ans; and the noise of the
pavements drowns the further reflections of the four philanthropists,
patriots and economists.

XIX.

HAVANA: More Manners and Customs

The people of Cuba have a mode of calling attention by a sound of the
tongue and lips, a sort of "P--s--t!" after the fashion of some parts of
the continent of Europe. It is universal here; and is used not only to
servants and children, but between themselves, and to strangers. It has
a mean sound, to us. They make it clear and penetrating; yet it seems a
poor, effeminate sibilation, and no generous, open-mouthed call. It is
the mode of stopping a volante, calling a waiter, attracting the
attention of a friend, or calling the notice of a stranger. I have no
doubt, if a fire were to break out at the next door, a Cuban would call
"P--s--t!"

They beckon a person to come to them by the reverse of our motion. They
raise the open hand, with the palm outwards, bending the fingers toward
the person they are calling. We should interpret it to be a sign to go
away.

Smoking is universal, and all but constant. I have amused myself, in the
street, by seeing what proportion of those I meet have cigars or
cigarettes in their mouths. Sometimes it has been one half, sometimes
one in three. The cigar is a great leveller. Any man may stop another
for a light. I have seen the poor porters, on the wharf, bow to
gentlemen, strangers to them, and hold out a cigar, and the gentlemen
stop, give a light, and go on--all as of course.

In the evening, called on the Senoritas F----, at the house of Mr.
B----, and on the American young lady at Senor M---- 's, and on Mrs.
Howe, at Mde. Almy's, to offer to take letters or packets. At Mrs.
Almy's, there is a gentleman from New York, Mr. G----, who is dying of
consumption. His only wish is to live until the "Cahawba" comes in, that
he may at least die at sea, if he cannot survive until she reaches New
York. He has a horror of dying here, and being buried in the Potter's
Field. Dr. Howe has just come from his chamber.

I drove out to the bishop's, to pay my parting respects. It is about
half-past eight in the evening. He has just returned from his evening
drive, is dressed in a cool, cambric dressing-gown, after a bath, and is
taking a quiet cigar, in his high-roofed parlor. He is very cordial and
polite, and talks again about the Thirty Millions Bill, and asks what I
think of the result, and what I have seen of the island, an