ery
little shop and every big shop has its title; but nowhere does the name
of a keeper appear. Almost every shop advertises "por mayor y menor,"
wholesale and retail. What a Gil Blas-Don Quixote feeling the names of
"posada," "tienda," and "cantina" give you!

There are no women walking in the streets, except negresses. Those suits
of seersucker, with straw hats and red cockades, are soldiers. It is a
sensible dress for the climate. Every third man, perhaps more, and not a
few women, are smoking cigars or cigarritos. Here are things moving
along, looking like cocks of new mown grass, under way. But presently
you see the head of a horse or mule peering out from under the mass, and
a tail is visible at the other end, and feet are picking their slow way
over the stones. These are the carriers of green fodder, the fresh cut
stalks and blades of corn; and my chance companion in the carriage, a
fellow passenger by the "Cahawba," a Frenchman, who has been here
before, tells me that they supply all the horses and mules in the city
with their daily feed, as no hay is used. There are also mules, asses,
and horses with bananas, plantains, oranges and other fruits in panniers
reaching almost to the ground.

Here is the Plaza de Armas, with its garden of rich, fragrant flowers in
full bloom, in front of the Governor's Palace. At the corner is the
chapel erected over the spot where, under the auspices of Columbus, mass
was first celebrated on the island. We are driven past a gloomy convent,
past innumerable shops, past drinking places, billiard rooms, and the
thick, dead walls of houses, with large windows, grated like dungeons,
and large gates, showing glimpses of interior court-yards, sometimes
with trees and flowers. But horses and carriages and gentlemen and
ladies and slaves, all seem to use the same entrance. The windows come
to the ground, and, being flush with the street, and mostly without
glass, nothing but the grating prevents a passenger from walking into
the rooms. And there the ladies and children sit sewing, or lounging, or
playing. This is all very strange. There is evidently enough for me to
see in the ten or twelve days of my stay.

But there are no costumes among the men, no Spanish hats, or Spanish
cloaks, or bright jackets, or waistcoats, or open, slashed trousers,
that are so picturesque in other Spanish countries. The men wear black
dress coats, long pantaloons, black cravats, and many of them even
submit,