hambermaid, she is no idler, and fully
earns the quarter eagle you naturally hand her at leave-taking. In
visiting the neighboring sugar plantation Jane acts as your guide, on
which occasion her independence will be sure to challenge admiration.
She salutes slave or master with equal familiarity, conducts you
through each process of the elaborate works, from the engine to the
crushing mill, and so on, until you reach the centrifugal machine,
where the glistening crystals of pure sugar fall into an open
receptacle ready for packing and shipment. She takes you into the
slave-quarters among the pickaninnies, hens, pigs, and pigeons,
looking on blandly and chewing huge pieces of cane while you
distribute the bright ten cent pieces with which you filled your
pocket at starting. If Jane slyly pinches a papoose and causes it to
yell, it is only for fun; she means no harm, though the dusky mite
gets smartly slapped by its mother for misbehaving. The cabin floor of
bare earth is sure to be covered with these little naked, sprawling
objects, like ants. On the way back to town Jane orders the postilion
to drive into the private grounds of a palatial Cuban residence, where
she boldly announces herself and party to the proprietor in good
rolling Spanish. It is the home of Senor N----, a wealthy merchant of
the city. We are received as though we belonged to the royal family.
The hospitable owner speaks English fluently, and answers our thousand
and one questions with tireless courtesy, takes us into his superb
fruit garden (of which more anon), then introduces us to his domestic
quarters, where everything appears refined, faultlessly neat, and
tasteful. If you go to the railroad station, as usual the evening
before departure, in order to secure tickets and get your baggage
labeled,--for the cars start in the morning before daylight,--Jane
will accompany you, riding by your side in the victoria. Excuse her if
she orders the calash thrown back, as she appears bonnetless in a
loud, theatrical costume, trimmed with red and yellow, and carrying a
bouquet in her freckled hands. It is her opportunity, and she looks
triumphantly at the street loungers in passing. If you are charged on
your bill a Delmonico price for a mythical lunch to be taken with you
on the journey to Matanzas, and which Jane has forgotten to put up,
pay without wrangling; it saves time and temper.

The tropical garden which we visited just outside of Cienfuegos
embraced