with all sail set is coming into port, the white-capped waves
rolling her along before the stiff sea-breeze. Wind is the bane of the
place. It sets in to blow, as the sailors say, soon after daylight nine
days in ten, and blows all day, and sometimes far into the night. It is
not always the soft, perennial zephy