the great prison of Havana, once; but
was desirous to visit it again; so he joined me, under the conduct of
our young friend, Senor----, to visit that and the hospital of San Juan
de Dios. The hospital we saw first. It is supported by the
government--that is to say, by Cuban revenues--for charity patients
chiefly, but some, who can afford it, pay more or less. There are about
two hundred and fifty patients. This, again, is in the charge of the
Sisters of Charity. As we came upon one of the Sisters, in a
passage-way, in her white cap and cape, and black and blue dress, Dr.
Howe said, "I always take off my hat to a Sister of Charity," and we
paid them all that attention, whenever we passed them. Dr. Howe examined
the book of prescriptions, and said that there was less drugging than he
supposed there would be. The attending physician told us that nearly all
the physicians had studied in Paris, or in Philadelphia. There were a
great many medical students in attendance, and there had just been an
operation in the theater. In an open yard we saw two men washing a dead
body, and carelessly laying it on a table, for dissection. I am told
that the medical and surgical professions are in a very satisfactory
state of advancement in the island, and that a degree in medicine, and a
license to practise, carry with them proofs of considerable proficiency.
It is always observable that the physical and the exact sciences are the
last to suffer under despotisms.

The Presidio and Grand Carcel of Havana is a large building, of yellow
stone, standing near the fort of the Punta, and is one of the striking
objects as you enter the harbor. It has no appearance of a jail without,
but rather of a palace or court; but within, it is full of live men's
bones and of all uncleanness. No man, whose notions are derived from an
American or English penitentiary of the last twenty years, or fifty
years, can form an idea of the great Cuban prison. It is simply
horrible. There are no cells, except for solitary confinement of
"incomunicados"--who are usually political offenders. The prisoners are
placed in large rooms, with stone floors and grated windows, where they
are left, from twenty to fifty in each, without work, without books,
without interference or intervention of any one, day and night, day and
night, for the weeks, months or years of their sentences. The sights are
dreadful. In this hot climate, so many beings, with no provision for
ventilation