a boat, with my trunk
and carpet-bag and an unseasonable bundle of Arctic overcoat and fur cap
in the bow, I am pulled by a man with an oar in each hand and a cigar in
mouth, to the custom-house pier. Here is a busy scene of trunks,
carpet-bags, and bundles; and up and down the pier marches a military
grandee of about the rank of a sergeant or sub-lieutenant, with a
preposterous strut, so out of keeping with the depressed military
character of his country, and not possible to be appreciated without
seeing it. If he would give that strut on the boards, in New York, he
would draw full houses nightly.

Our passports are kept, and we receive a license to remain and travel in
the island, good for three months only, for which a large fee is paid.
These officers of the customs are civil and reasonably rapid; and in a
short time my luggage is on a dray driven by a Negro, and I am in a
volante, managed by a Negro postilion, and am driving through the narrow
streets of this surprising city.

The streets are so narrow and the houses built so close upon them, that
they seem to be rather spaces between the walls of houses than highways
for travel. It appears impossible that two vehicles should pass abreast;
yet they do so. There are constant blockings of the way. In some places
awnings are stretched over the entire street, from house to house, and
we are riding under a long tent. What strange vehicles these volantes
are!--A pair of very long, limber shafts, at one end of which is a pair
of huge wheels, and the other end a horse with his tail braided and
brought forward and tied to the saddle, an open chaise body resting on
the shafts, about one third of the way from the axle to the horse; and
on the horse is a Negro, in large postilion boots, long spurs, and a
bright jacket. It is an easy vehicle to ride in; but it must be a sore
burden to the beast. Here and there we pass a private volante,
distinguished by rich silver mountings and postilions in livery. Some
have two horses, and with the silver and the livery and the long
dangling traces and a look of superfluity, have rather an air of high
life. In most, a gentleman is reclining, cigar in mouth; while in
others, is a great puff of blue or pink muslin or cambric, extending
over the sides to the shafts, topped off by a fan, with signs of a face
behind it. "Calle de los Oficios," "Calle del Obispo," "Calle de San
Ignacio," "Calle de Mercaderes," are on the little corner boards. Ev